The tapestry of tribes | Once Wild Here →
Cairo was the most foreign of foreign places I’d been to at that point, and at the time the farawayness felt viscerally true in the way that loneliness can sometimes be a strange comfort. A silent anguish from feeling misunderstood by family and having to leave my closest friends, despite it having been my choice, had me looking for a mother. Oum el donia—Mother of the World, they call her—took me in with both arms and made me feel a sort of belonging, one in which my anonymity in that equivocatingly medieval and cosmopolitan jungle became a new foundation to build from because I couldn’t figure out where home was anymore. A detached sense of free-falling suddenly became the clearest notion I had, and I clung to it.
My latest post is up at Once Wild Here.
The mountains in us →
#copyright Mackenzie Berg
I feel their sharpness in my stomach when I come around a corner and catch sight of them, calling out from across the water in a voice not-quite-sinister, not-quite-innocent. They are physical symbols of my geographical home, but more than that, they seem to reflect the duality of being human that my 8-year-old self didn’t know how to piece together while laying in the grass and feeling small—an all-encompassing beauty that catches in the throat, a lightness tinged with longing and marked by a velvety shadow, the dark and the light unable to exist without the other.
From my latest post at Once Wild Here.
"I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling."