20th April 2015

Descending Holy Mountain…

Climbers walk past, fast paced, heads down, carrying their heavy load of gear, chatting – loud – busy, busy headed, talking, talking. Has the Mountain left nothing with them…How can you climb a mountain and not acquire some of its stillness?

This most sacred of temples is made of seams and seams of beautiful quartz, built over 500 million years.

Age is no more attached to my soul than our footsteps to these seams of quartz.

Late afternoon – Holy Island, Southern Shores

Watching the tide come in, amongst ancient glacier rocks – swirls, pushing in, whirling, seaweeds dance, infinite tones of blue and green, copper and brown. It settles, seaweed glitters in the sunlight, flickering like hundreds of tea lights – then it moves again. Gargling, swishing, in-out.

My female body is a tidal being. I am the tides, swirling, in and out, pushing, swishing, going still, flickering with shimmering lights.

My last evening as a 49 year lived woman.

The tides move beautifully, eternally, in the womb of the Earth, in the folds of the Ocean.

The arrow plane pilot, blasting up there, is missing the dance…

“I watched the beauty of the swirling waters and turned to see her for which they danced” – wrote my love.

Morning of my birth-day, 21st April 2015

Chough Spirit has been around since yesterday, gliding lightly, phoenix-like, against the sky, briefly, ominously, between the cliffs.  Raven is first here today. Cires out, flies off as we arrives.

Today I join the Tides, walking barefoot along the corridors of water currents between the rocks and into the sea.

Bless me Goddess, Sister, Mother, Grandmother, Life Force, as I become you at last and you me.

Cough comes gliding by, silently, lightly, phoenix-like, long beak red as my dress. It circles again and again, along the corridors of air currents, against a perfect, azure sky.

More birds have come to dance, weaving spirals with the wind, playing. Chough glides away.

Later it is a Buzzard, drawing beautiful loops as it patrols the bay, knowing not to resist the patterns of air pressure, but to folow and ride them along. That there is no straight forward destination, that the loops bring what happens, make it all happen. “Just as life journeys” – says my love.

So I am Home. I am now truly Home. I finally like being this age today.

“We are always Home, all the time” – says he.

“Yes, but we spend a lot of time not knowing that” – say I.

Morning of 22nd April, leaving

The tide is out on the bay now. We  gather flat stones from the bottom of the sea where I walked in yesterday, for our candles, so that the spirit of the tidal shores may flow into our lives, our work and our visions.

Chough appears, crying out, gliding lightly, briefly, phoenix-like, come to say goodbye, glides away.

We leave today, with our treasure of blessings.