“I was working with used machine oil.
Looking for ways to recycle it as art.
To honour it’s source, celebrate the ‘gift of’
When while watching it split and curl on water.
I suddenly saw it as a fat.
Like butter melted, grease that sticks, that makes watertight.
As a woman I know about fat.
Those deposits that creep, with age, onto my hips and belly, arms and thighs and buttocks,
Calling me to exercise, to balance out….that ‘too much’ weight.
Religiously reading the, small print, ingredients on today’s, packaged, nutrients.
Fat per 100 gms.
Takes more effort to burn off than to gain.
Starving myself in occasional fasts. Detox. Giving my body a break. Drinking only water.
(As do my fatty, miracle, breasts!)
Once I vividly recall seeing my own fat, in a wound that cut deep…
We can all see it now…in operation documentaries…in mammograms…in internet searches…
Human, creamy, lard.
‘Lard’ers in which, once upon a time, there used to hang whole carcasses, for a, grateful
, knife to carve off blocks of precious, tasty, fat. Raw and source unhidden. Butter churned sits on the cool, stone slabs.
Fat that dribbles, glistening, down the chins of those that gnaw bones,
Fat that keeps us either warm,
And does not wash out easily.
That stains transparent.
Then there is the necessary fat that so many, parallel, mammals, seek to build up before winters, bitter, teeth bite.
Protective warming fat.
In some countries viewed as beauty…. as a sign of wealth.
Ganesh dances, wobbling his happy belly, laughing, somewhere far away.
My inner bear shakes its skin in ripples of glorious layered muscle and fat.
We press seeds and nuts to glean their nourishing fat reserves.
Squeeze them til only husk remains.
Bottling in graded, filtered, qualities of amber.
We extract it’s very future.
As we extract her similar, natural, oils?
I wonder whose fat are we now wearing?
The animal’s and seed’s?
In the fragile, Gaian, systems, we ignore at our peril,
Where no thing goes to waste and all spins in cycles,
Something is going to my waist, certainly, slowing me down!
I can feel her relief as this happens! Her gratitude!
Is this crude, black gold….that we extract, cut out and murder for,
The eons of collected layered composting life,
Is this the Earth’s FAT?
Assuming that our planet is a live complex organism?
Stored in ancient seams of coal and, younger, boiling oil,
Perhaps she is becoming chilled to her very bones.
Physically stripped of her protective resources….
Perhaps it was serving the simple purpose of keeping her core warm as she turns in a vast, freezing, universe? Insulation.
The movement of her warm breath providing another, invisible, layer, of cooling winds….
Like a clay water pot in India….breathing…to cool.
Her timeline knows wonders we will never be privy to.
Perhaps it was designed for some other future possible stress?
If I imagine being her, it feels as if it is being taken faster than I produce it.
I know what I do when I feel chilled.
I put more layers on.
I move faster, jump about a bit, blow on my hands.
Might she too accelerate to get warmer?
So she turns up the dial?
Tunes her flows to warming,
Because, simply, if she gets too cold, at core, she will die?
So, yes, caused by us, but not only due to our warming…..but also by our taking, what was not ours to take, and in consuming that, resulting in polluting, that then is banging holes in her ‘space helmet’!
I used to believe that the Christians got the teaching of Hell all backwards, or had had their doctrine manipulated, by commission, in some way, along the line…probably, most heavily, around the time of the industrial revolution…
‘Underworlds’, ‘hell fire’, ‘hot’, ‘smokey’, ‘lorded over by Satan’…..it was all an obvious warning not
to go there….notably the ‘Devil’ (excluding the, contentious, serpent in the original creation story) first appears in the old testament personified as a King Tyre! A vast amount of time before we raided the Earth’s resources.
It was meant as a warning.
I clearly see the bringing up and consuming/monetising of oil to fuel our artificial ‘fires’ as worshipping false idols, entering the market place and arguably, therefore, a kind of, historical, devil worship. And to model their ‘fallen angel of evil incarnate’ on the Morning Star, Venus, and then shape him into the, previously beloved, forest dwelling, prankster and lover, Pan, was surely no coincidence…just intelligent, greedy, manipulation of guilt and propaganda.
Now this ‘feeling’ musing brings it even closer home.
It seems we cannot all just stop making the Earth more beautiful in our eyes.
Giving her free liposuction, cutting out her ‘ugly’ bits, and expecting her to be grateful!
‘You deserve it’ echoes of L’Oreal ring in my whirring brain.
Dancing around our artificial fires, blinded by our genius.
While totally neglecting her.
She demonstrates her suffering in the only way that she has learned how to get our attention!
For where was once a firm, fatty, giving nipple,
I see wrinkles and pruning and dryness.
Cracks and violent rashes.
Dry skin and raw patches.
I feel her molten, desperate, need to create new virgin land.
Laval land that for millions of years cannot sustain us, but can green,
Her need to increase her ocean cloak and melt her glaciers
To blow her seeds far and wide, to reach these virgin soils,
Winding up her tired heart pump with hurricanes and tsunamis
I feel her shouting out and yearn to respond, in kindness and appreciation.
Some say she has more than enough, that what we take is tiny, but I am in Scotland and know the mighty irritation of a midge , or a flea and what a difference, even a thin, extra, layer can make in warding off the cold!
We cannot put it back.
We can plant more trees to shade her,
Creating, at least, the hope of future sustainability.
Wrap a cooling, green blanket around her skinny ribs
Help her ease her breathing.
We can seek out new ways to fire our imaginations
Redefine our definition of power.
Do what she tells us….slow down….
And try and ‘feed the world’ again.
Help her put on a few pounds.
Put a few pounds onto her.
(Into her. Literally ££££’s!)
Add our weight to hers.
Let her begin again to build up her reserves and glow with health.
A plump, bountiful, planet again,
or, at least, help make her as comfortable as we can,
For even planets are subject to time and wear.”
I do not know ‘what’ this is…a poem…an essay….a scream or howl…or a prayer….
I only know that these words came in response to something I was ‘shown’….my clumsy response.
Not sure I’ve ever heard the idea that Earth is getting colder, due to us stripping her layers away, before! Certainly not on a scientific platform. Perhaps once before in a certain ‘being the Earth’, experimental, workshop performance….an experience that left the woman who ‘played Earth’ weak and inconsolable….a feeling I know well.
All in the air…..so much hot wind….time to look down again….
The initial streamers of lightening, from a storm-cloud, descend, looking for a path of least resistance. When they find it, and ground, that stroke that comes up from the ground is the brilliant flash we all see…..the response.