Recording the ground requires sensitive gear designed to isolate faint low-frequency rumbles. Healthy soil sings, my ancestors asserted for millennia, and now scientists too have confirmed the earth’s song. Contact microphones detect earthworms and beetles, a soundtrack of crackles lifting from the land. Though it may be hard for us to hear, we know it is vital, for the earth’s recorded music reveals her fertility, stamina, and strength.
We too have music ticking in our bodies, recorded over a lifetime, embedded in bones and muscle, emitting from our fascia, making us well or sick. Sometimes we lose contact with our innermost longing, the stories we need to heal. Many of us feel overwhelmed by violence against the land, and too often the endangerment of the earth contributes to the loss of our creative nature. Overbuilt and excavated, our intuition, like the earth, can be fragile. The beauty of the natural world has been looted, and as it fades, so dies the movement of our inner dreams.
But the storyteller fights back. To write, we must separate the world’s brassy clangs from the music of our lives. Much has been written about second sight, a way of knowing that extends beyond regular vision. In this workshop, we will use prompts designed to unearth a second set of ears. We will point contact microphones toward our body’s soil, connecting with our deepest memories and wisdom. In this way, I will encourage you to hear your histories, your creaking limbs, and your hopeful heart. To seize the vitality of dreamers and storytellers, you must strain to hear the stories only you can tell. My job is to facilitate that listening.
This course is a part of West Fest, a celebration of writing in and about the American West, the weekend of November 7–8. To learn more and explore passes, which include discounted registrations to this class, click here.
This is the livestream registration for this event. To register for in-person, click here.
