i play it when i’m at my lowest, a reminder that i always have somewhere to go.
 
Linking this to a book, i recommend Cicilia Vicuña’s "Spit Temple." She reminds me of my grandmother — in her role as an elder, her politics, her experimental resistance, and her spiritual connection to the earth.

put to work in the garden or with the goats when they needed shit to do; musicians gathering at night, reorganizing the living room and jamming away their worries: always a home for those in need.

“You can always stay with Jini,” sang the local band. The song is like a ward...

The suits never showed.
 
For months she housed folks who couldn’t get back up on their feet. Families stayed in trailers in the backyard. It was always like this, doors perpetually unlocked; so many faces coming through, recovering...

Maybe it was the number of people “squatting” in the space. Or maybe the punk medical aid. She basically told him to fuck off; she would never stop, so if they wanted to come down and personally drag every person out of there rather than provide them with aid, that was their prerogative...

She started getting calls from a man who said he was with the FBI, harassing her and telling her she had to shut it down; what she was doing was unpermitted in the government’s eyes. Maybe it was the fact that she’d lead a lifetime of defiance in the face of authority...

She lived there for weeks, organizing, directing, scrambling for beds, and treating wounds. She was always performing miracles. But it was never just her. She surrounded herself with young folks and cultivated a community of care. She led others into action...

Once a therapist, she sat mornings at the kitchen table as the woman wept, listening and grieving with her. Through the days. Through the little things.
 
When the fires spread further, leaving so many more injured and with nowhere to go, she opened the Grange and created a makeshift camp...