I was up with the dark this morning, and our yowling cat who is, for about the seventh time this year (and we’re only in fucking January) in heat, and made it to my SFI class ON TIME without being knocked off my bike and dying on the way.
Last night I was in an uber panic because Friday is test day at SFI and I didn’t know all of my klassrumsord. But min älskling helped out massively by testing the shit out of me. I was left feeling somewhat confident that it would go sort of alright. Except for with the word väska, which, for some inexplicable reason, will not stick in my head. (By the way, it translates to bag.) Whoever said Swedish was like English needs a kick up the arse.
ANYWAY. I did real good on my test despite my anxiety. My score was 12.5 out of 13. I got half a point on that bastard word väska…
In my break at SFI I indulged in some light reading from my Writers Forum magazine which I bought in England back in November, and am only just getting around to reading now. Yes, life has been that busy. And I found myself burning with inspiration to re-launch my blog baby Wyrd Words & Effigies with a new look and new features. I was supposed to brainstorm the re-launch this evening, but got lost writing some poetry instead because my soul needed it very bloody much. Tomorrow will have to do.
I’ve got into the habit of doing some lunchtime stitchery while I have my open faced cottage cheese sandwich. (A nightmare to eat, but it seems normal behaviour now after almost a year in Sweden.)
This afternoon was all about doing my work for BabyGaga which I’m absolutely loving. Then I conjured up this from a photo I took while out in the forest yesterday…
And found some time to edit a few more photos from a shoot a few weeks ago with @erzabethbathory
For the past day and a half I’ve had the line For The Women Who Lived Then Died Then Lived Again in my head…so tonight, as my last creative act for the day, I opened up my soul and wrote a poem for it.
To all the women who have lived
and died and lived again
Take yourself into the forest,
Walk until the sounds of the town
are no more. Walk until all you can smell
is sap from the trees felled in winter storms,
and the last of the snow.
When your thighs are dull with aching,
when sweat has pooled into all of your crevices,
when your mouth is as dry as the inside
of a bears den, then rest.
Drop to your knees.
Place your dirty hands on your bare chest,
feel it, your wild heartbeat. How it pounds so forcefully.
It wants this existence.
It is still so strong. It still has so much to give.
Trace the scenic route of your veins
as they run rivers up your arms.
Kiss those blue rivers for as long as they run
you are here and everything is possible.
Those Brísingamen eyes, they will flicker again,
oh she wolf, they will shine!
They may be dampened, they may be put out
like a flame extinguished by falling snow
but you will blink them bright again.
And the past, you will kick it down.
It cannot punish you anymore,
or damage the beautiful imprint
you will leave.
You are brave.
Put on your horns.
Sing to the moon and dance
yourself to joy in her light.
Fill yourself with all the scat you find,
take the forest into yourself
until your belly is warm.
Now, walk boldly home,
woman who has lived and died
and who lives again.
Another photo from the shoot with @erzabethbathory. I thought it was the perfect accompaniment to this new poem…