These days I happen to be taking long walks in the middle of the night, at first spontaneously as being called by the quiet winds in the darkness and the slow moving trees and their eternal interdependent cycles of birth and oscillating decay, close to my now temporary home. I wonder how far these echoes can reach. Where else has this rain been, vibrating in my back so gently? Could it travel from lands that are amidst extinction weighted by the blood of those that have become ghosts just like some of our exterminated black ancestors and our children? Does rain age like the fungal remnant of indigenous poltergeists waiting for an evocation, a song, a libation, a story, releasing them from a colonial purgatory of disappearance? When can their stories truly haunt?

The spontaneity of these walks became a regular ceremony as it started happening again and again at the same time of the late evening transitioning into morning - a ritual. I noticed that I pursued contact with eco resonances along these walks, and these turned into key moments of emotional and psychic attunement within my dreaming of freedom. How can we dream of futures of liberation if we are not attuned to do so? How can we take decisions that will influence those futures from that space of attunement and with whom right next to us? How can we materialize the (im)possible?

An (im)possible that breaks with delusions of neoliberal lies mouth-feeding ideas of separateness
An (im)possible that ignites your hunger for a different kind of aliveness
An (im)possible that summons you into waking up to raging for those forgotten, ruined, deaden, debilitated,
An (im)possible that makes you remember what’s been consistently erased and concealed within our modern
existence into the future
An (im)possible that haunts as a method of unveiling and of revenge
Notes: readings referenced “Decolonization, but make it spooky” by Kati Johnson