She who weaves
Sits at the loom of life
The door between the worlds falls open

Reality or illusion is her choice
And at the loom time disappears
As past and future cease and there is only now

At her feet in a cradle a baby lies,
Symbol of rebirth and of new life
And at her side the alchemist’s pots of gold
From which she draws her rainbow coloured threads

The shuttle in her hand is blessed
“All is well”  Her work begins
And slowly with much love
She works the cloth in which the many become One…

Don’t resist what is
This is the path to unhappiness
We are all entangled
In nations
In families
In ourselves

Respect the fate of others
Leave them to their own solutions
Honour the lives of your Ancestors
Tend to your own business
And in so doing
Release the energy of transformation within yourself

Don’t waste energy resisting
Allow what is to be
Reveal the trauma within the system
And begin the work of healing

Stories not truth
Are what entangle us one with another
The trick is to get out of the story
Lose the attachment to your view of reality
Sacrifice being right
For being at peace

And as you do
All that needs to heal comes to the Light

And entanglements fall away…

“At the inner core of each one of us spins seven wheel-like energy centres called chakras.“

Each chakra is a centre of activity within the body, which receives, assimilates and expresses life-force energy.

There’s a tree in the park slowly dying
It makes my heart ache to see it
Standing majestic still
Silhouetted against the skyline
All sharp and naked limbed
Life force ebbing away. . .

And so on my walks I am hugging it
Loving it back to leaf and bud
Hopeful of what the Spring will bring. . .

But the Wheel of the Year turns
And there is no resurrection
Nature will have its way
Death strips us of our beauty in form
Bark falls and lies
And on my walks unable to bear it
I gather pieces and work my magic. . .

Weaving colour and vitality where none remain
I am part of a renaissance
Mindful of the Oneness of all life
And the transition the world calls death. . .

Turn down your pots and pans
Hang up your mops
Put away your Dysons
Silence your Blackberrys
Turn off your PCs and Ipads
Abandon your children

And come wild weaving with me!

Forage in your local park
Go hunter gathering
Collect feathers
Pick up dried leaves
Gather the windfall of twigs after the storm

Go hunting in Oxfam
Be determined at car boot sales
Search out mother’s drawers
Grandmother’s cupboards
Unravel last year’s Xmas jersey from Auntie Maud
Go to John Lewis
Do whatever it takes

But come wild weaving with me!

Death always arrives bearing an invitation
But this was the first time that I saw it
Reaching out in my fall
Into that now familiar darkness
I accepted death’s gift to me
And surrendering
Heard for the first time
That Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent call
To ‘wake up!’

Allowing myself to feel the full force of the pain
That in previous deaths I had anaesthetised
I became the wave to the ocean
At the mercy of currents
That dragged me far out
Where I lost my form
And was consumed by a far greater Power
Only to be tossed exhausted onto the shore
A tiny wave once more
But in a state of grace

Death always arrives bearing an invitation
To know yourself
As part of the Universal Creative Power
To understand that by the grace of this Power
Man brings his world of experience into being

The choice is ours
To stay with the fear, guilt, anxiety, ignorance
Or align ourselves with the power, beauty, joy and abundance
That is our True Self

Death always arrives bearing an invitation
Reach out and take it…
If not this time
Then the next… or the next… or the next…