home

by

StarBeing, eighteen, strength

Healing
isn’t always peaceful,
he spoke on Instagram,
AbleHeart

Live in the goodness
of Life,
a scribbled note
in my stack
said.

Stop running,
turn around and
face it,
he said.

You are right
where
you’re supposed 
to be,
she sang.
Aurora

When the goodness 
of life
takes a struggle
to see,
as the
heavy
black
curtain
is choking the heart
and the self ,
running
being all you
do,
all you know,
to escape
Hearing
healing isn’t always peaceful,
that freedom begins
when you turn 
around
and face it,
when you
let Source 
walk you t
hrough
one step at
a time,
it feels like
it might 
actually
provide some
strength

Turn around and face it.
You are exactly where 
you are asked to 
be.
In the pain.

Face it.
Face healing.

Powerful.

Cecilia Gotherstrom, Dec 2025 

by

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

by

Earth & Space, 10th of December, Door 10

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

by

Kringlans Kalender 2019/ Meru’s Wisdom, Dec 15th

640895_volk_vselennaya_3d_art_2500x2700_www.Gde-Fon.com
Through the raging storm there was a gentle ringing of bells, as if the stars above the clouds were doing a lightdance. The further up the mountain they got the clearer the sky, the gentler the storm.

It was really true, Dawn noticed. You did feel totally renewed, recalibrated even, after the long hike through the blizzard.

Craft stopped. He had been leading the pack the past hour. Now, as the sun was setting across the other side of the mountains, it was time for a bit of a breather for them all. Time to settle in for the eve, get burrowed in underneath either the low growing mountain birches or in the wedges between the rocks.

Blue the pup, Star and Way started to rearrange the snow at the entrance of the silent rocks as they were called. Meru and Wizard took turns moving all the fallen dry birch branches scattered around to the opening. They would make a great entrance floor as well as firewood for the human.

“Craft, why do I feel so at home around you and at the same time so fantastically in awe?” Dawn sat down next to the large black wolf.

“Dawn, dear”, he cleared his throat. This sort of felt formal and he could not fully understand why. “What you humans over and over again fail to understand is that you can only see in others what you carry in yourself. I sense that you are becoming aware of this more and more though. Like somebody has opened a huge, very heavy, thick door, letting the understanding shine through in to your being. Limitless. Belonging. Part of. Unlimited. I believe that is what you feel. That is home. And awe. Home is this feeling of awe, of limitlessness. This. What you are seeing, feeling, sensing right now.”

She looked up at Craft. The stars were out in the sky. Colours of the galaxies reflecting his being. Focused, welcoming eyes. No fakeness. Oh, how she wanted to feel like this all the time.

”It’s a matter of choice my dear Dawn. Over and over again. Practice making these choices. Every choice matters. Every choice is yours. Give that power to yourself, and you are giving it to others. Now, let’s just enjoy the shooting stars.”

How was it possible to move like this, between a feeling of despair, of being lost to totally belonging?

 

Cecilia Götherström, Dec 15th 2019

by

Kringlans Kalender 2019 / Meru’s Wisdom, Dec 5th

680d6ad24cd99b04b7f5938bb09d463d

 

His shrivelling hands reached up to the skies. The nine falling stars met the node of his staff. A flash of lightning, a scream of connection, the wind ceased blowing and the earth whispered for a little while.

The wizard stepped down from his stone. Tired. Weary. He should be happy. Should be fulfilled. He was too tired to feel anything. He needed to lie down.

Crawling,  his hands searched for  the softest stones on the pebble beach. The waves were gently caressing the rocks. No tide tonight, just the movement of a silently dancing starfish and dolphins.

His hands found a spot of stones carefully polished by eons of ice and water. Here he would rest. Here he would regain himself.

He laid down, placing the staff beside him, covering it with the grey cloth and moss he carried in his pouch. He leaned in to the stone covered earth. Closed his eyes. Sssshhhhhhh…..

New stories would be written. Covering up what was between the old stories and the now. But who would write them? He was worried. Sssshhhhh….

The mist of sleep fell over him. Lulling him in to the space in between the veils. No moon tonight. What was to come?

– Cecilia Götherström, Dec 5th 2019

 

by

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

A new star is born

IMG_1057

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

by

Return

IMG_5782

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.

IMG_4646

Cecilia Götherström, 10/ 1 2014