I allow it to drift

I don’t understand why people expect it to be rigid

Focused, perfect, single minded

Why do they seek trance in text book rigidity?

It’s not about staying in the box

I let my mind go out of bounds

Beyond the boundaries of what is allowed

In the daytime in the sunshine in the work-a-day world

We have to be so polite

So nice and sweet

Structured and organized

I am not disciplined as I sit before Them

Chatting and rambling on about nothing

They listen indulgently

Like grandparents letting a small child prattle on

I let my mind wander

Out of bounds

Beyond reason

What focus?

There is no focus

I drift on a sea of thoughts

Unbidden and unfettered

Thoughts come and go as they please

I drift here and there

I open up

I become expansive

Too big to fill my little shell

I slip and slide away and down

Out of bounds

Beyond the boundary

I slide away from the body sitting before the altar

And we go wandering in a twisted landscape

Some might fear if they realised this is what is to be found

But really it’s just another place

So long as you can find your way there and back again

Related posts:

1. Questions for a Fox
2. The Dance
3. Horned God Devotional

As I do so I murmur quietly. I have learned the power of words. I give it voice. Using my breath. Vibration.

I wash myself in the river. The cool water runs down my legs and arms and neck. Though the hem of my skirt is tucked up into my waistband it still gets wet. My hair is the color of clotted blood when it is damp and under a night sky, it drips river water down my back. It is not dirt that I remove with the water … but it is swept away by the current nonetheless.

Crash paddles to me, returning from her attempts to follow the offering tossed in the river as they floated away. She gives me a look that says “Why the hell are you throwing sticks  and bits of plants into the river if I’m not to chase them?”

I laugh and beckon her to follow me unto the shore. My sandals make squelching sounds as I work my way up the river bank.

I come to a tunnel of vegetation that runs parallel to the river. One side is the weeded and wooded river bank, the other a hodgepodge hedgerow. Through the tunnel, a little beyond it, stand three sister hawthorns. I have no need of visualization techniques tonight. I have a living model to work with.

I slip out of my wet sandals. My feet come upon the earth plainly, nothing between us and unadorned. The prickle of grass under my soles. Night cooled soil. The rough of a rock. I dig in, dig down. Dig deep. I do not move. I breathe.

Crash quiets beside me and sits. She waits. My experienced dance partner.

I close my eyes. I suck air in and then out again. Slowly in through my nose and then forcing it out fast. Completely. Again. Full and empty, full and empty. Again. A few more times.

I open my eyes and step forward. Slowly and with great care given to my step. Fully and firmly setting my foot down upon the earth. Slow. Careful and conscious. Precision. I breath slowly and deeply. As slowly and deeply as I can.

I walk. My arms reach out. Finger tips and palms brush against the vegetation. I tip my head back. I view my goal, the end of the tunnel, looking downwards and over my nose.

I slip one foot across the earth, lifting it lightly but maintaining contact. Planting the foot fully, firmly. Shifting weight. It might look like a yoga pose to the uninitiated.

I shift my weight forward. I lift the other foot, maintaining contact. Planting the foot fully, firmly beside its twin. Then it slips forward, across the earth.

Slowly. Painfully. Gradually.

I push forward. I breathe. Something builds. I push against it. I push through it. Like walking in a sea of mildly electrified jelly. It starts so softly, it builds from below me and trembles through me. I push against it. I push through it. I walk, Crash at my heels. By the time I near my goal it is as if I might drown.

I know how to tread water.

I breathe. I walk. It is only about a dozen steps. It is a far greater distance than that.

I slip through. The last step leaving me feeling like a greased pig slipping through a farmer’s grasp. Momentum, though I moved so slowly.

I reach the end of the little tree tunnel in my local park. I step through. It is like taking a long air plane ride, walking through an airport and stepping out into a climate the opposite of your own. It smacks you in the face and drives the breath from your lungs.

I come to standstill. I close my eyes. I suck in air. I relax my body. I open my eyes and tilt my head back down.

The land thrums with power. My body throbs in response. Energy ripples through me. There is pressure. Heightened senses. Contrast and sharpness.

I gaze at the trio of hawthorns sanding under moonlight and urban light pollution as the city sleeps. Some tiny light flickers amongst the branches. Seen and then unseen. A dark shadow moves behind one tree.

More than trance.

Things unseen are now seen, or at least sensed.

I stride towards the trees. Under hawthorns that sing of the strength of the land … and of roots and of the anticipation of autumn. Branches reach out and meet over my head, roots twine together under my bare feet. The dog lays down just outside and sighs.

I greet the trio of hawthorns and they greet me. They sing though I do not hear with my ears.

With my heart, my body, my soul.

I pick up my tambourine.

Related posts:

1. The Dance
2. Dragged into Dream Walking
3. To Be Alone and Useless

on a sunny day

Who needs church?

Nature is divine.

~ Carrie Latet

No related posts.

And when did he leave?

Why did he come only in my dreams?

A visitor in a little girl’s sleep

Why did he leave and has not been seen?

I miss running down that path

On four paws with him in the lead

The lessons that he gave me

Once they were learned

He simply never returned

Why does crow follow me?

And leave feathers for me?

My childhood friend

The children on the playground

I kept to myself, with crow

And his murder at the other end

On my shoulder he perches

I don’t trust him with my eyes

I fear he might make me blind

And what would he show me then?

What bird would owl have been

If I had known him for his self?

The brown little bird

Who flew from Her hands

Perhaps he would have been a wren?

But he is an owl instead

Does it really matter then?

Is owl even a male?

I ask his name

The title for a goddess he gave

And yet he seems a he

As he sinks his talons into me

And makes me shove things in my chest

And what of this deer?

Red coat and sharp tines

I know the god who sent him

Through wooded glade

Charging me and then I caught him

By my side he lays

The birds perch on his antlers

If I call him to lead the way

Where will we go this day?

And that blasted cat

Glimpsed once at the corner of my eye

What is it?

Who is that?

Watching and prowling

Can this kitty be trusted?

What does it want?

And why are they all men when I am a woman?

Or maybe I am mistaken?

Where is that fox?

I have questions for him!

Related posts:

1. The Dance
2. Horned God Devotional
3. To Answer a Question

(stay tuned for updates & info on the Horned God devotional anthology I have submitted works to … which reminds me, GET BACK TO WORK!)

Related posts:

1. Dance little girl dance!
2. Horned God Devotional
3. To Tread Lightly

Related posts:

1. Horned God Devotional
2. To Fly By Night
3. Defence Against the Dark Arts (When You are Locked Out of the Circle)