A seed by: Claire Love Wilson
Project: Calling our Ancestors Home
Claire Love Wilson (she/they) is queer white/Scottish settler multidisciplinary artist living on the ancestral and unceded territories of the xwməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish), and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil- Waututh) First Nations. She works as a theatre-maker, actor, playwright, musician, and singer-songwriter. Claire is the co- creator, lead performer and co-producer of the experimental musical “Morag, You’re a Long Time Deid”, which works to queer traditional Scottish ballads through loop-based soundscaping and storytelling. As a work in development MORAG has been showcased at the National Theatre of Scotland, The Scottish Storytelling Centre and at PushOff in Vancouver. The production premiered as part of Touchstone Theatre’s 45th anniversary season in June 2022.


Music, Theatre, Interdisciplinary Arts, Arts for Social Change, Storytelling
This is an original seed

This is a partially finished song called “Alive”.  It’s more about navigating the world as a Highly Sensitive Person who is attuned to unseen forces, presences, and energies. The beginning of the song opens with a question- Who do I summon, to protect me? It relates to that moment of feeling into which ancestor, guide, or energy might be helpful for protection or guidance. It also references a chord of connection that I have with my original chosen ancestor Marion, who I also believe was a Highly Sensitive Person (she also lived with Bipolar). I’ve wondered about her spiritual practices and who she would call on for protection when the world of her own psyche was overwhelming or suddenly inhospitable. The song is written in a four chord progression on the Uke: Dmin/Gmin/F/A. The lyrics (so far) are as follows:


Who am I? Where have I been? Who am I becoming slowly?/Who do I summon…to protect me? To protect me?

Verse 1

I can see what hides behind your eyes/I can smell the feelings rising off your chest/Sometimes I pay them no mind/Other days…it’s a lot to digest/It’s not that I’m a mind reader/I don’t claim to be psychic/But I sense the words you never spoke/The peaches you forgot to pick/It’s pain and joy and buried desire/Gathered in the folds of your face/I love you for it instantly/But sometimes I yearn to erase/The imprint of your soul on mine/Spiralling backwards/Hurdling through time/I lose myself so easily/Yet I’m alive


I’m alive/I’m alive/I’m alive/I’m alive

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