Carry Water

An Exploration of Gender through Time Travel

I enter trance during a craniosacral healing, and my cells begin to hum.

Soft blue and red ink cover her arms and legs, dyed with tansy and clay, she is a walking imprint of Earth’s fractals. She is tall and broad, stronger than any woman I have ever seen, with the muscles and jawline of a warrior.

I watch her dreads become honey, sticking upon her neck as the summer heat evaporates the surface of the winding river. Crouching down, she becomes a hillscape of bodacious curvatures sculptures would imagine thousands of years later. Except her details will be erased: her sinewy frame etched with stories, unruly locks braided and skin scarred from hunting. She won’t have the legs of a leader or the shoulders of a fisher.

So we will forget : the androgyny of being human.

I walk next to her as she takes the path to her village. The smell of ancient plants waft into my skin like a sponge when it finds water. My body becomes an essential oil of constituents, and a yearning of an unknown number of years finally softens. I make a note to return to this time and be with these plant spirits, but for now I am being led elsewhere.

The brush clears but the salty air clings, and I notice the tears slowly gathering in my eyes. The men are grinding roots into medicine, while some carry children, weightless in the strength of their arms. They are laughing and playing, tending to the meat over the flames and sweeping the floors of their huts. I see more women too, breastfeeding calm babies while the men hold hands and sing lullabies.

But I see all of this through lenses of gender conditions and programs from the time I am existing. And when I notice this, I become seen by the people. They continue about as usual, with the collective telepathic knowing there is someone visiting. But I am one of many, because on this timeline there is no separation of living and dead, of traveling and regression.

Something quakes in the deep subcutaneous fascia, and a circuitry layer of patriarchy lifts. Even in this modern deconstruction and spectrum of masculine and feminine energy, there is still so much I have no idea about.

I question each belief like pulling upon strings, and instead of self-judgement I let them play music. It’s a song of harmony, symbiosis and flow. They do not separate energy, role, task, frequency, expectation, creation.

The village talks to me about Human. And for the first time, I notice how I have been seeing the spelling. I always read it as Hu - Man, but what if it’s Hum - An?

I remember the humming I heard when I arrived to this time and place.

Everyone is carrying water. Everyone is farming and playing, eyes like storybooks written by elders. They are one village, one organism, one consciousness, all grounded and centralized around the creation and sustainability of life — pregnancy, children, elders, harvest, breath, song and dance. And each villager has their personal energy channel through body, streaming from the same source. And this is where their gifts come from, their contribution to the whole.

My fascia wove a new story —

At the center, we can all be sensitive and creative and loving, because we are all one body, each a cell of the whole, each a full spectrum facet glistening like light across the rivers and oceans.

Thank you for reading <3

This journey was from the time before the ancient Pictish people of the Celtic Isles. When I did my research rabbit hole afterward, I learned they are called The Unnamed, forming various tribes, yet attuned with Earth’s traditions and rituals.

Because time is quantum, all things can be co-occurring. There are still people existing in similar ways today. And with our imaginations, we can learn our human way again.

I am opening Mentorship spaces for Clairvoyant Development this Spring. And I am playing with the idea of this being a group container where you can practice reading and being read by classmates.

Send me an email if it resonates!

rainbowearthmedicine@gmail.com