oh my heart

Bajau people live in the middle of the Sea, rarely go on land, have no nationality, no fixed abode, no money, no scuba gear.

 

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In the popular way of thinking, history draws a time “line,” as if time marched in lockstep in only one direction. Some people say that time is a river into which we can step but once, as it flows in a straight path to the sea. But Nanabozho’s people know time as a circle.

Time is not a river running inexorably to the sea, but the sea itself—its tides that appear and disappear, the fog that rises to become rain in a different river. All things that were will come again.


―Robin Wall Kimmerer
Braiding Sweetgrass, excerpt

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Be walking trees. 

Be talking beasts. 

Be divine waters.

—C.S. Lewis

The Magician’s Nephew

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wait

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