Reflections

I open the windows wide, and step into the shower. Looking out with water cascading, I see the tangled mass of branches of the bushes that crowd the house. They have the look of neurons, branching out. A seemingly tangled mess, but carrying some mysterious knowledge of myself/ourself.

I reflect on the Serpent that surprised me on my door step. She as alarmed as I, I stepped swiftly back in my home. And we observed one another. Her solitude passing mine. She no less dangerous than me. 

The same bushes I look out on when showering, swallowed her magnificence, a Goddess close to the ground. What serpents lie in my psyche? Serpent only strikes when threatened and uses her magnificent venom to obtain sustenance. I am still not sure what this means.

The fragrance of my favourite fresh soap, lingers. I step out not drying to watch the sunset. Wet footsteps marking my floor. Summer sun, water drying. It has been an illuminating day.

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.

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.

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.

Preservation

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

Arise

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

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

Vanishing

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…