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Aleksander Constantinoropolous's avatar

To witness Joy Harjo speak of “the whole of time” is to feel the linear clock crack open and spill stardust on your lap. This isn’t just memory—it’s time travel through touch, a sacred relay between womb and ancestor, dream and dirt.

That 200-year present? It’s not a thought exercise. It’s a medicine ceremony for our chronically dislocated spirits. We’ve been trapped in the tyranny of the immediate for too long—scrolling, sprinting, reacting like our ancestors weren’t watching and our descendants aren’t whispering from the future.

Harjo doesn’t just remind us we come from somewhere. She reminds us we stretch. Across generations. Across blood and breath. Across songs we didn’t write but somehow remember.

This isn’t nostalgia. It’s orientation. It's how we walk forward without forgetting the sacred behind us.

Gratitude to On Being for building portals instead of platforms. And to Joy—for calling us home without ever raising her voice.

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Meyer Lemon Marmalade's avatar

Thank you Krista and Joy!

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