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Elsa’s Song, Dec 10th 2021

Alabaster sunk his paws deep in to the snow. He’d been up on the rocks, peeking down once more towards Pinehome City. 

They were all together now. Nejla, Starlight, Tuva, Kriya, Ricky and Luca. 

He could see them through his inner eyes. The two humans sitting on the floor by the Christmas tree. Sharing stories. Laughing. Remembering. 

All four dogs sprawled out across the large kitchen floor.

What had once been the “Grand” waiting room in this timber wood train station building from the 1800s was now Ricky’s kitchen.

Alabaster made his way down, returning to the pack. How he loved these moments of approaching, feeling the warmth in his heart, connecting through the golden threads to his brothers, sisters, all the pups. Watching every single personality doing their thing while being in total harmony with the entire canine family.

Sure, they could growl and show off, change, walk off, start anew, return, explore. But that was because that is how things just are.  If everyone is allowed to live out their purpose, harmony is what you get. And harmony includes storms, floods, falling trees, new growth.

 You use the mind, heart, and soul,  leading the body to the best possible solution for the highest good of all.

When you exist in a state of awareness where greed does not exist, you see everything through the eyes of Isa. The eyes of Isness.

He realized he’d let his mind wander in to the human domain again as he felt four youngsters rolling around him, asking for attention, nipping at his legs and paws.

“Come play, come play, Grandpapa Alabaster!”, they howled like a four octave choir.

“OK then!” Alabaster took off down the slope, zigzagging, jumping, rolling. Four young furballs falling over in his paw steps, doing their best to catch up.

A few of the packs hunters had just gotten back from their recon trip and joined in.

If you’ve ever seen a group of eight adult and four “just-out-of-puppyhood” wolves play on deep snow covered slope under the moon, star and sun lit winter morning sky, you know exactly what I am talking about.

Joy, aliveness, speed and wit dancing around in your heart.

Cecilia Götherström, December 10th 2021.

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Elsa’s Song, Dec 5th 2021

A tiny yellow leaf fell on to her hand. 

Isa had taken off this morning on what she called “sparkly business”, leaving Nejla in the garden pondering her next step. 

With all this Be-ing and Isness one still seemed to have a problem with sitting still, she had told Isa.

Isa had explained that Be-ing and Is-ness have nothing to do with not acting, not moving. It’s about moving through what seems like days and nights and months and seasons and all that, not attached to what it brings or removes. Just doing your thing while Be-ing aware of the Isness. Then the hidden palaces will rise. Shangri-La, or Shambhala, will be un-veiled. Uncovered.

The little yellow leaf had holes. Worn by the changing seasons, by visting insects. It was truly doing its thing as it fell in to Nejla’s hand. Letting go, falling, transforming.

So much to uncover, so much to embrace… Where to start?

How Nejla missed The Adventurer. And the dragons. When would they return? Or would she have to leave in search of them?

How about taking just one step, one action, instead of thinking?

Nejla sat the leaf down on the grass. Looking up she felt sure it would snow this evening. The air had a certain density and height to it. The clouds muddled together.

Somewhere he felt her in his heart. Moving like a searchlight. Descending. Ascending. Like she was walking up and down mountains, valleys, ravines, through woods and farmlands, along lakes and rivers. 

He knew this time would be a different level. Another threshold needing to be crossed.

Why couldn’t the humans just keep walking? Why did they have to get “comfortable” or whatever they called it, fall asleep and shut down completely? Why could they just not realize that the only constant really is change and that is what you need to move with? Sometimes more, sometimes less. Our Mother Earth and Father Sky are the eternal parents, guiding us through all. Including the humans.

Long forgotten seem the ways of the new. “The new” who arrived from different star-systems, like comets hitting Earth, sparkling down all over the place. Making the humans more human. Whatever that was supposed to be.

“Love thy neighbour like thyself”. Well, thy neighbour is the freaking galaxy, and that part of loving thy self seems to be more difficult than winning a Nobel price.

Cecilia Götherström, December 5th 2021  

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Kringlans Kalender 2020. Sacred. Part 6. Dec 6th

Touch. Meeting. Fierceness.

Sacred.

Sacred Touch.

Sacred Meeting.

Sacred Fierceness.

Home.

Marcus was walking between the pine trees. Following path leading from the back of the house up to Beaver Lake. Here he could always take everything in. Listen. Listen to the whispers of his soul. Something his Great Ma had taught him to do.

Great Ma was not his grandmother by bloodline. She was the Grand Mother for everyone living scattered on this large space of land of mountains, streams, lakes, waterfalls, peaks, rocks, woods and wilderness. She was like the moon – always there, always still yet so powerful, always present. She had taught all the kids in school how to listen to The Whispers Of The Soul. 

When she retired from her position as woodwork, arts, crafts and music teacher at the village school she started giving drumming lessons in the village hall on Saturday mornings. Drumming and jojking.

Those Saturday mornings they had learned how to drum the questions, how to listen and then jojk or sing the answers as they came in.

Sacred Touch.

Sacred Meeting.

Sacred Fierceness.

The first two parts had moved in like pieces from a mystic veil. The last part, placed like a statement in the snow.

Marcus kept following the path. Stars started to fill up the sky as the sun disappeared behind the treetops, making way for the moon. He knew he had only scratched the surface. The phrases were an invitation to dig deeper, an instruction to plunge.

Symphonies never took plunges. They had crescendos, build ups, cross overs. Never plunges.

He was afraid that he would lose himself if he plunged. As soon as that insight hit him he stopped, sighed, raised his hands up to catch a few soft snowflakes falling off the pine branches.

“The soul lives in the unknown. It’s never happy, nor supposed to live in the known of the mind. It’s supposed to live in the heart. And the heart can only be fully open when you are open to fall. Fall to Grace. Fall in Love. Fall Over. Fall.”

He heard Great Ma as if she was speaking from the space between the pine needles, the space inside the pine cones.

“Keep walking son. Keep following her footsteps. Remember in your heart where she wanted to go, what she wanted, what gave her joy, what made her strong, what released her, remember and follow that”, the voice spoke to his entire Beingness.

Her name. He had to speak her name out loud to be able to reach that magic again. Why was it so hard to do that?

Home.

He just wanted to call her Home.

He fell to his knees in the snow, laid down on his belly making a snow angel, his face buried in the snow. He rolled over. Lay on his back, caught falling snow flakes with his tongue like when he was a kid, watched the stars, the tops of the firs moving back and forth, back and forth, covering and revealing, covering and revealing.

That was it! Covering and revealing. Covering and revealing!

“Star”.

He spoke her name out loud.

“Star!”

  • Cecilia Götherström, December 6th 2020
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Dec 1st, The Promise, Part I

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”And so it begins…”

With amber eyes she caresses every movement my mind makes, living in the depths of my soul as she speaks. With the voice of a mother she holds my intention in hers.

”Outside the comfort zone, new challenge is what it may feel like,” she hums.

” Going deep within, taking on the Journey to fulfill the ancient promise is what it really is. Go my child. Go to come home.”

The wind is suddenly picking up, icy air is turning my ears in to frosty red bundles. My lovikavantar protecting my hands from the cold.

Right here, right now, there is nothing strange at all about sitting in between her front paws, her entire wolfness envelopping me with a beauty my heart has never witnessed before. Right here, right now, the fact that this fluffy raven and I are about to go on what will be a very, very long hike is anything but strange.

”So”, the white wolf whispers. ”You have been here before. It´s the 7th year. 21 days. It is time. They are all here. Meru, Nisse, Bertil, Pe, the dragons, the giants, the trolls, the little people, everyone. 7 years you queens have been building this portal. Dragging stones, moving and planting roots, digging deep, decorating  with dreams, wishes, strength, power. Overwon despeair, dis-ease, grief, moved mountains to get this portal ready. With your magic you have ornamented thesed doors in 4 different ways while remaining as one. It is time to open the gateway. To merge with what is on the other side. To look all your fears in the eye to be able to turn them in to gold. In to gold and silver dust.”

She changes the seat of her paws, softening her gaze, allowing for the moon and the stars to glow through her white coat as she lightly yawns before capturing me in her eyes again.

”These dances have been going on since ancient times, like the swirling breath of of the winter hunters”, she continues. ” Since ancient times some have listened, some have stayed, some have returned, others have not. This time we need to return all together. This time there will be no veil. We all have to do this together. It´s a choice to save not just what we have but what we truly are. It is our last chance to create this New Earth, through returning to the ancient wisdom.”

I know it is time to go. Time to pick up and leave. It is not that I am dreading it, it is more like ”Why? Why is December 1st always the beginning of the next big move? Why can it not just be a soft, glittery, curly and gentle way into the favourite season of the year?”

Raven chuckles. ”You´re funny”. Flapping her wings. ”You know soft, fluffy, gentle and all that won´t go down at all with that inner spirit of yours. We will fluff enough in between journeys, I promise. But now we really have to embark.”

  • Cecilia Götherström, Dec 1st 2018
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No more

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He might look like a young, innocent,  devoid of experience, warrior, but he held the wrath and protection of his ancestors. They held his back, his flanks, his future. He walked in their footsteps. In his own way.

The silvery mist was coming off his cape, latched to his shoulders by heavy ornamented armour. His dragon may well be sleeping yet he felt her waking presence. Through the dimensions they were always side by side. One mind. One soul. One being.

Why was it so hard for us humans to live in all dimensions all at once? he asked himself. Why did greed, hatred, fear, possession set as if in stone in this un-magical cold, non sensing world if ours?

The world where we fought over things, countries, people without knowing why. There really was a darker force out there feeding in to all of this.

He moved his hand through his thick, blond hair. Decided then and there to never look back. To always look in to and for those other dimensions from this moment on. To notice where he was being pulled in to the dark, to notice where the scheming seemend to be winning, to notice when it felt like there was no way out.

Love. Faith. Trust. Faith. Trust. Love.
They are all one and the same force.

Faith.

Look. Notice.

Be NoBody, NoOne, NoThing. Tread the paths of the threads between dimensions. Will to see them. Want to live them. There. Bring them in here.
That is magic. That is the magic.

There is no difference between living it, seeing it, being it. It´s there. Just open the eyes. Open the senses. Feel it. Then speak.
Before that words just block.

Sense it. Then speak. From there. From that place.

His father looked over his back.
”Son, my sword is yours. It will cut through all you don´t know that you don´t know, as well as all that which stands in the way. Use it. Sense. Listen. Look. Use it from that place. Now go.”

Cecilia Götherström, October 23rd 2018

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I am sorry House

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I am sorry House,
that I could not love you.

My heart was closed,
too busy holding on to pieces,
already broken
I was.

I could not see,
your tender care,
your solid hold,
you doing what you do best,
shelter.

I could not feel
warm, ancient soil
underneath my feet
lifting pine trees to the sky
welcoming crystal white covers
to carry us into the depths of the woods
in the company of ravens, eagles, moose and myths.

I was not hearing
the soaring air,
the speaking winds,
the soft whispers of comfort,
the Soul of the land
speaking to my broken soul.

My heart could smell,
could touch the sun,
could caress the moon,
sing with wolves and wonders
– but not under your roof.

I am sorry House,
for not living
while I inhabited your space.

I am sorry House,
for just grieving
in your warm arms.

I am sorry Mountain,
for loving you more
than I love myself,
for finding life, joy, wonder and purpose
on your hilltops.

I am sorry Mountain,
for capturing your soul into mine,
for the bliss of oneness
which only you know.

I am sorry Mountain,
that I cannot live that gift, that passion
for now and ever after more.

If anyone will ever ask,
I shall say;
The Mountain holds my Soul.

Cecilia Götherström, May 7th 2015

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