The approach of the autumn always makes me reflect on the nature of life; in particular the way the mysterious essence of life takes form and shape, ‘living’ for a while, then giving up its life and surrendering the elements of that form back to the earth from which it arose.

We all feel the poignancy of life’s seasons, but it’s useful to align ourselves with the processes of the autumn and reflect more deeply on the ‘life lessons’ that nature lays before us… quite literally.

Soon, I will walk in my muddy boots, through crisp and cracking leaves; leaves that, a few short months ago, glowed with the mysterious and magical green of the spring. These days, I cannot help but feel a kind of kinship with their fate, as the inevitable process of attrition by the wind, rain…and my walking boots, crushes them into smaller and smaller particles…

audio ⬇️

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-TxXxXn_kXg2uMtXx9-Ts6eJxpam0Zk8/view?usp=drivesdk

 Necesito escribir,

se me han secado las palabras.

La tinta mancha el papel,

los borrones rompen mi templanza.

No son letras lo que cae,

son mis lágrimas oscuras,

ellas… las que me atan.  

 

Cristales rotos encuentro,

cristales con sangre en mi almohada.

No tienen alivio las heridas ocultas

y con el tintero vacío

no puedo darles untura que sana.

Mis manos arden en llagas

y para esto no hay solución.

En el pasado he quedado anclada.  

 

Mas… con agua clara me lavé

pensando en limpiar mi alma.

No hallo concentración,

no encuentro fórmulas mágicas.

Para mí ya nada pido…

no necesito pasión.

Es mi interior el que 

en el silencio grita,

mientras mi cuerpo

dormido calla.  

 

Las penas velan mis ojos,

cuando las noches desnudan

mi alma.

Ay, si lograran llorar sangre…

con ella podría escribir,

así…

Thank you, for your Attitude of Gratitude:

Sometimes people are in our lives to remind us that our power comes from within. That means nothing and no one outside of us, can strip us of said power!

Affirmation: I will always own my power!

 I love you, Annette Rochelle Aben

Several years ago, I discovered the world of shamanism. Before then all I knew about it was the stories that came from Native America, and they were few and far between. I assumed that shamans were simply Native Americans. I was naïve and knew nothing about our world. I still don’t fully understand shamans, but I have reached the conclusion that I can be a shaman here in the UK. Perhaps British shamans have been assigned different names. Perhaps they are druids, pagans, or an ancient people whose history has died out through generations. Perhaps shamanism lies in our blood, and those of us who feel the call will find our way.

How could I call myself a shaman when I don’t practice ancient rituals, when I don’t have a mentor or teacher, and when I haven’t officially been inducted into this deeply mysterious and spiritual world? That is what…