Vessels
I’ve heard women are vessels. Not in the childbearing way, though that is also true.
In the way our bodies hold things for ourselves and for others. ‘Things’ being violations, punishments, tears, secrets, wishes, fears. Rage. We smile stoically as they become scar tissue, as they ossify into bone. We unwittingly pass them generation to generation. Our daughters are now vessels for what we have borne. And so on.
The things I carry seep out sometimes. In the presence of friends who have become sisters, in the calm of the pages I write in the tepid light of the pre-dawn sky. Sometimes they ooze from my soles, my heels, my salty toes, filter through sand, soak with briny water, down, down, down, into the ground.
I feel lighter then, and I wonder, how much can the largest vessel of all, the first mother—the earth—hold? She keeps things for all of humanity, for plants and animals, too. But what about the things we give her that hurt too much to bear? Does she have a sisterhood like mine? Of course she does. Her sisters are the rivers and the sea, the sky and the wind, the glaciers. And don’t forget fire. She is the sister who burns off the things that can no longer be contained.
My writer and I have been playing with the earth’s sisters, noticing their power to transform. Here are some of our musings.
Ice Not the kind we want out of our cities the kind some of us want in our drinks The kind we need when the earth is too burdened to hold our yuck when the wind is too weary to carry more ashes the residue of our yuck Better to slice through the yuck with sharp screaming scissors keep it in a container drown it in water and freeze it The yuck unrecognizable in its icy prison immobilized stuck in a glacier the color of twilight Her darkest thoughts her most crippling fears her lethal memories become a thing of beauty a thing she has created a thing she has contained She can hold it now suspended in ice the color of indigo faded blue jeans the sky before dawn
Sky Her honesty a reflecting pool an offering plate for idle thoughts for cotton candy clouds and regrets Does she possess the shimmer of water a life-giving force or is the sky a drowning place a liquid grave for sorrows? My questions float on slight clouds on the wings of a crow crossing over Will this be the beginning of a new verse? or a repeating refrain a round with no end a chorus dinning in my ears until it becomes white noise until I am numb to it until I have forgotten how to lose myself in the sky?
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Caitlin, you had me at the word vessels. I have a little history with the words. I remember hearing a Bible verse that said I am a clay pot, the work of God's hands. I thought that sounded so beautiful. After that, sadly, I heard distortions of that verse. I began to think I wasn't worth much and couldn't hold much that was of value. Several years ago, my friend Georgia told me that when I was on the dance floor I was a work of art. I began to o think differently about my vessel. I truly appreciated your reflections on being a vessel. I hope you will share more. Your writing comforted me. I felt like could breathe when I read it.
Yes Love, just YES. 🦋🦋