The Philosopher's Attic

Thoughts, reasons, truth and mystery: the world through another set of eyes

I am a Wild Soul Woman

Posted by on Aug 26, 2015 in Personal


I am a Wild Soul Woman who scares everyone around me, who dares to dream and wear stars in her eyes.
I am who I am born to be.
I know now that I cannot be anything outside myself adn that I cannot root myself anywhere else but HERE in the Grasslands with the setting sun that turns everything into golden fire.
Because I am on fire.

I am the sage woman, the medecine woman that heals with her touch and with her mind.

As a Wild Soul Woman I know that I am whole. I am the world and I create my own monsters.
The world is no more a dangerous place than I am a dangerous woman.
I express my wildness by offering all the gifts of my teachings to this world without competition and without hesitation.

As a Wild Soul Woman I refuse to live without song, and dance, without passion and without love.
I refuse to live with less than my whole soul and heart.
I refuse to hide and accept no easy path of illumination.

I heal, I mend and I guide.

I am a Wild Soul Woman who embodies passion and charity and love.
I cannot be anything less than a goddess of love and passion.

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Strands

Posted by on Jun 25, 2015 in Poetry

So many strands. For each love, each pain, each wound, each smile and each shared moment.

Added one to the other, they form a bigger strands. Pulled together, twisted, entwined.

The most astonishing tapistry of life. Full of moments that mattered, good or bad.

Full of laughter and tears and leaves of fallen seasons.

A thousand sparkling meetings. And a thousand bright sunrises.

Children’s smiles and candy longings. And a thousand more nights spent in another love.

Sunday mornings in the mist. The sound of snow falling on a winter valley.

And hundreds of sighs within a sigh.

Another thousand little gestures. And some choice felt words for measure.

Golden locks of pure ecstasy.

Masterpiece.

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Please come bringing new things…

Posted by on Jun 19, 2015 in Poetry

This. So many times over. Again and always. And once more.

Initiation Song from the Finders’ Lodge by Ursula LeGuin

Please bring strange things.
Please come bringing new things.
Let very old things come into your hands.
Let what you do not know come into your eyes.
Let desert sand harden your feet.
Let the arch of your feet be the mountains.
Let the paths of your fingertips be your maps
and the ways you go be the lines on your palms.
Let there be deep snow in your inbreathing
and your outbreath be the shining of ice.
May your mouth contain the shapes of strange words.
May you smell food cooking you have not eaten.
May the spring of a foreign river be your navel.
May your soul be at home where there are no houses.
Walk carefully, well loved one,
walk mindfully, well loved one,
walk fearlessly, well loved one.
Return with us, return to us,
be always coming home.

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