…♪♫… rain is coming… ♫♪
Grievance is when the spirit is upset, with an earnest thirst for restitution. Turbulence that runs deep, disturbing those otherwise still waters. Small fractures fractal out. Hurt is an understatement.
It is skin, stretched across the extent of our aliveness, within which the percussion of existence reverberates. Quiet vernaculars of feeling. Thresholds of sensitivity, where signals from the ether are alchemized. If only alchemy were a walk in the park.
Oftentimes, unfurled tensions will have our nervous system in a chokehold. In tandem, our idiosyncrasies reflect our interior condition. Suffocated.
Like perspiration through the porosity of our living skin, our grievances leak. Relationships hurt. When pain cuts, it punctures with poignance. At the slightest provocation, it flows into the relational body. Razor blades fly.
When the subcutaneous becomes symphonic, the sorrow is choral. Saline waters sting. Saliently unsilent, grief occupies the air. Deafeningly desolate. Too stiff to breathe.
Like patient seeds at the deserts neath, something seditious steadfastly persists, in the belly of the bleak. In liminal disobedience to the ground’s grimace, life expresses its thirst for water.
Implicit within the rainmakers dirge, the droughts mourning is sang verbatim in the clouds speak. Her mysticism embodies the substance the land hopes for. The atmosphere’s orchestra is invited to find and seek. Progressions that conjure moisture, in hospitality from the sea.
... Auma, b’uwinja?… koth biro …
… kel’uru dhok e’dala…
