Again, bits and bobs of writing from my book, or splatterings of songs I am busy penning.
The role of Mother even if stumbled across carelessly is a reverent one. In the earlier days names of their unborn children was discussed on nights where the moon was at her fullest only. And with each name, a small invocation, a calling to the gods of old for Grace and Mercy. The Old Mothers knew our children would be tested and with turn of the wheel , greater understanding find its way into our blood. With great care a name was chosen and into the world was called a child to heal wounds they knew nothing of.
Riddle my body with your secret song
Cold is the night and wild is the place we come from
I hear it echo, echo…under your skin
Tales of Sunlight trapped so deep within
You and I…we sat a lot, on couches, the floor, the grass, in between my father’s school books. We walked even more – from my house to yours, the longest route possible, from the kitchen to the backyard, around people cooking, and arguing.
And always we talked. I loved watching the words form, the way your voice twisted itself around delicate consonants and vowels and anchored them – so I could listen; understand.
And I…I jabbered excitedly about the latest book I was reading. We spoke, debated, laughed and occasionally danced to cheesy music when alone. Well, you did and I laughed!
I don’t even remember how it ended or why. But being loved by you taught me the one thing I kept forgetting as I got older.
Love is fuelled by sharing. You open your mouth, your world, and pour the big, inconsequential and banal things out of your heart and into theirs…
Allow your life to become an embodiment of your truth. Seek out a man who is a great lover and an honest friend.
One who would not only forgive your forked tongue but welcomes it.
There is your silent grace; your way back home
Find me when the world closes
In around you
When the sun shines brightest
And clouds are what you need.
Follow the music, the sound of our lives entangled.
So we may remind each other, the way out
Is through; through our skins
And the small intimacies only we know of.