tick tock… tick tock


Time marching on… all the little soldiers, uniforms straight, golden buttons shining… in the beautiful sunshine.  Legs moving together…  like waves in a sea… marching on the parade ground, dark grey in colour.  Legs lifting, all together, then down again, continuing the rhythm… Tick Tock, Tick Tock… like a clock, a heartbeat… a sound vibrating.  Time marching on…  waiting for no one.

I arrived here one day in this strange, cold place, so different to my home far, far away… mechanical faces, things made of steel… but the Ember inside keeping them alive.  I could see it inside them, even when it was small… and  I knew, that it was their way back home… but it felt so strange this cold new world.  Many things, coming to visit… creating new feelings.   Like a Tick Tock… people coming and going, scenery changing…  movement happening all around me… the Ember glowing… reminding me of home… I miss being there.

Body so small, I can’t be alone… dependant on others for things I need; we begin our journey as part of a whole.  Tick Tock, Tick Tock the vehicle grows… more and more visitors coming and going… scenery changing, the Ember calling… the voice is clear, but softens in time, till you can hardly hear.  My attention is taken.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock…  Scenery keeps changing, the Ember keeps humming,  so warm her calling.  Tick Tock, Tick Tock… I see all that happens, from my platform inside, as high as the tree tops…  I see all around, nothing is hidden.  I see children flying, their legs no longer working… they seem so happy, they’re flying and giggling…. they’re on their way home.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock the sound now vibrating, down empty corridors with bright shiny floors… and black shiny shoes.  Tick Tock, Tick Tock… the sound now so loud it hurts my ears, I don’t like this sound… it’s cold, it’s scary… I want my Mummy.  Tick Tock, Tick Tock… visitors so many, now in coats hard with stiffness, cold things they carry, no warmth, unfriendly… where is my Mummy, I want to go home?

Tick Tock, Tick Tock… echos in the hallways, a hollow sound that seems to surround me… coldness is chilling… something I’m losing… I don’t like this place… I want my Mummy, I want to go home.  Tick Tock, Tick Tock… the echo’s grow louder, the cold, the distance, continues it’s haunting.  I don’t like these visitors, I want to go home… I don’t like this place, it’s not very friendly… I miss my Mummy, when are you coming?

Children are crying… stiff coats surrounding, warmth disappearing… people are cranky, they don’t undertand… what’s going on.  Children now flying high to the ceiling, people gather… I can see what’s happening… they’re going home to their Mummy… I want to fly too.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock… mornings follow sleeping, my body not moving… white sheets binding, tight and restricting.  Tick Tock, Tick Tock tears are now streaming, I call out to my Mummy… Mummy please come and get me… I don’t like this place, all these people, not friendly or nice…  I want to go home.

More children flying… high to the ceiling, smiles on their faces… free from their binding… they’re happy…  they’re going home.  I want to go too.  Lots of things moving, shiny things probing, people running, voices shouting… fear all around me;  children are happy, they have flown away.

Flying children stay around me… I want to fly too, far, far away… from all the coldness and horrible lights… and scary machines.  Tick Tock, Tick Tock… more and more sound, I cover my eyes, only one hand works… I don’t understand.  Why are they keeping me here, what are they doing…. Tick Tock, Tick Tock… I want to go home.

More days follow sleeping… feeling heavy in my binding… I look toward the ceiling… watching for flying children… I want to go too.  But they won’t let me go… they’re keeping me here.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock… I want to fly away too….


‘things’ begin to untangle…

marilyn at the San


Sitting outside in the early morning… light approaching dark… all still, but for the sounds of silence.  Soft dripping drops of rain cease for a moment or two;   silhouettes of black and white… emerging light, loosens night’s hold.  I sit and take in all around me.

It’s almost three years since I came through the front gates… Mahalia, I’d already given her, her name.  I had my plans, my focus and determination.  I had a vision, I thought it was important… it was October 2010.

My ability to sense the ‘currents’ around me has always been present, thanks to my Ancestors.  But it’s taken a lengthy amount of time to trust it.  The granddaughter of a Gypsy, I carry the memories, the gifts and abilities… I was never destined to be ‘normal’.  But oh how I tried, it became an obsession… having Polio as a child compacted the issue.  It had become my mission…  ‘normality’ the goal post.  All thoughts of ‘difference’ deeply buried.  They’ve taken a long time to re-surface.

We all come with gifts, we all come with genius… we all have a purpose, beyond the original… the same for each one of us.  Early years in the 1950’s was a solid education, fantasized images of what it was to be a good citizen, to be a real person… especially for Woman.  Yes they let go of the corsets, binding bones with bones, crushing the rib-cage… breathing difficult.  A psychological message… ‘you have no right to be here,  only by our graceful bounty… are you permitted to exist.’   The Solar Plexus, our centre of power, tightly controlled… the power of Woman has been feared for centuries.  Control came in many different ways.  The Kookas are now chuckling around the valley… welcoming the dawn.

So we escaped the corset… the long clothing, tangling our legs… reducing our freedom to run with haste.  The word ‘Matriarchal’ wiped from our language.  As in years passed when Woman was burnt… for following the ways of  Goddess Wisdom.   Various ways of capture and annihilation were conjured… and enacted.  They never understood by imprisoning the Feminine… they were imprisoning themselves.  Yin and Yang, only together do they exist… the circle of Life.

Woman brings Birth… she is the Goddess Creator… she carries the Sacred Womb… she nurtures and feeds.  She fosters Life… as does Mother Earth.




So they went about building their structures of steel… creating machines for all our needs… a mechanical world.  Machines need a source of energy to live… they don’t have the gift of Breath, the organic source of Life… as we do.  They need an external source to create any movement.  So the search continues.

These ‘clever’ ones then began their exploration, using the cerebral matter contained in their skull.   Exploring ways to create ‘new worlds’… the ‘old’ no longer loved and cherished… now the Feminine was gone.  How lost we can become….  forgetting our roots, from where we’ve come.   From Mother Earth and Father Sky… with a link to the Divine… to guide us home.

Like immature boys wanting to prove their strength, show their emerging muscles to their friends… their toughness, their manhood.  The Age of Machines continued to grow, larger and larger, like a monster with an insatiable appetite.  Machines then take on a life of their own… but not guided by Life Force, Wisdom and Love.  Controlled by a central mechanical source… more and more machines… and  humans with sickness at their core.

A lot has occurred in these 65 years.  From the post war years, through the control of the 1950’s… the rebellion of the 60’s, the movements of the 70’s,  the wealth obsession of the 80’s, the collapse in the 90’s.  Then a new century… the 21st century.  We have come of Age… how will we use our new-found ‘freedom’… we’re now adults… or are we.   A new Age beckons…. the Woman is awakening from her induced coma.



how could i forget…


 Wild Woman is stirring… we need to give her a hand

She’s lived in the darkness

confined to a cell

no room for moving

it’s been a living hell

Her limbs have  become twisted

her muscles atrophied

her eyes glazed over

the pain unbearable

She’d forgotten what happened

no memories forthcoming

this life in a cage

is all she remembered

But then one day

a fresh breeze blows in from the sea

she can smell the air

the sweet salty tang

memories stir

visions she sees

Can it be?

Can it be?

before she falls back to sleep

And then another

slips thru the cracks

of her cold, grey cell

no windows to see

But air has a way

of slipping thru… tiny spaces

memories again

she’s awoken from her slumber.