#sand and memory

[urbanglitterfolk]

The song of cicadas

There have been many times in my life when I have envied foolish women, like Daisy Buchanan. My mother knows this, and when I say it, she just laughs. She laughs because, thanks to her genes, ambition, and dedication, her daughters are not the dazzlingly foolish women of The Great Gatsby. I suppose that’s why I’m here, hiding from mosquitoes in the middle of nowhere in the Peruvian high jungle, like a child playing at camp, with scraped knees and a few cuts on my feet, still chasing after something I can no longer name—a feeling, a state of consciousness.

The mountains greet me with a nonchalant attitude, their familiarity disarms me. They feel so known yet so distant, like the sand I find in my swimsuit—I don’t know if it’s from yesterday or months ago—but none of that matters. All I know is that where there’s sand, there’s happiness.

Six o’clock arrives, and I am ready. I had picked out my dress for the ceremony months ago. I had spent more time than I care to admit thinking about what to wear, but nature had other plans.

"Ready whenever you are!" I text Mayra. She, the hotel owner, is doing me the favor of driving me to the Ashram and introducing me to Don Alberto (we’ll call him “Don” even though he introduced himself as just Alberto—out of respect for his role as a medicine man). Mayra offered to stay with me, but, frankly, I’d rather be stung by a wasp again that same day than force someone to witness and listen to me vomit all night.

I feel like a tribute girl from an ancient tribe, yet not quite. To feel like a tribute girl, I needed my dress.

The sound of cicadas is so loud that it drowns out my thoughts, like an alarm. Mayra, now my friend, mentions that to her, they sound like sirens. At this, I only smile. Always with the sirens.

She doesn’t know that my house is filled with siren crafts, that it all started with a gift and has now become the leitmotif of my home. She doesn’t know that six years ago, when I decided to become the person I longed to be, I felt like I was drowning in the waves while trying to surf, and there, for the first time, I heard the sea. Since that day, the sea, the sirens, and I have been interconnected in ways too numerous to count. But they always appear when something is about to happen, and that’s why I’m here—trying to understand what comes next.

The ceremony began with chants and tobacco. I spent the night in an Ashram in the ecological reserve, where, just hours earlier, I had seen a python (which gave me more nausea than my first dose). The tobacco-infused liquid reminded me of the worst Marlboro hangover of my life. I looked at the stars, felt the guardians, took a deep breath.

On the second dose, the ayahuasca arrived, announced by drums in a giant wave of dolphins and sirens who, though new to me, carried the same intimate familiarity that only the medicine can bring.

I saw the Pacha’s web, the spider, the ant. I saw my mother’s womb. I saw my own womb. But more than anything, I saw myself—I saw myself at 29, 15, 10, 5, and 3 years old. And I saw myself seeing myself, speaking to myself, in suppressed memories that now feel like déjà vu.

I remembered that I have always been there. That, to me, time and space are not linear. And that even though I cannot see myself now, my future self already holds everything I most desire.

It became clear that this time, I wasn’t meant to look ahead but to go back to the beginning. Yet I couldn’t get there. I would have liked to, but it wasn’t the moment.

María Sabina invited me into her body. I traveled to the Peruvian jungle only for an eagle to be absorbed by a tree. I have never been particularly patriotic, but this message had already been given to me—of course, I had ignored it. But it is no coincidence that I am flooded with tears whenever I speak of my home, nor is it a coincidence that when my home found its place, my body disintegrated.

The journey ends almost as quickly as it begins; I step outside to look at the stars, the cicadas continue. I think of my friend Ally and a haiku that began one of his, now many, documentaries: "Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests, they are about to die."

I think this journey began six years ago, out of fear of dying without having truly lived. And a year ago, I understood that it all begins in the mind. I understood my achievements as just that—achievements, not coincidences. That’s why I write today.

Here, in the middle of nowhere, yet at the center of the planet’s lungs, I know that every breath brings me closer to death—but also to joy. Alas, more time than life.

[margocooper]

Путешествие цветов одуванчика по весенним водам. Май 24.The journey of dandelion flowers along spring waters. May 24.

[nobeerreviews]

History fades into fable; fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy; the inscription molders from the tablet: the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids, what are they but heaps of sand; and their epitaphs, but characters written in the dust?

-- Washington Irving

(Roma)

[nonoel-art]

Memories Made of Sand ✨ I am thrilled to finally get to share my contribution to the @sun-of-alabasta-zine 💙I had so much fun working on this project with so many other talented creators ✨

[imstuckin1999]

Sand animals 🦎🐬🐍🐸🦀

[chimerical-daydreams]

Okay so this idea took hold of my brain

The group goes to a restaurant or something and at the host stand is a bottle of sparkling lightless sand for decoration, the owner doesn’t remember where they got it but it looks nice

Look through the sands of time, find what is missing.

Bonus:

[longreads]

“Building a sandcastle has no stakes: if it turns out poorly, you can smooth it into a clean slate. Perhaps I knew, even then, that sand is not simply material, but the embodiment of limitless possibility, the very substance of dreams.”

In today's new Longreads essay, "Remembered Coast," Zining Mok writes about sand, the sea, and reclamation. It's a gorgeous story in which she excavates layers of history—in Singapore and in her own family.

Read “Remembered Coast” on Longreads.

[emaadsidiki]

Breathless Views 🌊🕊️ Breathless Runs 🏃💨

[nonnienautskie]

🗓️Throwback Thursday⏰ 2007 - 18 years ago also known as the time when I still had small boobies😂

☀️ "Throwback Thursday reminds me: the sun still shines just like it did back then — warm, golden, and full of promise."🏖️

(website: http://onlyfans.com/nonnie_40dd)

[lyfrassireddatsct]

The next dream that Stell led the group into felt like Remembered's universe once again, but there was once again no sign of them. Instead, yet another version of Marius von Raum sat in what seems to be his room on the Aurora. There are notes on the walls, attempts at drawings that have faded and twisted, pictures that have turned wrong.

Some appear to be dissolving. One picture, more distinct than the rest, shows a figure disappearing, piece by piece.

He doesn't look up at the sound of footsteps. Doesn't do anything but close his eyes tighter.

"If you don't know their name, keep walking," he said, sounding far, far too tired. "And-- and if you're going to tell me it's my fault, I--"

"You."

"Oh, joy. Dagr." Memory's eyes blink open, just enough to take in the group. "And friends. I-- this isn't a part of the dream, is it?"

[kagoutiss]

the shadow gathers you unto itself

[isaranatheninth]

SPOILERS FOR NTN:

I love the idea Nona eats dirt and stuff, not because she is a Silly Weirdo (whom i LOVE btw don't get me wrong) but because she's the Earth Incarnate.

Its like that 'if i eat one pound of nacho cheese when im 99lbs, ill be 1% nacho cheese' post from forever ago

What's even better is imagining what the hell was going through Cam and Pals brains when nona was eating cigarette butts and sand and rocks?? like who did they attribute that trait too?? on the one had, probably Gideon because she's a weirdo who does weird stuff, and who are Pal and Cam to say what she Did or Did Not do in her free time??? But Harrow also had rampant anemia and maybe this is some odd 9th house ritual that, while misguided, could technically work if it wasn't so medically Wrong

[calypsolemon]

bauhauzzo has near-omniscience over the past, click clack can percieve everything happening in the present, and huzzle has prescience over all possible futures. send tweet

[dustykneed]

i humbly ask for more liquid feral creature (cat bones)

don't mind the decaf... i have nothing against decaf i just needed something silly for him to really hate for no reason (to spock's amusement)

[soracities]

Kahlil Gibran, excerpts from Sand and Foam [ID in ALT]

[arturizmo]

By the sea 🌊