unlearning a language & weaving a different one
photo by Annie Spratt
I am full of incomplete sentences these days. This is an uncomfortable, but welcome shift for someone who likes to have the “right'' words and explanations.
How can I explain that I am unlearning a language that I have known for so long? One of lack, mistrust, and fear. One of perfectionism and over-accommodation. One coated in dust and viscous residue.
I inherited this language. I understand this the more I tease out my experience of certain emotions, such as anger or jealousy. I am noticing where and how they live in my body and narrate stories of heartache and grief. They are ancestors of sorts that speak of protection and self-preservation, but which keep me isolated, reactive, and vigilant.
I feel less articulate (or perhaps, legible) as former ways of relating to myself and others become irrelevant and unsupportive.
We are moving into winter and I don’t know where this shift will lead me. Perhaps what is emerging is a different language, which I am weaving in real time —
One which connects me to the present through my body, my breath, and my senses & which encourages me to listen more deeply & that allows me to witness someone I love grieving with the utmost patience and care, noticing how both loud and private grief can be & allows me to hear the desire buried beneath pain in the disowned parts of myself & that allows me to delight in minutiae as a microcosm of love, like the custardy sweetness and deep, orange glow of a ripe hachiya persimmon & that finds comfort in resting my hands on my chest or warmth in sharing a meal with a friend & that knows the pleasure of receiving a lover’s tongue and finding the rhythm of a kiss & that reminds me of the importance of my own breath &
Questions for consideration:
What language(s), beyond words, are you currently enacting?
What language(s) can you weave through your senses, your body?
What narrative(s) are you / can you unlearn?
With gratitude,
Kristen
~
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