on Deathwork & Griefwork/on Harm & Reciprocity/on Rage/Poems

a hole in the sun

Posted on
an image of the sun showing a coronal hole facing the earth

cw: this poem contains references to war crimes, death, and injustice

there is a hole in the sun and it is shaped like Gaza
there is a hole in the sun and it looks like the shadow of a genocide

as the sun burns
we must also burn for Gaza
for a free Palestine
for free Palestinian people

words have failed me but the sun
the sun has a hole that is shaped like Gaza

and when I saw it I knew that it might be my wild imagination
it might be that I see a pattern because I want to see it

but I think I speak true when I say that I see Gaza everywhere
Palestine, everywhere
greed and murder and the worst of the worst of what we are capable of doing to the people that we hate

there is a hole in the sun

it is not only we who see what is happening
it is not only humanity that must fight and scream and burn for the freedom of our people

there is a hole in the sun and it is shaped like Gaza
we are not the only ones who do not forget

let the sun shine its unblinking unchallenged unsafe unending light over us
let it burn us with the fire of a thousand thousand more suns
so that a shadow falling over Gaza can be a shelter, a canopy, a roof, a bomb-proof barrier
so that Gaza can be free from burning

there is a hole in the sun and it is shaped like Gaza

by Nix Kelley, December 2 2023

I have been so sick. I was up with the toddler early this morning and suddenly needed to go to the bathroom to be sick and I am not usually sick like that. I am worn out. I can still taste acid.

I do not live in Gaza, or the West Bank, or the Democratic Republic of the Congo, or Sudan, or Haiti, or Ukraine, or any other places I cannot bring to mind right now where genocides, slavery, and the destruction of people are happening in the name of resources and money. I live in the United States, and we are complicit. My government sends money and weapons and publicly supports architects of genocide and apartheid around the world. We are a rich country. We are paying money in order to facilitate the deaths of millions. Taxes extracted from money we scrape from jobs that don’t pay enough, turning our sacrifice into a curse.

And there is a hole in the sun that is shaped, to my eyes, like Gaza.

None of us are free until all of us are free.

Free, free Palestine.

featured image is an image of the sun on December 2 2023 by The Atmospheric Imaging Assembly (AIA) for the Solar Dynamics Observatory (SDO); image downloaded from spaceweather.com

Journal Entries/on Chronic Illness

november 7 journal: bring me a song

Posted on
a young forest in a late afternoon light

I have had an awful migraine today. It’s different enough from the ones I usually get that my normal meds haven’t touched the pain. I have been trying to sleep, but it’s more like trying to will myself into unconsciousness so that I can stop feeling pain for a while.

One of my partners rubbed my head for a while and made sure that my shoulders hadn’t dislocated while I wasn’t focusing on them (good news: not so far). I put a song on repeat that always helps my head pain and gently put in my earbuds even though sometimes they also hurt my ears and I closed my eyes against the dim light and I tried to rest.

The song is Traust by Heilung and the lyrics are in Old Norse (I think, I don’t speak Old Norse so I can’t be sure). According to this translation page, the name in English is Trust.

There is something about the rhythm and the way the singing is itself many instruments. It’s not music with lyrics. It’s music. There is one voice that stands out a little to me after so many hundreds of times that I’ve listened to it; it threads out a careful harmony and leads my ear to a place of more peace. It’s not the main singing voice, but one of the group making up the deep harmony that carries the song to the place it will go.

Eiris sazun idisi, sazun hera duoder;
Suma hapt heptidun, suma heri lezidun
Suma clubodun umbi cuoniouuidi:
Insprinc haptbandun, invar vigandun

Once sat women, they sat here, then there.
Some fastened bonds, some impeded an army,
Some unraveled fetters:
Escape the bonds, flee the enemy!

I think it’s a song about the old magics of protection and binding and releasing, of cursing and blessing. I think it’s a song about remembering the stories that make us who we are. I think it’s a song about the people among us who are willing to confront risk in order to protect those under their care. I think it’s a song about trusting our gods and the wisdom and the magic they gave us.

It’s a song stitched together with charms and words from different important writings.

When I listen to this song, I feel safe. Even in my pain. I am safe.

This video includes some interesting information in the description box, and for people that can see it, the lyrics are put on screen during the song — direct link to youtube video.
It is on Spotify as well — here’s the direct link to it.

There aren’t very many things that help me feel like I’m going to be okay when I am in so much pain.

A cloth that’s been drenched in cold water, wrung out, and folded over my eyes — so the weight and the cold can seep into my head.

Cool fingers on my too-hot skin.

A dark room to lie in.

Water to pour into my mouth even when it hurts to swallow.

My ‘migraine cocktail’ made of OTC meds that I always have on hand.

This song, over and over and over and over again.

These things are my medicine, a kind of magic, a way to make space for healing when it can arrive.

I find it ironic that when light and sound feel like daggers of pain, I can hear this song and notice that it lives in a space in my body that is somehow available for it, even when my own voice is too loud and audible phone notifications make me feel sick to my stomach.

Maybe not all magic is meant to be understood.

I wish you pain-free moments in this pain-filled world. I wish you a deep enough breath. I wish for you a hair’s-breadth of safety. I wish for you a brief knowing that you are loved.

xox,
Nix

featured image is a photo by Sigita Danil on Unsplash

on Deathwork & Griefwork/on Grief/on Praxis/the Cycle of the Seasons

samhain

Posted on
a small dark pot of tea on leaf-covered ground

Blessed Samhain to you on this day.

It’s not easy this year to write a poem for today. It feels like pulling at teeth that don’t budge, so today I won’t try to write a poem that does not want to be.

I will clean my ancestor shrine and light the candles and sit and listen.

I will think about the last twelve months and all the moons between last Samhain and this one — full moons, dark moons, Sabbats. Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lughnasadh, Mabon, and back again to Samhain.

I will ponder what it means that our new year comes as the old year dies, even though the western society I live in doesn’t celebrate a new year until after the fuss and stress of Thanksgiving and Christmas.

This is a season to ponder death and what might be left behind as we enter a new year.

We have been pondering death anyway. There are multiple genocides and ethnic cleansings happening in the world right now, children and adults dying this minute and the next, and all the minutes between when it started and when it might end.

How cruel is it that there are so many children dead. How cruel is it that they will not have descendants to light the candles and sweep clean the ashes of incense lit in their memory, no descendants to set their favorite food out or simply sit in their numinous presence.

How do we remember the dead who die so young? How do we remember the dead who die by the thousands? How many of us does it take?

There are many griefs I am carrying from the past thirteen moons.

The years since the start of the COVID pandemic have been so hard. There are people I cannot hug, funerals I cannot attend, loved ones I cannot sit with, walks I cannot take, shared experiences that I have to miss out on. I was already struggling with my immune system, and then found out that one of the meds I had needed (which my doctor stopped immediately) was reducing my white blood cells, and there are still a couple of years left before my body is able to re-make what was lost.

So I sit in the grief of knowing that staying inside is the only way I can fortify myself to continue on for however many years (decades, I hope) that I have. I grieve the time lost with my children because of things I cannot do. I still grieve the loss of my family of origin. I think they have got used to not having me around, now. I am a past memory, perhaps an old wound. I cannot honor our beloved dead together with them.

There is another grief that some of us spiritual practitioners share right now: the world turns and time happens but we wait. And in the waiting, there is grief. Perhaps we are holding our strength close for when we need it next. Perhaps these are still times of growth. Perhaps we are not disconnected from the traditions that we hold so dear.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that there will still be thirteen more moons between now and next Samhain. The wheel of the year will not stop turning, and in that I can take comfort.

I will freely admit that I am trying to find the light in a world that feels awash in darkness. I am looking at shadows and mourning, but what I want to remind myself is that shadows exist when there is light. Without light, there are no shadows. And so shadow itself can be a sort of comfort on a day like this.

I don’t always know who I am becoming, but at least I know that I am here right now in this place with this body and in this family, and there is love that I can access when I need it. I hope the same for you.

xox,
Nix

featured image is a photo by Tengyart on Unsplash