poem

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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

If I am really honest in my heart of hearts
by

If I am really honest in my heart of hearts

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
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For H… – and for M

I wrote this piece, for H and for M, in January of 2014. At a time where I could finally get closure on what happened 16 years earlier.

Today, in July of 2019, I can finally feel the true healing happening, thanks to SiStarHood galore. 

You will always be in my heart. In my every smile.

Thank you.

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You arrived with a bunch of our “season-friends”,
smile from cheek to cheek
as if you had swallowed the sun.

My heart fluttered,
euphoria
“He is here”, “he really came”

A wonderful summer could not come to a better end.

More than a hundred very special people,
connected in ways most outsiders never would understand
gathered in the evening sun this day in August.

Short speech,
the bar open,
the band playing,
the buffet inviting everyone to celebrate.

The air was alive,
the hearts were filled to the brim,
the beer was cold.

“Will you come with me?”
“Yes”, I whispered.

Your hands were warm.

“Tonight I have to host this party but tomorrow I am all yours.
We have the rest of our lives ahead of us”.

My words held a promise.

Two souls,
young, fearless and bright
amidst this crowd of connected spirits,
snowflakes being our glue.

It is night.

I lie here curled up against his body.
My face drowning in his naked chest,
my whole being shivering, quaking.

I try to breathe slow,
but I can´t.

One ear rests against his heart,
taking in the constant “thuck, thuck, thuck”,
the powerful blood,
the elixir of life pumping through his veins,
so alive,
so strong,
so real.

My other ear is listening to a different “thuck, thuck, thuck”,
the sound of the heavy coast guard helicopter,
surveilling the dark waters,
looking for your body,
so eerie,
yet so real.

Heart.
Helicopter.
Heart.
Helicopter.
Heart.
Helicopter.
Bodybag.
Heart.
Soul.

Cecilia Götherström, Jan 22nd 2014

by

MidWinter

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Candlelight, chestnuts and pinecones

Christmastree,
it is just you and me

Comfort, life, breath
Pineneedles, light, sacredness

I stop,
I forget
in a way which makes me re-member

you came from a slope,
which was once me,
specks of atoms, of dust
you grew out of snow
I was

yesterday,
today,
tomorrow,
now

It all just is.
We all just are.

Christmastree,
you and me
are just dreams of traditions,
of what is and what is to come
Nothing more.
Nothing less.

You in my livingroom,
I in your forest.

It all blends,
in this moment
tomorrow
now
then
there
when
who cares?

Let us sing,
let us be the charol.

Have you not always dreamed,
like me,
to be carried out on a chord,
to slide down a tune
echoing in to the wilderness
with nothing to stop you
sounding

Who cares?
What cares?

Let us sing with the stars,
soak the light in to our hearts
Like the candles on your branches,
let us shine through the night

Midvinterblot,
I hail thee

My roots are deeper than the mountain
My home is stronger than my heart
My soul echoes through eons

Take my hand,
carry me away

While remaining here,
watching,
re-membering
taking in your light
Oh Christmastree, oh Christmastree
of Odins heart so strong

Hel.
Whole.
Hel.
Helig.
Holy

Oh , holy night.

Åh, helga natt.

Home.

– Cecilia Götherström, Dec 10th 2018