Refugia is built of interwoven silvering stories
We must tell stories. We must each become storytellers.
The body is a transient lamina, we are migrating water systems, migrating story tellers. Sticky silvery rivers of peoples, animals, all bringing in sounds - a constant clatter of streaming needles dropping endlessly onto the marble floor of a temple, pouring, ringing out, many monstrous consciousnesses that arrived here as hurtling comets, or from deep below the biocrust of this egg in womb-like space. A domed ceiling crumbles in on itself. Whichever way, maybe both, if some water is troubled all life is troubled.
Search for the silvering threading strings within the real and unreal worlds of stories, we can build stories to help us understand one another. Storytelling has the ability to hold open time and space for those in suffering, stretch the loops, the ripples.
In many stories, it is a string or a thread within the forest, underworld, cave or maze that leads the protagonist back home. We are each this protagonist, and we must realize that this string is both a part of the forest, and of ourselves. The string is running through the trunks of the trees, the swamps, the flint, the bog bodies, the other animals, the microbes. We must find each other's sticky strings, threading everything together to enable us to understand how we got here, where we are going, who and what we have sacrificed along the way - and asking ourselves as we do so, was it really worth it? No? Well, maybe we can change the story. Sparing and remaking. The stories of the sacrificed ones are multispecies stories. Who and what we are today is all down to countless millions of other story strings.
We must tell stories.