leastaction

is more a feeling than a question. I have felt this a few times in my life, and I'm sure you have too. It is a feeling centered in the belly, an unusual alertness formed by a mix of thrill and fear, with a pinch of regret. It is heightened by the inevitability of the situation. I felt it not so long ago when I found myself, exhausted after more than a full day of flight, my biological clock completely at odds with the energy of the hot Indian night, pulling my suitcase along an interminable walkway in Mumbai airport, surrounded by hundreds of people returning home, families, business people, young, old and everything in between. “I” on the other hand was completely alone, and literally on the other side of the world. Part of my brain knew why I was doing this, but that was the administrative part, the one that had received the invitation and done all the paperwork, got the visa and smiled confidently at the immigration officer, the one that had arrived at the various gates on time and knew the name of the hotel. But the other me, that had been dragged into this world literally kicking and screaming in the spring of 1950, the one that lives in my belly and has no language, didn't understand.

So it is now. My administrative part has done all his homework, found a blogging platform, learned to use it, how to post from the terminal, how to upload an image, how to link to Mastodon. But the one who resides in my belly is lagging behind as usual, and is wondering

why am I doing this.

So bear with me while I explain this to him, again. Because he is the one who is going to do all the writing.

I'm doing this because I'm growing older. As you do, you begin to synthesize your experiences. You begin to make some sense of the world. You have a different sense of time, you think in terms of decades and even generations. You see further into the past, and into the future also. You tell stories because other people like to hear them, just like you've always liked to hear other people's stories. You realize your life, your consciousness, is a gift, and you want to give it away in turn. My Métis friend Russ gave me one day an abalone shell and some sage, and told me that this was something that you don't buy or sell, but you get it from someone and when it feels right, you give it to someone. Thus it passes from person to person. You are a temporary custodian.

Here, then, are my stories. All my relations.