The ancient Wheels

The ancient wheels

That role season into season

Birth into birth

With it come the deaths of things we once knew

We open the space between the worlds in which parts of us were left for safekeeping once

And maybe they'll venture home with us

A little fairy girl, smaller than a hand, with her flower of delight and another with a heavy treasure chest of strength and pride

When the time is ripe

Well, when we are ripe

The chest seems nearly empty, apart from a tiny bean of a tiny seeming something - yet, there's such reverence, such pride

What might lies in these eyes

When she opens the chest, it clearly is the biggest treasure of all

soooo powerful

Watching this tiny body dragging the chest behind her, I knew right than, that "seeming" is merely appearance.

A disguise of sorts

Entusiasm, will and determination

Strength oftentimes is something other than what we think

And all seeds of courage and trust weigh more than any measure of strength of bulls

The balloon that carried the little girl of delight away, with a smile sooo warm and her flower full of life -

yelling back to me

wait!

I need to go and get something

And off she flew knowing exactly where to go

Here, will and delight are of the same essence

I trust her... and I know that she is connecting a thread back into the shadows with someone that also was lost inbetween the worlds at some point

In this moment I'm here to hold the other end of the thread, a sort of anchor in some strange way into both worlds so that they may come home to whom they belong

And than as soon as they had come and rested, they went...

At every turn we ought to leave a little of the heavy burdens that've been strapped to our backs

And suddenly we may see the world in a new light

The ancient wheels - a little reminder of what we know of passing

The wisdom of vision

Two little fairy girls and their companions, somewhere there in the shadows still, woven into the fabric of existence and connected by an invisible thread that now all five of us know

Yes, there is indeed a way back home

RUPTURE

Today I pray to break the barriers of my mind, the wall that rises before me like the mountains in the vally of the swiss alps. The mountain that asked me to be here like itself, present to equal account.

No more, no less, just equal. And in whose report I fear to trust. When did I begin to doubt that we were any other than equals... or believe that I was any less.

It's an honor to be asked to lean towards the monumental presence of mountains and be held by the earth of this partner in dance. To be believed in.

Yet needing to bridge this gap of false belief within. It's a paradox that I can write this now, yet not fully grasp its meaning.

Maybe growing is like this. Reaching for a grain, or the initial idea of something vast, seemingly even bigger than life.

By this false rupture between us I made us both small. There's no other way than daring. For any other than, I may as well be dying.

Today my heart broke

Today my heart broke. I feel like a stranger in a foreign land. With entangled but harsh borders keeping my bones and skin and softness tighly strapped to iron rods. And I'm glued stuck and repulsed to my guts. I am afraid that not only I, but also those I care about won't recognize me.

I don't recognize me. Every inch of me wants to hide. I feel as if displaced and forgotten, cut out of myself, and off of life. Severed of the totality.

Alone. Subjected to the abandoning of myself.

I wonder, how I can fall into my body when there is so much pain. And I beckon the universe, life, please help, help to accept! I spent the morning looking at the horrors in Gaza. The results of an unjust war. But war is never just, other than to those that need to convince themeselves and the world of it's rightfulness. It made me vomit. But I couldn't cry before many hours later. The suffering seeped deeply into space, intertwined with the very fabric of my being, and it touched those places that have known abondonment and separation as their second nature all too well.

All wars are of separation, of pain, of trauma and terror and they feed off of, and strenghten the very core of it. It's dystopia to think that war could ever solve anything. That war can ever foster peace.

I realise I stand here as one of them. As all. I recognize the trauma that has flooded hearts through time and space. When I was two, I woke up by the nightmares of war. I knew exactly what had shaken me through these nights, despite not having had to live through it in daily life. I wondered sometimes if I felt and carried the memories of my grandparents within me. I believe I did. I believe we all do, carry the pain that once started it's course throughout our bloodlines, and wider families, nations, and groups of belief and disbelief too. Both the pain caused and the pain suffered. And which entangles the minds and bodies of our present. Without really understanding the collosal depth of pain we are holding in our core. And which left unchecked holds the potential to become a secondary identy to our true essence. Something to ingulf space, our inner space. Ouselves.

In the wind, and early winterdarkness, in dancing I found the freedom of my souls and bodies wish to move. Exactly as wanted, and only as was needed. And I found a little less fear of the world in the touch of another soul. I found courage to let it move through me a little less uncensored. And I asked the heavens and earth to help find acceptance, to allow me to meet the earth once again.

With my eyes closed I found small nooks to enter. Small places to explore. Every dance of these is more beautyful than the previous. Here I find myself.

I thought I could sneak away unnoticed, but was stopped in my tracks. And eventually I could cry the hot tears that had waited to be released. They still are here. I cry with my brothers and sisters.

Those that have lost so much, their homes and families, their names, and silent nights.

And cry for those that have lost their ability to feel, that have lost their empathy in the rubble and dust of distruction, of separation, lost the commitment to themselves and peace within and the courage to meet the world, as I cry for myself in these moments of forgetting and hopelessness.

Slowly our tears wash away the debris that has accumulated and prevented us from falling into ourselves. With nowhere to go and too much to carry.

And sowly my body begins to soften.

With the support of a warm embrace I can slowly enter. Slowly come home.

May there be peace for all of us. May there be the ever so gentle touch of love to help encompass what is too rough and heavy too carry alone. May it bring us comfort, this touch. Wether it be an embrace of a body or a word or the eyes listening. And the knowing, you are not alone. Right here we are in it together. Undevided…

And may we find the courage to remain when we have fallen out of us. To softly witness our return.

Conversations with you, and God within you

You saw me long before I saw me.

Found me when I least could find me,

and thought that only trees would find me.

Oftentimes you know and knew before me.

Sometimes just as changes came to light inside,

you knew

simultaneously.

When I felt, and thought I had forgotten,

you've were there residing somewhere deep within me.

Giving life, and hope, and breath at times, when none of it felt real, or whole, or right.

It's thanks to you, that I stand here now, living from a place, I feared, might never be

for me.

You are the father I never had.

The partner that I will not have.

The lover from my dreams.

And the meeting in dimensions I'm not sure exist.

To distinguish you from me is impossible.

In my being we are one.

You are the teacher of my soul.

The one who brought me home.

You found me when I least could find me.

Saw me when I didn't see me.

You are the connection to my bones.

The weaving master of my dreams.

The love I cannot place upon you.

Yet want to.

And so you came again to say.

Don't kill your love for mine, just love me.

You can love it all.

… I won't kill mine for anything.

Life brings us one thing only.

Our love for home, the love of God and universe, the love for our selves.

In the forms of all that came and went.

In the forms of all that weren't,

and all that wasn't.

Our dreams and hopes, here for this only,

to be surrendered to our hearts;

The Presence of life, and Holiness; Wholeness of all of existence.

Presence, ourselves.

Lived to the fullest of our dreams, and hearts.

For life exists in one space only,

The space of silence, in the space of love.

I love you deeply, dearly, clearly.

THE HEALER

I think it’s true that healers have gone through, and go through excessive healing themselves. In fact have to.

The healer - one that heals. If we leave, who... up to the ether for a moment, we may find, we all are healers. We all are healing.

We're on a journey to 'become us', to continously 'become' yet more whole. We grow the capacity and space to meet ourselves where we are at. And maybe through that, offer space and guidance to someone in need.

We don't actually take or add to another. We help each other see ourselves. And we help each other understand that we are in fact already WHOLE.

Whole and heal ~ they are one and the same thing.

The word healing stems from the root, haelan - the condition or state of being hal; whole. Recognising what we are everything, everything what moves us, and everything that moves through us.

Through life we grow and learn the capacity to hold (not hold on to) what we are already... to land in our selves, and to meet ourselves. Here. In this moment. Right on the edge of our becoming, and changeability. To remain present even when it seems unbearable.

My personal lifes journey has taken me through sexual abuse, self-hatred, bulimia. Suicidal at times, depressed, but functional, removed from myself and I (likely) drank too much, I was diagnosed bipolar at some point, a diagnosis that was removed years later.

I'm a dancer at heart, an artist, one that finds peace and home in nature, dance, and with my soulfamily, I practice shiatsu, am a leader - sometimes, and so my family tells me, a healer. I want to inspire and be inspired. And I’m available to be awestruck, fascinated, loved.

I love working with my hands, my body, I love silence and I love words. I love words that come from our core, that express our experience at the truest and deepest level possible in this moment. Sometimes deepest is shallow. I’m learning this slowly. I love allowing my body to speak. It’s where I'm home. Sometimes I listen deeply, sometimes I have too much noise too hear anything other than that.

And I tell stories.

We all have stories, some to tell, some not to. All have traumas - that have interwoven our lives, and through which we must journey in order to come home to what we know in our guts to be us. What ignites our cells into a roaring Yes, and sends shivers through our bones and skin in recognition.

All of our journey, we bring to the table. No matter our beliefs - or what we think we can hide or run from, pretend to be or not to be. No matter what we do. We bring it all. For better and for worse.

I bring mine to Shiatsu,

in some way, but also silence, and space to hold it.

I bring them to my interactions, wether I know it or not, and to my DANCE. Yeees, dance. And I try my best to bring my dance to everything I do.

It gives me strength and courage, and connects me with space, with earth and heaven, and with time; with history; past, and future - my own and the collectives.

It brings me in contact with the innate movement of life and with beauty, with my body, myself, and all which is beyond my physical boundery, yet also is myself... Even when in doubt. It allows me solidity, allows for clearity. Both very important!

And than there's flight. In the boundlessness of our souls, and the connection with all things.

There's a lot we can say about ourselves. Yet we can only ever say too little and too much at once, it feels. In my favorite book there's a line about speaking the truth, is to make us real.

And real never is the sort of real that lives within the confines of right and wrong. It's the essence of our knowing us in this moment. And allowing to let that come foreward. Reality like this is a very fleeting thing... and yet very here, very present. And VERY precious.

SHIATSU IS THAT, DANCE IS THAT, LIFE IS THAT.

The greatest healers are we.

Nothing can stand in the way of the space and love we are willing to offer to ourselves. Nothing!

Maybe we'll be fortunate enough to touch the hearts of others on our ways. Or be touched by theirs.

And maybe we'll be touched by our own.

It's very true, and very simple...

...One heart at a time

DREAM WEAVER

Guided by the heritage of dreams, they come to us as the rivers connecting souls through space and time.

Leaving nothing but the light touch of a passing birds wings. Or an Angel.

Once touched we know for all eternity.

Where we came from, where to go.

Of the bonds that were forged aeons ago.

This life than merely is the journey to let our voices sing loudly and clearly for this song again.

A link to home uncovered.

Unshaken of all things that came to pass, and will come to pass.

One lifetime is never enough for love.

In time we always arrive to a place deeper, more profound, more delicate, more whole. Entrenched by the weaving thread of dream and knowing.

And blessed by the dream weaver of this lifetime.

KLAGESANG

De lukker sig om livløse rum.

Hvor alt glæden er blevet tabt på gulvet i midten af forsamlingen. Ind i tomheden. Og der ventes utålmodigt, frustreret og lidt bebrejdende på at nogle tør at samle dem selv op.

En der tør at træde ind i stilheden... det explosive rum hvor alt begynder påny. Og friske øjne ser. Det er en jammersang, der har gravet sig dybt i menneskets folder, et sørgelsesspil, der stille venter sin forløsning. Et brag, en explosion, noget nyt, uventet.

Find på en leg siger han eller hun eller det... I virkeligheden venter vi på os selv her. Ingen anden.

Kun vores egen indre kraft. Skabelsen der lever os og som blot er et øjekast fremfor udad, indad.

Vi lever indefra. Hvis vi vel at mærke vælger. Og sommetider i dyb forvirring, frustration, og sorg over øjeblikket i hvilket vi ikke møder og træder frit, ufortrødent, ærligt ind i os selv.

Selv sorgen over det tabte møde med os, er porten til det største af alle riger.

Alle verdens rigdomme samlet dette ene hellige sted. Det ene uforanderlige øjeblik.

Hengivelsen til os, er hengivelsen til nu. Hengivelsen til det dybt forankrede, dybt forvirrede, dybt foranderlige, dybt sorgfulde, dybt sårbare, dybt begejstrede, dybt alt...

Selv håb kan ikke stå fast her, har ingen ben at gå på. Og hverken før eller efter findes rigtigt... alligevel drives vi af noget større end og samtidig selve livet, os selv.

Gnisten tænder i midten. I det indre rum. Og vi kan kun mærke det herfra. Kan ikke nå herhen fra grænselandet der omslutter tomheden.

Og det der føltes tomt engang, er selve rummet hvor essensen bliver synlig imens vi lever den.

Alt andet er en ubetydelig streg tegnet rundt om os.

En fest rundt om denne form for tomhed er ikke en fest, medmindre den hylder døden af jammerspillet hvor alle venter.

MOURNING SONG

They close themselves around lifeless rooms. Where all joy has been dropped to the floor in the midst of a party.

There´s an impatient frustration, a sort of slightly blameful awaitening for someone to daringly pick themselves up.

Someone brave enough to enter the silence...

the explosive space, where everything begins anew. And fresh eyes see.

It's a mourning song, that has burried itself deeply into the ridges of humankind. A tragedy that quietly awaits it's absolution. A bang, an explosion, something new,

Something surprising, ...Something utterly unknown.

Silence.

Propose a game he says, or she says, or it says.

In reality we are waiting for ourselves here. Not anyone other than.

Only our own integrity, our love, our own inner power, space.

The creation that lives us, and only ever is found a blink of an eye inwards, rather than outwards. We live from within, if we so choose to.

Sometimes in deep dispair, frustration and sorrow for the moments in which we were unable to meet, and step freely into ourselves.

Even the sorrow for those moments in which we didn't meet ourselves, is a portal to the biggest of all kingdoms.

All the worlds riches united at this one (w)holy place. The one unchanging moment.

The surrender to ourselves, is the surrender to Now. Surrender into the deeply anchored, deeply confused, deeply changeable, deeply sorrowful, deeply vulnerable, deeply exited, and awe-inpired,

deeply everything...

Not even hope has feet to walk here. And neither, before nor after are really real...

We are driven by something bigger than us, the same as us, by life itself.

The spark ignites within. The inner space. We can only feel it from here. It's unreachable while residing in the borderland around the emptiness.

What felt empty once, is the space in which our essence unfolds as we live it. Everything else is a shallow line drawn around our being. A belt around the waist suffocating the life within.

A celebration around this hollow, is not a party at all, unless it celebrates the death of the tragedy, in which everyone waits.

THE DREAM

No dream is to big too be dreamed into existence.

Too big to be lived. In fact maybe the dream is rather than an illusive future, the tiny first seed of our presence... of existence planted firmly in the ground.

Made visible and alive slowly.

Similarly to the first longing for someone we recognise as ourselves, as the moving waves of our hearts. And which only we recognise with the ripening of our hearts.

We are here prior. Witness to the big spectacle of life and all worlds colliding.

Perhaps if we've stopped dreaming - rather than a sign of great sensibility, and rationale - it's a sign of having lost faith in our fellow humans, in the companionship with nature, and union with life.

It's a great blessing to be reminded and live our dreams through the dream of another. If we let it touch us right, we will know that we are ripening the seeds of our own dreams.

Living into existence the trust in support, companionship and value of our own contribution in life.

And that no dream is too big to be lived. In fact it is just right.

DANCE OF THE SOULS

There's a much wider place we go, when we begin to listen. Deeply, gently listen into the stream of our own sensations. The vast field of our body, as it unfolds, and un-toils itself. When force, the need to release, wish to control, or to keep it together subsides into the same stream of sensation. Into our listening.

When a faint voice in us begins to speak and be heard. This is where the dance of the souls start.

The dance that moves the universe. For a while we come along for the ride of our pain primarily, to serve its need to be expressed, and be there for it, nurture it, live it, sometimes coil up around it, and sometimes move to the edges and beyond consciousness. Into God and the goodness of it all. If ever there were anything like edges to be found, maybe we could than find ourselves as solid.

Maybe for too long we didn't feel. Maybe because we were ripped in two as children, maybe because we have come to know ourselves as pain better, than ourselves as all the other things that we are too. Maybe as a means to scream you fucking violated me, not knowing how to protect and honor ourselves otherwise. But the question is not again, or when. We only have this moment.

So we ride the waves to ride us closer to ourselves. And with every heartbeat we win ourselves back a little more. In this instance we are.

Free.

All states are states of being. States of ourselves. Phases our nervoussystem travels through, which subsequently we travel as. And reside in for a while. Who are we to judge ourselves for it? Or the pains and joys deriving here? There's no doubt that we are all of it, so much yet to be born.

Like a garden, we move in spirals through the span of a lifetime. Growing wider, and bigger and more beautiful come spring, or a new dawn. We don't need to follow the seasons, as long as we follow our own. And we will live grey and dormant times, deep-dives, and the recoiling into our pains and memories. Until again we expand to harvest the ripe fruits of our becoming. Who are we to judge...

There's no shame in recoiling, recalibrating, in changing. But possibility, potential, grace, they all remain...

STEMMERNE I RUMMET

Det er vigtigt at lade det levende, sprudlende indre barn springe op og huje højt og ufortrødent af begejstring.

Hvor meget af tiden har vi mon ladet rumperne være klistret til sædet, imens et ryk af nærmest overnaturlige krafter stod lodret op igennem os, og vi holdt fast i en uadrettet sindsro og fatning, eller en stoisk fortælling om os selv. Imens det indre ville udtrykkes, og vi istedet fik lagt låg på livet der giver tilbage til sig selv.

Og gaven, takken til dem der kom med begejstringen til os. Takken til alt det der rører os, og som har rørt os i årtusinder. Som forbinder os med den samme strøm af nærvær og løfter vores væsener til nye højdedrag, de samme som sjælene har danset til i tidernes morgen.

Melodierne, båret igennem tid or rum. Så vi kan mærke det hele. Forfædrernes fortællinger og historier, sorgerne og glæderne lige. Givet genklang i noget så småt som et ryk i mundvigene eller at hoppe stort op af stolen, med tårer og lys i øjnene.

Her bor hyldesten til livet, melodiernes lange rejse. Og fylden de kommer med i dette øjeblik, som et varmt og luftigt tæppe om hjertet, blidt og holdt og smukt klinger de efter. Stemmerne i rummet.

TRAINS IN THE DISTANCE

We are here to encompass so, so much. So much light, so much darkness. We stretch oceans in this endeavor. The pebbles on our ways reflect it, and the sunlight too, to blind us.

Sometimes with beauty.

...sometimes just blind.

We have mountains to climb.

Wander in worlds unknown to man, prior to their becoming. Prior to our becoming. Only alive by all things journey. And our own.

Indeed we are grand beings, holding all that is, within the depth of our souls. However unbeareable, we bear witness to the grandure of our capacities. The holding of it all. Holding on to nothing.

As soon as it is, it passes.

Cannot be retrieved anywhere other than perhaps in slight memory and an echo.

Silenced.

Always moving foreward. Even during the visits and visions of memory, of story.

So much to tell in the whispers of the night.

Nothing can be contained. Or ever held on to.

So it goes. Travels through.

Like trains crossing the wide stretches of a land and nature.

Monumental, powerful nature, a peace of unfiltered potential that’s beyond awe-inspiring.

Where horizons melt in the distance, and wash both heaven and earth into unison.

Reminding us of the grandure of our being and life.

Washing over us with the clearity, that's given only by the recognition of peace recognising itself.

Claiming itself and its children eventually.

Until only the echos of trains in the distance remain.

And the silence of our grand selves.

THE WORDLESS REALMS

Where do we enter when we fall silent?

Which is it, that speaks the language of the wordless realms? Where all stories end, and only space emerges.

Where we emerge, as the same wide open space we sense, and hear, and feel...

And the knowing, THIS is where I belong.

Is anything calling for you here?

A heavy heart?

An ancient story, that's been told too many times?

Accustomed to the costume.

Something to taint this world and life a tad greyer than it is.

The realm of peace.

Put a veil on, and a lid and a smile perhaps.

Or perhaps not.

Perhaps contract a little.

To not show how beautyful we are.

What power, and that stunning light.

Because God forbid they shine.

It was never God that did forbid though.

Anything!

But the fear to not fit, did.

Understandably, because really, we never did, fit.

No-one ever did.

Not into the concepts, the ideas, the costumes, or names, the big disguise.

Even our bodies, however grand they are, and oh my God they are… grand!

Even they are tiny in comparison.

Nothing can contain us.

What are we here?

If not container to the incredible unfolding of us?

The ever expanding movement that initiated aeons ago pulsing through us. That we get to glimpse at throughout the span of our short lifetimes.

We always grow bigger!

Our beautyful bodies at the gateway of our being, center to express and sense it all.

We stretch ourselves to bridge the biggest of paradoxes, and all kinds of contradictory sensations.

All directions at once, sometimes.

Sometimes just one, sooo strikingly clear.

No, we are rarely afraid of being small.

It's the recognition of the grand shoes we are wearing, that renders us wary at times.

Because of them, we know how big we are in essence.

This is where we are more likely to faint and freeze, make ourselves a little smaller. Contract, and block, and hold back a little.

Taking on a costume that was forever too tight.

And life only knows, it will strip us of this one too.

THE DANCE

When the world dissappears, and the only thing left is the raw throbbing of rythm, and a dance so powerful and passionate as when oceans collide.

Heartbeats, and a surge of energy lets floors and body tremble. They reach eternity here. The beginning of all things.

She brings it all to her dance.

Always.

The shiver, the hurt, love, all the love. Nothing less. Nothing more.

They know it, she knows it.

When we bring ourselves, we bring everything.

The awkward, the deepest yearnings, lost and newfound dreams, home, and the recognition and longing for home. Excitement, beyond excitement, and sorrow beyond sorrow. The close and the so very far away.

Memory and the dance of untold stories.

Touch. One touch, to change everything. To change the room, the atmosphere, direction, and a meeting forever. A touch from one soul to another.

It's her Yes.

Her eyes are of all things. Love and sadness. Far beyond the space they see, yet so very clear and present in this intimate space of the dance. Wherever space takes her, and heart, and rythm.

There's no space to fight our inner space. What fills our souls is the direction we must wander.

Is the dance me must dance.

UNTAMED OCEANS

Surrendering into the moist darkness of this season. Into the stark contrasts formed by dimmed light and a shallow sun setting in the horizon.

I breathe in miniature raindrops that have sprinkled the air by millions. And I enjoy their company, as I do the company of those that have ventured into the autumny wet grounds too, from afar.

The wet, and grey accompanies our journey inwards, riding the last rays of fierce fire, suspended halfway, mid air somewhere, held motionless in space and time.

My in-breath moves me up, and up, and out, resting there for a while... Until another drop lands to melt me into the depth and bittersweet darkness of myself, into the ground.

My breath releases slowly, long and heavy. Sad, but content. And there's relief as I stand here, thoroughly planted like the old oaks rising to my right. Yet flexible to move through the landscapes of my inner world.

In this moment they are a mirror image of my surroundings. Gently winding hills, deep forests, old growth, wide meadows and views of an unending sea. It's like a dance on the ocean. Spectacular and beautiful.

Some parts of me too well tamed. They yearn for the wild, unbroken nature of themselves. A little less spoiled by societal interference, but mainly my own beliefs and disbeliefs.

Some parts more free.

And there's the all so familiar whisper of autumn. The companionship, to envelope life in silence.

FORLADTE RUM

Med skammen i livet og i stilhed.

Nogle af de indre rum ligger i tusmørkets spæde lys og mørkets endnu ukendte drømmeverden.

Lidt forladte,

afventende,

med kølighed, og en fugtig, lidt vammel lugt der breder sig når lys og varme er slukkede.

Ventende på at vi træder ind, med et stearinlys eller en fakkel i hånden. Med kæmpe laser beams og stadion belysning der udraderer selv skyggerne i den sidste lille sprække.

Men mere endnu end skarpe lys, med vores guddommelige moders kærlige blik. Og en hånd der siger "kom, læg din hånd i min... når vi er her sammen jeg med mig og du med dig, er vi sikre.

De rum er nemmere, eller hellere glemt. Imens de råber - men i virkeligheden kalder - allerhøjest på os.

Kalder på vores indre, og tålemodet med og til os selv.

Hvis man kender mit hjem og mig her, skulle man tro man var trådt ind i en anden verden.

Et spøgelseshus.

Ligeså stille og beængstende kan der være i et endnu ukendt hjørne, en krog eller et rum jeg ikke vidste fandtes.

Og måske har du dine rum. Spøgelsesrum.

Med vidt udspilede øjne, og åndedrættet snøret sammen i halsen. Skuldrene trukket op til øretippen, skærende tænder og to stærke arme snoet og viklet rundt om dig selv, hvor vi nærmest ikke kan bevæge os i vores eget faste greb.

Rum.

Rum og tyngde er hvad jeg har brug for her.

Rummet og pladsen til spøgelset og tyngden, som et varmt tæppe af sten der krammer fremfor maser, imens det siger "du er lige her".

Der er ikke meget vi behøver.

Kærlighed, og nu, og sommetider at stå omringet af bjerge i en dal.

Hvor tyngden til at mærke os selv falder over os, og lys til ikke at skræmmes af skyggerne. Så vi kan favne os kærligt.

HUSH, HUSH

Hush, hush

Life changes rapidly
Stirring reflection and wonder, and thinking back.
A morning coffee, a fresh breeze, and an ever so frosty, autumny, but soft atmosphere. As if I was lying in a bed of leaves. Gently held and covered.
Hush, hush they wisper. While wind and birds talk slightly louder.

Who am I hearing when I'm hearing you and me
Crosses my mind, as it did a day ago
Am I hearing me or you
Maybe a little bit of both
Or the echo of what we both are made of
Once brother willow tree told me, I see you differently than you see me

I see me as you, and you as me
And I told him with tears in my eyes, and longing,
I feel not ready for your kind of love
Now I know I felt not good enough,
And what I really felt, but didn't know, was that I felt not whole
I had lost a part of me
My brother taught me as part of me and us
That even when we are far away, we are never really lost
My brother taught me, where ever you are, you can always get in touch.
You can always find me here
reside inside you
He said you need not ask permission to greet my kind
They hear you just as you and I hear us

Hush, hush they say
Just listen,
...
listen, listen

FREEDOM OF CHOICE

Some things we learn to do, not to do them. But to be free to choose to do or not do them.

MØDER I RUMMET

Min sofa er blevet de smukke gæsters hvilested. I morges kiggede to søvnige, salige katteøjne på mig. De havde afløst den vidunderlige kvinde med det lange dansende hår og blid stemme, hvis sang er selvsamme lange omfavnelse som hun selv. Nogle møder er af helt særlig karakter. For min smukke, stærke, varme katteven er og byder jeg rummet som hun er og byder rummet for mig i øjeblikket hvor den indre verden rumler og ramler sammen. Rystes lidt imens fundamentet bygges på ny. De særlige møder der tillader os at være hele os. Møderne hvor hvad vi var det ene øjeblik allerede er stoppet med at eksistere.

THE LIFE OF DEATH

Now true to our nature we discover, true to our form we see.

In distance rising visions,

slowly breaking free.

Dawn in springtime living,

falling dead of time.

Perception growing widely.

The dialogues of space and life.

From one form springs another.

Birthing breath and name.

A border, misconceptualized.

It's the life of death

Not the end of life.

Through pieces came your name alive as life.

Uniquely, wildly lived, and loved your form.

The animating force of life.

You came as a fragment to it all.

You passed as sorrow for the loss of you.

You passed as the wisdom for the teaching of you.

You passed as the knowing of connection with you.

You passed as the living death of you.

You passed as the moving grief of you.

You passed as the not letting go of you.

And as the tears for the loss of you.

You are here as the longing and missing of you.

As the memory and spirit being of you.

You passed as the incredible aliveness of you.

You are the incredible aliveness of you.

It's the life of death that pulses through our veins, roars in our hearts and blood.

With clear as starry eyesight we might see the life of you.

The animating life force and intelligence you are

The inspirational creation that you are.

Death isn't the end of life

It's the transition of fragments arriving back home.

Being birthed into other forms.

The movement of being and wholeness of all.