Katajjaq

I stand firm on my own two feet holding you. My hands in a warm grasp around your arms. You stand with your feet grounded firmly, holding me, you breathe in and I breathe out.
We can dance this song and be so far away, until one of us laughs. Our two bellies are one body through which sound quivers, and our voices make seal laughter and windy thunder or dry branches squeaking up top. We swing and I start to giggle with eyes closed until tears come running. I love you so much.

Raspberry Days

Am sitting in my quiet office, eating cranberries and drinking green tea and air and music. After a monster spring fairy left me flummoxed I'm finally typing away with a cool and tidy head like swimming through water. Like in my childhood days when we crossed the lake and off past water lilies. (I don't go for swims in lakes anymore, am easily freaked out by sludge and mire around my ankles.) Come to think of it, I don't like sludge and mire in friendship either. So, coming free of it makes me enjoy the silence even better. I've planted a raspberry shrub yesterday. Can't wait for summer.

Me day

Remember those days when we were little kids? We jumped out of bed without emerging from our little world. We were happy. My cousin and I wondered who had destroyed our little castle in the scrub and suspected, no: blamed, the neighbor boys. We had the air around our little bodies, the leaves, the lush green grass and belly-high cuckoo flowers. Our feet and hands into warm, soft clay mud, we sank into dreams filled with the sounds of plants and birds. My body has made a copy of all of this, and it's this reserve I nourish from. Today I call in a Me day, dedicated to this reserve, to the silence and peace and sensory creativity of little creature in the mud.

Mr. Spring

Dear Mr. Spring!

So there you are, are you? You've brought an explosion of energy already and made my heart stand upside-down with your hazel brown eyes and fuzzy hair of green grass. Whenever I venture outside you surprise me with an air much colder than I had anticipated, judged by the bright sun and convincing flowers. Cold air that is actually a cooling damp cloth to my high-tension brain. There is nothing like this heavy black soil and clear water running between my fingers. No need for any other tactic than just be without one, clueless for once.

John Cage about silence

To the Blind Diamond

Let me tell you a little story. There was a girl like an elephant. You know how they say elephants will always remember? Persons and events, places. They also mourn for longer periods of time over the death of a family member or friend. Well, that girl never picked up friends easily, but whom she picked usually were very precious people. Like diamonds. Then that girl fell in love. He was a wonderful person, with his own struggles and ways of finding out who he was. While growing into adults, they found out they shouldn't bind for life. After those many years of having been buddies, this was okay. That bond of deep friendship, though, never vanished. When they meet, which happens every few years, it's still right there in their eyes. Like two befriended elephants, greeting each other and their past.
Years passed and life happened and friends came and were chased away, not admitted to greater friendship for lack of carat. In the quicksand of time and rituals, which was loud and full of admonitions, she soon saw another valid friendship turning heavy and biased, and so she developed into a lion, defending with claws what she would like to have defended by stoicism and powerful poise: herself. In search for lightness and her life, she went on a quest and to a different land, and she slept the first night to wake up being a new creature, half elephant, half lion. She was full of energy, her muscles testing their power; her head with the brain of an elephant carrying all the memories of persons and events. Friends and incidents. She was able to run again, but she was mourning. She was roaring but not letting anybody into her heart, admitting no friendship. Except for one invisible diamond, which could also not see. She took a clone of it with her when she left, like a mirror into which she looked frequently to see whether she was an elephant again. But it never happened: she was more of a fighting lion than ever. Or an elephant lion, balancing with might on top of a Pandora's box which held the blind diamond's clone, which when it sprang open once in a while would rob her of energy. So it went for many years, until a Sphinx gave her the key to the riddle. No more balancing on boxes. No more Pandora's box at all. It was then that the elephant lion turned back into an elephant and finally could stand on her four solid feet again, she finally walked and breathed with ease. She looks like an elephant again, for those who look no further, and those who have eyes also see the lion, too.

Love

A man preparing food, humming to himself. This sound that's full of life, of mourning, longing, of loving, soothing. Muscles and soul relaxed. He is not talking, not checking lists. Time lingers like a cat circling your legs, purring. It's warm and the humming resonates in me.

ROAR

ROOOOAAARRRRRRRR

lol

A Lion's Visit

With amber eyes unflinching, she stands there, suddenly, covered by the bushes, only some feet away from the fence. The cold air shows her warm breath, it is the only thing moving while she stands, all vision and listening, her long whiskers taking in resonance.
Her head in a dignified bow, mouth slightly open showing her pointed teeth and her tongue, she seems to stand there waiting, her eyes being so deep and intense and so regretful. She stands there for a long time, unmoving, just an appearance in stillness. She is looking for something, or waiting for something to materialize, then she blinks, further lowers her head and gives a low growl. When I look again, she has already disappeared. You will see her again, if you want. Now and again, she comes to this spot to look out for you only to make sure you're okay.