People watch as a convoy of truckers and other vehicles travel in front of the former Kamloops Indian Residential School in support of the Tk’emlups te Secwepemc people after the remains of 215 children were discovered buried near the facility, in Kamloops, Canada, on June 5, 2021. – Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau on June 4 urged the Catholic Church to “take responsibility” and release records on indigenous residential schools under its direction, after the discovery of remains of 215 children in unmarked graves. (Photo by Cole Burston / AFP) (Photo by COLE BURSTON/AFP via Getty Images)
For more information on The Eastland and the tragedy that befell it’s crew and passengers, please visit The Eastland Disaster Historical Society and share it’s story so that the loss that occurred on the Chicago River may never be forgotten.
This poem was inspired by Caitlin Doughty and her coverage of The Eastland at her Youtube channel here, at Ask A Mortician. Please enjoy her other content as well! She is a treasure and a real leader in the death positivity moment, a group aiming to change the way we view, explore, and experience death as a culture and society.
Motherhood: Letting there be less of me so there might be more of you. Making myself smaller so that there’s room for you to grow. In that lessening, my heart grows with you. Larger and more wonderous every day.
I need the rain like I need the sun.
All the way down to my water starved roots.
Thunder speaks to me,
Gently,
Joyfully,
Shouting over the rooftops for every woman to hear.
For every girl-witch
Who dances for rain,
Spinning
Laughing
Leaping.
‘Drink deeply of life and of passion‘
It whispers.
‘Let your lips be wet While your life songs spill forth.’
Like the clear, cool, clean rain
That kisses my head with every drop.
A wonderful way,
To be,
To see,
Explore,
Adore.
To long,
For song.
To will
The currents move
Against my skin,
As does the wind
Tug errant strands
Of flaxen grain,
An innumerable legion
Of seeds like grains of sand
On the shores of my dreamworld,
So very far from this one.
…Words from the author…
So in this one, I pictured a girl who dreams of adventure and of seeing the sea for the very first time but it’s trapped by the middle-America, Wheat-belt tiny town that she calls home. This is her reflecting on how even on a beautiful, blissful summer day, all she wants is to be elsewhere. On the beach that she dreams of, feeling the water on her skin. Can any of us say that we’ve never had a similar dream before? 😉
We were walking to my mother’s home just the net street over after two weeks of zero contact. Both of us were practically frothing to see our family.
We were all so close. ‘The Maxwell Clan’, as a college history professor had joked during roll call when my mum, sister, and I all shared his class together. My family was so accustomed to seeing one another regularly. It was completely normal to get surprise visits and drop ins just to hang out or say hello or even to just bring some treat or another by. Simply because we had been thinking about them.
We loved one another completely and the quarantines had been wearing on us all. Little Maxwell was over the moon to see her Nana but that fact certainly didn’t stop her from taking her sweet. freaking. time getting there. She stopped for every little flower or ditch. Every blade of grass.
My patience had worn rapidly thin.
‘But why?’ I thought suddenly, ‘Why am I in such a hurry? Why am I getting aggravated right now?’
It wasn’t as if we were on a time crunch or had anywhere in particular to be. There were no appointments this afternoon and no particular rush to get back home. The day was our oyster, so why? It took me only a moment or two of quiet contemplation, watching my daughter slide down the side of a driveway embankment as if she were on the jungle gym, before the answer started to reveal itself to me.
Our motivations as children and adults are inherently different.
As a child, we are simply along for the journey, taking the world as it comes. They are in the passenger seat of the car, watching and enjoying the beautiful scenery as it goes by rather than the driver, having to navigate the twisting and often treacherous road ahead.
As grown-ups were so focused on the end goal. Getting from one place to the next, doing what we needs to be done and completely the task so we can move on to the next, then the next, in perpetuity.
But she embraces the adventure of the journey. Step-stepping back and forth across the ditch and stopping to pick wildflowers and interesting rocks, little finds that may or may not make it back into the house with us. To stop as I pointed out the sneaky poison ivy and observing it’s almost hand-shaped leaves. Little light up tennis shoes sparked with every jump and determined step as she danced and explored the road ahead.
Her little face lights up with every new discovery and challenge undertaken. When had we as adults lost that? At what point in life did we stop jumping into challenges or reaching out towards discovery with all of the curiosity of a puppy in a pet store? When had we compressed our spirits? Tucked in the edges of ourselves and made ourselves smaller, more dense as a result?
And who had we done it for?
Sometimes we get low, Sometimes we get down, There are nights when I just Want to lay on the ground.
And not get back up, The thought makes me sick When I think of all the things I’d miss out on if I did.
We all reach a point Where the fight gets old And it’s hard to hang onto Those things you have and hold
Like where’s my point North The direction that I head? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wishing I was-
Well, you get the idea But as the battles wear on, At times, I look down At the ground that I’m upon,
And wish that I could sleep For just a thousand years or so To rest and to dream To sleep and to slow
All of the stresses That impresses Upon my mind, They need addressing
It’s relentless, All this pressure, Quarantined With too much leisure.
With all the doubts news spitting out People screwing up their thoughts Breathing in the “truths”, Smog from clickbait bots
Until there are so many fears To clammer in your brain Media voices in your head Pouring down like acid rain.
Eroding holes Into the hearts of Man, Wearing away our foundations Breaking them down to just sand.
Seeing my own eroding curiosity mirrored back in opposite brought a sort of sickened realization and, in response, a determination. I never wanted to lose my love of learning, of discovery, exploration, of play.
Giving her a grin, I whistled over to her. Those beloved ocean eyes turned on me with an ansering smile.
“Race you!”
With Peace and Passion (and every growing curiosity!)
It is not a grand display. Not the blazing flame or Writhing romance. An all-consuming wildness Written of like flights of birds Sailing forth from the pens of olden poets That did, does, and will Make hearts flutter and cheeks flush. Breaths quicken and pulses race.
Ours is none of those things. Those impassioned, peacocking displays, More to be seen than experienced. Witnessed rather than felt.
It is a quiet thing. The silent, unassuming fading in Of the stars as day sinks to night. Absent one moment but then From out of the gloom Gleaming in their seeming fragility. It is the creeping root beneath dark soil That grounds and nourishes the great oak. So slowly does it wind inside that To watch, it would go unseen. Appearing still and inanimate. Seemingly, dreamingly, A thing lost in thought, easily missed If you but forget to raise your eyes to That heavenly firmament.
It is there but for the being. The reason without the reasoning. The raison d’etre. The life before death. The all that is and all that will be. For us, you and me, Our dream in this dream.
Little Journeys Everywhere 