It is a foggy morning. I step outside and feel as though I'm a cloud. Floating. If I close my eyes, I hear the sound of birds, a nearby squirrel in the bushes, a dog barking in the distance. Nothing is in my mind. My mind is empty and full of wonder.
I feel quiet. As I write these words, I'm figuring out what they mean. To feel quiet. Is it that wordless place where everything is still and you are in the center of the world, the axis mundi Eliade references? Is it that place where you remember your sacredness, how divine each of us truly are? Is it the way courage arrives and takes refuge in human form?
Is it a distant memory of the before time when all was perfect, cocooned inside a mother's womb?
I think this quiet is comfort. It is self-comfort. It is living in one's own womb before birthing anew. It is the warm , fertile comfort that sprouts new wings, where roots are fingered into the soil, feet sink into water and spread sand. It is a time-space when-where flowers quietly bloom from lips. It is the comfort that remembers the power of our imagination.
I love this quiet feeling, but I know that like fog, it will lift and a budding feeling will rise. It may be stark like a lightening bolt, or gentle like shimmering light over rippled water, but it will be a new feeling. Transient. Flowing.
But, today, at this moment, I love being a cloud.
Ana Martinez Orizondo
Artist and culture creative.