Hum: 

Feelings: Timid, together confused, excited and ready. Somewhat unfamiliar like starting a new game with rules cobbled together from watching older kids play on a schoolyard. Exhausted at the end. 

 

Movement: From periphery to center.

 

I do not know what I am, but I give myself to it. I sit and watch and wait. Then enter in. I know Aga wanted to hum with me- I can start there. The other calls me into the play. 

 

At the center, we hum back to the mouth of the mirror. Our voices reflect and dissolve into the darkness. An offering of devotion to the eternal hum in the heart of the kitchen of the world. Dark, darker, darkest. See the mother cosmos rocking the baby of the universe. There there little everything. There, there. 

 

We play creature to embody old ways of being. We dress the dead with makeshift treasures to re-sacralize common care. We practice dying to summon new resurrections of knowing. What new song will we sing when we wake? What new song will we be? 

 

Hive: 

Feelings: Free, wild and young, boundless, connected. Myself. Familiar but very distant and rare feelings as if I became a childhood version of myself I forgot was truly also me. 

 

Movement: Periphery as center. The whole world kin, the center everywhere, the circumference nowhere.

 

Forage: I am here for myself. My devotion is to the body of my own becoming. I climb high, the west court ruins a ladder to my desire. I see Serazer cut through the sea- her body a paper knife opening the letter of the deep. Thank you Serazer. There. I want my body there. Walk me home into the blue black chronicle of longing. Where I become and belong. Where I hallow my dress of stars to marry the sky to the sea. I wait and wade. How long does it take to hallow desire? There is no telling. There is no telling time. 

 

I climb again and surrender by degrees to the land. 

I become nothing new under the sun in my own particular way. No one is nothing the way I am nothing. No one is nothing. 

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Field: Now, in this cycle, in this circle, the center is everywhere, the circumference nowhere. Now, my devotion is to the body of our becoming. I am me and she is she, and yet and yet, I am she and she is me and yet and yet. The land and the sea, the death doula, and the moss mother, the milk maiden, and the alchemist, and the lotus queen are center. The drumming pulse, and the luminous void, the cacao priestess, artemis at the gate, and the wholehearted donkey, behold the holy donkey; center. 

Everywhere everywhere the wild medicine hive thrums into being. 

 

Honey:

Feelings: Tight, watchful, fearful, overwhelmed, careful, present, tired, uncertain, on edge, in awe. An old feeling of vigilant seeing in the dark with a new quality of presence not completely taken over by fear but present nonetheless. I could stay with the wonder while watchful at the gates. Tired to tears. Lost. Not knowing how I was in service to the honey. Not pleasant but a good challenge in time. 

 

Movement: From center to periphery, center to periphery.

 

I hold an invisible outer cloth that sieves the golden nectar. My body is with my sisters but the hold within is so total I’m not sure how to share the weight of it or that I even need to. I’m unconsciously engaged in some energetic vigil, a pull between spirit and matter - not knowing what’s the matter. The staying and the tending is deep and deeper still. I walk the infinity pageant, with a heavy honey stomach*. Alchemized from heart to heart the nectar slowly becomes the gold. The woman with the drum, her pulse a living shield. The work is the work is the work until it’s done.

 

I grow tired. 

 

Mireia holds me, child in tow, and pulls me back into presence. In trust, in faith, in carryance I see the golden nurture pouring from our vessel. Heavy is the honey. Heavy as the park. Am I outside or inside? Can I be both? Maybe there is no in no out. Maybe there is no light without dark. 

 

The land feels wild enough.

Tonight we offer the soft medicine of love. Honey from the rock.

 

*In the body of the bee is a special vessel called a honey stomach where collected nectar goes through an enzymatic simplification and dehydration process on its way back to the hive. Upon arrival, mouth to mouth the nectar from the honey stomach is passed between hundreds of bees. This process also allows the bees to share healthy gut microbes. A beautiful metaphor for the gift our individual magic holds when shared heart to heart in the collective hive where we alchemize our wild medicine.  

 

This is the hum and the record of the hive.