To read (and experience the original prompt for yourself) please visit the link here.
I see ancient pathways.
I see veins, split open so I may understand how blood flows just a little bit better.
I smell beginnings and endings. I smell churches and temples and painter’s studios.
I feel smooth and rough and splinters piercing my fingers yet somehow not hurting.
I hear Mary Oliver whispering into my ears:
“All afternoon it rained, then
such a power came down from the clouds
on a yellow thread,
as authoritative as God is supposed to be.
When it hit the tree, her body
opened forever.”
I hear dust from the days before the Vikings falling through the forest. I hear branches, creaking – born before the printing press – being torn from the body that had supported them for so long.
I see confusion.
I see stained glass.
I see awe on the faces of those who look upon her now.
I step into your veins and feel like I am stepping into every cavern I have ever visited. I become one with every nightmare and every pipedream I have ever breathed not into existence.
I feel my breasts fill with milk even though I have not had a baby in eleven years. I feel the urge to feed the babies, the ones who cannot speak or walk for whom there is only hope.
I see Moses’ mother and sister, waiting for safety for their little boy.
I see my mother and sister, giggling as I struggle to slide my feet into my short sheeted bed when I couldn’t translate their giggles and my complete confusion and heart pounding fear to be responding to the same thing.
I touch your protective coating – splintered and your inner coating, smooth. I notice the hands, the others, reaching out, and another other, speaking as if expert but knowing nothing, after all.
I touch inside you with my camera.
I feel miniscule.
I feel incapable to communicate who, what, how you are.
I want to bring people here, to sit with you, to engage with you, to come to know you intimately instead of sitting back and looking at photos or watching videos or thinking they know when they don’t know what it is like to touch the inside of a Sequoia’s bloodstream and suddenly understand how similar you are, only the tree is infinitely wiser and infinitely more capable to communicate even without the benefit of translatable language.
“All afternoon it rained, then
such a power came down from the clouds
on a yellow thread,
as authoritative as God is supposed to be.
When it hit the tree, her body
opened forever.”
In the spring it rained and the stream, as always, moved alongside these twin trees, standing tall like the twin towers had before they fell.
Somehow, they surmise, the life blood of the trees brought death to these two. Like all grief, it isn’t completely understandable yet how it happened. Scientists are in wonder, still now – and don’t logically try to explain it all away.
What I know is the tree and her innards touched me, my mind, my heart, my chest, my fingers, my awe has now opened forever.
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© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott
Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.
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