My mind keeps drifting to the big sinkhole on the corner of Montford Ave and E. Waneta.
As I understand it, water has long flowed through that area. My heart throbs in a particular way as I picture the spot as it once was, a wild old wood with water dancing through.
At some point property owners buried the flow in a stone culvert in order to create a driveway. Today, with ever increasing flushing in Asheville and other pressures on the pipes, we have a gaping hole by a sidewalk.
The water, pressed to embody its nature. The system, collapsing.
It is not unlike the hidden stories around my home. Stories I began to hear once I set the intention to seek them out. Forgotten stories of place and race which neighbors have started to tell (again). The culvert they were buried in, cracking.
The truth hurts, which is healing.
Once I heard Toshi Reagon (Octavia’s Parables Podcast) say, “There’s only one water.” It shifted my being into a deeper understanding.
There is only one water.
Neighborhoods are webs of perspectives, each with more or less to lose.
So I offer this:
Praying. Being water.
Learning from the sinkhole.
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