Words move me. The richness of language speaks to my soul. Poetics, music, song, art...all to be savoured.
These words belong to Anita Diamart from the book 'The Red Tent'
We have been lost to each other for so long. My name means nothing to you. My memory dust. This is not your fault or mine. The chain connecting mother to daughter was broken and the work was left to the keeping of men, who had no way of knowing...
And now you come to me - women with hands and feet as soft as queens, with more cooking pots than you need, so safe in child-beds and so free with your tongues. You come hungry for the story that was lost. You crave words to fill the great silence that swallowed me and my mothers and grandmothers before them.
I wish I had more to tell of my grandmothers. It is terrible how much has been forgotten, which is why, I suppose, remembering seems a holy thing.
I am grateful that you have come. I will pour out everything inside of me so you may leave this table satisfied and fortified. Blessings on your eyes. Blessings on your children. Blessings on the ground beneath you. My heart is a ladle of sweet water, brimming over.
Selah