At its core, cynefin speaks of belonging, of the well-worn tracks of animals on hillsides, of the places that live in our bones even if we’ve never been there before. It’s the feeling of arriving in a space, a landscape, a person’s arms, and knowing without thought: I am home.
Cynefin
-Karimah
In a not-so-long time ago,
In a not-so-far-away place
Cynefin was born of sea salt and Welsh wind.
She walked the hills with bare feet
And the land was her only friend.
She never stayed in one place long
Her heart was made to roam,
and every room that she entered
She carried like a cosy Welsh home.
She didn’t know this name
Or from where it came
But like the well-worn paths of a hidden heart
Once she started walking the way,
The way, she became.
She never tried to earn her place,
No need to prove or explain,
Because her moves were cut by instinct
Of intuition and Celtic braids.
She held the quiet power of women
Women who make, women who mother and women who kill.
Women who move like spirits through the forest,
and laugh when the world grows still.
Through moonlit fields
With well-worn heels
Her feet knew each ancient track
Her womb carried the memory of grandma’s song,
and the duty to give more than she lacked.
Even when the Welsh waters wept
With tear ducts dammed and demons met
She moved well-meaning and aligned
and lived out her name in all of womankind.
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