creation

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Earth & Space, 18th of December, Door 18

Photo: Pintrest

Three are the days
three are the elves

Gold is the colour
silver the thread

Raindeers
eleven

Granite
the wisdom

The trees seem to fall down. Yet they are not. They are buried in deep, deep snow. Dragons dance above like garlands of stars.

It is seven days since they left the Glen, ahead of the morning star.

Up and up and up they went. Through dim top valleys, raging ravines and chest high mountain birch brushes. Over the tops of the Three Wishes. Down the Dark Valley of Hidden Wisdom. Back up the Mountain of Doom.

After the last bend they had all expected to see something entirely different than what was born in front of their eyes up there on the Diamond Step. As they turned that last bend they found themselves where they had only heard about in legends. Right at the “eye” of the Ursa Major . Alioth and Merak pointing the way to the path to Polaris.

“Polaris”, Rosie sighed. “Home”

Alba could feel the word ringing in her heart, in some strong, strange type of harmony. What was that? How could a star so far away yet so close by feel like home? How could this desolate place where their feet were placed feel like home?

“Because it is not desolate my dear Alba”, Rosie said. “Look at all the magic. Look up!”

Magic spun
through the wisdom
of choice
of voice
of being

Gold
Silver
and
Granite

Take what is
yours
Leave
the rest
behind

The song of the elves, the dragons and reindeer versifying the scenery of snow, trees and stars. Are they creating it as they are singing? At least it feels like that to Alba.

“They are their own creation, all around them is their own creation, they are all what we – or you humans – are learning that you are dear Alba”, Rosie chuckled. “To take responsibility of and now truly be your own creation. That is why  Polaris, these mountains, the wilderness feels like home. Because that is what you are and hence you create it and it creates you and so on, love creates what it loves – and hates creates what it hates, which is the other side of the medal in the field of duality – , love recognises it or actually recognises itself and more is created. This is your dream. Where you live and I live, in consciousness in this moment. That is why we are here together. Right here, right now. Let’s get to know more about our fellow beings here in this place!”

Soft, gentle bells swirling through the air. Snowflakes embracing the air.

Snowflakes.

Author : Cecilia Götherström / Pejuta Wakinyazi

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Elsa’s Song, Dec 11th 2021

“What forces were at work here?

White Light, White Wizards, White Dragons, White Wolves? The light was so bright there was no darkness to be seen. That did however not mean there was no shadow. The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. Without contrasts there would be nothing to perceive in the centre. 

Laws of Nature. The term had been coined by biologists, scientists, far removed from nature in their mind, close in heart, connections blocked by overactive frontal lobes.

Prakriti, another word for Nature. Another understanding. Ancient one. 

Laws of The Cosmos. 

Oneness.”

Nejla sat with The Crew in Ricky’s and Luca’s garden after the morning sledding, having one of her inner conversations with Storulven. Even though the days were shorter and darker this far north during this time of year the light from the sun and the reflection back from the earth was extremely intense.

Close to six months ago the light had been close to this intense for some time, just after the summer solstice. The shadows had fallen differently, the green on the trees had had a different shade. The light had even made people crossing a zebra crossing seem etheric, close to see-through, which felt pretty scary as you approached in your car.

“All of these “laws” have the same origin.”, Storulven’s voice and presence spoke.

“Oneness. The centre point. Venture further in one of the directions and you feel just a little more distant from it. Venture further and you feel further distant. The thing is though that these connections and combinations are countless – picture a Metatron’s cube, all the intersections and connections are roads to pods of sister and brotherhoods, which in turn all are inter-braided with the roads to the centre point.

You can travel this map with any vibration. You can discover, circle, search, find, feel lost, be found and never, ever do you lose the connection.

“In the beginning was the Word”. Creation was spoken in to being. Sung in to being. Every song, every stanza, every sutra, every word you speak is creation, is creating. How you receive words, songs, light, all vibrations, is creation too.

So, you chose which forces you want to create with. No matter what forces you might perceive being at work here, you choose. You call in the forces you resonate with.

See, all these words – resonance, vibration, sound, echo, light…. I can go on. Same source. From the book of instructions on how to connect in to the centre point. The space. The void. You might travel to the Akashic Records to read the book. You might unlock your heart to read the book. Or, you might become The Adventurer and become The Instruction.”

Cecilia Götherström, December 11th 2021  

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Elsa’s Song, Dec 1st 2021

“When the full moon dances in its own light. When its shadow pulls the breath of slivering starlight. When the omens and the signs are one and the same. When the exhalation of the pine trees is your sleep, your lingering moments of trust. That is when the moonstone speaks to you my child.”

The voice meanders through the dark morning like a hymn.  Dawn is approaching, yet it is not here.

The moment before dawn. The moment before birth.

The dark. The void. The nothingness.

The sense of being held in Nothing-ness, in Everything-ness. The space we have been taught to fear, but which is the most loving, enveloping space. The space where we can hear. Where we can listen. Where we can see through the eyes of our own inner light. 

I roll over in bed, ready to put my feet on the ground, placing them on the warm, fuzzy blanket. 

The entire bedroom floor is covered with blankets held in place by sticky yoga mats underneath.

She’s old, you see. Her paws sprawl out to the sides sometimes. Her grip on artificial surfaces has let go. Her grip in moss, mud, earth, soil and sand has strengthened.

As the dust of dawn foxtrots gently through the tightly pulled blinds, touching the floor, reflecting off her fur, I see her. Curled up. Her white furry legs crossed. Jaws totally relaxed, breathing, snoozing. Head resting gently on the edge of her orthopaedic bed.

Peace. Magic. Love. Stardust. Gentleness. Listening. Kindness. Holiness. All. Breathing in. Breathing out.

As I open the faucet to splash my hands and face in ice cold water, it drizzles like gemstones landing in the sink. The light is as if from another dimension.  Rich, gentle, blessed. This water. A gift.

 Day one. Every morning anew. A promise. A vow. A vow of presence.

I will give myself to the story being birthed in each breath. The one story springing forth from the song. The song of creation.

“Listen. Listen to the moon. Listen to the stone. Listen to the song. This is Elsa’s Song.”

She on the other side of the veil embrace us both in her magic stride of sacred fierceness. Blessing us.

“We are all blessings”. Elsa’s song begins.

December 1st 2021, Cecilia Götherström

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Kringlans Kalender 2019/ Meru’s Wisdom, Dec 1st

A new star is born

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The wintercoat thickened. Like a new layer of atmosphere along this cold ball of lightning. Out of nothingness came life, came light, came a mist as if breathed through the voice of the void. Bright, strong, finely filigraphicially painted across a velvety canvas of the universe.

It´s song sung itself into existence, in to living. What had begun like a seed, like a wish, like an idea, a longing, a spiralling small funkle of snakey energy had started curling in upon and around itself. Spiralling while fuming. Moving faster and faster in an intriquate yet messy pattern, spinning its own being in to life. Not a sparkle and bang like fireworks on new years day. More like a sneaky, slow, quiet, first breath of a sly dragon escaping it´s passage , becoming its own life form ,its own master, its own creation.

It was felt. So strong was the notion of a new star just born that it was impossible to turn any heads away from what was not awaited any more but birthed in to being right now.

Strong. White. Whiskery. Slow. Sly. Clever. Knowing.

Star.

 

– Cecilia Götherström

 

 

 

 

 

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Rich

IMG_9556

I am rich.

Rich beyond belief,
beyond fathom, I am.

I am because I am rich.

Mother provides for me,
Father keeps me safe,
Brother nurtures me,
Sister sings to me.

Earth is what I am,
what I walk upon,
what lives inside my soul.

Sky is what breathes,
Soil is what bleeds,
Wind is what feels.

Rich I am.

All that I am,
is all that You are.

Star family, Earth family.

Rich I am.

Walk I do.

Forever and ever.
In the Richness of Plenty.

“Did you love today?” she asks before
she gently susses me to sleep.

“Were you grateful today?” he asks when
he closes the velvet around me.

“Did you live today? Live like life itself?”
they ask as they sing me away.

Dawn and dusk.
Dusk and dawn.

Creation.
Gratitude.
Breath.

Did you love today?

I did.

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Cecilia Götherström, June 21st 2015

by

The Song Of Me

Song of me1

The Song of Me,

flies over snow covered mountains,

sings a spring time creek to its cover.

The song of me,

crosses hearts and barriers,

opens, moves and births.

 

The song of me,

is for no one else to sing,

but to blend in to

the song of all of us.

 

The song of birth, of cry, of worship,

of destinations

time and again.

 

The song of me breaks open,

moves crystals and rocks

into blessings.

 

The song of me cracks open,

that which is to be said,

to be done,

to be laid down,

to be rendered,

reunited,

rewed,

regained, retwined, regranded.

 

The song of me,

sings to the eyes of the soul

to the song of the gods

the eyes of the stars.

 

The song of me is the soul,

the spare, the twining twister,

the ever splendid galaxy of tears,

of joy,

of magic,

of serenity,

of wisdom,

of class and doom.

 

The song of me

is mine to sing,

thine to hear,

ours to twine

and twine and twine.

 

The song of me,

is of me strong,

of me being creation,

of me being all.

 

The song of me,

is of All.

 

The song of me

is you,

the you that is not

as me is.

I am

the song of me

 

Divine

 

 

Song of me2
Cecilia Götherström, Gävle 13/3 2015