down in the gully of eucalyptus and fern
we arrived at Jeremy’s parent’s farm nestled amongst the eucalyptus and fern gullied mountains in Oz. i write this while sitting on the back deck overlooking the rolling green as it butts up against the plush forest. i watch the cows slowly work their way up the slope, munching and napping along the way. we walk down to the forest’s edge and dip our feet past the boundary, with slow steps between the ferns as tall as me. i trace my eyes from tree to tree in search of a koala. we stop at the top to take pictures. the sheep run away from us, their wooly butts bouncing along. and then there’s Monty, the alpaca who guards the sheep fiercely. i’m an unfamiliar person so he keeps an eye on me.
Jeremy’s mom picks some citrus from her garden: lemon, orange and grapefruit. and i cut them up into small pieces to make a marmalade. we pick butter beans and greens for dinner and i am mindful of the black snake who likes to roam the garden.
the roses offer an oasis of pink amongst the green. the kitchen is scented with lemon and sweet pea. we walk down the slope to count the cows. the wind has picked up today. it rushes and the clouds pass us overhead. they approach and then they leave. i boil ginger root to make tea. i sip strong coffee. i write words and i stare at the trees. and i let the wind move through me. i move my feet, one step after the next. and i find myself repeating “let us pray” over and over in my mind. let us pray. the energy it takes to move words from thought through throat and out of mouth. the words are soft today. i turn them over with my tongue and play with them between my teeth. they tickle my throat and i swallow what holds them back, i inhale and then release. the movement of the words now are light, floating, like a plume of smoke creeping up through the chimney. the particles within sifting past teeth and tongue to meet and merge with the particles outside.
my hips are tighter than they used to be. i wonder what it is that they are holding onto. i stretch and shift but still it sticks. i take a break from writing to go walk with the trees, my eyes resting on the green. i touch the bark with soft hands. i think about the delicacy of wind moving through tall grasses. of ancient ferns still breathing their magic onto earth. each day we wake to the sound of bleating sheep, moaning cow, and the morning bird choir. i linger in bed until the rumble and scent of coffee lures me into the kitchen.
the wind and the clouds had taken over the past few days but today it smells of summer. that slow heat touching skin before you even open the door. my bare feet find softness and heat on the already sun-soaked deck and my palms find warmth from the pink flowered cup of coffee. i hold it likes its sacred. i sip it like its an offering. the flies and bees are already awake. already starting a new day. my eyes land softly on the silver and green. there is something nostalgic about the smell of morning sun on warm summer hair. the smell of sun on skin. the smell connecting me to summers past. a smell i drink in not wanting to waste a drop. i inhale it deep down into my bones, my aching joints. the tickle from an ant exploring my bare skin. my whole body finds stillness in that still summer morning air, we find reprieve from the wind. eating a breakfast of our freshly made marmalade and eggs courtesy of the resident chicken. we thank her with garden greens.
i walk along the ridge of the mountain to remember that silence is an illusion. the music of the animate world, ever present. i speak words through my eyes, out through my pupils and along the tree line. running my sight down the edges of branches. it is intimate, to touch a tree with bare hand and examine those edges and soft places. i exhale on the bark, and i thank it for my breath. for this life, it is supplied by a series of intimate exchanges. a warm hand on my shoulder. my body held by water. plucking butter beans off of their stems - that long strand of summer’s flesh bursting in my mouth. the tang of a red currant still hanging on post-storm - that bright ruby jewel plucked from its green and straight onto my tongue. the garden invites me to take careful steps. cutting up fruit and sharing half. sharing tea. sharing each other.
and i think about the word “inspiration”: both a breathing in, and a welcoming of the muse. inhaling the anima that surrounds and bringing it within. and indeed, even the word “anima” comes from a root word that means “to breathe”. inspiring the sweet nectar of life. letting it stir within the bloodstream. molecules meeting your molecules. that intimate exchange. to inspire is to bring yourself in to another. to be inspired is to be opened. brick by brick the wall falls down to be moved by a muse. the openness that is needed to bring the outside in. no walls, just an intimate exchange. to be inspired - to inhale the color, the sound, the beauty, the texture, the taste, the pulsing beat that resides within the loam of the earth. i have tasted it. i have inhaled in. an inspiration. my molecules merging with its molecules. the buds of the tongue open to the taste of it. i swim in it.
the moon’s belly is full and rests today in the heart of the lion. our queen of the underworld Pluto has her hands on the water bearer. a shifting of the cosmos to offer a different kind of arrangement. instead of sharing a song with this post, i wanted to share the poem “Quietness” by Rumi to honor the mirror of the constellations reflecting back down onto us. i have read this on a loop today and each time i find something new.
Quietness
by Rumi
Inside this new love, die. Your way begins on the other side. Become the sky. Take an axe to the prison wall. Escape. Walk out like someone suddenly born into color. Do it now. You're covered with thick cloud. Slide out the side. Die, and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign that you've died. Your old life was a frantic running from silence. The speechless full moon comes out now.
this poem makes me think about the full moon in Leo and the sun and Pluto stationing into Aquarius. the sun shining a light onto the underbelly of us all. i always feel a certain reflection this time of year as i am held on the opposite side of the axis of my natal sun in Leo and natal moon in Aquarius. my celestial half-birthday. this time, i am spending it in the summered air of Australia, my own full moon belly kissing warm sand. as i touch my lips to the shores of the life. i kiss that which inspires me, a slow inhalation of desire. bringing in that sweet nectar of life. and exhaling it back to all that surrounds.
mutual aid organization: The Sanabel Team - a community led project providing aid to the families affected by the genocide happening right now in Gaza. find out more and how to support here
when saturn returned
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the pre-order sale is live for my book when saturn returned [go here to see my previous post to find more details about the book]
the pre-order sale goes until the end of January, so make sure you get your orders in before then! and thank you thank you to everyone who has pre-ordered already ~ my heart is so full.
what’s inside:
59 entries of poetry/prose
59 high-quality scans of film photographs
an astrological natal chart for each piece with the transiting sun, moon, and Saturn that correspond to when that particular piece was written
my heart <3
to pre-order when saturn returned:
pre-order at the pre-order discount price: $18 plus shipping (no shipping cost if you are in the Santa Cruz area and would prefer local pick-up)
each pre-order will include a special film photograph postcard
email or message me to add your name to the pre-order list and/OR venmo $18 to my account @katie_shakira with your address if you need the book shipped, or put “local” for local pick-up. pre-order discount ends on January 31st.
as always i welcome comments and musings of your own if you feel called to share.
with warm honeyed blessings,
katie shakira
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[photos were taken on my phone, the film photos from this trip will be developed when i return home]