A Time Out of Time (Mid Week Muse)

It is that time of the month, a time that somehow exists out of time. My dreams so much more powerful and I’ve found on waking I’m still in their grip of their emotions.

My brother waved to me a few nights ago – before careering off in a 4×4 with that mischievous laugh of his, which I took as his saying, don’t worry I’m ok here (in that place beyond time). The next morning I cautiously looked to the park to see if it was churned up with tyre marks!

A few mornings ago I awoke still wrapped in the painful sorrow of my grandmother’s death (who died over 15 years ago). Her message seemed to lie in the several curious shaped boxes she left me. I remember so clearly running my fingers over their luscious olive green velvet. Shaped exactly to fit the tools that they held, old and well loved, their exact shape and detail has faded but a feeling lingers that somehow those tools are mine, that I’ve to pick them up, hold then in my hands, learn with them and call them mine.

I’ve come to appreciate this time each month as a time where ugly truths rear their head for the picking, like garden flowers with snake heads. With senses keen and claws sharpened I don’t suffer fools but become one stripping layers from the ones I love. At this time my heart blooms to encompass the entire world before the current changes I fall, plunging into cavernous caves of bottomless heartache. But still I wouldn’t forgo this time ~ when spirits whisper and the world reveals itself in its multi layered iridescent, back and rainbow coloured layers.

For all those who lived before me I give thanks. To have the strength to smile and wave at my brother and follow the trail of wisdom of my grandmother.

I remember her presence with me on a wilderness solo in Knoydart when she sat beside me reminding me that I am a modern ancestor. It is my chance in the long line to breathe and to have me feet firmly placed on the soil of this planet. To dream my dreams and strive for that role which moulds me and in turn may offer a little space for others to explore. And for all this, I am eternally grateful.

Messages with the dead ~ Ancestor pot

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