And I Am You

‘The Wandering Earth’ a story of connection

Times are tough, an ever teetering edge, and nobody has it completely fluid or easy, no matter how it may seem from the outside. The gutter is often a rather slippery one. I guess we are all just searching for stars where once was only light. For no matter how far we have strayed, no matter how deep into the underworld we have wandered, no matter how dark it has become —

the darkness is a call to arms, arms of light.

There is a lamp that makes everything melt. It sits on the bedside table covered in dust and melted candle wax.

I’ve decided to stop looking for this light so much, as I go about my days, waiting for the moments I can switch on and off, but rather to let it that light in, now.

At the end of the day, and in this sweet moment here, we are gifted the opportunity to start again. Again and again and again.

Sometimes returns can feel like running in circles, other times they are a passage from one moment to the next, throwing us forward in our chaos. Oftentimes, they can remind us who we are.

What has carried me through life and change and chance, has always been the human and nonhuman friends young and old, the ones that lead us home to ourselves.

Friends are like locations, or ways to be, bringing memories and experiences to vivid life and light.

A wise group of musicians once sang a truth no truer than true: ‘I get by with a little help from my friends’.

Society is built of these relationships, and in a world of blocking, separation and shutting out, it is up to us to find our arms of light.

For nobody is a stranger, really, no matter how strange.

I write a lot about grass, and roots, and their revolution against gravity.

Humans, flowers and human-flowers. Some quiet, some unseen. But each with their own story. Non human friendships have softened and grounded me — plant or animal or rock. Something I have to remember to feed or water or kiss.

The beings who show us who we are at our core. And I ask,

can we re-imagine the meaning of connection through the lens of other life forms, falling light and rain upon skin?

Does our relationship to nature — hedges, forests, foothills — reflect our relationship with eachother, with ourselves, or vice versa?

Can we write a new way of being through the eyes of animal or tree?

The following story, ‘The Wandering Earth’ was written March 2023 in Cornwall during the MA, when all things flew upwards from the roots, life was heavy, grasses light. The story was since published in January 2024 by Spellweaver Literary Magazine, a Cork based fantasy writing publication.

Here the tale of a little piece of earth goes, as he hops about and hopes for the best:

The Wandering Earth, 2023

I once hadn’t a clue what to do, a stray and sorry sod of the Earth like myself.

Who’d want me out there in the weird and weary world? Was there something worth seeing, or even ‘being’ for?  

Well I had little green tufts of hair sprouting from my scalp. They blew about there in the breeze and made me tingle - all the way down to my roots. But I was blind and dumb, and very much still embedded in the earth.  

My fungal friends, freshly born of the slime-womb, had long told me there was much to fruit for. They’d pop their little brains above ground when all was damp and dying. Once the trees had fed us their golden leaves the mushrooms rose to greet them.

They’d often encourage me to rise with them, but I,  overwhelmed by their courage and their freedom, only buried myself deeper in the earth. They’d tickle me with their spores,  telling me wild stories of blue skies, footsteps and giggles on the wind. 

I dreamed silently. 

And then, one day, I decided to wander yonder.

Emergence

I heaved myself up, bits of turf flying down into the earth from which I leapt. 

I bounced an inch along, and soon found myself in a forest of bluebells. The bluebells encouraged me to make haste - I hopped again. The sun was beaming down through a thousand tangled trees. Suddenly I saw what all my grassy hairs had been seeing all along. Then came footsteps - a fellow wanderer in my midst. 

A rubbery bootleg was before me, long tendrils lifted me higher. I was face to face with human eyes. How soft was the touch of my earth upon his skin!

I had only just ventured out of my little nook, only to find Man, my first encounter! Friend or foe? I didn’t know. 

I’d heard their voices haunt the valley before - they were bright, unsoiled.

I could hear them through many layers of soil and sediment. Can you imagine the breath of those voices to me then? They were filled to the brim with air. They seemed to be drinking or drowning in it. 

They lost themselves in the echo that the trees sang in return. 

Meeting the man was like meeting the Wind.

Long before I’d seen his face, I’d felt his bootsoles on my bristles. I had known he was out there - but not in this form, not in this pale and grave steed. 

His bark was smooth and slippery, his voice was mist. Wondering if it might wish to eat me, I hopped again - and soon found myself back in the forest of bluebells, with all of the damp and gentle things. 

A screech echoed from above - the earthling was afraid of me, a silly sod like myself! 

I giggled, and thrust myself about, sprinkling bits of fresh soil on the ground below. A poor unfortunate soul he was, to come after the likes of me! I must live up to my destiny! 

 ‘The Earth as you know it is not extinct! There is a party going on under the soil!’ I told him. Still, I couldn’t help it - I was frightened.   

But the moment is lost, before it is spent. 

Dusk was dripping in, I felt it in my roots. There was nowhere to hide in the flowers - the upper world was so wide and vast and unknown. I was no longer camouflaged in the earth, and I didn’t know, now, how to make my way back down.

Decades passed in a droplet - and the world was wet and wonderful. I was a-fuddles in the puddles. I could see only blurry but my grassy mind urged me to pick myself up and hop on. So I did. I was damp, I longed for my Mother down beneath me, and Mr. Earthy, the earthworm, and wanted to be home again. But I carried the soil and strength in my breast and continued to move forward, hop by hop. 

We were rolling down a hillside, into a patch of green. Alas, a field of bright tomorrows! Yet  it had not passed a day! I felt lucky. The shamrocks swam about me, prodding me on with force and gentry. 

That is, until I realised something - the man was following me! A demon on my trail! What vice had I now, but trickery? A lifetime in the forest had rotted me.

I decided to throw him off my path by jumping at random across the grasses. I flew left, then right, then both simultaneously. I was ambidextrous, I was blind. But I could see light in all the darkened places, and sky where the clouds should be. I jumped high and hid myself, tumbled over and threw myself. 

We had entered the field now, and I ‘hopped’ to be better able to camouflage myself. 

But I was the green of deep forest, not field, my soil almost as ancient as earth itself. This field was freshly planted, the grass so bright it burned. 

I feared the Man could still see me, and realised I was right. He followed close behind, and every move I made, no matter what way I swung myself, I returned to the same spot, and so did he.

We went about in this way for some time. The man was doing a jig for me - perhaps he was in love with me. But every time he nearly caught me, I hopped an inch away. 

The sun was still coasting down the sky when I heard another voice from up above me.

And then there were two! The new man looked fresher - as if he hadn’t been on earth very long. His face was shy of folds and wrinkles. 

‘How’s it going, are you alright my man?’

said he husky tones. The other Man remained silent, for he was lost as a feather in jigs and reels.

I continued to scatter myself about - could I confuse two Giants at once? Could I lick two leaves with one stone? 

So I kept dancing at random. And managed to find a rhythm that rocked them both in order (.. or disorder, however one hopes to see it).

Soon however, I grew weary. The forest called me back. I wanted to belong again, you see.  I wanted to return to source and to safety. 

But the moment I started pondering I stopped hopping. And the moment I stopped hopping, the spell was lost. 

We were alone, in the dusky field. I was naked and unearthed. 

The giants stopped dancing along with me. They looked around, as if awakened from some strange sleep. And the one had many questions for the other.  

I stayed still, allowing only ripples of the wind and waves of thought through me, and only field bugs fit to enter me.