morning star

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, 13th of December, Door 13

Photo: Pintrest

On the darkest day
of the darkest month
the light of the
new moon
reaches out from inside

Lucia is here
to light
to lead
us through

the coming
twenty-four
nights
of transformation

Alba and Rosie had reached the High Glen. From up there it was dark, dark, dark . 
Below in the valley there was movement. Small lights as the forest elves danced their way through the icy fog. Candles being lit in the houses as people woke up to the scent of freshly baked saffronebuns. A gentle breeze of harmonic hymns travelled through the air. The mountain elves were journeying down the mountain in large numbers, looking like a huge glowworm swirling its way descending through the snowy fields. Nissemor and her little ones were cracking hazelnuts and walnuts in front of the barn next to the church. You could hear the sound echoing through the slow dawn.

The largest silver and gold dragon ever seen from this Glen approached from the direction of the morning star.

Author: Cecilia Götherström / Pejuta Wakinayzi

by

Elsa’s Song, Dec 2nd 2021

“ In a gentle way you can shake the world”

– Mahatma Gandhi

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.

December 2nd 2021, Cecilia Götherström

by

Kringlans Kalender / Meru’s Wisdom, Dec 7th

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“Mera Man Lochai gur darshan taa-ee”

The fragile tunes of the mantra weaved through his dreams, like ornaments of stardust. He was floating, soaring, above a room. Everyone present dressed in white. White roses, dark green leaves, adorning a white coffin. A funeral.

His own?

He heard himself thinking “That’s a beautiful tune for the beginning of the ceremony”.

The whole place filled with people seemingly angelic in presence. What was going on here?

“Bilap karay chaatrik kee ni-aa-ee”

“I miss you Beloved”, he sensed himself thinking in this dreamlike state. Then he seemed to fade away in to the starlight.

A comet across the morning sky. It appears to land further down the pebble beach. He is drifting in and out of different dream states, not sure of what is real.

The comet had indeed landed. It was however not a comet.

Star felt the slippery, icy, black pebbles underneath her paw pads. She turned her nose in all directions, greeting each cardinal direction with its own symbol, followed by its own growl.

Then she sensed him. Further up the rim of the water she could discern something moving up and down, the rhythm of a breath. Smoke from every exhalation pouring out over the almost frozen sea. The bundle whom lay there breathing was out of tune. She could feel that clearly. Next to it rested layers of moss.

Wizard!

Thank heavens she had found him before anyone else did! Had the moon been up he’d been taken away by the veils hours ago. With Sleeping Moon he’d been left in peace.

Why did watching him sleep make her think of an ancient funeral pyre?

The old had to be revered, reviewed, ceremonial movements honouring it. It had to be dressed in white, taken down to the river leading out into the endless ocean, sent off into the void, fire lit.

That is what was going on. The old wizard was transmuting the whole thing, the whole legend, in his sleep. Did he ever not work?

There. Morning Star was rising. Moon was coming back up through the horizon.

Star was standing next to him now. Breathing on his cold feet to wake him up gently. When proved fruitless she dug her large fangs into the pile of moss, gripping the staff with her jaws, shaking it to shake him awake.

 

Mera Man Lochai

 

Cecilia Götherström, Dec 7th 2019