poetry

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StarBeing, three, worthiness

She grieves,
it hurts

She panics,
it freezes

She chokes,
it feels real

Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.

Emptiness.
Pain.
Rejection.

She grieves

Even the vaccuum cleaner
feels
like a life lost,
a space lost

where 
friends
held her soul when all
she could do was 
break, fear
and break even more

Here.
Nothing.
Not welcome.
Never missed.

Why did she come back?

Where does worthiness live?

Inside, my child
Inside your own heart
Inside your own being

That is what will carry you home.

Worthiness.
Love.
Life.





Cecilia Gotherstrom, Dec 2025
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The Life of a WaterDragon, Part 2

– Conversations With An Angel

Her whiskers touch my hand. She eats gently out of the palm of my hand. Young one. Brave one. Gentle and so powerful.

Looking back , I see how I had no understanding in that younger mind of mine of how this four footer could have chosen me, could have loved me so dearly from day one. To me it had seemed so clear back then that I had just taken too much hay on my fork – as usual – by inviting this little ball of fierce energy in to my life and now I had to deal with it.

Being here with her now I wonder if it is not she who took too much hay on her fork by coming in to my life.

My Angel.

The drums of nature are calling. My angel is speaking. She speaks through the curiousness of her eyes. Through eternal listening. Through her constant invitation of pure awareness and boundless peace.

I am still learning her language. Or unlearning the old language, as she calls it.

Her language is in her ways. 

“Learn my ways and you will learn new things”. The first sentence she ever spoke to me.

The light is bright. The candle flickers higher than what should be possible. Its spark illuminates the night.

“That little light, that little spark, hold on to that”, she motions with her paw. 

“Watch it grow, watch it flicker, watch it sparkle, let it take over, let it burn down all that which is overgrown and overbearing, carry it with you in the night, hold it in your heart, see it in your mind, know that the only focus you need is that light, that one light, that one flickering luminous flame.”

“The flame that so many are afraid of shall be hidden no more. It is burning and it will only burn stronger and stronger the coming years, decades and centuries.”

“ Those who hide their flames will be choked by their own smoke. Literally. It is already happening. Dim your light and you feel the inner claustrophobia creeping in. Shut the door of your soul and you fall ill. Soul ill. You feel betrayed. Trapped. You look outside for the reasons. You trace your days, years, decades, centuries back for explanations. You want to understand.”

“There is nothing to be understood. There is a hatch to be opened. A door to be blown wide open by a storm so fierce that the magma of Vattnajökull diminishes in comparison. All you are to do is to hand over the key. Hand it back to the soul. Be bold! You cannot hold back what is meant to be. What already is. Open! Stand! Be bold!”

– Mid December 2024, Cecilia Götherström

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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

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Earth & Space, 4th of December, Door 4

A flickering light,
a diminishing flame

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.

Darkness. Space. Movement. Light.

Author: Cecilia Götherström/Pejuta Wakinyazi

If I am really honest in my heart of hearts
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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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Snoozing, snoring blessing

Snoozing, snoring blessing.
On a pile of blankets
in the corner.
Sweetness sleeping.

Curled up
like in a den.

Comfort in heart.
Comfort in soul.
Even through loss
she has found some type of peace.
Being herself.

No compromise.

Only fullness.
Only love.
Only stamina.
Only Elsa.

- Cecilia Götherström, Jan 8th 2021
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Kringlans Kalender 2019 / Meru’s Wisdom, Dec 4th

Winter_Snow_Fir_Night_509182

“Thrssss, thrsss, thrsss”.

The sound echoed over the white covered earth. Up above the mountain, in the starlit sky, a white dragon was painting the rune Thurisaz with her breath.

“Thrssss, thrsss, thrsss”.

Paws breaking through the crusty surface. Yellow eyes. Fur dark as the night sky.

Craft moved through the night like he always did. Owning it. Nobody noticing him. Ever. Considering his gigantic stature and enormous energy field it was surprising. But not to him. The humans living in this valley, on these mountains, closed down when they sensed a force so strong, so transformative that anything was possible. Limitlessness was not something they felt comfortable with, not something they’d been raised to understand.

“Thrssss, thrsss, thrsss”.

The aurora borealis in the sky, the elements, the grass, the woods, the stream, the lake, the mountains, they all walked with him. In ancient tales bards had sung his praise, many Völvas had told his story.

Craft was everywhere. Always. Just like Star. Just like Meru.

He cut short right in the middle of the large open field, right on top of the snowcovered lake at its centre.

He could sense her approaching. Slowly.

Star.

Somewhere between the clouds in his memory he could feel the two of them calling in Meru too. Without Grey,  Meru, no point. Whether they would find Red or not was up to how the three of them got together.

Meru had a companion though. That was the cloudy feeling. Craft could not really make sense of the energy until he realized it was human. A human in the mind of the wolves ? Like almost fully inhabiting it?  Well, that was about time. Time to let the human heart in.

”This could be a game changer”, Craft said out loud to himself. ”We shall see…”

 

– Cecilia Götherström, 4 December 2019

 

 

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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

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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