Moon Fever

Slow Burn of the Moon

I am feeling wild today. I want to run, roar and shout to the heavens, not out of rage. But just – HERE I AM. This is me. And this is what I will do. As you have seen it has been a Wilding week. Mother Earth has been calling me fiercely, insistently. I am listening, I have walked, seen, heard. Today, full moon, first of this year. I will call wildly on the Goddess Energy of the moon. Awaken me even more, course through my veins.

Let the Ocean, Forest, Desert, Snowlands all be seen when you look into my eyes. I want to be seen as EarthWomyn SeerSoul. I want you to catch me in the corner of your eye and see a tree, a cloud, a Goddess. Because this is WHO I AM… (I have tears writing this) this is what I LIVE. I am as much of this Blue Woman speeding through space as the Guineafowl that cackles at daybreak, snake that slithers in the sun, tortoise that moves in the grass… My blood runs with the breath of trees, stardust is what I am made of.

I will walk the Holy Land with my Holy Feet…

Rooted Blessings

Rooted blessings tapped my shoulder, slow bending Candlewood tree wrapping her love round me.

I walked the thickets of the Milkwood and Candlewood trees today. Was blessed beyond words at the flowers that I saw for the first time ever. I stooped to enter the low hugging trees – Oh, I know as sure as my breath that Great Spirit breathes into me through all I see. This shaded place, lichens, moss, damp earth. A place where I felt no foot had been before. I am in love, with the Land… I felt the same deep ecstasy as I feel in meditation. I am carrying that visceral feeling of blessings, love, bliss. I can barely describe the awe I feel of all around me. Oh Gaia, I am in love with you.

“Is there a spiritual geography, are there certain places upon the earth which are more or less attuned to certain modes of consciousness? And if so, do such qualities belong to the earth itself, to certain qualities of light, or sound, or scent or rock formation?…or do people of a certain cast of mind impart to the land their own qualities?” Kathleen Raine, The Lion’s Mouth

I walk the Holy Land everyday…

Rustling Voices

“Summer left its dry rustled offerings singing in the wind”

I was aware of the music in the fields today. The grass, and bushes of a dry Cape Summer, sounds different in the afternoon. They have their pale coats on, albino grass. Lived life, now offered the seeds for the earth to continue. I was moved to pick some, put into a glass jar filled with dune sand instead of water… I still can hear the rustle when they were in the bushes. They stand silent now next to my bed. Voice still…

Will I leave a sound when I am done? Will I have left seeds to grow into something fertile. Or will I just blow in the wind, forgotten? The former is cultivated in my heart… I want to leave something, even if it’s a dry bone of a memory. A form, a shape.

I want to rustle in the wind tonight, make a noise that’s my own…

Heart Wide

“Something bigger than my heartbeat has been felt”

I was doing some really normal, boring editing fixes on my writing that I do for the Corporate Education Industry…when I felt an inexplicable feeling that did not match the usual grumpiness when I have to do this. It was a sense of butterflies in my stomach… I stopped to listen to my body. My psychical form, this place that houses ME, is a finely tuned thing. I know her well, in fact I know her better now than before. I believe in listening to this radar, this vibrational temple that I have chosen to live in while here. I deeply honour her, I love her.

I sat still, looked out – I felt the source of the butterflies. Deep, slow, coursing. I recognised the sound… I was sitting in my couch yesterday, was startled by the hum…steady, steady.

I have goosebumps now just recognising – my heart – its wide open – wide, spinning.

I don’t know what has caused this today. Is it the thought that I had this morning about people I have worked with? They are good people, but our vibration differences are worlds apart, and it’s ok, we both are living the perfect life. I recognised the goodness despite huge differences in belief and lifestyle. I felt good just seeing the simplicity…

A piece of text from Pema Chodron came to mind –

“If we were to ask the Buddha, "What is bodhichitta?" he might tell us that this word is easier to understand than to translate. He might encourage us to seek out ways to find its meaning in our own lives. He might tantalize us by adding that it is only bodhichitta that heals, that bodhichitta is capable of transforming the hardest of hearts and the most prejudiced and fearful minds.  Chitta means "mind" and also "heart" or "attitude." Bodhi means "awake," "enlightened," or "completely open." Sometimes the completely open heart and mind of bodhichitta is called the soft spot, a place as vulnerable and tender as an open wound. It is equated, in part, with our ability to love. Even the cruelest people have this soft spot. Even the most vicious animals love their offspring. As Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche put it, "Everybody loves something, even if it's only tortillas!"”

http://www.shambhalasun.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1740 

Today I will simply enjoy this feeling… and I send it out to each of you who read this too, embrace that soft spot - Namaste Shining Ones. 

(Dearest Diego who accompany's me with his friend Pepper Anne on my  many walks)

Landscapes of Faces

“The landscape of souls faces each wearing their life had me humbled”

My solitude was gently eased open yesterday. A reverie planned to meet a much loved face hailing from the Gold Country. I was embraced from all sides, and saw the love between all. In my contemplative state between wine and laughter. I Saw. 

I saw each soul etched by the lines of the world. Hands that have loved. Voices that spoke joy. I saw the frames carrying the Shining ones. Some weary and others so clear that I felt the Land in their eyes. The green tendrils of earth, and richness of growing soil. Each Being clothed in their own particular light of who they are. 

I sit here this evening and am moved by a chosen sisterhood, I cherish the love spoken, the seeing that was seen. I am sure that if I had sat back and unfocused my eyes,I would have noticed the rainbows of the chakras of all, mingling in some surprising supernova whirling into the sky.

“For all the world around me is a Woman”

“For all the world around me is a Woman”

We live in rhythm sometimes subtle, but it’s the chaos that we also inhabit that excites me. I glanced across the vlei to Longbeach, the wisps of clouds ever changing behind Chapmans peak, caught my breath at their pouring into the valley  The world is a dance around me. Bending grass moving, wind whirling and the wonder of a tortoise slowly ambling across my path.

I sat on a particular angled rock chair where I vanish into the roar of the waves of late, and saw that all the world seemed a Woman to me. The crashing waves one after the other, in a curve, rocks rounded by millennium of smoothing water. Trees rounded and curving, their branches in an intricate pattern of curved dips and weaves,dunes, ripples.  And when the morning is moist from rain and mist – the perfume that rises in the rising sun has me thinking of the womanlyness of all that is around me. Yes Gaia is a Woman… I want to drink her in. Goddess rise. 

Feathers might have heartbeats

“The Feather quivered in my hand, responding to the wind, it still lives”

I dug a hole in the beach sand this evening, a chair. It was an oval shape, and so I sat in my birthing chair. The amniotic fluid of the ocean, salty taste as the red life in me... rock, rocking. I felt cupped by my creation. The Tern feather I held wanted to fly off into the sky, it quivered so. It could have had a heartbeat for all I knew.

I returned to a thought that swam into my mind this morning. I am a Barnacle on a Whale. This personality is a tiny thing that is attached to the Bigger Me, that swims its own way in the vastness of Lifes Ocean. The soul of me, the Divine me is a Whale, that simply awaits for a tiny nudge thought from this ego, that holds memory of who I AM. And then – then she swims another way. And – and I have no idea what depths I will go to, or when I will come up for air…