Thursday, 30 June 2016

Breath Manifest

I stood still,
Breath smoking out of me,
Like my Ancestor’s words,
That were breathed and never heard
In this ordinary reality

But they speak to me.
In my non ordinary reality.
Grandmother Gregg,
Stern, flaming red hair, Welsh words streaming
As I light candles and do ceremony.
I have never spoken Welsh
But I hear what she says.
Beat my drum and understand that
She did this too.
St Bridgid, the other, older version
Is suddenly flaming inside me

Oma Aumuller, comes to me in my dreams.
She tells me to walk the beach
To find seaweed to eat.
To follow the shells,
I do and a few days later get told
I need more iodine in my body

And here I stand, cold winters air
My breath manifest,
In mist from my mouth and wonder
What I will say to my children and Grandchildren?
When this breath is no longer manifest.

Thursday, 10 March 2016

All emotions serve me

Language is such an inadequate expression of what really goes on inside me. I often wonder how I would feel into my world if I did not have words with connotations when “things” move. Whilst walking my dogs this morning, my time for prayer and reflection into my day, I found myself speaking to myself. I labelled what was moving through me as “melancholic” and went on to reflect that this state of being is natural to me. But the word melancholic has associations such as depressed, sad (add your own words here…) I stopped in my tracks and thought, wait, this state I call melancholy is such a fruitful state for me! Its when I see things more clearly, its when I feel things more keenly, my senses far wider than usual.

This has once again made me reflect on the effectiveness of words really naming states we are in. I wish we had a world where these keen states of Being did not have associations and labels. I silently stood with the wind whipping around me, wide Mother beneath and around me, and really took this in. In this realisation a huge download of AHA occurred. ALL emotions serve me, everything that moves, shakes, me, serves me.

 I will challenge myself when I label an emotion as “this” or “that” from this moment forth. How about we all do this? How about you stepping into your day knowing deeply that you are made to feel, and that every state of being needs to be re looked at, for its true core and how it adds value to your life.

Friday, 4 December 2015

Horizons Reach

I stood on the shore line. Aware of the horizons reach…mists coming in soon. I felt the shores icy lapping. What I see around me is such a reflection of life. We can only guess about the fog ahead, and we can feel the momentary discomfort of what is at our ankles. Turning around I see the mountain behind me, also shrouded in mist. I can picture what’s there but I could also be wrong. Pretty much what memory is like I reflect? The heavy ball of clay, a piece of my life now ready to go. I turn to the slow river. I moved slowly so that I could feel the life beneath my feet and wind in my hair, squatted and let her go.

I see the ball of clay that I have placed in the slow moving river. An offering to the waters of the world, this ball of clay was a statue that I made from raw clay two years ago. So much has shifted in me since, I am a very changed woman. I decided that I could release it, I stayed and watched the lessons. A brief prayer of thanks, a blessing of goodbye. 

Warm clay immersed in a river. Life flowed around me, all I did was Be. As life flowed around me, the eddies shaped me. Particles of self flaking off. The sunlight caught the river at an angle that had gold streaming as my shape and form was changing. It felt a life time passed… I sat for an hour and slowly I dissolved into the Great All of the ocean. In that moment I could simply release my breath and be no more. I muse that death will be the same.  

I stood, walking away aware of each step, each grain of sand and cold air around me. Breathing in the mist that entered my lungs. And know that I will never be the same after the lesson of the river.

Friday, 16 October 2015


How do you take the softness
Of the day
And keep its memory safe?
How do you preserve the little
Snake that was found dead in the road?
How can the memory of love be
Kept Alive?

Perhaps for the first you might
Make a blanket of leaves to keep
The second, take it and bury it with
Dignity, add flowers .
The third will permeate all of your days,
You know this.
Make a favourite dish and name it thus,
So you may sup on that love.

This life is filled with days
That you would want to keep
In a jar so that you may peek
At for its joy
But nothing will ever be as it is
Right now…

So be fresh each moment
Relish, eat, taste, roll in each
Breath taken
Cake eaten
Kisses that make you reel.
Be present each moment
Do not label it Good or Bad

Life simply IS

Terrible Good

She stirs softly at first
A whispering beneath your skin
Perhaps years will pass
Before you reach to scratch

And then beneath your surface
She will emerge
And each of you
Will have something different

She stirs and rages
That feeling in your gut
When know that something
Terrible Good
Is about to be born, vomited, screamed

And then
You will run, your feet will become
Hooves, paws, or sinew body sliding

The Great Goddess
Will NOT be stilled
She wants to shout her name
She wants to Live
Lest you Die Inside

Rather reach to scratch now…
Rather tend the flickering
In your eyes when your mirror
Shows something else

Rather bow down to the river
And let yourself be flowed
Because if you don’t TEND
Your end will not be what you died
To come for

Friday, 4 September 2015

Heavens Loom

Here I am washed up on the shore, tattered and torn, but alive. How do you explain an illness that changes your life, how do you explain that no medical Doctors could not pin point my decline? This is the death that happens when you dare step into Being, it will come. It will come in a form that you will not expect.

I am moving into the acceptance that something in me will no longer be present. I am coming to accept that I am quieter than ever before, that I know stillness, really know it. There were nights when I lay in my bed after each download of other lives being cleared, shaking with the scenes seen… that I thought, perhaps this is my current ending, perhaps it’s time to go. The only fear I had was “I will not see my dear daughters move into their spaces of making the vast differences that I know they are and will do”. My Furmily were my comfort and kept me moving, taking them for a walk, one slow step after the other every morning before I collapsed onto my couch to just sit. Involuntary meditation!

In a dream state, in this other altered space that I was in, I saw how clearly I am Mother Earth and she is me. Our lives inexorably linked, that my toxins are hers, my healing hers. That Her Soul is My Soul and that ascension is not just a YouMan process but that every Bee, Stone Person, Standing Person, Plant Person, all sentient in their own manner is Ascending.

When confronted with the vulnerability of your mortal self, you begin to live differently, and you know that you are not the same being that entered the storm. People will look at you and think that you have returned to health, but a limb is missing. I am not sure what has grown in place instead… 

What have known is this:

I saw the ribbons of me
Blowing in the wind
Strings of me being undone
I felt my self unravel
All of me coming apart
The bright colours streaming
Sunset catching the chakra
Colours of me,
I saw myself
The strings of me lifting high
And by some mystery
Floated into heavens loom
To be woven
Into something else
But perfectly me
Every thread made into another pattern
Colours brighter
And instead of ascending
The descent into the ground
The roots of my Mother
I saw with clear new senses
That IT

Is ALL here already…

Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Where have lifes seasons gone?

I can feel and see the turning of the days. I know my view well, the sun sets at a different degree. It’s not so much the time it sets as to where over the ocean it sinks. It’s a slow thing this, a gradual cooling of the mornings. Subtle.

This is why I do what I do. I have been wanting to live the seasons – I left the seasons when I was no longer a child. What a loss. In a building for so many years, from 33 to 46 living by someone else’s demands when to go to work and when to sleep and wake. There was no subtly to my life, winter to spring, an unseen thing.

And here, here I am. Knowing the feel of the air of my skin what season it is… hearing the birds, seeing where the sun rises. And feeling my body move into another season… This led me to the thoughts about how much we lack seeing real time lives play out around us.

We have moved so far away from the secure nurturing of close family and village. There are no elders, there are no women pregnant around, or those raising young ones. 

The only thing that we see is exactly where we are instead of the tabloid of the ages of Maiden, Mother, Crone playing out in front of us. This leaves us without the knowledge of sharing all the stages that we enter. What a loss… so that when there are life changes, moving from one Season into another,  there is no knowledge of what we should expect, feel or move into.

Let us start paying attention to the older stories, the fire side times. Start looking around and thinking of how we can change this enormous loss of identity of community.

(I’d still be the hermit witch at the end of the lane but I would be serving my community)