profile

Kali Boehle-Silva

Collections 6: memory

Published almost 3 years ago • 1 min read

Hi! I'm so glad you're here. This week's collection is about memory - how it shapes us, invidually and collectively, how it's passed down, what it teaches us.

a bouquet of flowers with yellow centers and white/pink petals, two clay bowls, one brown and one grey, and a book with a green cover and a watercolor of four black people sitting in a canoe sit on a wood, stained table. To the left of the table you can see the pink wooded floorboards of a porch.

1. Omeros by Derek Walcott - a retelling/reimagining of Homer's Greek/Trojan epics, set in St. Lucia, where Walcott was from. I read this book-length poem before bed every couple of years. Every time, I find something new: a line, an entire section, that I don't remember reading before. The rhythm and storytelling of Omeros feels like a beautiful map, a way of engaging with dominant stories/systems that echoes back and transforms my memory of the original stories, too. I wonder, who in your life tells stories that helps you reimagine what's possible? Who reminds you that everything, even the most dominant stories and systems, is changed in our re-telling and re-reading?

2. Two unfired clay bowls I made in different seasons over the past few years. I've written about clay, and Alex Bell who taught me hand building, in a previous email. Alex said this when I was first learning: "Clay remembers the parts of itself that it was next to, so you can't stretch it too far too fast, or it'll crack." I love that clay has a memory, one that requires you to listen to it. Dry unfired clay holds the memory of my hands and fingers. Left out in the rain, it remembers and returns to its form as wet clay, and then dirt. There's a reminder here that no shape lasts forever, and that memory can call us back, help us return to the earth. What (and who) does memory help you return to?

3. A bouquet of asters from the yard. Neither my partner or I remember these flowers blooming during last year's long cold spring. But, this year, here they are, food for pollinators and anchors for spiderwebs. I think about the memory of the asters - the knowledge of the conditions that make blooming possible, passed down through seeds and roots. What a kind of love that is. And I wonder, what is spring teaching you this year? What are you learning in slow, deep ways? And maybe, maybe, what do you know, passed down to you like a kind of love in your cells and bones, about what you need to bloom?

Sending you love from the river,

Kali


Logo of a black and white photo of a eucalyptus tree, and the words "Kali Boehle-Silva, work and purpose coaching" to the right of it in orange

Interested in learning more about my coaching work? You can reply to this email, check out my website, & sign up for my patreon.

I'm talking with people about purpose, and what it means to them, all summer, and I'd love to hear from you. You can learn more about this project and sign up for a call here.

You can find my previous emails here.

Kali Boehle-Silva

Writing, questions, and meaning-making for late-stage capitalism + collapse.

Read more from Kali Boehle-Silva
a photo of many different colored watercolor shapes

Hi. I'm so glad to be writing this email to you. I'm currently on the northern florida coast, staying a few weeks with beloveds who rented a house here. It's a wild place - the beaches are full of rocks worn into curving shapes by thousands and millions of years of water. The first day we were here my partner and I saw a snake on the boardwalk, and halfway through last week there was a whole day where thousands of dragonflies hovered over the beach. A strange place, in which I notice I feel...

about 1 year ago • 2 min read
a photo of kali, waiting in the sun

Hi. I'm so glad you're here. I've been thinking a lot about waiting these days, as I recently had a long and panicked 80 hours of waiting after my doctor called with some potentially concerning results of a blood test that needed an MRI follow up. And while the results were (relievingly) not as difficult of news as they could be, I am still in a period of waiting (though of a different kind and intensity than that weekend). Much of life is waiting. And waiting, as I've experienced recently,...

over 1 year ago • 1 min read
a photo of the yosemite river in the fall sunshine

Hi. I'm so glad you're here. I've been thinking lately about what gets us through difficult times, which seem to be nearly everywhere these days. My beloveds and I have been sending songs back and forth recently, saying everything from "this made me think of you" to "*ahem* maybe you need to hear this" to "here's something thing I don't quite have words for." 1. In these fall days I find myself playing this song on repeat - as I tend to the house, or walk along the creek, or build a fire. (I...

over 1 year ago • 1 min read
Share this post