Reaching for the skies as the wick dies down, curling inwards, imploding
The end of the end of the end.
You see, the light needs to die before it can be reborn. That is what it does. That is what light is. Swallowed by darkness it hides underneath the ground. Germinates. Sprouts.
The darkness cannot be fought. It needs space. It needs to be given space.
You see, eventually darkness will feel so alone that it can do nothing but invite light in. Make space for it. Dance with it. Live with it. Mix with it. Mingle.
The light needs to die to be re-born. Darkness is the space where the light grows. Without darkness, no rest. Without rest, no movement.
You see, flow is what happens in the space between two points, two destinations. Music is what happens in the space between two notes.
She called in the Angels. She called in Source Light. Realizing that you call in what already exists within you, that which if you don’t voice and sound it , the powers, the source, the light cannot act. They can only shine. And if you are blind to their light you cannot receive the reflection of that light in your heart. In your star.
The angels said “Let us hold you, let us bow over you, lift you from underneath, surround you, love you, hold you. All you need to do is ask. Ask and surrender.”
“I surrender”. She folded forwards in a bow, a prayer, like a feather flowing to the ground, lightly resting there. “No more fighting. No more. I am done. Done fighting. Done resisting. Done.”
“You are that which you Are”, the angels sang. “ A part of Source Light. Nothing else. The rest is just a coat. A coat of many colours.”
She saw a diamond. A diamond with all its facets. The light shone through. It touched the inside. The inside reflected back. The outside reflected the inside back.
“Where the light comes from is not important. When you feel encumbered by shadow, sit in that light,” the Northern Lights swooshed their song her way. Diamonds and crystals of white, green and purple faceting their way through the skies.
The angels widened their circles. Their light became one with the beaming sky in the darkness.
“Without darkness, no fluorescence. In this dark season all can be folded in, embraced, loved, let go of where needed. Life is one big inhale and exhale. Life is one big expansion and contraction. Its energy is light. Its outcome is light. The deeper the winter dark, the stronger the magic, the stronger the light.”
She exhaled. She sighed. Gave herself to the earth. Done.
A wet little nose against hers. A puppy tongue licking her face, sharp little teeth testing the boundaries on her nose. Love.
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
Or no, not stuck, just sluggishly proceeding, Nejla corrected herself mid thinking.
“Totally fascinating how deep many thought patterns are. You slip in to them without noticing, then you react and only then do you realise it is too late”, she spoke out loud to herself.
“What is too late?” Ricky asked.
“I guess nothing is too late”, Nejla realized as she replied. “We can always go back and change. We can always connect again and think or say or do what we really meant, not what our old patterns meant. I believe I have come to understand that this is actually what evolving in life is all about. Dropping the masks, gently tearing down the walls and owning what we need to release and uncover. Going back to those we dropped our reaction on, including when that one is ourselves at times, rephrasing, repairing. Through that we not only heal our patterns but we also heal the other being across from us as we throw out a bridge of loving rainbowlight through that very act. Does that sound weird or mushy?”
“Nothings mushy in the life of a musher!”, Ricky couldn’t help himself, slapping his knees, laughing at his own joke.
Soft, gentle chello like music drifted through the air, swirling around the mountaintops, dropping in and out of the crevasses, dancing, mixing, transforming. The full moon travelled across the heavens. No hurry. Just gently journeying.
“Do you know that command on the computer when everything seems to be out of whack?” Nejla looked across at Ricky as she moved the dogs from the sleds to the stakeout.
“Force Quit, you mean?”, Ricky was half way head down and half his torso in to the Cargo Basket, getting the dogs meals out.
“Yes!”, Nejla enthusiastically replied. “It feels like the spell will work just like “Force Quit”. When things are stuck, just hanging there, solidly glued in the same warp you need a “Force Quit” right?”
“Right as rain”, Thor budged in and replied.
“Starlight, Starlight, Comets and Void. Be bright. Shine clear”.
Lyrics were forming to the swirling music.
Nejla looked over at Starlight. Their eyes met. In that moment Nejla realized that Starlight’s very eyes looked just like that – starlight. Why had she not seen that before? Furthermore, Starlights red and white fur reflected the starlight from above as well as the frozen starlight they rested upon. Was it Starlight singing as she gently howled or was it the crevasses?
The woman’s weathered hands moved across the ancient wand.
To the untrained eye the object looked like a shrivelled up piece of wood.
To Disa it had been obvious the first time her eyes met it that it was anything but wood. Being a blend of onyx, shungite, white alabaster, rock crystal and lava from the inner core of Mother Gaia, swirled together in a spiral like pattern it was an extremely magic wand. The Dragon Wind Wand. One of the most powerful instruments to ever grace the Earth plane, even though no instrument had any true power without intent.
Disa had noticed how some of the birdseeds in her garden had sprung out. How they had managed to do that, outside in the cold, on the thick layer of snow and ice covering the ground, was mystery to behold. Unless it was due to the bright light coming in from the galactic suns during the short days. Magic light for magic sprouts?
Nejla and Ricky’s sleds had come to a halt. They had travelled throughout the early morning. At 3 am they had packed up, moved on for a few hours underneath the Ursid meteor showers. Now at 6.30 am it was time for a nap before the bright red and golden sun dawned.
A deep sigh from the dogs spread through the quiet air. What seemed like just as deep a sigh sounded out from the surrounding woods seconds later.
“Light is the first cause, and every second cause is its shadow”, Maddy the Mighty stretched out like only cats can.
‘What’s that?” Ricky turned and looked at the cat.
“Oh, just something this pretty connected guy Rumi I once knew very well used to say”. Maddy curled up.
“How old are you Maddy?” Nejla asked.
“Ancient. Not that it matters though”, Maddy replied opening one eye. “Let’s just keep what the dude Rumi said in mind once we wake up with the sun after this nap OK? You will see. Oh yes, you will see.”
“Did you know I was about to name the second lead dog Rumi?” Ricky turned towards Nejla. “But he insisted on being called Kabir instead”.
Nejla could not help laughing out loud. “I always thought it such a weird combination of names and energies with Thor and Kabir in the lead, but Thor and Rumi surely would have been outrageously weird.”
Another sigh from The Crew and The Pack. Time to snooze.
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.”
The darkness of the winter morning holds a cocoon. Nejla embraces the coolness of the bedroom air mixed with the warm welcoming of her worn out snowboard-socks.
Minutes later, cup of warm team with milk and honey in hand, her mother’s knitted scarf wrapped around her waist and another one around her shoulders, she is in the garden. Inhaling the new day. It is ceremony time.
The morning star is not alone in the sky this time of the year. You could say there’s a family, even a tribe of a truly interconnected web of morning stars. One shining brighter than the next, yet noone stealing the light from the other. Every single light source enhancing each other. Every breath a pulsation of light against the soft darkness of the multiverse.
“There are stars which are no stars, and there are skies which are no skies. There are no terms and conditions on creation. Just because we have named something from our perspective, looking in one direction, does not mean that is the way it is.”, Nejla spoke, pondering, to the winter air.
“What would it take to be a sadhu?” Nejla thought to herself. “What would it take to be a choice. A choice to just experience the here and now? To stop, to stay, to watch through the veils. Noticing that sometimes they are sturdy blinds and other times the velis dissipate in front of your eyes as you observe them? To be someone not going anywhere physically and ambitionally all the time, but expanding from within?”
“It would only take that. A choice. The choice. You see, magic is a choice too.”
The voice seemed to come from the winter breeze. In the shifting light of the morning sun approaching from the east and the dense snow clouds moving in from the north a little sparkle started to manifest right in front of her eyes.
“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.
FlowerOfTheThunderAndLightning 