My grandparents had 3 pomegranate trees next to their house. Papa would hold the ladder for me and I’d go on the roof to pick them, coming down with grocery bags full of them.
I would sit for hours sometimes watching shows and opening pomegranates, making a huge bowl of ruby seeds. I’ve never felt so abundant.
In college I lived in Puebla MX for a semester. One market had a stand with mountains of pomegranates. It made my heart sing.
And the guy selling pomegranates taught me to cut them. This is before YouTube and TikTok showing us life hacks, so it was magical to see someone know exactly where to cut and how to open these gorgeous little grenades. He showed me the lines and the depth, gave me a lens to imagine the fruit underneath. It was a game changer. So much easier and cleaner. I was and am so grateful for the knowledge.
I opened this pomegranate tonight and my son came to help immediately, knowing exactly how to hold and detach the gems without exploding them.
It struck me how the knowledge in that quick interaction at the market, 20 years ago, is still so alive. How it passed through me and kept moving when i was attentive enough to receive it, and open enough to give it away.
I could have *kind of* learned this from a book, but it wouldn’t have had the same weight as being shown. Even a video would be good, but in person? So much better.
Why am I sharing this?
Because ancestral knowledge breaks with trauma, and we start depending on books to remember things for us. And depending on them to teach the next generation. Don’t get me wrong, I love books. But even more, I love learning from people, from elders, from the real record keepers. And the most important knowledge doesn’t always make it into books.
Something I’m learning intimately - the softer my body gets, the more stories and knowledge I feel myself capable of holding and sharing.