Lightwarrior

by

Transmissions of Starlight / 1

She closed her eyes to the world, like she had closed her heart to the world too many years before. The world was not what she needed and the world did not need her.

Well, not the real her anyway.

What the world seemed to need was the one she could never be. The one she had tried to be. The one she had done her best to live up to. Which had never been enough.

She closed her eyes and promised to never look back. Only to look inwards. Following the symbols and the keys. Passing through doors new and old over and over again. Inner doors and inner dimensions.

What is out there is what is out there yet it’s not out there.

To see for real you have to fly with your eyes wide shut. So that your souls eyes are held open. Letting the silence speak like the Northern Lights sing. Stalling your gaze on that magnificence. That magnificence your being truly is.

When you walk down to the river’s edge where the white , crisp ice meets the dark lava coloured bottomless water and you peer in to the depths only to see the reflections of endless space, multitudes of stars and galaxies undiscovered. Then.

When you are there, and you lean a little further over the filigreed edge, and you look in to two deep, brown eyes, adorned by a silver grey mane, a large white muzzle, you realize that you are looking at a reflection of that unicorn which is you.

You pull back.

You look again.

Nothing has changed.

Or has everything changed?

The silver grey hair now adorns a woman dressed in white swirling lace and crystal studded layers dancing in the windless night to the rhythm of the Northern Lights.

“Be what you want to be, dive deep in to your true desires and be only that”, the wind which was not there, whispered.

She opened her eyes.

“See what is not there”, the whispers continued.

The first snow had started to fall. Out there, past the frosty grass, across the dunes, over the beach, a butterfly spread its wings.

“Don’t be afraid of completing your transformation even if tomorrow could be your last day. It’s all in the hands of you”.

Cecilia Götherström, Kringlans AdventsKalender 2022

by

Kringlans Kalender 2020/ Sacred. Part 3. December 3rd.

“Sacred Touch. Sacred Meeting.”

He heard the words as if they were alive, dancing in space in the room, sliding around the Christmas tree still waiting to be decorated, floating over the grand piano where he was sitting, caressing the keys of the instrument like he was moving his fingertips through her fur. Gently, carefully, lovingly, with an intent to listen to the music of her presence, the one thing which would open his heart up wide. With her, everything had been possible. With her, his whole life – and not just his work – had become a symphony.

People had called him crazy, taking in a 60 kg rescued wolf in his house when he already spent close to a full work day behind the piano quite often seven days a week. How would he have time for the hours of movement, care and attention this animal required ?

But he knew. The minute he had looked in to her eyes, he knew. This was it. Why he was here on this earth. Why she was here on this earth.

The magic he felt under his fingertips when playing the piano, the magic which spun its way in to human hearts and living room speakers, came from the wild, from the habitat which she was. 

Together they had roamed many nights under the stars in the snow, many days up and down the mountains during the light months of the year, spent many mornings down at the lake fishing in each their own way.

“Sacred Fierceness”.

The words danced around him again. He felt in his soul abode that it was her. She was speaking to him from the other side of the veil. The way the words moved there was no other possibility.

The past months since he’d lost her, he found himself more misplaced than ever. 

Not even the music could lead him back. For months his state of mind was in a place of constant straying.

Then, one morning, a strange looking half grey, half white feather swirled down from the rooftop, landed in his morning coffee as he was sitting on the porch looking for the meaning of that day with all his might. 

The way the feather danced was the beginning of this new symphony he was working on right now.

Home.

He had wanted to call it Home. Yet the word “Sacred” kept coming up. Wherever he looked, whatever he did, whatever he read, whatever he listened to, the word was there. 

He got the hint. Named the symphony “Sacred Home”. 

Yet right now he was in a place where his heart felt a need to become unbroken before he could continue with what he’d worked on these last three days since the feather had landed.

“Marcus?”

Gina, his only neighbor, peaked in through the front door. Bob, the Labrador, as always right next to her.

 “Did you write the words “Sacred Fierceness” in the snow out front?”

Cecilia Götherström, Dec 3rd 2020.