A Step Back in Time

Photographer - Tobi Brun

Alice Baburek

Nova Scott scrolled through the listing of local garage sales pulled up on her cell phone. She’d been to more than twenty sales within a two-day span. Ready to call it a day, she looked at one more listing. This one was different. It was an estate sale. The Lane House. One of the oldest houses still standing in North Carolina. Built in 1718. A small cabin of sorts. 

Nova had heard it was to be turned into a museum once the current owners sold it to the North Carolina Historical Society for a pretty penny. Thus, the listed estate sale. 

The Chevy SUV was easy on gas. Nova skirted along the interstate, enjoying the warm weather. She loved the heat. Born and raised in the north, warm, summery days were seldom. Winters seemed to last forever. She vowed as she grew into an adult that moving to the south would be her only option to live in a sun state. 

Nova pulled into the gravel driveway. Several cars were parked in front of the sagging porch. Lane House would definitely need a makeover—even for a museum. 

An older woman, dressed in a period costume, stood at the main door. She smiled as Nova stepped up onto the creaking wood. 

“Good day to you, Madam, are you here for the estate sale?” she asked. 

Nova gave a slight nod. “Indeed I am.” 

Nova skirted past the smiling lady. Lane House was no more than a rustic log cabin. Small tables were lined up in the living area. Trinkets of various shapes and sizes were arranged meticulously. Some could be considered antiques. 

Nova strolled slowly, eyeballing the various objects, once or twice lifting the plastic bagged piece for closer inspection. Several other people entered the closed-in space. Moving quickly to allow more room for the curious onlookers, she edged herself into the tiny attached room once used as a kitchen. A large, scraped up wooden table engulfed the entire eating space. On it were old-fashioned, overpriced utensils and a basket full of aged catalogs. A musky smell emanated from the staggered stack.

Laughter carried from the other room. The voice of the elderly re-enactor boomed within the logged walls. Nova smiled. She glanced again at the pile of a long-forgotten era. 

Back in the late 1800s, only the rich could afford items from mail-order catalogs. The products were unique and quite accessible—for the right price. Nova glanced through the yellow-paged 1892 Sears catalog. Product pictures were rudimentary. She set it to the side. Montgomery Ward and a few other well-known mail-order companies for the time period had been piled next to the basket. But it was the Tiffany’s Blue Book that caught Nova’s eye. The faded cover of women’s rings made her smile. 

“The mail-order catalogs are ten dollars each,” came the voice from the doorway. 

Startled by the woman’s presence, Nova dropped the deteriorating booklet. “Oh…I’ll take this one,” she said as she bent down to pick it up. 

The costumed cashier walked over to Nova. “That’ll be ten dollars, please.” She held out her wrinkled hand. “All proceeds go to the restoration of Lane House.” 

Nova searched her pocket for cash. Finally, after feeling in each of her pockets, she withdrew a crinkled ten-dollar bill. “Here you go,” she said. 

The older woman gave a slight bow. “Fun fact—Tiffany’s Blue Book is the oldest mail-order catalog in the world. Established in eighteen forty-five in New York City, New York.” 

Nova held her purchase to her chest. “Isn’t Tiffany’s still in business? In New York City?” asked Nova. 

The elderly worker tilted her head. “Yes…of course, it’s a totally different era of jewelry. In fact, the only way to purchase jewelry from Tiffany’s is to go to the store itself. No online purchasing. Too risky.” 

Nova gave a slight nod. “Well, thank you for that bit of information. I will treasure the vintage catalog.” 

Nova slowly moved past the woman and headed for her car. A long line had formed outside. It was definitely time to leave the past and get on with the present.

Nova scurried to her car. Being late for work had become a bad habit. She tossed her bag onto the passenger seat. As she raced through the small town of Ashville, she realized how much her life had gone astray. Nearly 35 years old, with no career path in sight, she felt as if life was passing her by. But life was about choices. And Nova was indecisive when it came to making life-altering choices.

Ashville Public Library’s parking lot had two cars, one of them belonging to her boss, Emily Hall. Nova eased out of her car and yanked hard on the old, creaking door. It weighed a ton. Made from an 80-year-old oak tree, its finish had seen better days. 

Emily Hall sat behind the reception desk, busily working on the state-of-the-art computer. She didn’t stop as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

“You’re late—again! Do you like your job, Nova?” asked the 50-year-old librarian. Her short, curly, peppered hair and long, pointed nose fit well to the unspoken description of a “typical librarian.” The gray blouse tugged at her rounded hips, and her black dress pants filled out the rest of her “typical librarian” attire.

“Of course, I like my job—in fact, I love it!” announced Nova, gesturing with her hands. 

Emily Hall stopped typing and turned to face her employee of almost five years. “Why is it so hard for you to come in when you’re scheduled?” asked Emily, with a straight face.

Nova shifted on her feet. The boots she had on were too tight. Since there was no official dress code at the library, she was able to dress in just about anything. Her tie-dyed shirt and worn jeans were standard for Nova.

Shrugging her shoulders, she flashed Emily a full white smile. “I don’t have a problem with coming in on time. I guess…if we were actually busy, I’d be more motivated.” Nova regretted her words immediately.

Emily’s cheeks puffed. She immediately stood up to confront Nova. “If you are not happy working here, Nova, I suggest you seek employment elsewhere.” 

Just then, a patron strolled up.

“Excuse me…I need help finding a specific book.” The older man gave a half-smile. His red and black flannel shirt hung open, exposing a white undershirt. His hands were shoved deep inside his worn blue jeans.

“I can help you, sir. Which book are you searching for?” asked Nova. She turned to face the man. They slowly walked away from Emily. 

After helping the patron, Nova busily checked in the returned books from the bin and began shelving them according to the Dewey Decimal System. A couple of hours flew by before she realized it was almost time for lunch. As she shelved the last book on the truck, Emily found her among the stacks.

“I see you decided to stay,” commented Emily, crossing her arms. 

Nova glanced at her boss. “I never said I wanted to leave…you just assumed I wasn’t happy working at the Ashville Public Library,” replied Nova. “Did you want me to take lunch now or wait until you get back?” Nora started to push the empty book cart toward the designated employee station.

“Go ahead. I’ll wait until you return. I’m not really hungry right now.” And without saying another word, Emily left Nova alone. 

Nova sat down at the small round table in the tiny, cramped kitchenette designated for employees. Since there were basically just the two of them, there was never a need to expand. She pulled out her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and the Tiffany’s Blue Book mail-order catalog she’d bought from the Lane House estate sale. As she munched the nutty sandwich, she flipped through the old book. It was yellowed and creased as if it spent its time being Googled by housewives who couldn’t afford such a luxury. A musty smell lingered. The rings portrayed were quite stunning—especially for the era. 

What kind of life had it been back then? She searched for a copyright date. It would stand to reason even catalogs needed a copyright date. Nova knew the copyright law had been enacted back in the late 1700s. 

“Hmmm…” she murmured to herself. 

On the very last page, a telephone number was listed for orders by phone. She knew telephones were common in households in the early 1920s. 

As Nova finished her lunch, she glanced at the time on her cell phone. Her lunch hour had flown by, and it was time to get back to work. For a brief moment, she hesitated. It was a silly thing, but then again, sometimes silliness was needed in life. She hurriedly punched in the numbers listed on the back cover of Tiffany’s Blue Book, knowing well it wouldn’t go anywhere after all these years.

So, when a female voice answered, “Tiffany’s Blue Book mail-order catalog, how may I help you?”, Nova dropped her phone to the table. Instantly, she disconnected the call. 

How is that possible?

“Your lunch is over,” stated Emily from behind her. 

Nova jumped, then turned and looked at her boss, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Emily. “Don’t answer that…we’ll be here all afternoon. Can you go watch the front desk? I’d like to eat my lunch.” She moved toward the mini fridge, which fit neatly under the countertop.

“Sure. Sorry…didn’t mean to…” Nova didn’t bother to finish. She scooped up the cell phone and shoved it deep inside her bag. Minutes later, she sat at the help desk near the library’s front doors.

Several students from the local high school wandered in. With Nova’s help, the young ladies had checked out the requiem given by their eleventh-grade teacher. Catcher in the Rye was a long-standing requirement for high school students. 

As the afternoon marched on, Nova stayed busy with the entailments of her job. Before long, 6 o’clock met with the shutting down of Ashville’s public library.

The two women meandered toward the back door. Emily set the alarm, then double-locked the rear exit. The clouded evening sky invited a quick, much-needed shower.

“The bestsellers are to be delivered tomorrow, Nova. I need you to check them into the system and put them on display,” commanded Emily. 

Nova was almost to her car. She looked back over her shoulder at Emily and gave her the thumbs-up sign. It seemed Emily was no longer perturbed with Nova’s lateness.

Tiny raindrops splattered across her windshield. It wasn’t long before Nova reached her small apartment above the only ice cream shop within Ashville city limits. She parked behind the quaint brick building and climbed the narrow wooden stairs leading to a place she called “home.” Unlocking the screen, and then the inside door, she stepped into her suite. With basically two rooms, the landlord had presented it as the latest thing in real estate. Not wanting to argue, and desperate for somewhere to live “cheap” on her library salary, she grabbed it without hesitation. But as Nova began to furnish it as her own, she realized it truly was ‘home’.

The scratched second-hand round table and two rickety chairs sat close to the kitchen area. She dropped her bag on it, then kicked off her shoes. Without removing her thin jacket, Nova plopped down on the worn sofa. Once a plush color green, it was now a faded pea remnant of times gone by. She immediately grabbed the remote and turned on the flat-screen television. With limited funds, she could afford only basic cable. But it was enough for Nova. Scrolling through the channels, she hoped something would catch her fancy.

Nova settled on the retro channel. An old black-and-white Western played. She stifled a yawn. Her thoughts wandered to the Tiffany’s Blue Book mail-order catalog. She tossed the remote onto the couch and went over to retrieve it from her bag on the table. Nova sat down as she leisurely glanced through it once more. 

Without hesitation, she pulled out her cell phone and tried once more to call the number listed on the back cover. She listened to the clicks, then realized her call had connected to nothing. 

“Well, what do you know?” she mumbled to herself. Nothing. 

She placed her phone back into her bag. After an hour or so of scrutinizing the vintage jewelry, she decided to watch a movie and retire early for bed.

Nova woke up before the alarm went off. She lay in bed and tried to remember her dream. It was weird, but she couldn’t remember any details. Only that it was weird. 

Her normal routine led into stopping for a breakfast bagel. Making sure she wasn’t late for work, Nova shoved the bagel in her bag. Emily’s car was parked by the employee exit door. Nova grabbed her bag and locked her car. Seconds later, she pounded on the metal door.

A loud click sounded before the door swung open. Emily stood propped against it. “Wow…I’m impressed. You’re ten minutes early.” 

Nova skirted past her boss. “It’s never too late to change. Besides, I’m hungry and want to eat my bagel. I’ll be in the employee lounge if you need me,” echoed Nova’s voice. 

Emily slowly shook her head back and forth as she closed, and then locked the back door. 

As the clock struck nine, Emily unlocked the huge front doors of the Ashville Public Library. They were officially open for business. The patron parking lot was empty. She gave a huge sigh and returned to the help desk.

Nova scarfed down the buttered-everything bagel. She licked her fingers and sipped at the hot coffee, then pulled out her cell phone and noticed the time. Time to work. The packaged books had already been delivered. She pulled up the invoice on the computer. 

Four large containers. Hopefully, all the bestsellers Emily ordered were inside these boxes. Otherwise, back orders were inevitable.

The workload kept Nova busy. In fact, it was quite a lively afternoon. She’d forgotten the scheduled busload of elementary school children. Many wanted to learn how to use the Internet. Others wanted to comb through the age-related books. Then others just wanted to goof around. 

As four o’clock rounded, the children had departed, and Nova finally finished with barcoding and shelving the library’s newest selections.

Emily locked the front doors. Nova waited until her co-worker was ready to leave for the evening. Her thoughts jumped to the mysterious phone number.

As they exited the back door after setting the alarm system, Nova hesitated to approach Emily with her dilemma. 

The two women walked side by side to their respective vehicles. Nova waited a brief moment before getting inside her SUV.

“What’s wrong?” asked Emily. She leaned against her aged Ford. “I know you want to ask me something…the answer is no…you can’t have off tomorrow.” 

Nova smiled. “It’s not that, Emily. Do you…do you have a minute?” she asked. 

Emily released a huge sigh and strolled over to Nova’s car. “Out with it,” demanded Emily. “I’d like to go home sometime this evening.” She crossed her arms.

Nova waited a second and collected her thoughts. “Well…I picked up this old mail-order Tiffany catalog. I called the number on the back cover. A woman answered the phone.” She bit her lower lip.

Emily tilted her head. “What about it?”

“A woman answered the phone!” Nova’s eyes widened.

“I don’t understand,” said Emily.

“Emily…the catalog is over eighty years old. The number…how can that be?” Nova threw up her hands.

“You said it was Tiffany’s? Well, they’re still in existence in New York City. Why would it be unusual?” Emily shifted on her feet.

“I know Tiffany’s is in New York City. But they don’t take online orders, or phone orders. Walk in only. No one should be answering that number,” explained Nova.

“Did you happen to ask the woman if maybe she answers the phone to provide information?” questioned Emily.

Nova blinked several times. She hadn’t thought of it. “No…” 

“Goodnight, Nova.” Emily turned on her heel and left before her co-worker could utter another word.

The following day, Nova arrived at work early. She sat in her car, waiting for Emily to arrive to unlock the library door. Emily pulled in next to Nova’s SUV.  She got out and proceeded to let them in. Neither woman said a word.

Once inside, and with the back door locked, Nova placed her things inside the slim locker off the employee lounge. She would try to call the number on her break. And this time, if someone answered, she would ask questions. It was beginning to creep her out. Was there some kind of time portal opened for phones to communicate? Science fiction was not her forte. Sure, she watched plenty of movies about time travel, but everyone knew it was a myth. Something people wrote about to make money.

“Quit daydreaming. Can you check in the book return? The Women’s Reading Society will be in this afternoon for their pick of the week book discussion. Please make sure the reading area is set up for a group of ten.” Emily disappeared down the narrow hallway.

Nova didn’t bother to answer. Scanning in book returns and setting up for the group of old biddies would take her most of the morning. It would keep her mind from focusing on the upcoming phone call.

As the day wound down, Nova slipped away and took her last break. Quickly, she pulled out her cell phone and punched in the numbers to Tiffany’s Blue Book mail-order catalog. After a couple of seconds, a female voice answered.

“Tiffany’s Blue Book mail-order, how may I help you?” asked the soft-spoken woman.

“Is this…is this Tiffany’s in New York City?” asked Nova. 

“Yes, ma’am. May I help you with an order?” persisted the mysterious woman.

“What year is it?” asked Nova. Her heart pounded inside her chest.

“I’m sorry…I’m not sure what you are asking?” replied the female voice.

“Year. What year is it?!” shouted Nova.

“Ma’am. There’s no need to yell, I can hear you quite well. The year of the mail-order catalog is nineteen forty-four. I can assure you, ma’am, it is the latest issue. Would you like to place an order?” The mysterious woman’s voice was strained.

“Are you telling me that the year right now is nineteen-forty-four?” whispered Nova. Her hand holding the cell phone trembled.

“Well, of course! This edition was sent out in January nineteen forty-four. The prices are good for one year.” 

Silence filled the air between the two women. After several seconds, Nova found her voice once more. 

“How do I go about ordering a ring on page…” Nova flipped through the aged catalog. “Fifteen? The ring on page fifteen?”

“Yes, I see. What size do you need?” asked the woman.

“Size seven,” responded Nova. She got up and paced the floor. “Do you want my credit card number?”

“What is a credit card?” asked the female voice.

“What?” Nova’s eyebrows scrunched together. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I do not know what a credit card is. To purchase the ring, you must mail a check with the total amount due. Please enclose a note specifying which ring, and the size you want to purchase. I will take down your information. Once we receive your check, we will send out your product. I need your name and address, please,” explained the woman on the other end. 

Nova rattled off her address. She could not comprehend if this woman was playing a prank on her. 

“Thank you for shopping at Tiffany’s. Good day.” And the call was disconnected. 

Nova searched the back of the catalog for the address. 

Should I send a check? 

Quickly, she researched the Internet for the address provided. Non-existent. 

How can this be?

“Are you planning on finishing out the day?” came a voice from behind her. 

Nova flinched. She didn’t hear Emily’s footsteps.

“Yes, of course. Emily…you’re not going to believe this.” 

Nova rattled out her story. Emily remained silent.

“Well…what do you think?” asked Nova in a loud voice. 

“I think someone is yanking your chain and you’re falling for it. Get a grip, Nova. Come on, let’s close up early.” And with that said, Emily turned around and disappeared down the narrow hallway.

Friday was an extremely trying work day for Nova. She caught herself thinking about the Tiffany’s Blue Book mail-order catalog immensely. Why couldn’t she let it go? Someone played a joke on her—and that’s it. Nothing more. Emily had to be right. If this was true, why was she so stuck on the idea that maybe, just maybe, somehow Nova had taken a step back in time? Why not? Stranger things have happened before. She read about them on the Internet. Was it so farfetched? 

It was Saturday morning, and Nova had the day off. She ran the few errands that needed attending to, then decided on a walk through the Metroparks. She parked her car in the small lot. The day was hot and sunny—just the way she liked it. Keeping her sunglasses on, she decided on the shortest path. It led straight to Swanson Lake, which was designated for protected fowl. No boats, no fishing, no swimming. Just benches to sit on and view the beautiful water and assortment of amazing birds.

As she breathed in the fresh lake air, her cell phone vibrated inside her pants pocket. Without hesitation, she pulled it out to answer.

“Hello?” said Nova.

“Is this Nova Scott?” asked the strange voice.

“Yes. Who is this?” Nova’s back went rigid.

“Good morning, Miss Scott. This is Helen, from Tiffany’s in New York City. How are you today?” 

Nova stopped dead in her tracks. “Is this a joke? Look…you got me the other day. I admit, I almost believed you.” Nova shook her head.

“Ma’am? Joke? I’m calling to remind you about sending your check for the order placed from our Tiffany’s Blue Book mail-order catalog. You’re still interested in the item…are you not? If not, I will remove you from the list.” The woman’s voice crackled.

“This has to be a joke! The catalog is about eighty-five years old!” exclaimed Nova.

“I…I don’t understand. It is the latest catalog featuring Tiffany’s exclusive offers of fine jewelry,” stressed the female voice. 

“Seriously? Latest catalog? The year is two thousand twenty-three. How could this catalog possibly be the latest edition?” Nova chuckled. The static in the connection intensified.

“Ma’am, the year is nineteen forty-four. We’re in the middle of a world war with Germany and Japan. I kid you not. It is a hard time for everyone. Tiffany’s is desperately trying to stay open during this dire time in history. Miss Scott, if you are no longer interested in the ring, I will remove you from the list.” Suddenly, silence filled the line between the two women.

“Hello? Hello? Are you there, Helen?” Nova’s heart skipped a beat. She looked down at the number on her cell phone screen. It read “Unavailable.” 

Nova instantly hit redial, but she got no one. Only clicking and static. 

What in Heaven’s name is going on?”

Over the next several days, Nova kept trying the number from the mail-order catalog to no avail. No one answered. Just clicks and static. Nothing. She even called the cell phone carrier and complained of the lousy service. After the complaint, a supervisor returned Nova’s call to inform her there was no such number in service. Maybe she’d transposed the numbers. Nova cursed under her breath. She already knew it was an impossibility, yet she still had to try. Left with no other options, Nova stopped her futile calling.

Later that month, Nova donated the Tiffany’s Blue Book mail-order catalog to the Ashville Historical Society. The curator was quite grateful and intrigued. It was put on display in an enclosed glass case, out of reach.

Nova knew somehow she’d been connected to the past—even if it was just minutes in a phone call. She never brought the subject up again with anyone. Not even with Emily.  Was it all in her mind? Maybe. Maybe not. She may never know for sure.

Alice Baburek is an avid reader, determined writer, and animal lover. She lives with her partner and four canine companions. Being retired she challenges herself to become an unforgettable emerging voice.

More On Containers

Photographer - Mario Framis Pujol

more on containers 

where are you from? 

where are you really from? don't be a hypocrite; 

from the bacteria that form me, from the universe, 

the ocean, 

the matter, 

the non-matter, 

we don't know, 

from my mother 

& my mother's mother, 

from nothingness, 

from everywhere, 

from chance, 

from the soul... 

it's always been the story that made the difference

& it was never meant to be my story, it's supposed to be our story. 

what is so interesting anyways 

about the ascent of man 

and their bloody violence? 

can we rather tell 

Ursula's story 

of the woman who harvested the wild oats, the story of life, 

the story of humanity. 

what is the story I wanna tell? 

the story of pores opening up, 

of jars full of pickles, 

the story with no linearity, 

the story of tending the land. 

but is this also a story 

where I'm just a slightly more discreet version of the great hero i such loathe?

Mario Framis Pujol is a cross-pollinated wanderer, who dances in the opaque, the chaotic, the tender, a being with the land... Their research-based practice circles around farming as liberation, politics as a crack, cooking as sovereignty, self-expression, vulnerability, and consciousness through intimate contact with nature, and creating open communal spaces for deep listening of bodily sensations. He dedicates their days to tending the land, as a farmer and as a facilitator to share his experience with multispecies groups who want to cultivate inner peace, learn from the natural world, and inspire themselves in the day-to-day, hence being able to focus our perspective, in aspects related to work, food, and social ecologies, through artistic harmony

SUBSTACK.COM/@MARIOFRAMISPUJOL

instagram.com/marioframispujol/

Drought

Photographer - Tobi Brun

Drought 

June 2022, Alentejo, Portugal.

ágape, eros, amor 

a nomad of the Kalahari, a pagan figure, 

a Satan of the modern world learning to tap into 

what I’m capable of listening to, suspending 

on that door 

I’ve been wanting to open so I can sing loudly. 

tell me about your lies 

& we can draft the path of what is to come 

sand these rough edges

& help me say 

what I really wanna say; that the smell of dry grass  & clay dust 

fills up every corner of this house.

Mario Framis Pujol is a cross-pollinated wanderer, who dances in the opaque, the chaotic, the tender, a being with the land... Their research-based practice circles around farming as liberation, politics as a crack, cooking as sovereignty, self-expression, vulnerability, and consciousness through intimate contact with nature, and creating open communal spaces for deep listening of bodily sensations. He dedicates their days to tending the land, as a farmer and as a facilitator to share his experience with multispecies groups who want to cultivate inner peace, learn from the natural world, and inspire themselves in the day-to-day, hence being able to focus our perspective, in aspects related to work, food, and social ecologies, through artistic harmony

SUBSTACK.COM/@MARIOFRAMISPUJOL

instagram.com/marioframispujol/

Let it Rise

Photographer - Tobi Brun

Let it Rise 

I am being swallowed up while inside a cocoon, 

the memory of these cracks thaw. 

have tea with your elders; we’re all wisdom keepers & we’re all students, 

of the gift of a disabled life, accepting we are not meant to hold everything on our own. These lands are broken 

& water wants to rise 

up through the cracks; 

let it mutiny, 

let it rise.

Mario Framis Pujol is a cross-pollinated wanderer, what dances in the opaque, the chaotic, the tender, a being with the land... Their research- based practice circles around things like farming as liberation, politics as a crack, cooking as sovereignty, self-expression, vulnerability and consciousness through intimate contact with nature and the creation of open communal spaces for deep listening of bodily sensations. He dedicates their days to tending the land, as a farmer and as a facilitator to share his experience with multispecies groups who want to cultivate inner peace, learn from the natural world, inspire themselves in the day to day, hence being able to focus our perspective, in aspects related to work, food and social ecologies, through artistic harmony.

SUBSTACK.COM/@MARIOFRAMISPUJOL

instagram.com/marioframispujol/

The Revolution is Knocking At Our Door

Photographer - Mario Framis Pujol

The Revolution is Knocking At Our Door

what happens

when architecture starts to crumble,

when our fundamentalism cracks,

when our baseline realities shake,

when the arrangement we were born into;

an apartheid,

which isolates bodies,

when the promise of stability

pulverizes.

when did we all sign up to keep this wheel turning?

when

were we told

to resist the new,

to be polite,

to be tidy,

to be pure,

to be clear,

to be predictable,

to be digestible,

to navigate all the isms?

18:23 & it’s raining heavily in Beirut,

an acid rain of despair

soaking the bodies

of the ones who look for refuge,

the ones

who can’t even see

how severely traumatized they are.

this emerging

is perverse,

there are no highways here,

no planes to take,

no pavement to walk,

on the dancing bridge.

the ones who know

will be waiting for us there

sucking their teeth.

a longing comes back

because I feel removed,

distanced from the story of love

that haunted my life,

the tears run down

without even knowing

where this vulnerability comes from.

seeing you on the other side of the screen

as the beautiful being

that soothes me in sweetness & warmth.

how can I be radically hospitable

without you being here,

without even knowing if you see me,

risking being where I truly am.

there are no solutions we can purchase

that can treat our misery,

that can heal the planet.

where is the attachment I have

to my identity

to the perpetrator who lives within me

what is in my body,

that my mind doesn’t know?

& as we dance

we’ll face the politics,

the question of how am I

being part of this revolution

that is already knocking at our doors.

Mario Framis Pujol is a cross-pollinated wanderer, who dances in the opaque, the chaotic, the tender, a being with the land... Their research-based practice circles around farming as liberation, politics as a crack, cooking as sovereignty, self-expression, vulnerability, and consciousness through intimate contact with nature, and creating open communal spaces for deep listening of bodily sensations. He dedicates their days to tending the land, as a farmer and as a facilitator to share his experience with multispecies groups who want to cultivate inner peace, learn from the natural world, and inspire themselves in the day-to-day, hence being able to focus our perspective, in aspects related to work, food, and social ecologies, through artistic harmony