Shannon Elder | Expansive States
When I was 8, I learned about the isotropy hypothesis discovered by Edwin Hubble. This theory suggests that the universe is in a constant state of expansion; the space around us is moving outwards in all directions. I would lay in bed at night and convince myself I could feel my body growing with the universe around me. If only I could tear my eyes open at just the right moment, I’d catch my feet ready to outgrow my body. I hoped I could observe our house growing larger around me. This excitement followed me for a while, as if I was carrying a secret - a secret that was growing.
Often on the weekends, our home would fill up with family and friends. The occasion may have been someone’s birthday or perhaps Easter. The kitchen always overflowed with food and people. Our next-door neighbor would slip in offering to trade a bag of pears from his tree for a plate of food. I could smell allspice and cabbage wafting from room to room. The buzz of conversation became so warm, I’d feel it in my chest.
I often wonder if there is a difference in defining the intentional act of gathering and being in community. The word “community” has become a buzzword for political organizing centered around larger democratic objectives. Questions come up for me such as who is the community, what is the goal, is this productive, do I feel connected? It can feel limiting to view the safety of gathering from such a critical and objective-setting lens.
Recently, my sisters and I got together to cook some of my grandma’s most popular recipes. A few of the recipes have been changed a bit – adjusting spices, removing meat. We are attempting to replicate something our ancestors have done for generations without destroying the foundation. As descendants of the diaspora, it is important for us to honor the tradition of each dish and share memories that the flavors conjure. We get to share food and stories with our friends and drop bowls of leftovers off to our neighbors as Grandma taught us. In this ecosystem of revision, there is not an ending of tradition but instead a reformation of thriving. There is open conversation surrounding the proof of continued growth and direction setting. At the dinner table, we have the privilege of challenging where we have been and questioning how we plan to show up. In this environment, it is generative to gather with love and create small patterns of healing with conscious ripples of spiritual connectedness. In this sense, the most rooted and political act I encounter is sitting at the table and engaging.
If the boundaries around us are in a constant state of expansion, how do we bear witness to the space we exist within? 2022 was the deadliest year for the occupied West Bank. As I write this, occupation forces work towards the demolition of civilian homes in the city of Hebron. It’s difficult to feel boundless in my expansion when I only must reach beyond the confines of distance to witness an erasure. Some days it feels like the more I expand into the space I know most, the more I disappear.
Shannon Elder was born and raised in Omaha, NE. She is a self-taught writer of poetry. Through writing she uses language and form to interpret the meaning of experience, emotions, and connection. With this intention, she incorporates other disciplines into her work such as illustration and collage. She is a past participant of the Omaha Zine Fest. Her inspirations include Eileen Myles, Shira Erlichman, Adrienne Rich, and her grandmother’s stories. Currently attending UNO, she is studying for an MBA in Sustainability in hopes to better improve the way we think about our options and impact in the spaces we exist.