It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
(Oriah Mountain Dreamer)
Saturday 23 February 2008
Monday 18 February 2008
catching up with Thomas
this last weekend I went to Cambridge to see Thomas, an old friend of mine from South Africa, I havent really talked to for at least 3 years. It was great to catch up and talk stories of our life. And the never ending theme will always be love.
In the evening we and some other friends went to see the Rumi night performed by Ashley and Duncan.
If you havent heard of Rumi, check it out. He is one of the most amazing poets speaking about love that lived 800 years ago and his messages are more true then ever.
I am sure you will find some of his stories on this blog soon.
In the evening we and some other friends went to see the Rumi night performed by Ashley and Duncan.
If you havent heard of Rumi, check it out. He is one of the most amazing poets speaking about love that lived 800 years ago and his messages are more true then ever.
I am sure you will find some of his stories on this blog soon.
I am looking for someone to build worlds with...
I am looking for someone
To build worlds with.
Someone who loves me
Someone whom I can love.
The sun is a star.
Imagine
Two suns meeting each other
To create
Create
Creation of love
Forever
Changing remaining
Destiny evolving
Truth
EVRA KAADABRA
I shall create as I speak.
The wind will tell our story.
(JEM)
To build worlds with.
Someone who loves me
Someone whom I can love.
The sun is a star.
Imagine
Two suns meeting each other
To create
Create
Creation of love
Forever
Changing remaining
Destiny evolving
Truth
EVRA KAADABRA
I shall create as I speak.
The wind will tell our story.
(JEM)
Sunday 10 February 2008
At the horizon...
Here is a little taste of a new/old story I am working on right now.
Just the beginning:
Once upon a time, not in this time but another time, in the middle of turtle island, where big pine mauntains silently watch over the heart of their wolrd, and the rolling prairie stretches towards the horizon, a hoop around you, where mother earth meets father sky to make love...this circle is honored by the people sitting around the sacred fire, connected with their hearts, alive, couragous, fierceless, golden hearts.
Gold. Gold. GOLD.
"hey brother, dont you hear, there is gold in the Black Hills. Lets go to make a fortune...!"
And so the indian wars came to a climax. The biggest, richest and today empty goldmine of the United States, bigger then the any goldmine found in Alaska, the land of Gold Adventures, attracted 1000ends and thausends of hungry man and woman to break the circle....
So the Lakota, Nakota and Dakota, in our language called the Sioux Nations and many other tribes gathered around their chiefs Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Red Cloud ...
And in Summer 1876 meet the strongest cavalry, the 7th cavalry under General Custer at the Little Bighorn.
Hokahey - lets go! iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiihhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiihh
Like a thunder they were in between them. Many skalpes to hunt.
It was a good day to die.
And for the first time the american army was defeated by the red nation. The pinnacle of indian power.
4 years later, on a bone chilling morning, a group of 350 Sioux were camping at a river close to the badlands. At the river of Wounded Knee...
...
With a sream she awoke. The butchered woman and children still crystal clear before her eyes. She still could smell the gunpowder in her nose, the dream was so real.
Too real.
.....
A half a year later a girl stands with a card borad sign on a street in Chigaco. She was about to hunt a dream, the dream before her nightmare and to close a circle.
Thanks to many great truckdrivers within 2 days she finnaly came close to Pine Ridge, one of the biggest and poorest Indian Reservations of today.
10 feet away from her she can see the sign, marking the boarder to the land of the Lakota. SheThe sun is setting, the wind blows stronger and stronger, whispering with the voices of the spiritsin the grass. She knows it is important, but she doesnt understand the language. She just knows the wind is calling her.
A car stops. A trailer full of pine trees from the black hills. Two man get out. Dallas Chief Eagle and his son Little Sun. They invite her to stay at their farm. And at the next morning Little Sun takes her to the Site of Wounded Knee.
Its a little Hill with a memorial. A bit kitchy. She sits under a tree and tries to connect to that place and to what had happened, not only in 1890 but also in the 1970ies. the wind is calling.
Little Sun and the girl walk of through the high grass to a small hill next to the memorial hill. Back on back they stand. For what seems a long time. She almoust cannot hold teh weight of Little Sun, the hands grab each other, the feet root to the ground, the wind is swirling through the grass, the whisper of the ancestors, teh spirits.
And all of the sudden the feeling: WE ARE FRIENDS. the certainty and a voice within states very clearly, WHAT EVER HAS HAPPENED IN THE PAST, IT IS OK. WHAT MATTERS IS THE FUTURE AND WHAT WE DO NOW!
A bubbling joy arises in me. Little Sun feels the same. A big smile is reflected in my eyes.
This circle is closed.
It is a good day to die today. lets live!
More
Just the beginning:
Once upon a time, not in this time but another time, in the middle of turtle island, where big pine mauntains silently watch over the heart of their wolrd, and the rolling prairie stretches towards the horizon, a hoop around you, where mother earth meets father sky to make love...this circle is honored by the people sitting around the sacred fire, connected with their hearts, alive, couragous, fierceless, golden hearts.
Gold. Gold. GOLD.
"hey brother, dont you hear, there is gold in the Black Hills. Lets go to make a fortune...!"
And so the indian wars came to a climax. The biggest, richest and today empty goldmine of the United States, bigger then the any goldmine found in Alaska, the land of Gold Adventures, attracted 1000ends and thausends of hungry man and woman to break the circle....
So the Lakota, Nakota and Dakota, in our language called the Sioux Nations and many other tribes gathered around their chiefs Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Red Cloud ...
And in Summer 1876 meet the strongest cavalry, the 7th cavalry under General Custer at the Little Bighorn.
Hokahey - lets go! iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiihhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiihh
Like a thunder they were in between them. Many skalpes to hunt.
It was a good day to die.
And for the first time the american army was defeated by the red nation. The pinnacle of indian power.
4 years later, on a bone chilling morning, a group of 350 Sioux were camping at a river close to the badlands. At the river of Wounded Knee...
...
With a sream she awoke. The butchered woman and children still crystal clear before her eyes. She still could smell the gunpowder in her nose, the dream was so real.
Too real.
.....
A half a year later a girl stands with a card borad sign on a street in Chigaco. She was about to hunt a dream, the dream before her nightmare and to close a circle.
Thanks to many great truckdrivers within 2 days she finnaly came close to Pine Ridge, one of the biggest and poorest Indian Reservations of today.
10 feet away from her she can see the sign, marking the boarder to the land of the Lakota. SheThe sun is setting, the wind blows stronger and stronger, whispering with the voices of the spiritsin the grass. She knows it is important, but she doesnt understand the language. She just knows the wind is calling her.
A car stops. A trailer full of pine trees from the black hills. Two man get out. Dallas Chief Eagle and his son Little Sun. They invite her to stay at their farm. And at the next morning Little Sun takes her to the Site of Wounded Knee.
Its a little Hill with a memorial. A bit kitchy. She sits under a tree and tries to connect to that place and to what had happened, not only in 1890 but also in the 1970ies. the wind is calling.
Little Sun and the girl walk of through the high grass to a small hill next to the memorial hill. Back on back they stand. For what seems a long time. She almoust cannot hold teh weight of Little Sun, the hands grab each other, the feet root to the ground, the wind is swirling through the grass, the whisper of the ancestors, teh spirits.
And all of the sudden the feeling: WE ARE FRIENDS. the certainty and a voice within states very clearly, WHAT EVER HAS HAPPENED IN THE PAST, IT IS OK. WHAT MATTERS IS THE FUTURE AND WHAT WE DO NOW!
A bubbling joy arises in me. Little Sun feels the same. A big smile is reflected in my eyes.
This circle is closed.
It is a good day to die today. lets live!
More
Global Passage Ways
The first international Phone conferences between the young people of "the next generation council" happened.
It is so amazing that there are so many young and old people in this world working with the subject of Rites of Passage today and together we will be able to raise the awareness for the importance of it!
More information soon!
I am so happy!
It is so amazing that there are so many young and old people in this world working with the subject of Rites of Passage today and together we will be able to raise the awareness for the importance of it!
More information soon!
I am so happy!
getting sick
This last week I was battling with getting sick with a heavy cold. Should I let go and stay in bed or do I say I am not sick and therefore continue in class. It ended up a half half situation. So after a few days being in the same clothes without shower and a stuffed nose, lucky me so I couldnt smell me, I decided not to go to Stroud to visit my aunt Karin, also not to go to London to the Youth Meeting. Instead I went to lousy East Grinstead, big as Schopfheim maybe where I come from, and went shopping. I havent been shopping shopping for at least 2 years, maybe....
New shoes - Nice black for being in the city shoes: 34GBP, dancing high heels 3GBP, an orange lonsleves top 6GBP, black pants 5GBP, 3 books a 7GBP (The Alchemist, The Da Vinci Code, I set at river piedra and wept as presents for people here at Emerson College) and some other stuff ;-)
It was great.
Today I am much better, the sun was shining, it was really warm and I took a lot of pictures. You can see some of them at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=90581&l=d6527&id=750245222
New shoes - Nice black for being in the city shoes: 34GBP, dancing high heels 3GBP, an orange lonsleves top 6GBP, black pants 5GBP, 3 books a 7GBP (The Alchemist, The Da Vinci Code, I set at river piedra and wept as presents for people here at Emerson College) and some other stuff ;-)
It was great.
Today I am much better, the sun was shining, it was really warm and I took a lot of pictures. You can see some of them at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=90581&l=d6527&id=750245222
Sunday 3 February 2008
a week later
wow
a week has past. My birthday seems to be long ago, so many things have happened. This week we were trying to find our authentic voice in my storytelling course.
This poem accompanied us.
I wrote it down from my memory.
The journey (Mary Oliver)
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice
though the whole house began to tremble
and you felt the old tug at your ankles
"Mend my life" each voice cried.
But you didn't stop
You knew what you had to do.
Though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations
though their melancholy was terrible.
It was already late enough,
and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
and the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,
there was a new voice,
which you slowly recognized as your own,
that kept you company,
as you strode deeper and deeper into the world,
determined to do the only thing you could do,
determined to save the only life you could save.
a week has past. My birthday seems to be long ago, so many things have happened. This week we were trying to find our authentic voice in my storytelling course.
This poem accompanied us.
I wrote it down from my memory.
The journey (Mary Oliver)
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice
though the whole house began to tremble
and you felt the old tug at your ankles
"Mend my life" each voice cried.
But you didn't stop
You knew what you had to do.
Though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations
though their melancholy was terrible.
It was already late enough,
and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
and the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds,
there was a new voice,
which you slowly recognized as your own,
that kept you company,
as you strode deeper and deeper into the world,
determined to do the only thing you could do,
determined to save the only life you could save.
28th Birthday
On January 27th, a Sunday 28 years ago a desperate father was driving in his car through the evening traffic to get to the hospital in Loerrach. His wife in labor on the back seat.
Tuuuuuuuut tuuuuuuuuut, honking the horn, shouting to the traffic police: “my wife gets a baby. Let me through!”
The top of the head is already starting to become visible, the water is out, squeaking breaks, the car is stopping at the ambulance entrance, people rush out, put the woman on a stretcher.
At around 6.30 pm with the ringing of the bells of a church close by and slow soft snowflakes gently falling down a little girl is born.
Juliana Elizabeth Maria
This is the story I get to hear every year at my birthday. It seems in the end I was a bit in a hurry to enter this world.
I was the first born of my father, becoming the oldest of 4 children; and the second born of my mother, admiring my 12-year-old half sister like the best thing ever.
28 Years later, its again a Sunday, a warm sunny day in England, East Sussex, Forest Row, Emerson College.
I wake up with the smell of pancakes and a happy birthday song in dutch.
Aite, a swiss/dutch girl from Basel, who is also doing the course “the now of Storytelling” prepared the most amazing birthday breakfast for me. Raspberries, Fruits with yoghurt, orange juice, hot chocolate, Coconut juice. Heaven.
We listen to some great Ethiopian music while oralgasminging the breakfast. I open a package of my Dad and find 2 great books, 2 packages of Dave, one with the requested sage and the other one my birthday present – some wild rose oil and 2 great cards, Charly Chaplin and a heart, I have to admit I am romantic sometimes, so I melt into this memory. ;-) There is also a letter from my aunt Heidi a card from Aite and one from Marc from our course. I am so touched.
Sharing great stories and then taking of to a walk through the forest. Taking many pictures, seeing doves, listening to the birds. Following her with my eyes closed. Being seated on a wooden chair – still my eyes closed and a voice invites me to look at my kingdom – my life, being the beautiful queen on a throne looking on all the things that I have achieved and experienced so far, telling me that from now on I will be able to get to this place my self and wount need her anymore to show me. I open my eyes and a beautiful world, trees, grass; sunlight… is in front of me. The wind is blowing , striking my cheek, reminding me of whose sister I am.
Arriving at the college I listen to the beautiful tune of a guitar, played by Keenan, a secret friend here at the college from the USA doing the teacher training.
People start to come bye and pass their birthday greetings and wishes.
I enter my room, drop my bag, look around, go to the toilet, look again – something is different in my room and I look up: colorful balloons on the ceiling and a beautiful mobilee. 2 felted Butterflies and branches from a tree. Tal. It must be her, my special new friend from Israel. I go to check my emails. Greetings from Annie, Mom and Dad.
The email of my Mom starts very weird. It takes some seconds until I realize that she is quoting a letter I have received. “Dear Juliana, we would like to inform you that we will grant you 2000 euro to support your tuition fee for the storytelling course…”
I cannot believe it. I read it again. I haven’t heard from the Iona Stichting for a month, and now for my birthday this message. The letter is dated on January 16th. My Mom is great to keeping it for this day. I rush out to find someone to tell about it. I find Lara the girl who is doing trapeze here and has inspired me to do acrobalance with many people here at the college. I meet some more people. More birthday hugs and kisses.
I go for a walk with Jessica, an English girl converted to Islam. The air is full of spring. We come to a ruin of a land house. We sneak through the gate.
It amazing to think that people really lived in this house.
We find a little sunny place and I take out the sage to give some thanks to the spirits. I try to lit it with my sparker I got from my older sister when I was 10 or so. But I forgot the birch tree bark, so I start the little sage fire with a match. We smudge each other. She says an Islamic prayer. Its good just to breathe.
A voice of a lady brings us back to reality. She is the owner of the property, asks us if we cannot read the sign that says it is forbidden to go to the ruin and that it really is dangerous. I apologize and tell her I can read English but I still wanted to come here and thank her for coming to tell us this. She softens and we leave safely the property. On the way we go shopping for a great triffle – an English desert, that will feed hungry guests in the evening party put together from my friend Tal and house father Matt.
Back at the college the sun is about to set. More people come to give birthday wishes and kisses, I run for a tree with 2 boys. I almost caught the sun, its so good to sit on top of a tree again. We play hide and seek in different variations.
The sky is still painted in beautiful colors, Tal stays there with me. Without speaking we watch the horizon and the sky and the hills. I lay down to the ground, need to feel the mother below me looking up right into the eyes of my star, birthday star high above me, between 2 clouds. Remembering the star I saw a year ago, while dancing in a club in Nairobi, Kenia. Looking back to the horizon the picture is cut with a barbed wire. Pictures of War, Israel / Palestine, Prisons shoot into my mind. Remind me of all the pain that still is in this beautiful world. This disconnection. As if Tal is seeing he same things, she voices this pain. Her eyes returning from a journey from far away. Ask me where I think my angel is now. Pointing to the fact that she thinks, my angle is inside of me now. Later when we talked about this experience she said that she kinda saw my angle flying towards the sun. It must have been around 6.30 pm.
THANKS FOR ALL THE PEOPLE FROM MY COURSE WHO HAVE BEEN THINKING TO ME AT THIS MOMENT, HELPING ME TO CROSS THE TRESHHOLD.
On the way to my room I stop at Oaktree house. Looking for Amy, an American girl that I heard had a tounge piercing removal ceremony. I want more information about this.
She is in her room with an friend and tells me her story. Its an amazing story that takes us to many places I never expected to hear about. Full of woman power and celebration.
Both of them agree in helping me later on a special mission.
I go back and make myself a little bit something to eat. The girls come. I take a candle, we find some rubber gloves and off we go through the dark. Our goal is a little island in a lake nearby. Its private property. We have to sneak through their yard. The light flashes on us. We hurry to the dark, our feet slowly searching for the steps leading down to the lake. We cross the bridge. I greet the little tree. It is a good friend. I tell them the story of my tongue piercing. Almoust 7 years ago, after my car accident… Te story of Puuwaimele becoming Blue Thunder Woman and now being at Emerson College doing the Storytelling course, My teacher Roi who thinks I should take the piercing out, to see if my voice is changing. The candle is lit. I put on the gloves and I am able to take it out.
The metal pieces are sleeping on the ground of this lake. From the earth to the earth.
I am so grateful for my witnesses, without them I couldn’t have done this step.
Back in my room I go to take a shower and shave my legs and armpits. And then I put the wild Rose oil all over my body.
I go to check some more emails. And there it is, the prayer I have been unconsciously waiting for. 3 years ago I heard it for the first time from Carolin in Sweden and was able to tell a story for the first time again. “Hope for the flowers.” And now I get it from Dave who doesn’t know about this, and the old is over and the new is about to come. From now on I have to work for the relationship with my guardian angle. Consciously re establishing the connection to my guardian angle.
In the common room people start gathering. We have the nice raspberry pie and a weed free cake from Jessica. Everyone sings Happy Birthday. Many cultures many songs.
Elija from Israel suggests to put me on a chair to lift me up. They take me laying on the ground and throw me up. 28 times. I blow the candles together with Lisa from California. Her daughter became 21 today. Together we share the cakes with our friends.
She cuts my hair. Just a trim in memory to my total hair cut 7 years ago. Matt sings beautiful songs on the guitar. We hear a great story from Chris, about the bautyful river in Russia. We go to look to the stars.
It was a full day. A great day. A perfect birth remember day.
Tuuuuuuuut tuuuuuuuuut, honking the horn, shouting to the traffic police: “my wife gets a baby. Let me through!”
The top of the head is already starting to become visible, the water is out, squeaking breaks, the car is stopping at the ambulance entrance, people rush out, put the woman on a stretcher.
At around 6.30 pm with the ringing of the bells of a church close by and slow soft snowflakes gently falling down a little girl is born.
Juliana Elizabeth Maria
This is the story I get to hear every year at my birthday. It seems in the end I was a bit in a hurry to enter this world.
I was the first born of my father, becoming the oldest of 4 children; and the second born of my mother, admiring my 12-year-old half sister like the best thing ever.
28 Years later, its again a Sunday, a warm sunny day in England, East Sussex, Forest Row, Emerson College.
I wake up with the smell of pancakes and a happy birthday song in dutch.
Aite, a swiss/dutch girl from Basel, who is also doing the course “the now of Storytelling” prepared the most amazing birthday breakfast for me. Raspberries, Fruits with yoghurt, orange juice, hot chocolate, Coconut juice. Heaven.
We listen to some great Ethiopian music while oralgasminging the breakfast. I open a package of my Dad and find 2 great books, 2 packages of Dave, one with the requested sage and the other one my birthday present – some wild rose oil and 2 great cards, Charly Chaplin and a heart, I have to admit I am romantic sometimes, so I melt into this memory. ;-) There is also a letter from my aunt Heidi a card from Aite and one from Marc from our course. I am so touched.
Sharing great stories and then taking of to a walk through the forest. Taking many pictures, seeing doves, listening to the birds. Following her with my eyes closed. Being seated on a wooden chair – still my eyes closed and a voice invites me to look at my kingdom – my life, being the beautiful queen on a throne looking on all the things that I have achieved and experienced so far, telling me that from now on I will be able to get to this place my self and wount need her anymore to show me. I open my eyes and a beautiful world, trees, grass; sunlight… is in front of me. The wind is blowing , striking my cheek, reminding me of whose sister I am.
Arriving at the college I listen to the beautiful tune of a guitar, played by Keenan, a secret friend here at the college from the USA doing the teacher training.
People start to come bye and pass their birthday greetings and wishes.
I enter my room, drop my bag, look around, go to the toilet, look again – something is different in my room and I look up: colorful balloons on the ceiling and a beautiful mobilee. 2 felted Butterflies and branches from a tree. Tal. It must be her, my special new friend from Israel. I go to check my emails. Greetings from Annie, Mom and Dad.
The email of my Mom starts very weird. It takes some seconds until I realize that she is quoting a letter I have received. “Dear Juliana, we would like to inform you that we will grant you 2000 euro to support your tuition fee for the storytelling course…”
I cannot believe it. I read it again. I haven’t heard from the Iona Stichting for a month, and now for my birthday this message. The letter is dated on January 16th. My Mom is great to keeping it for this day. I rush out to find someone to tell about it. I find Lara the girl who is doing trapeze here and has inspired me to do acrobalance with many people here at the college. I meet some more people. More birthday hugs and kisses.
I go for a walk with Jessica, an English girl converted to Islam. The air is full of spring. We come to a ruin of a land house. We sneak through the gate.
It amazing to think that people really lived in this house.
We find a little sunny place and I take out the sage to give some thanks to the spirits. I try to lit it with my sparker I got from my older sister when I was 10 or so. But I forgot the birch tree bark, so I start the little sage fire with a match. We smudge each other. She says an Islamic prayer. Its good just to breathe.
A voice of a lady brings us back to reality. She is the owner of the property, asks us if we cannot read the sign that says it is forbidden to go to the ruin and that it really is dangerous. I apologize and tell her I can read English but I still wanted to come here and thank her for coming to tell us this. She softens and we leave safely the property. On the way we go shopping for a great triffle – an English desert, that will feed hungry guests in the evening party put together from my friend Tal and house father Matt.
Back at the college the sun is about to set. More people come to give birthday wishes and kisses, I run for a tree with 2 boys. I almost caught the sun, its so good to sit on top of a tree again. We play hide and seek in different variations.
The sky is still painted in beautiful colors, Tal stays there with me. Without speaking we watch the horizon and the sky and the hills. I lay down to the ground, need to feel the mother below me looking up right into the eyes of my star, birthday star high above me, between 2 clouds. Remembering the star I saw a year ago, while dancing in a club in Nairobi, Kenia. Looking back to the horizon the picture is cut with a barbed wire. Pictures of War, Israel / Palestine, Prisons shoot into my mind. Remind me of all the pain that still is in this beautiful world. This disconnection. As if Tal is seeing he same things, she voices this pain. Her eyes returning from a journey from far away. Ask me where I think my angel is now. Pointing to the fact that she thinks, my angle is inside of me now. Later when we talked about this experience she said that she kinda saw my angle flying towards the sun. It must have been around 6.30 pm.
THANKS FOR ALL THE PEOPLE FROM MY COURSE WHO HAVE BEEN THINKING TO ME AT THIS MOMENT, HELPING ME TO CROSS THE TRESHHOLD.
On the way to my room I stop at Oaktree house. Looking for Amy, an American girl that I heard had a tounge piercing removal ceremony. I want more information about this.
She is in her room with an friend and tells me her story. Its an amazing story that takes us to many places I never expected to hear about. Full of woman power and celebration.
Both of them agree in helping me later on a special mission.
I go back and make myself a little bit something to eat. The girls come. I take a candle, we find some rubber gloves and off we go through the dark. Our goal is a little island in a lake nearby. Its private property. We have to sneak through their yard. The light flashes on us. We hurry to the dark, our feet slowly searching for the steps leading down to the lake. We cross the bridge. I greet the little tree. It is a good friend. I tell them the story of my tongue piercing. Almoust 7 years ago, after my car accident… Te story of Puuwaimele becoming Blue Thunder Woman and now being at Emerson College doing the Storytelling course, My teacher Roi who thinks I should take the piercing out, to see if my voice is changing. The candle is lit. I put on the gloves and I am able to take it out.
The metal pieces are sleeping on the ground of this lake. From the earth to the earth.
I am so grateful for my witnesses, without them I couldn’t have done this step.
Back in my room I go to take a shower and shave my legs and armpits. And then I put the wild Rose oil all over my body.
I go to check some more emails. And there it is, the prayer I have been unconsciously waiting for. 3 years ago I heard it for the first time from Carolin in Sweden and was able to tell a story for the first time again. “Hope for the flowers.” And now I get it from Dave who doesn’t know about this, and the old is over and the new is about to come. From now on I have to work for the relationship with my guardian angle. Consciously re establishing the connection to my guardian angle.
In the common room people start gathering. We have the nice raspberry pie and a weed free cake from Jessica. Everyone sings Happy Birthday. Many cultures many songs.
Elija from Israel suggests to put me on a chair to lift me up. They take me laying on the ground and throw me up. 28 times. I blow the candles together with Lisa from California. Her daughter became 21 today. Together we share the cakes with our friends.
She cuts my hair. Just a trim in memory to my total hair cut 7 years ago. Matt sings beautiful songs on the guitar. We hear a great story from Chris, about the bautyful river in Russia. We go to look to the stars.
It was a full day. A great day. A perfect birth remember day.
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