Past Lovers

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A piece from our monthly Writer´s Circle in The Hague, written in March of 2014.

When does a Love become a Past Love?
This very moment, as the present takes over?

Is past love, lost love?

Can you love somebody more and love somebody less?
Is there a less less or a less intense,
a more less , or a more intense?

Whatever it is, at this moment it hurts.

It hurts because I find myself loving not just people,
but moments with people.

Past Loves, Past Lovers – what is the difference?
When does Love turn into a Lover?
When you Love, are you not a Lover in its most passionate essence?

Is that not when you bare your heart,
deeper than your flesh and bodily sensations?
Is that not the Love that burns deeper than your skin,
charring your inner core,
touching the roots and the nerves of who you are,
– baring your very soul.

No limits,
borderless,
beyond any rules or conceptions.

When that Love just is, is, is
– does it ever become Past?

When it is so overwhelming that the thought of losing it,
of losing this moment,
of losing this Love,
makes you cringe.

When so many tears have been shed,
when so many glowing smiles and gentle touches have been exchanged,
when you are exhausted,
wrought out,
gasping for air,
in pain,
and somehow still fulfilled in the weirdest sense of the word
– is that when Love is Past?

Is that the moment when you realize,
that all which were the signs of Love;
the Power,
the Force,
the Storms,
of Love,
in an instant got caught up with attachment.

Attachment
to the passion,
to the feeling,
to the cringing skin,
the churning stomach,
the redness,
the fluttering
– instead of Love as something bigger than what we can perceive?

Cecilia Götherström, March 2014

The Song Of Me

Song of me1

The Song of Me,

flies over snow covered mountains,

sings a spring time creek to its cover.

The song of me,

crosses hearts and barriers,

opens, moves and births.

 

The song of me,

is for no one else to sing,

but to blend in to

the song of all of us.

 

The song of birth, of cry, of worship,

of destinations

time and again.

 

The song of me breaks open,

moves crystals and rocks

into blessings.

 

The song of me cracks open,

that which is to be said,

to be done,

to be laid down,

to be rendered,

reunited,

rewed,

regained, retwined, regranded.

 

The song of me,

sings to the eyes of the soul

to the song of the gods

the eyes of the stars.

 

The song of me is the soul,

the spare, the twining twister,

the ever splendid galaxy of tears,

of joy,

of magic,

of serenity,

of wisdom,

of class and doom.

 

The song of me

is mine to sing,

thine to hear,

ours to twine

and twine and twine.

 

The song of me,

is of me strong,

of me being creation,

of me being all.

 

The song of me,

is of All.

 

The song of me

is you,

the you that is not

as me is.

I am

the song of me

 

Divine

 

 

Song of me2
Cecilia Götherström, Gävle 13/3 2015