Samhain
it was like watching a crack in the earth open, all day
it started on the phone,
“how are you”,
“mourning twelve friends massacred and more to come, more to come,
in and out of life as usual and the dropped-pit stomach of despair”
and the other glued to the news like a man on heroin,
can’t stay away from the siren call of poison
he’ll say he has sudden visions of dead bodies when we make love and so will i,
fresh out of a dream of mindless killing from the not-soldiers,
where ecstasy peels back the edges of my being and wider things flood into my consciousness
like a hiccuping tv set
wisecracking cunts (occulture)
our regular date comes around,
3 hours every 3 years
i had missed your singing
to digest life’s casual backhand blow
but today we stroll the market holding hands,
“Look at that. We did land back in Europe”
as if yesterday,
backpacks still feisty as fresh horses
on these greater motherland soils
we’re slowly trickling into
it’s that old scene again,
the witches sit on benches
under rain stars and fire
and discuss devotion
from men who are children,
kids rise in great conjunctions on the horizon
and the chop-wood tending, tending to our temples.
unspectacular
our shoulders are damp from an autumn shower as we push the door open,
Take refuge on narrow cafe chairs where you
seat my leg in your lap,
And snake your forearm right up my trouserleg.
grin grin.
Your fingers rest snug on the skin above my knee,
And we’re grinning like lunatics.
Like cats that got the cream.
extract : connection to all mothers
“When the two pink stripes confirmed I was with child, I felt a visceral connection to that exact moment, when it shook the lives of women everywhere and through all time. The pause rippled through my whole being like it crashed into the lives of millions, who ready or not stopped to vomit in a dirt track, or gag at the smell of food, who suddenly stopped their digging weaving daydreaming to count the days since last blood, who were alone or with family when suddenly everything changed, in a warzone a convent or a caravan crossing the desert.
grief, secret
i’ve observed my beloved and i get hit at different times by waves of grieving the abortion. in particular, the point where we found ourselves in a place too sensitive to share any of it with anyone. it’s a really bleak, muffled, heavy place to be.
he’s been in one of those recently. i was deep in it from conception to abortion, and with every day after that i feel myself opening back a little more to the outside world.
abortion pill
last full moon, i took an abortion pill.
it’s been a deeply humbling and magical journey. I followed in the footsteps of neil gaiman, who had something to say to his wife - and in the process, accidentally wrote a whole book instead.
i am reaching the end of the first draft of what i’ve been simply calling “pregnancy notes”. It documents the mystical openings of an abortion journey, and the unfolding of our decision through ritual, travel, grief and celebration. it’s tender and raw and intimate.
cuckoo poem
it started with a shy romeo crow that day,
who dropped on my balcony
and peeked at me over its shoulder.
then
i go to the shops for no reason
like i never do
and the street cleaners rev their deafening engine
a few footsteps from where
i find you -
eyes bright and body supple,
warm and
freshly dead,
wings still spread open
in a relaxed embrace of sky
cuckoo prose
i watch a crow on my balcony like a shy romeo, squinting at me nervously over its shoulder. i leave to grab a couple of groceries, then as i hear the deafening roar of the street-cleaning truck, my eyes fall on a beautiful, dead bird. So fresh. Cuckoo, I later learn - they’re shy, so i know its song but not its shape.
immediately i know that this being, that was not there and not dead 1min ago, has literally appeared on my doorstep for me to take its wings and tail. for a moment i’m paralyzed at this. my many plans for the morning come crashing down in the telltale rhythm of death taking over the tempo - interrupt, pause, stretch…
a day of mermaids
you have this way of saying things sometimes -
you steal away time’s breath
with the caress of truth in your words
“ the world would be better
if people did
less. “
tribal gathering
it seemed so simple in my head. “let’s gather and do nothing”.
only when they were all there
did it dawn on me
this
was a revolution in itself,
to invite people into actual
empty space,
unstructured,
free.
First time organising an ISTA training
And life says stay here and now
I usually cave after mingling
But today Is made for walking,
In the river of dancing roller skaters
The wind caroling through urban gardens,
Gazed upon by tranquil whale clouds
I Feel all their movement in my skin
Like a moving school of fish
An Echo of all the storylines I’ve been swimming in for days
Service has a different flavor
For every cog in the wheel
questions (part 2) Devil’s advocate
You watch me rant
With a knowing smile
and ever the devil’s advocate,
You remind me
“But you also tell me :
I’m not going anywhere.”
questions (part 1)
questions reveal the asker
more than any given answer.
how many come to ask of this love
“but are you committed?”
oh, i’m committed -
but only to truth
and to following love’s wild, meandering ways
those that swim upstream
i am so grateful for the souls
who swim upstream of time
learn from disease and silence
love from the heart of darkness.
who walk into my days
like a pitcher pouring summer,
quietly determined
like water shaping rock
who build sanctuaries (…)
Now you’ve gone
the city feels different
now you’ve left.
i walk past your empty nest
feeling like the leaves touched by crimson light,
the last ones at the top of the tree
that catch the day’s flaring red tail.
nourishment through story :
old stories have always been part of my first-aid kit.
one day with sue li i caught a glimpse of why.
we were smiling at how we adore walks.
she loves city walks. i love nature walks.
and we’re actually seeking the same thing there.
to dissolve into the greater organism.
the strangest land love has led me to
happy birthday, love.
i take you away to paris
and become royalty in my home turf,
cause when all is said and done
paris is for lovers…
dream house
these guys! making my dreams come true.
i dreamt of landing a community house in berlin. one that’s turned towards the mysterious magic of the greater being that exists in the centre of any group.
how do we bring the profound beauty of co-existing, out of the festival grounds, the trainings, the short-term experiments.
how to we come every morning with the same depth and commitment to showing up with curiosity, with our limping parts, to put into the cauldron of a group heart?
ISTA Sweden
ISTA Level 1 awaits you in Sweden in August - with some of the most spectacular people I have ever met.
Shakti is a raw force of nature, a whirlwind of humor and fierce mother love, bone-deep in her connection to the subtle worlds. She walks in, and doors open that were never even imaginable before.
