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Dec 1st, The Promise, Part I

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”And so it begins…”

With amber eyes she caresses every movement my mind makes, living in the depths of my soul as she speaks. With the voice of a mother she holds my intention in hers.

”Outside the comfort zone, new challenge is what it may feel like,” she hums.

” Going deep within, taking on the Journey to fulfill the ancient promise is what it really is. Go my child. Go to come home.”

The wind is suddenly picking up, icy air is turning my ears in to frosty red bundles. My lovikavantar protecting my hands from the cold.

Right here, right now, there is nothing strange at all about sitting in between her front paws, her entire wolfness envelopping me with a beauty my heart has never witnessed before. Right here, right now, the fact that this fluffy raven and I are about to go on what will be a very, very long hike is anything but strange.

”So”, the white wolf whispers. ”You have been here before. It´s the 7th year. 21 days. It is time. They are all here. Meru, Nisse, Bertil, Pe, the dragons, the giants, the trolls, the little people, everyone. 7 years you queens have been building this portal. Dragging stones, moving and planting roots, digging deep, decorating  with dreams, wishes, strength, power. Overwon despeair, dis-ease, grief, moved mountains to get this portal ready. With your magic you have ornamented thesed doors in 4 different ways while remaining as one. It is time to open the gateway. To merge with what is on the other side. To look all your fears in the eye to be able to turn them in to gold. In to gold and silver dust.”

She changes the seat of her paws, softening her gaze, allowing for the moon and the stars to glow through her white coat as she lightly yawns before capturing me in her eyes again.

”These dances have been going on since ancient times, like the swirling breath of of the winter hunters”, she continues. ” Since ancient times some have listened, some have stayed, some have returned, others have not. This time we need to return all together. This time there will be no veil. We all have to do this together. It´s a choice to save not just what we have but what we truly are. It is our last chance to create this New Earth, through returning to the ancient wisdom.”

I know it is time to go. Time to pick up and leave. It is not that I am dreading it, it is more like ”Why? Why is December 1st always the beginning of the next big move? Why can it not just be a soft, glittery, curly and gentle way into the favourite season of the year?”

Raven chuckles. ”You´re funny”. Flapping her wings. ”You know soft, fluffy, gentle and all that won´t go down at all with that inner spirit of yours. We will fluff enough in between journeys, I promise. But now we really have to embark.”

  • Cecilia Götherström, Dec 1st 2018
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Past Lovers

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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

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In my heart of hearts I

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In my heart of hearts I
hear music
sing to my soul

In my heart of hearts I
am music

In my heart of hearts I
spill in to the world of creation
like a brittle waterfall,
a whiskering wind,
like a tone of love,
of wildness,
of quaking wisdom
shivering out of my bones

In my heart of hearts I
know who I am

In my heart of hearts I
melt into the mother,
become the father

In my heart of hearts I
am the speck of oneness,
the soul who is the muse,
the giver of joy,
simultaneously

In my heart of hearts,
there is no stopping me,
No boundaries,
no beginning,
no ending,
in my heart of hearts

In my heart of hearts I
look deep into the brown-yellow eyes
of the enormous white wolf
in the mirror
looking back at me,
eyes full of tenderness,
eyes full of knowing,
soul full of worship

In my heart of hearts I
come home
to who I am,
to who I was,
to who I am to be,
simultaneously.

Cecilia Götherström, Nov 5th 2015
Thank you Roger Housden for the writing prompt!

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Rich

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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

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I am sorry House

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I am sorry House,
that I could not love you.

My heart was closed,
too busy holding on to pieces,
already broken
I was.

I could not see,
your tender care,
your solid hold,
you doing what you do best,
shelter.

I could not feel
warm, ancient soil
underneath my feet
lifting pine trees to the sky
welcoming crystal white covers
to carry us into the depths of the woods
in the company of ravens, eagles, moose and myths.

I was not hearing
the soaring air,
the speaking winds,
the soft whispers of comfort,
the Soul of the land
speaking to my broken soul.

My heart could smell,
could touch the sun,
could caress the moon,
sing with wolves and wonders
– but not under your roof.

I am sorry House,
for not living
while I inhabited your space.

I am sorry House,
for just grieving
in your warm arms.

I am sorry Mountain,
for loving you more
than I love myself,
for finding life, joy, wonder and purpose
on your hilltops.

I am sorry Mountain,
for capturing your soul into mine,
for the bliss of oneness
which only you know.

I am sorry Mountain,
that I cannot live that gift, that passion
for now and ever after more.

If anyone will ever ask,
I shall say;
The Mountain holds my Soul.

Cecilia Götherström, May 7th 2015

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The Song Of Me

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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

 

 

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Cecilia Götherström, Gävle 13/3 2015