The weaving goes ever on. The symbol of the qualities that enter the golden thread; the intertwining, the inseparable that is now woven. The movement that follows. It cannot be too tight. It has to flow. In and out. But the outness never means that it goes loose. The tightness never chokes, it’s just strong enough to hold onto, whatever storm comes. ‘Let go, but hold onto me.’

A branch grows on that tree. Extending, expanding, lengthening, stretching knowledge as an expression of Wisdom experienced in motion. The essense from within the seed cast from the Tree. But can the one stand without the other, or are they one and the same?

The She-part is naturally wet in her middle. The Water that is drawn from the Well of Fate. Do they lean on or support each other? Is that the same? A figure of 8, Eternity? We ate from their sprouts in early Summer, and we are still naked.

A lover’s embrace. A truly holy place.

A Heart pounds in its Core. There are secrets there if one has the ability to listen. To be quiet in a way that opens the inner ear. Expands the wizened mind, the one that needs no reason or explanation but can accept time reality as a parallel to this one. There is magic to be shared. As always.

A storm is coming today. The wind already whispering her secrets over the past few days.. Didn’t we already know?

Echoes of pledges coming back loud and clear, now the labour of the year is somewhat behind us. No longer preoccupying us with missions and tasks that paved the way for The Wisdom of The Heart.

The Wisdom on the Wind that comes to heart instead of mind finally make sense. The force in full action. We are built for this. Strong. Powerful. We get suspicious, restless, lazy and can’t really be, if we are not at our outmost. That we need that storm to remember why we called upon each other. The first night out in our own element.

The inevitable-wanting to happen-eager to manifest-intertwining that took place that particular stormy night. The locking of golden threads before we knew what was happening. That thread came from somewhere.

That storm is coming today. We can dance in it, dismiss the warnings, or we can take shelter. But we are built to withstand the natural blows, our roots are strong and we are flexible enough to know when to bend and not break.

The weaving that continues. At the roots of that Tree. I send them a blessing thought; the ones who pour Water and Sand as a constant labour making sure her roots never rot.