Julia: A Berliner at heart, I’m working to develop a gentler form of mobility, one that preserves nature.
“ Burning sun that irrigates the earth
Of its shyest rays
The infinite motion of solar particles
Comes to caress the invisible world
Alive and immense is the earth that nourishes us
The one from which I draw my inspiration
When my hands plunge into its folds
And my eyes are watching
The inseparable worms
Swirling and revelling
Millions of years
That lie beneath our feet “
Nina, Mamue and Plum have produced ‘Ce monde n’est pas fait pour nous’, a choral documentary on the ecofeminist movement as embodied today within the Voix Déterres collective.
“ Here, I try to understand you
But I’m afraid I don’t speak the language
Do the saxifrages want me?
Can I use your first name?
I feel like we know each other.
But your rocks aren’t my age
You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you talking to yourself?
Every stone has its own language that I don’t understand
Do the roots find a path beneath them?
What was there before, those who bloomed, wept, danced Those, those places there
Do you miss them?
I cling to the places that remain, to the people who, to this
I burn, I’m consumed
You don’t care
If I ever try
I press my ear against your damp earth
In the hope of hearing the chelaidonia take root
I stop for fear of being too quick to see you
To feel your vibrations
Even standing still isn’t enough
A stone chip falls on a dandelion
Oh Pardon Every stone has its language
Here, groping, thousands of ants
They whisper beneath the rocks
As if not to let me hear their innermost secrets
Do they tickle you? you must seem huge to them
Do you like the rain on your insides?
You smell of moisture
That’s your charm I wonder how tall you are
If you get along with your neighbors
If you’re scared I’d like to reassure you
But I’m scared too
And maybe you’re not afraid, maybe you don’t understand
Or if
You understand all too well
Your vibrating arteries
Water flows over your stones”.
Nina
“ When I get my hands in the dirt… I get it under my fingernails. Dry fingers, dark tips, it bothers me, it seeps in. I need water to separate myself from it, to find myself again.
What if I agreed to be infiltrated? To become other, to be inseparable and inseparable, to cling to her as she clings to me, slowly etching herself in my fingerprints?
What if I let the earth crack me? Dries me out? Darken me?
Perhaps then I could allow light and water to make my buds blossom. “
Mamue
“ The sip of water slips from my gourd, touching my lips.
A few drops fall on the still-green grass, moistening the well-hidden moss.
It’s a little sweet, tastes of iron and mixes with my saliva.
She slips into the dry earth, which swells slightly on contact.
The coolness in my throat brings my body temperature down immediately.
The sun has already evaporated the drops that didn’t soak in.
The soil is now more compact. An earthworm wriggles between grains and stones to reach the moist soil.
The second sip I take is a little warmer.
Water reaches a root anchored deep in the soil. She too drinks, feels its fleeting freshness.
I’m very thirsty. She saves me.
Three stones move on contact. They creak. Every stone has its own language.
Naked, I’m tiny, wrapped in earth, rocks, roots and worms. The border of my body no longer exists.
The earth is thirsty too.
Angry earth, exhausted earth, living earth. “
Plum, ecofeminist activist
Fanny Steyer is a journalist and member of the ecofeminist association Positive Lab in Berlin. In her spare time, she tries to read or listen to podcasts, but most of the time she finds herself observing the people around her and noting what they’re saying (it’s much more fascinating).
“ When I put my hands in the earth, I feel a certain power. A feeling the feeling of taking root. The earth is decomposing and so is this text.
Earth
compost
I can feel the earth slipping through my fingers. The angry earth sticks under my fingernails.
What if I let the gentleness and calm of this land take hold of me completely? If I let my eyes closed and sniffed this earth? It smells like a quiet cave
the mountain stream
the crackling fire.
This land is my home. And yet I’m a city girl, but regularly I need to reconnect with the city. her. To feel the magic roots beneath my feet. To look up and see nothing but trees and the sky.
I’ve always thought that screaming at the top of your lungs in an empty forest must be jouissif.
Extracting my anger, my frustration, extracting the pressure, freeing myself by shouting and hugging a tree.
To feel the green bark of this tree under my fingers. Caress this bark. The tree is thousands of years old speaks in a voice that’s soft yet serious. What’s he telling me? The noise of the city still prevents me from hear it.
In fact, I need to take a nature bath regularly just to breathe. The city can drive you mad, and so can loneliness. Nature doesn’t lie and I love this clarity. “
Christian: A not very literary polyglot lost in a writing workshop.
“ When I put my hands in the earth…
It’s dark and I can’t feel anything. I’m lost… Am I lost?
Could this place be the beginning, the start of everything? Or rather the end?
Curiosity takes me by surprise, there’s no turning back, I venture in, drawn by the darkness – I want to lose myself, delve deeper and discover.
I’m heading right… or is it down? I don’t know anymore – having lost all orientation, however I feel this is the right path.
It’s getting warmer and more humid, which reassures me.
I’m continuing in this vein and the further along I get, the better I feel.
It’s a labyrinth in which there seems to be no way out – no singular way out – there are an infinite number – I know this, and yet I’m far from any exit at the moment. The warm, damp path has stopped, I’m now in a field of rocks, I lift one, slowly, only to be immediately surprised by another that blocks my way, I have to make a detour.
Suddenly, other stones are moving. Could this have gone too far?
A tremor, albeit slight, but nonetheless directed at me – I must escape, save myself. I breathe deeply, the spicy smells around me making me dizzy, close my eyes and jump… I jump, not knowing where, when the cold surprises me, wakes me up – the power of the current takes me to a new dimension. Water, so precious, so protective, will have saved me, without my having asked for it. It’s always there, in abundance, to take me on journeys, to feed me, to wash me, to look after me.
I’m moving through this new world and yet I’m still in the same labyrinth.
It’s still as dark as ever, but I can feel more movement around me, roots tickling me, unfamiliar beings accompanying me, asking me to go with them.
We grab hold of an oar and follow it to change altitude.
This whole world is new, mysterious and yet lulls me, starting to feel familiar.
It’s everything I need. This labyrinth is a circle, a multitude of unique paths, isolated exits, and yet I ask myself why I want to get out? I find the balance I need, fulfillment, serenity, warmth, cold, stability – I stay here… “
If these texts have inspired you, we invite you to reproduce the exercise at home, alone or with others, thanks to the content of Hélène Coron’s workshop, which will guide you through the process:
Capitalism has robbed us of our ancestral knowledge of the land, how to care for it, make it fertile, nourish it so that it in turn nourishes us. Urbanization and industrialization have replaced this age-old link with a mortifying relationship with the living. Farmers-ice-s, the-them which are the basis of our livelihood, are more precarious than ever.-e-s, marginalized-e-s : 529 suicides in 2016 included the 1.6 million members of the agricultural scheme aged 15 and over.
Today, I invite you to dig, (un)compose, explore, visit, to reclaim our relationship with the earth, through a creative and magical tool : poetry.
