Photo: Pintrest
Nothing to gain,– SheDragon
nothing to lose,
yet choose you still
must do
Silently or
loudly
whatever
you pick
just be aware
of the power
of choice
To be connected,
to disconnect,
switch on,
switch off
all is possible
by
the power of choice
Author: Cecilia Götherström / Pejuta Wakinyazi
Photo: Devianart.com/Pintrest
Space and Earth, Earth and Space.
“There is nothing to figure out, it is all in the heart”. Wasn’t that what she’d said, how it had all begun this time around?
What if it feels like you cannot access the heart? If you cannot find the thread? If it feels like the rupture has slowly immersed itself into total discord? How do you get there then?
“There’s nowhere to get to, my child. Its all right here. I know it might be challenging to see it, but here we are again, here is that word again – “seeing”. Choose to see the heart. Be curious. If it feels like you cannot see, pretend. Be open to playing around with perspectives. Look from above, from below, from all sides and directions you can imagine and then some more. Summon your creativity to make up something new every day. One thing. Just one, over the top crazy, thing. The freedom you connect to then can only lead you back to one place, the heart.”
Alba is looking me straight in the eyes. Putting her hands on my shoulders, gripping firmly. Portals! I see portals in her eyes!
“Those portals are not in my eyes, dear child. They are in yours. Every time you look at something, see something, it is a portal. Which portals are you walking through, which are you not? Listen to the portals. With your heart.”
Is that what it means that everything is a reflection, a mirror?
“It´s more than that. It´s a mirror maze. So, now you tell mee child. What is mirroring itself? Who sees it? Summon your creativity”!
11-1-11-12.
A code flashing through my mind.
Author: Cecilia Götherström / Pejuta Wakinyazi
Photo:Pintrest
The door creaks open. Just a sliver of light touching the ancient wooden floor. On the other side of the threshold the wood meets soft granite stones. Rough surfaces which have been polished by the clatter o feet and paws for centuries, shaping the gentleness of these cold stones in to being.
A shadow, a shape taking form , filling the fragment of morning sun which was just there. Gentle paws touching the squeaky old floor. Alba sits up, throw her legs over the side of the bed while reaching for her wollen socks usually placed right next to the bed with one hand.
“It’s time to wake up for real my dear”, the shadowshapeds voice stir the morning silence. Not even the birds are awake yet.
There they are, the socks. OK. Now, what did she say? What did that dear old little puppy say? “Wake up for real?”
“I am awake”, Alba hear herself say in quite a defensive way, which she immediately blame the early hours for.
“You’re funny”, the wolf chuckles. “As if you have ever been awake for real any longer than three exhales”.
“Crazy, funny, wise always-right soul-companion you are”, Alba shakes her head as she agrees. “Let’s go meet this new day Rosie! I have a feeling it is waiting for us already.”
“As long as you are awake, let us do just that”, the wolf winks.
Author: Cecilia Götherström / Pejuta Wakinyazi
Stillness and chaos, Moonlight and night wishes Sunrise shrewd in clouds and mist
Fire and Ice,
Dreams and the beyond Forged in steel, bound by flowers, like a star in the wind
Where is the dream? What is real?
Nothing is a dream. Nothing is real. It is all just perspectives. And perspectives can be turned, changed, tuned.
Whether we are awake during the day, sleeping and dreaming during the night, or the other way around nobody really knows.
How would you prove it?
When you are busy wanting to prove something you miss all the cues, all the goings on, all the “living” in the periphery of your space of focus so how can you know ?
What would happen if you invited yourself to stay open, to stay really, really curious to all of the above or maybe even something entirely different being what specifies “real”? Who knows? I mean, who really knows, really?
Just saying…..
Author: Cecilia Götherström / Pejuta Wakinyazi
Speak love in to being,
the starlings are back.
Rime and frozen windows,
magic is here to stay.
Wanting to do more than you can might be seen as virtue. It can also kill your spirit.
Not seeing what you are doing, while only seeing what you percieve to inherently lack, that is not what this thing you call life is about.
Speak love in to being. With every word you create. Don’t bash. Re-create.
See the wonder in her eyes. Let her love you, by loving her back in all the same ways she loves you. All of you. Also the impatient, wounded parts. She sees them, tilts her head, tries to understand them. It might be out of her world and being, but she does. She does understand them. And she loves you. All of you.
Speak love in to being.
The starlings are back.
Author : Starlight, Cecilia Götherström/Pejuta Wakinyazi, Akasha, Elsa
“Divine Soul, I am willing and ready to listen”.
“Really let all the stardust and particles shed through your life. Don’t try to understand what I am saying. Feel it and dance through it all. Rest and move and rest and move again . All is an eternal dance and you choose the tunes. You really do. What you set your reciever to is what you recieve. Just like a radio. Juice FM or Downbeat Dread ? Sparkle and Space or Beat The Shit Out Of My Brain ? I can go on and on saying the same thing in tens of thousands different ways, yet the message will always be the same. Choose. Act. Then choose again.”
She put the feathery inkpen down. Blew out the candle, opened the window to the winternight. Exhaled a dust of white foam in the starry sky.
It was time to act.
Author: Cecilia Götherström/ Pejuta Wakinyazi
Picture: From Pintrest
Feathers, pinecones
and angels
Many are
the colours
of
the soul
Little, bereft
ungrounded
Nothing matters more
than
the show
Feathers
floating
in space
To the fortress
of
tremendous
luminescence
Grounding
in earth
The wounded
cones
Life becomes life
once again
Rooted, full
omnipresent
And the cycles go
on
and
on
and
on
Where in the spiral
you find
yourself
look in the middle ahead
There in the mirror, skewed
what you believe
to be
true
Feathers, pinecones
and angels
Spin
their way
through
your life
Tender the
sacred
spiralling
cones
light
the way
Angels carry you
forward,
because you are
part
of the light
No matter how
lost
unloved
you might
feel
The distorted light
forms
a
line
Line becomes
love
Love
becomes
light
Light
Become
feathers
and
pinecones
and angels
Movement in
space
re-shapes
again
First there was
light
and
sound
Frequency
the
only truth
Blueprint
and
goldprint
and
stories
You,
you
will always
find your
true
Mahakash
Author: Cecilia Götherström /Pejuta Wakinyazi
Time and Space. Space and Time. Location. Destination.
Magic.
Destination: Magic.
Location: Magic.
Time : Magic.
Space.
Many are the things that take no space, as space is.
Magic space.
All around you. Everywhere. You are inside magic space. Magic space fills you up. You are magic space.
In Honour of The Two of Us. Of the Three of Us. Of the Four of Us. Of the space of Us.
In Honour of The Space.
Fill it with what you need. With what you truly need. Nothing is too small. Nothing is too large.
Hear it. See it. Smell it. Taste it. Feel it. Dance it. Sing it. Be it.
All the time and all ways. In the movement of space.
Snow!
Frozen space!
Magic spun in crystals. Fractals frozen in time. As time moves they move too. Melt. Re-form, re-shape, re-turn. Magic.
I choose magic.
I choose life.
I choose sparkle.
I choose space.
Author: Cecilia Götherström / Pejuta Wakinyazi
“Everyone heals in their own way. How you heal is up to you. Up to you to find, to feel, to sense, to belong to. Yes, to belong to. There is nothing to figure out, it is all in the heart, in the Earth, held by the sky and Space. That which you belong to. That which is also your healing.”
She changed her seat. Got up. Twirled the thread between her fingers. Spun it around her hands.
“The gift of healing is the gift of seeing”, she continued. Her eyes were wide and warm. Her breath travelled far in the cold air filling the cottage.
“Magic is a choice. Seeing is choice. Living is a choice. What you choose is what you see. The more often you consciously choose, seeing itself chooses you. Just don’t ponder too much on that last part. Go out and choose!”
She swung her arms open towards the door, motioning me to get ready to leave.
“Remember, there is no horizon. Remember, the horizon is the horizon”
Author: Cecilia Götherström, Pejuta Wakinyazi
Monday. 12-12-22. Let me sing you the song of Mondays of new beginnings, of moon, of new, and beginnings I mean, have there ever been old beginnings? Just saying… You see, for something to begin something else must end Yet it’s all actually one long thread of now’s. It’s all in how you see it Division? or Connection? both in the same coin Before ends Now begins yet all is Now Every day, every moment has its own energy Notice it, you only can when you hear the Now Do you hear it? Now Now Now No dreaming, just being No pining, just soaking Now Now Now All there is Now Starlight Now Let me sing to you the song of Mondays Your beginnings your endings your now’s Your Star-light. This. Is. It. Presence, Power, Stillness Starlight. This. Cecilia Götherström, Kringlans AdventsKalender 2022
FlowerOfTheThunderAndLightning 