Photo: Pintrest
Rest,
she said
The time
is now
is
here
Curl up
rest
release
stay
Silent
stay
free
stay
Release
Fear
can only last
where
stagnancy
lives
Stay
mobile
in silence
in rest
in peace
Curl up
unfurl
release
Forsake
the
musts
the
shoulds
the
havetos
Stay
stop
rest
Mobile
in
silence
Receive
magic
Receive
clearance
Receive
peace
Receive
Mahakash
Author : Cecilia Götherström / Pejuta Wakinyazi
If I am really honest, in my heart of hearts I will soar like a bird, touching the snow covered mountain tops. I will run downhill paws deep in the mud, grass and moss like a wolf, chased by the wind, embraced by moving space, scents, a whiff on a hunt not for food but for play, for life, for joy. If I am really honest, in my heart of hearts I will sing to the dawn, dance in the shadows of morning and eve. I will not succumb to this mediocre numbness of sitting not to be sitting but to be seated where someone put you. If I am really honest, in my heart of hearts there is no resistance, no pull, no push, no tug, no moving, without purpose. Like a reed in the wind, its movement its purpose. If I am really honest, in my heart of hearts I will throw out all the blankets, the cushions, the pillows and their safety-nets. In there, in my heart of hearts is she, her, it, them, this, whatever opens, whatever closes holding a candle, enjoying the flickering of the light, the wind, the rain, the snow, the sea, the cold, the sun, the wintery, wintery skies. If I am really honest, in my heart of hearts that mountaintop is my home, those woods my backyard, my pantry that river, my blood. I sit there, having chosen to sit there myself. I live there. Having chosen to live there myself. I breathe there, having chosen to be there, myself In my heart of hearts. Cecilia Götherström, April 23rd 2022
Snoozing, snoring blessing. On a pile of blankets in the corner. Sweetness sleeping. Curled up like in a den. Comfort in heart. Comfort in soul. Even through loss she has found some type of peace. Being herself. No compromise. Only fullness. Only love. Only stamina. Only Elsa. - Cecilia Götherström, Jan 8th 2021
The new moon is one day away.
Next to the customary list or lists of what our wishes are for the new moon, this new moon we are being called to listen to Grace and Gratitude.
If Grace and Gratitude were people, what would they tell you?
If you were to sit down with them at the dinner table, or have a glass with them at the open fire place, or if you met them on that packed bus on the way to work in the morning – what would you share with each other?
What would they wear?
How would they look?
How would meeting and hanging out with them feel?
What would you take away from the meeting?
What would you give them from the bag of treasures you carry around by just being you?
Happy New Moon dears, thank you for being who you are in the world!
xxx
Cecilia Götherström, Nov 25th 2019
I wrote this piece, for H and for M, in January of 2014. At a time where I could finally get closure on what happened 16 years earlier.
Today, in July of 2019, I can finally feel the true healing happening, thanks to SiStarHood galore.
You will always be in my heart. In my every smile.
Thank you.
You arrived with a bunch of our “season-friends”,
smile from cheek to cheek
as if you had swallowed the sun.
My heart fluttered,
euphoria
“He is here”, “he really came”
A wonderful summer could not come to a better end.
More than a hundred very special people,
connected in ways most outsiders never would understand
gathered in the evening sun this day in August.
Short speech,
the bar open,
the band playing,
the buffet inviting everyone to celebrate.
The air was alive,
the hearts were filled to the brim,
the beer was cold.
“Will you come with me?”
“Yes”, I whispered.
Your hands were warm.
“Tonight I have to host this party but tomorrow I am all yours.
We have the rest of our lives ahead of us”.
My words held a promise.
Two souls,
young, fearless and bright
amidst this crowd of connected spirits,
snowflakes being our glue.
It is night.
I lie here curled up against his body.
My face drowning in his naked chest,
my whole being shivering, quaking.
I try to breathe slow,
but I can´t.
One ear rests against his heart,
taking in the constant “thuck, thuck, thuck”,
the powerful blood,
the elixir of life pumping through his veins,
so alive,
so strong,
so real.
My other ear is listening to a different “thuck, thuck, thuck”,
the sound of the heavy coast guard helicopter,
surveilling the dark waters,
looking for your body,
so eerie,
yet so real.
Heart.
Helicopter.
Heart.
Helicopter.
Heart.
Helicopter.
Bodybag.
Heart.
Soul.
Cecilia Götherström, Jan 22nd 2014
Candlelight, chestnuts and pinecones
Christmastree,
it is just you and me
Comfort, life, breath
Pineneedles, light, sacredness
I stop,
I forget
in a way which makes me re-member
you came from a slope,
which was once me,
specks of atoms, of dust
you grew out of snow
I was
yesterday,
today,
tomorrow,
now
It all just is.
We all just are.
Christmastree,
you and me
are just dreams of traditions,
of what is and what is to come
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
You in my livingroom,
I in your forest.
It all blends,
in this moment
tomorrow
now
then
there
when
who cares?
Let us sing,
let us be the charol.
Have you not always dreamed,
like me,
to be carried out on a chord,
to slide down a tune
echoing in to the wilderness
with nothing to stop you
sounding
Who cares?
What cares?
Let us sing with the stars,
soak the light in to our hearts
Like the candles on your branches,
let us shine through the night
Midvinterblot,
I hail thee
My roots are deeper than the mountain
My home is stronger than my heart
My soul echoes through eons
Take my hand,
carry me away
While remaining here,
watching,
re-membering
taking in your light
Oh Christmastree, oh Christmastree
of Odins heart so strong
Hel.
Whole.
Hel.
Helig.
Holy
Oh , holy night.
Åh, helga natt.
Home.
– Cecilia Götherström, Dec 10th 2018
In a bag a few minutes ago I found this piece below which I wrote on Jan 10th 2014.
Reading it now, it gives me goosebumps – as giving the turmoil, development, moves and all that has happened the past 2,5 or even 3 years , it is more than symbolic that I wrote this early 2014 and am finding it today – July 12th.
Return
The return is imminent,
faith awaits
Her huge white wings
sweeping me in,
closing out the darkness for now
As the wings open
the dark, velvety night sky is adorned
with galaxies,
light-holes
and wishes turned in whisper
I stand there,
basking in her glow,
listening
to the whispers from now,
the whispers from before,
the whispers that were,
that are,
that will come.
In this place all is one.
There is no then,
no now,
no later.
Is the return really a return?
Or is it an opening of what was always there?
She asks me to open my eyes,
my ears, my heart,
with softness,
with a waiting,
whatever comes in.
A feather falls from the sky
into my hand,
I can feel its softness
caressing my cold palm,
almost making me giggle from the tickling feeling.
I watch the feather
as it turns and turns in my palm,
first slow,
then faster,
and faster.
The spiralling movements
makes it stir up
and away.
The feather has turned in to a huge raven,
first white,
when he takes flight I can see him
shifting in to grey,
then in to black,
his glistening eyes disappearing
with the flapping of his wings
directions Ursa Major.
The wind coming from the pine tress in the back,
bring another whisper,
a song,
an anthem.
There is a vibration from the ground,
I turn around.
The whole forest alive,
waving,
swaying,
gently sining a tune
of return,
of now,
of all never being anything other
than what is now.
A brown bear beckons me to come closer.
She has two cubs at her side.
It feels like I know them,
like I have seen them before,
like we are family.
I look up at the sky,
towards Ursa Major,
where Raven headed,
then look back at Mother Bear.
I return.
Cecilia Götherström, 10/ 1 2014
I was looking for somebody´s number in my phone today,
and I found yours.
I was in a hurry,
rushing through the list I wished to complete by the end of the day,
and there you were.
In black and white on the screen.
The letters of your name ringing out,
as if you were still there.
A name in my list of contacts.
A cell phone number not dialled for some time,
staring at me as if the signs and numbers themselves
were eyes,
had a presence.
What would happen if I called you?
If I let my fingers slide across the touch-screen,
swipe the call – icon to dial your number?
Would there be a ring-tone?
And, if there were,
how many?
Would there be a click before the voicemail automatically switched on,
at the end of that last ring-tone?
Or would that last one end in silence?
If you could pick up, what would you say?
Would you tell me where you are?
How you are doing?
What you are doing?
Would your voice sound close,
or distant?
Would we talk about the good old times,
the friends we shared,
the village,
the snow,
the new boards of the season?
Would we laugh about what never changed,
or to be more specific ;about the old living legends whom would never change?
Would we decide to meet up the mountain,
or down in the village
tomorrow
with the whole crew?
Would we reminisce of powder days,
of flatlight,
of people held close in our hearts whether there or not there that very season,
of me working for Burton eventually,
of that proving you were right ?
Would you laugh?
Would you let us know,
where you are headed after this,
where we can see you again ?
You see,
I am not the only one
with your number still in my phone,
I am sure.
I am not the only one
whose days lit up
with that smile of yours,
whether it was telling stories
or taking the piss.
I am not the only one
wishing I could just call
those whom departed too early.
0664-2324449.
Cecilia Götherström, Feb 8th 2016
A piece from our monthly Writer´s Circle in The Hague, written in March of 2014.
When does a Love become a Past Love?
This very moment, as the present takes over?
Is past love, lost love?
Can you love somebody more and love somebody less?
Is there a less less or a less intense,
a more less , or a more intense?
Whatever it is, at this moment it hurts.
It hurts because I find myself loving not just people,
but moments with people.
Past Loves, Past Lovers – what is the difference?
When does Love turn into a Lover?
When you Love, are you not a Lover in its most passionate essence?
Is that not when you bare your heart,
deeper than your flesh and bodily sensations?
Is that not the Love that burns deeper than your skin,
charring your inner core,
touching the roots and the nerves of who you are,
– baring your very soul.
No limits,
borderless,
beyond any rules or conceptions.
When that Love just is, is, is
– does it ever become Past?
When it is so overwhelming that the thought of losing it,
of losing this moment,
of losing this Love,
makes you cringe.
When so many tears have been shed,
when so many glowing smiles and gentle touches have been exchanged,
when you are exhausted,
wrought out,
gasping for air,
in pain,
and somehow still fulfilled in the weirdest sense of the word
– is that when Love is Past?
Is that the moment when you realize,
that all which were the signs of Love;
the Power,
the Force,
the Storms,
of Love,
in an instant got caught up with attachment.
Attachment
to the passion,
to the feeling,
to the cringing skin,
the churning stomach,
the redness,
the fluttering
– instead of Love as something bigger than what we can perceive?
Cecilia Götherström, March 2014
Behind the sea there is a scent
Behind the scent
a truth
a truth odourless,
subtle
yet the greatest of them all
The truth of
who you are
a pearl within
a much larger scope
you could ever imagine.
Live that breath,
take that step
Be that one.
You.
Cecilia Götherström, 23-11 2015
FlowerOfTheThunderAndLightning 