In our creative writing and movement session this morning, we ran out of time at the end, so whereas we all usually share some of what we write, I did not.

So I decided to share my ‘story’ on my blog. It is written from a memory of a recurring dream which was reminded to me by one of the other participants in our group, as she spoke about the medieval times. As I danced I tapped into that dark mother energy that I am exploring through my own ‘change’, a few feelings triggered by another participant as we greeted and spoke of our menopause’s; ‘ah the skin and bones and blasted irritations’.  And then as I wove these memories and experiences together I felt into the energy of Samhain and the mystery of the thinning veils and my connections to my ancestry….. and so I wrote my own blending of these stories;

My own mystery, my own darkness, my own hidden reoccurring dream that takes me further and further across the scenes of that old play, some where in the past. Some old history; a being that knew a time and a place that does not fit quite into the reality of my modern day fixtures. Looking up at that same tower I can see myself both in it and outside of it. I wander the tracks that lead there. Muddied boots and horse hair layers, leaving my skin itchy and uncomfortable, yet able to find warmth and to be free to roam unseen within this dark mystery.
There is no hurry, yet a curiosity that must be acknowledged, my hands begin to reach out to stone walls as I search for the edges and possibilities of open door ways and steep steps to climb. Winding around turrets as I explore the towers within my mind.
Those places that meet with the sky and the stars, where the wise one sits and ponders the meaning of life.
The dream awakens yet the journey continues as it infiltrates through my existence. The story unfolds but without the dream it is easy to misinterpret its true meaning – lost so often in the every day happenings of modern day life times.
The muddied boots remind me of the dark mother who roams through the shadows and takes her medicine ways through the granite stone of castles and turrets, the rain softening the journey so it cannot be hurried, taking a pause to warm by the internal fires, she is invited into the warmer places of the castle walls.
The tower still existing high above, the dark mother knowing the spiral staircase must be climbed, she wraps herself within the horse hair and follows into the night sky and court yards full of voices; the cobbled stones that she steps over one after the other, those muddied boots of earth and fallen leaves. The wind sweeping the hood from her face revealing the trusses of grey as they cascade over her shoulders, opening her face to the elements. She curses for a moment, yet as the moon shines a little more brightly and lights up her eyes, she sees more clearly into the darkness as different beings fall momentarily away, not daring to look incase that curse should become part of their own journey.
Material whips around a granite corner and disappears into yet another corridor, hooded once more, there is simply a sound of horse hair and boots brushing along cobbled floors, seeking out its destination, knowing the shamed story, the one that is created by hiding and grows ever deeper as its murky depths, just like the muddied boots try to find their way through the earths hardest core.
The dark shadows and the highest tower become one story and the dark mother, as she begins to climb, finds that connection between the two and as the hooded veil thins itself and the grey trusses settle, finding their own connection to body, the tower is entered into, where the darkened place has both light and shadow in its midsts.
The daughter lightens, drinking in the medicine, finds her dance and dreams with the moon her awakening. Nothing is lost as it resides in the untold stories. The medicine works its magic and what was once buried, becomes the truth of many other lives.

Mama snake is with us, her spirit rides this journey with her guardian the wild little girl. Nothing to hold her back, to simply find her sensuality and remind us how to move our bodies with a strong connection to the earth to the universal mother. Together we speak her story of renewal and alchemy, reaching into the shadows and darkened places. Bodies move together as one, sharing the medicine within the cauldron – searching into the familiar landscapes through each axis mundi, listening to the beat of the drum as it expands the mind and follows into the hidden wells of mysticism.

Why are we here?

The voice opens, she hisses outwards, spewing out the sound that once shook the world and had to be silenced for fear it would cause too much unrest in the minds that heard it.

The sounds take her further beneath the earth of the body, into a golden valley – where waters glisten amongst the shimmering lights and forms a golden egg held in hands tenderly, as if ready to birth what  might never have imagined or even spoken of – and so she charmed her way into the folds of skin, deep into the membranes of those who would dare to dance her dance – her way of being in the world – and as they drank in her medicine it opened up each and every cell as sweat and tears poured out into the sage filled spaces, the dance and the medicine went deeper into those crevices and mingled with the sinews. Releasing the tied up knots of conformity – great mama snake tenderly uproots one flower after another, as they fall misshapen to the earth and back to the mother, ready to add their stories to the ashes and the debri.

Smoke lifts those wings into the heavens where they meet with the dream time and we see our own need of growth transform into the beloved, so that then all the trimmings can now be let go of, we witness  our freedom in the dance and the treasure that it gifts us.

No need to hold onto the old ways. No need now nor then, neither a need in our companions, for it will not serve.

So the simple question being; What has been? What is now? What is becoming?

 www.alchemyinmovement.com

I am noticing a very happy thread of joy flowing through my body. I am aware of the next journey exciting me, a time to gather with my clan and to dance and journey together. I am to meet with my ancestry and to explore unknown territories together. It’s been awhile since I gathered in this way and I am hungry for the opportunity to be amongst the knowledge and wisdom of so many. A place where I am not in any way seen as different, where I feel accepted just as I am. And I recognize my own acceptance of myself and love of the creature born to me, so seeing that mirrored back to me sparks off that joy and liberates my spirit, touching the soul of my heart and freeing any negative thoughts about who I should now be in the world. Back to the primal, back to the innocence, reaching into the story and poetry of my life, trusting and acknowledging it is the right path, the true path and I can play as much as I like with it. Take away the serious frown, take away the need to conform, it really does not matter. What has it ever really done for us? Learning what is right from wrong, listening inward to the heart, following spirit and all it teaches us, dancing freely with the elements and caring for nature, what could possibly be more important than that.

When our own innocence meets with the innocence of the natural world, we have unity; we have a deeper understanding that rarely exists in our modern, faster than though society. Then there is the loss of joy for the memory of simple excitement. But for more possession and wealth, for faster richer, bigger, better. The excitement of innocence and joy becomes buried amidst the toys and playthings, the dressing up clothes and the imaginative wonderment of childhood. Forced into a closet of yesteryear. Until one day a key may open the door…  And how many doors need to open? What will it take to open all of those locks and to allow the full essence of our innocence shine through? What would it take that we might be brave enough to let go of the fabric of that conformity and face enough of our own inner-sense? We can await our own catastrophes, we can wait for the heartaches and losses and pain, in order to be forced into that place of looking inwardly. Or we can begin, one step at a time to peek into that closet that was once closed and pick through some of those old memories, just to see if there is a little voice in there, some where that says ‘remember me?’ A little voice that had to be silenced incase it spoke a little too much or invited us to feel a pain that we preferred to put to one side. That same little voice, if in that closet too long may just begin to bang too loudly on the closed door, or throw a tantrum amidst what is buried there, creating turmoil and dust and a whole mixture of darkness that wants to erupt and blacken out our lives. Better still to find that golden key and invite the child out to play!

from ‘Reclaiming Our Innocence’

I am sitting in the yurt in our garden, I hear a simple chime in the background that hangs on a near by tree, the sound of the gardener next door, busy with his tools and the wind making the loose flaps of the yurt sound like wings landing on roof tops and fluttering birds, shaking loose feathers. I am still today. Little thought of what needs to be, just resting from a mind that has been curious as to what is next on the agenda. What is next? Does it really matter?

I remind myself of those words, ‘I am an actor on the stage of life, the script is already written and all I need to do is show up and play each role with a passion, nothing to control or make happen. Simply say yes to every opportunity and stop planning  how I think it should be. Let the ideas drop into the box of shapes and if they fit through the holes then so be it. But if they do not then discard them because there is no time to sit with anything that does not serve or wastes any time. Time where I could be dreaming. Valuable time where stillness inspires and the journey has no beginning or ending, it just is.

The crow caws sending his rhythm to the world and I am aware that so much is happening out there, yet here in this stillness so little, like a seed in the ground so small so quiet, barely a movement and yet its potential of growth and what it can offer to the world is huge, expanding beyond all recognition of what it began as. A small brown shape mingled in with the dirt of the earth. Waiting – just waiting. 

And then as the dancer unfolds me I feel warmth of sun on my body, just as when the little seed reaches upwards to the light, to stretch its limbs and become the very thing that calls to it. The energy of life finding its way through the cracks and crevices, fed by the energy of the earth and the waters of life, breathed on by the winds of change. How will this one little seed connect to the community around it. How will it spread out to be included in one forest, remaining with its own uniqueness and its own fragility, still being all it needs to be without the need of conformity and changing to fit in with that particular woodland, in ways that would force it to become something it was not. Yet changing skins subtly from season to season, changing its form as leaves and flowers drop to the ground, it knows the time for shedding and letting go, allowing the old to drop back to the earth, creating compost to feed new growth. This seed knows the seasons and knows how to adapt to them.

My own dance knows the threads to be woven, the weaving in and out of natures tapestries and all she guides us to be.

Last year I began to write a script based on my book, Ms’Guided Angel.I had never written a script for a play before let alone a movie! But a few months ago my partner and I began the process of taking a few short chapters of the script and turned them into a promo for the film. Now the promo is out and just like I felt when my book was published, I’m excited as well as nervous and apprehensive. Its quite a tale to be telling!