the Art of Nesting

I wrote this poem when a group of friends and I were working in a food forest together. We slept in what we called “The Big Bed”, usually four of us together but at times we were six. Every night when we settled in for sleep, we individually spent at least 5 minutes arranging our pillows and blankets. As I was hilariously watching my neighbors arranging their sleep-space, I was catapulted to an alternate dimension where I could see small animals preparing their nest and I could see such similarity in our ‘bed prep’. I laughed and told my neighbor, Kush, “are you making yourself a nest?”

That moment sparked an idea within me. I wrote this poem the next day.

‘The Big Bed’ and its occupants… From the lefthand side, I’m the third one in line.

the Art of Nesting

i’ve curiously observed animals

setting themselves up for snuggles

finding a place to lie, gathering supplies

recollecting old lullabies


first, a comprehensive look is taken at the place of rest

the length, the depth, and the comfiness is assessed

then, a Great Gathering takes place

essential creativity in setting up this microspace


the basics, the classics; fabrics and blankets

pillows and fellows; inconspicuous banjos

secret stashes of snacks rescuing insomniacs

well out of sight for the soon-to-be amnesiacs


massaging pillows, getting the right consistency

arranging everything to be all warm and fuzzy

the lucky ones with a partner

get to solve the puzzle of their limbs together


so such is the Art of Nesting

its adepts perform it with playful undertaking

if ever you find yourself engages, about to commit

remember to relish every single moment of it.

plant song

When I was a child – and still to this day – my mother kept a panoply of plants in the house. I didn’t think much of them then; I thought plants were part of a house, like a piece of furniture. That everyone had plants in their house. I watched them flowering dearly and marvelled with my mom at the beauty of their blossoms. It was only later on when I moved out of the house and brought my room’s plants with me that I realized the sacredness of keeping house plants.

easter cactus flowering ahead of time…

I found myself connecting with them somehow. Hearing their begging for water when they needed it, for nutrients or for a soil refreshment. It sounds peculiar, but it’s the only way I can explain it. They spoke to me.

Watering them and tending to them became a ritual, a meditation. I was so wholly present with them; I started hearing their gratefulness. Maybe it’s all in my head, maybe I’m crazy, but it doesn’t matter. Because what I hear and what I feel when I connect with the plants is Divinity itself. Nature.

Eternally beautiful African Violet

I wrote this poem to explain my feelings and thoughts on it.

plant song

earthly consciousness

shaping sunlight into nourishment

I bow to your sacredness

as you remain pure in contentment

 

I pour you Father Sky’s tears

vital to your internal processes

subtle change in vibration; music to my ears

the distinction between us has blurred edges

 

as I sing my love to you internaly

you sing of gratefulness lovingly

a melody of impressions so diverse

yours is my favorite sound in the Universe.

Reinvention by Nikita Gill

Reinvent yourself.
Over and over again.
Plant new wildflowers
into your spirit.
Set a wildfire inside yourself
and then regrow.
Take the wildest thing about you
and nurture it till it blossoms.
Tend to the sea that resides
inside your heart
and listen to it’s storms
wash you anew.

How else will you let go
of everything
that causes
such terrible harm.
If you are still
living inside the old you,
the person
who was so damaged by it all?

‘blue lady’ colouring pencil on paper
by Bee

the river

darling, there’s no need to figure everything out now

no use in getting stuck in cycles of thoughts, asking ‘how?’

 

there is only the present to simultaneously look forwards and backwards to

cultivating the appropriate intentions and remembering the Tao of Pooh

 

for your reality is shaped by the lens through which you see the world

this choice that you make will distinguish the grain of sand from the pearl

 

it’s in these fuzzy moments of confusion that we become out of tune

countless nightless hours of worry and delusion will only bring us gloom

 

so we keep fostering and embodying the river’s flowing energy

coming and going without thought; as the Source is connected to it perfectly.