In archaeology, excavation is the exposure, processing and recording of archaeological remains. These remains are stitched together to form a picture of the past. Archeology studies the activities of humans through the material culture they leave behind. As my head gets clearer, and I can see through the layers of dust of disuse to the the parts of myself that feel, there is a sense of discovery at the uncovering of the history of emotional activity. Below the surface of my dissociated conscious, there are artifacts of pain, and beauty and sweetness. There is shame and sadness in these layers and deep deep longing for family and connection. There are remnants of old roads I followed blindly telling myself stories of where they would lead me.
The act of looking and digging in honors these shards of experience as what they are. Parts of what formed me, one record of then, a picture of what experience has left behind.
I wonder why the heavy hurting things take up so much space on this grid. Is it an evolutionary tool to ward off returning to the site of danger? While heavily conflicting with my human urge to seek what I know, what is the same. This strange and destructive wheel of amplified memory of pain and the seeking of what is familiar has had me return again and again to the space of disfunction.
The archeologist makes a narrative out of the detritus of the past- part scientist, part soothsayer. This alchemy comes first from the birds eye view of the grid. The cataloging and description of what is there. The objective and careful examination of what is left behind. The archeologist sees all the pieces and then how they fit together. To be like an archeologist, to look objectively at my emotional detritus, to pick up these shards of experience and carefully turn them over in my hands helps to tease out the narrative, to see how things fit together, and to get closer to whole.
Self-absorbed 