Medicine Paint.

An echoed call into the hallways of my lineage - 

Sacred tree rooted firmly, 

Arms holding the Earth. 

I climb and scale her trunk like a child who is unafraid, 

Eager - desperate to know herself, 

The story of her family. 

I sit and stand at the borderline, 

The precipice of two worlds. 

Always I have felt not enough of either, 

Too much for the other. 

But my tree - 

Oh she is vast, wide and hungry for me to believe there is great magic -

In being a little bit of everything. 

Magic in the sweep of the mountains that paint the yangtze 

with brush strokes from God’s own Song. 

Magic in the reparations wrought by 

two warring families brought together by love -

A cosmic resolution between oppressed and oppressor that lands in me. 

A little old Ness, Little new Ness. 

Timelessly learning how to place my feet in stable grooves and slippery bark beats, 

Raising myself up with the forearms of strength - 

Building enzymes, chromosomes, RNA, DNA, freedom ladders up to the sky. 

Trying not to wish I understood why this healing landed at my feet.

Why it is me that must honour all the tears and miles they weeped and travelled. 

In pursuit of truth. In pursuit of safety. 

Peace and tranquillity. 

This sacred responsibility, 

I have spent years trying to hide from, to deny and run from. 

Finding myself always circling back to the rivers and veins of my hands and feet. 

Thank you for blessing me with this awareness - for all the bloods you wept and tears you bled, From skin cracking under the weight of seeding hope in dark hopelessness. 

For a dream you carried in your wombs, 

Birthed and created in your small gargantuan ways. 

They made a difference.

I assure you. 

Thank you,

For this legacy.

For my medicine paint.