The I-am-bothered-bag

That was her giving-up-bag

her oh-I-can't-be-bothered-bag

I will not give up 

I shall not go down the same path

I got a bright-blue-shiny bag

with neon pink dots

a Fiorelli-fun-out-of-synch-bag

it does stand for containment

and always will

my sadness

my distress

my anger

my raw state of frazzledness

my blue-neon-pink-bag

makes me laugh

makes me want to jump

and stick my tongue out

I am bothered Mama, I am!

A Margaret-Thatcher-hanging-on-me-arm-bag

meaning business

such fun!

and if you man don't behave

I'll whack you round ye head

to keep you in check

my blue-electric-neon-pink-hot-fun-bag

hangs on me arm

my shiny-bright-blue-polka-dot-pink-business-bag

the I-am-unlike Maggie-bothered-bag

I can not give up - not now - ever Mama

The story of the injured child

The injured child is defenceless and in need of support. She is lying on the ground and has no more strength. She can't stand anymore. 

But help is at hand. 

Out of the barren landscape of motherly absence grows a mother and child bond, so tender, so beautiful like the soft running sand from the desert, like the waving palm trees, giving shade from the burning sun. It is a bond coming out of that barrenness, from the good of that barrenness. Its offshoots are strength, resilience, power, and quiet-big presence. 

The other help lies in the centre, flowing directly from the injured child. Through the fire she must go. And on the other side she encounters love. And joined hands, in solidarity. 

The Great Mother

as always, is there, an eternal, clear, steady, deeply loving presence. The clarity of her gaze, encircles age old stepping stones and arches of pathways. Behind her, as always, and again and again, the communion of people sharing and partaking in the circle of humanity. 

Lastly, help comes from the ancient rites of passages, from ancient wisdom and ways of survival. On either side the girl has the help of the shepherds, the keepers of the lower kingdom. The boys and the men who can be in the face of loneliness, in the face of bare existence. 

And so the story goes. 

Fragments of the in-between world

 imagine you are that baby

rather than

all curled up

oh yes that is nice

imagine you are pregnant 

rather than

those twins in your swollen tummy

oh yes that is nice

boys this time?

no - girls

always girls 

from top to bottom

somewhere over the rainbow

It is quiet there

where are your bairns?

The girls are brushing their hair

where troubles melt like lemon drops

it is hard to die

why oh why can't I?

yes

you take care

who is going to hang up?

......

you just caught me in time

shall I hang up?

Yes

we lit a candle 

at the end I imagined

I am dead

but not yet

disappointed

images

scents - not so much

but touch

freckled and speckled

I know

like a beautiful beach in the morning sun

do you think something is holding you back?

you can go now into the light

It's Easter Sunday

your face like a moon

a beaming smile

I am thinking of them

all the time

from top to bottom

I've been considering that

we will cross in the sky

I'm afraid so

the thread has been cut

triangle shattered

top to bottom

liberation

smile

it is good

you are free

the debt has been paid

Final Farewell

farewell my lady

off you go

into the light

into the abandon of love

farewell my lady

behind you - riches of life

pebbles and stepping stones

blossoming fields

all this you own

the rainbow

the sunshine

the stars

may we be reminded

of the grace and beauty

that lies therein

farewell my lady

travel safely

gently we hold you - your hands

farewell

In preparation of our parting

The stick

I picked

last Sunday 

in our woods

and an empty 

bottle of ...... whisky.... probably

and a shard of porcelain

fragments - stories - connections

to past and present

and 

the future so near

without you

in preparation 

of our parting

I am creating

because creating is eternal

and you shall be with me 

contained

in every single

creation

embedded in love

soft soft hands

soft soft hands

holding you

touching you

framing your face

your eyes

big blue lakes

searching

questioning

closing

is it time to go?

I can not leave

you yet Mama

the hymns are not 

sounding 

yet 

the bell is not

chiming 

yet

You are tired

my darling

it`s ok

you can go

as you say

you will be 

over the rainbow

dancing on sunshine

Signs in my bodily landscape

First came the tears of desperation

then a solid bar of pain

out of the blue

across my back

at the height of the heart

and my right shoulder blade

frozen

and my tummy swollen

and hollow 

and full

These are the signs in my 

bodily landscape

across the ocean

across the seas

across the snowy mountain tops 

and across the layers 

my love for my mother

is indescribable 

I love her

her face fallen

and sometimes illuminated

the face of the little girl she was

clear blue eyes

a softness and gentleness

and grace 

beauty

that is my mother