#ancestralmemory — Public Fediverse posts

My dad just told me that his maternal grandma used to spin and weave cotton to make calico. I’m gobsmacked. Time to get back to my #spinning practice! Life’s been so damn hectic, I can’t believe I ever even had time for it. The calm will return, I hope. #AncestralMemory #textiles #fibers

My dad just told me that his maternal grandma used to spin and weave cotton to make calico. I’m gobsmacked. Time to get back to my #spinning practice! Life’s been so damn hectic, I can’t believe I ever even had time for it. The calm will return, I hope. #AncestralMemory #textiles #fibers

My dad just told me that his maternal grandma used to spin and weave cotton to make calico. I’m gobsmacked. Time to get back to my #spinning practice! Life’s been so damn hectic, I can’t believe I ever even had time for it. The calm will return, I hope. #AncestralMemory #textiles #fibers

My dad just told me that his maternal grandma used to spin and weave cotton to make calico. I’m gobsmacked. Time to get back to my #spinning practice! Life’s been so damn hectic, I can’t believe I ever even had time for it. The calm will return, I hope. #AncestralMemory #textiles #fibers

My dad just told me that his maternal grandma used to spin and weave cotton to make calico. I’m gobsmacked. Time to get back to my #spinning practice! Life’s been so damn hectic, I can’t believe I ever even had time for it. The calm will return, I hope. #AncestralMemory #textiles #fibers

The idea of Bigfoot, a tall, ape-like creature that prowls North American forests, deeply instills ancestral memories. #bigfoot #ancestralmemory https://bigfootbeat.blog/post/757334953236299777/bigfoot-and-ancestral-memory

The idea of Bigfoot, a tall, ape-like creature that prowls North American forests, deeply instills ancestral memories. #bigfoot #ancestralmemory https://bigfootbeat.blog/post/757334953236299777/bigfoot-and-ancestral-memory

Continuance

Down these corridors 
have trod the soles of many;
the tramping boots 
of the soldier,
the flapping sandals 
of the campesino,
and now, 
I in bare feet, 
walk this dusty floor,
where shadows run 
and these walls echo
with the voices 
of the past,
the laughter 
and the tears,
silent conversations
whispered to me 
as I pass them,
old and worn,
to my room 
and the mattress 
where
another 
slept.

October 29, 1988
Managua, Nicaragua

Part of the continuing Respectful American series, a selection of writings from my travel journals from Central America in 1988