Written by Lia Pas
The river might say movement & flexibility are how we must shift. We must flow. The river might say sometimes the surface is an illusion of stillness but meet a slope & everything tumbles over. The river might say water (life) is silky, clear, & sweet. Reflective the sun that shines in us in greens & in the rustle of leaves a moving mirror, forested a tumbling brook with smooth dark stones. This smoothing takes years until stones become treasures held close in a child's palm or gathered altar-like on a windowsill. This smoothing takes years. The riverbank might say being (human) is grounding waiting. Hold these stones catch glimpses of what is beneath water (life). The riverbank might say being (human) is fertile. Grow the green to make what is (beautiful). Love the decay the shift of seasons so short-lived & wild restless with change. Learn to sit & let the clear water (life) smooth these stones. Let leaves fall, decay & feed new growth. Be still in winter. Collect branches like letters on the shore runic & meaningful. Let the wind rustle above as the trees root down into us saying we are here to be held & then hold them. Know their roots drinking through us. We are filters. Gather what is good & let the rest go. Gather what is good & let the rest stand. hold hold hold flow flow flow
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Lia Pas is a disabled Canadian multidisciplinary artist. She has published one book and two chapbooks of poetry and works in image, text, and sound exploring body and states of being. Her anatomy-themed embroideries have been featured in many online galleries and are part of the Sask Arts permanent collection.