Our ancient grandmother
Finding signal in the noise
I’m sprawled out on our new couch. It’s bougie-white and ties the room together nicely. Or so I’m told. It’s symbolic of my life right now. I have everything I need. Despite the swanky-couch, however, I feel melancholy today.
I’m the only one home. It’s dead silent except for a voice deep in my bones. I can hear my ancient grandmother. Actually, our ancient grandmother.
I hear her often. She tells me things like:
Eat when you’re hungry; stay away from the ledge when you hike; work together when you play; run with the wolves when you explore; seek shelter in a storm; stay close to clean water; love hard; and, by-golly, beware of undercooked meat.
As if a lecture from the grave, her advice permeates my cells. Today she’s telling me to “move your f-ing body, dude.”
Sometimes her message though, like her, gets buried beneath the dirt; her primitive wisdom lost amidst the noise.
Her warnings to “get off that shit” are clouded by notifications; her tales of joyful jogging get forgotten to Strava; her stories of being get lost to doing; her cries for contentment obscured by creature-comfort; her insistence to live with the earth gets befogged by consumerism; her whispers of adventure drowned by travel vlogs; the stories go on.
Although her vocal chords are long-dissolved in the primordial soup of everything, her pleas still shine through.
Our genes are laced with the survival tricks of those who came before us. Transmitted through our cells. We cannot forget the wisdom of our dirt goddess.
Listening is a choice.
Question
With no Instagram, no Ben & Jerry’s, no Pornhub, no nicotine, no DoorDash, no gin and tonic, no MSG additives, etc… did primordial people need discipline?
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