Could I be Walking Higher

Have you heard the song ‘Walking Higher’ by Heather Nova?

it’s so beautiful. seriously.

From the delicate finger-picking intro to the lush harmonies and breathy backing and strikingly clear lead vocals with the relentless drive of the rhythm – like a heartbeat through the whole song. I was going to just post my lyrical highlights but really, every word is pretty darned perfect – and as aย  poem and a song it just leaves this shimmering residue of hope but longing. The magic of transferring emotion through time and spaceย  – what an incredible skill to perfect. I just love the image of old buried bones feeding the new trees, so true, so inevitable, so natural and peaceful – the separation of the bodily chemical composition from the being that is the ‘self’. Just – breathtaking.

“I carry you with me,
A ghost inside
And in these shattered arms
You’re still alive.
I carry you with me,
A holy shrine
And dogs and angels follow
Right behind.

And could I be walking higher,
Could I be right beside her ?

The bones they buried
Will feed the trees
But every word you ever spoke
Is still in me.

And could I be walking higher,
Could I be right beside her ?

And I will feel for you in the music.
And I will send that river home.
And I will cry for you sometimes
When the night is down.
And I raise my head up to the mountains,
Talk to the birds and I fly
’cause the spirit lives on,
When the body dies

And could I be walking higher,
Could I be right beside her?
Could I be walking higher
Could I be right beside her?”


Another song that makes my tears well up!

I had a dream some weeks ago that I met Heather – she invited me to her house and she and her Husband made us sandwiches and chatted away with us – it was so surreal but later found that none of the photos I took came out ๐Ÿ˜ฆ shame it was only a dream – bit it was a good one ๐Ÿ™‚


Awesome (unfinished) dream

The dream was set in my teenage years when I had a healthy interest in paganism and white magic ( Wicca). The scene was set like the program ‘warehouse 13’ and I had just shared a kiss with some hot older guy in the middle of searching for a magical object. Well we found it . A small gold box and took it with us. It did nothing until my blonde sister (not my real sister, she has black hair) touched it it expanded into this golden box large enough to hold a human standing up and with transparent panels containing a gold book.
Immediately it started controlling my sister age about 8. She was the only one who could enter the box and read from the book. She believed if she did that she would be able to fly, and the paper wings stuck to her back would become real. As a little girl she would do anything for the promise of flight so I tried to simulate her flying up through a window but the idiots inside let her out again, not understanding their plight. outside the golden box were instructions. If I could get her to willingly remove her wings before she stepped in the box then the process could not happen.
What she didn’t realise was that if she entered the box and read from the book a dark force would be unleashed so everyone in the vicinity would be killed. She was the chosen innocent one but as her closest genetic relative if she failed to complete the task, I would have expected to either do it in her place or pay the price…It was necessary for me to split into two and watch from equidistant places. From my bifurcated locations I whispered to her that of she had any reservations about the process she must tear up the book or sprinkle lime juice over it. As a sign of willing she approached with a lime in hand but tranced look on her face. When she stepped inside a fire engulfed the box and I held my breath to hope she made the right choice. There was a great roar and explosion. I was speaking some language I’ve never heard of then everything went black.

The next scene was at present time inside a gigantic church. The pews were full of my sixth form peers, those who would have been in the area when the first part of the dream occurred. We had all been summoned there for a trial. A literal witch hunt. Groups were called up, judged and either let go free or burnt alive inside the church. Those who came back to life were killed by sword and then known to be dabbling in the ‘dark arts’. Midway through sun was streaming in so we all had to turn 180 degrees and shuffle towards the other end of the church. They held up examples of incriminating object such as a green face mask like the ones I made for a masquerade ball a few years ago, and several items of jewellery reminiscent of my own. When finally I and SO were called up my mother was in charge of the registration…they spoke to him first and he confessed that I had forced him to paint a mask and that he knew nothing else so he was set free. This whole time I said nothing, knowing I was the one they were looking for, knowing I had a gothic bracelet which cemented my identification and yet I kept saying in my head it was only ever white magic, that these people were far more evil than I. The woman looked at me with great fear in her eyes saying she didn’t like the sound of what I was saying, she conferred with my mother giving me these terrified glances like she couldn’t beleive it was really me. Like they thought I was just about to conjure something evil, like I had so much power and I just had a smile on my face.

Then I was woken up.
Ffs. The most awesome dream for ages and I get woken up! Gah!

Sky made of fog stitched to clouds with spiderwebs

The other one, you know, the one who spews out depression and hunts for the rot beneath everything, well, she’s been locked away for a bit. Spiderwebs, Slugs, Stars, glove and Fog all featured in the past two days of her capture. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Let me explain.
The glove I so sadly lost had been handed in and was patiently awaiting my retrieval ๐Ÿ™‚

The first time I saw a slug as a child I was beside myself. Not with fear or disgust but with worry and sadness: I was certain that it was a snail who had its shell stolen by a bird or something, and I was afraid the poor thing was in pain and would die.
I saw one in the doorway to our building and it triggered that memory!
the fog last night was tremendous! Cycling across the common I could barely see a metre ahead of me and doubted my wisdom in choosing that route, but it was also quite intriguing watching the boats and bridge appear before me, emerging like an impressionist painting into my view. Even the church looked kind of soft focussed and the spire rise surrounded by a great halo of orange fog from the uplight. This morning, though it was lighter, the whole city was still shrouded in wispy and patchy clouds of vapour, making everything look kind of like they do in movie dreams, all soft and blended, and kind of pretty. Even the bridge was pretty, it’s bars all adorned by hundreds of spiders webs, each holding a bounty of tiny jewels, glistening in what light could reach them. I’ve never seen those webs before, I wonder how many spiders it took? I wonder if they caught anything other than water and I wonder if anyone else passing by took a second to consider them? I hope so.
The pole star still shines brightly in the sky, and even betwixt the clouds and the fog, some of her sisters peeked. It can be weeks at a time I don’t think to look up. I forget how beautiful those little pinpricks in the fabric of the sky can be. But not today.
So you see, I had to lock the other one away or she would ruin things.

This probably makes little to no sense but there you go. Some days it actually isn’t all doom and gloom, though my boss actually called me “the harbinger of doom” the other day…
Ahh pretty dress and spangly new necklace! Yayยก! also yay for flash obscuring dark circles under eyes and angle obscuring double chin ๐Ÿ˜€