Category Archives: Reflections on Life

The other type of courage

Since I’ve been `outed’ online, not through choice, as That Woman who Married the Maasai Warrior, I’ve had all sorts of people getting in touch to tell me they’d love to go to Africa (or some other far-away place) but don’t know how they’ll ever find the courage.

So today, I’m starting a six-week series of Wednesday blog posts on the theme of courage and how to find it, even if you feel as though you’ve already lost everything.  They’re leading up to the launch of my brand new e-course, Face the Fear and Chase the Dream, in September – which I’m hugely excited and also terrified about, but doing it anyway!

Here’s the first one.  I hope you enjoy it…

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Reflecting on what made me brave enough to go to Tanzania in my early twenties, and why it’s so much harder to get brave enough to do anything outside my comfort zone now that I’m coming up to my fortieth birthday, what I’ve realised is that there are two different kinds of courage.

There’s what I call illusion-based courage, or `gap year’ courage.  Lots of people will know what I mean by that.  It’s a naïve kind of bravery, the kind you have when you’re looking out from a rose-coloured bubble of privilege and idealism.  When I first left Oxford, I did stuff just because I could, and didn’t overthink it.  Why shouldn’t I get out there and change the world?   Why shouldn’t I start a company and an NGO from scratch, build a school, save girls from FGM, marry my colleague, have kids, and take them to the Maasai village to visit their grandparents?  What could possibly go wrong?

I was in love.  Passionately.  Not just with Lesikar, but with Tanzania: the music, the colours, the stories, the wisdom, the land, the sky, the wildlife, the fruit, the flowers, the sense of community, the deep faith and trust, the fact that everyone talks about God and spirituality as if they’re completely taken for granted.

The flip side was always there, of course, but I wasn’t seeing it.  Well, they say love is blind.  If I felt any fear at all, which I don’t remember, it was overridden by a massive burst of endorphins, serotonin, oxytocin, and all that other feel-good stuff that happens when you’re in love.

And then, of course, things started to go wrong.  Sometimes a little bit wrong, like a bout of malaria that was quickly treated with medication and everything was fine again…until the next time.  Sometimes horribly wrong.

And then it got to a point where I realised that actually, it wasn’t all going to be fine, and prayer wasn’t going to magically make everything happen the way that I wished it would, and maybe I couldn’t manifest things just by dreaming them after all.

That’s when I needed the second type of courage.

The second type of courage, which I call disillusioned courage, is what you need in order to survive after the dream dies and the rosy bubble bursts…

It isn’t all sunshine and serotonin any more.  On a good day, it feels like two steps forward and one back.  On a bad day, it’s one forward and three back, and you wonder if you’ll ever figure it out.

Finding the courage to move to another country, or start a business, or whatever that big scary goal might be, is very different if you’re not under 22 and over-privileged.  It’s very different if you’ve already lived life, struggled, loved, lost your illusions, and been deeply hurt.  If you’ve been bereaved or traumatised, or suffered a serious illness.  If you’ve been in the same job for twenty years.

 So if that’s you, all I can say is please, please stop beating yourself up over the fact that you’re not already Doing The Thing.

Start celebrating the fact that you were brave enough to acknowledge that you’re afraid of it.  A lot of people go through their lives making all sorts of excuses as to why they haven’t Done The Thing, but never get around to admitting that actually it’s scaring the shit out of them.

Then take that first tiny step.  Send that e-mail or text, or make that phone call, or comment on this blog, or click a link, or invite a Facebook friend to meet up for a coffee… and celebrate that. Because these are the places where true, disillusioned courage begins.

It doesn’t begin when you step on the plane.

Do it for love, or not at all!

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It’s frighteningly easy to say ‘yes’ to things because we think someone expects us to, and then discover at the end of the day that we’ve taken on too much and can’t finish it all.  Not only do we end up disappointing the very people we were hoping to impress, but worse still, we let ourselves down because we STILL haven’t made time for that one special thing that we’re yearning to do.

We end up breaking promises, running up debts and backing out of commitments, and are left feeling frustrated, martyred, and resentful of the people who asked us to do the stuff in the first place.   Either that, or we keep up the fiction that we can ‘do it all’, and carry on trying to juggle seven plates and a flaming torch…until we drop ALL the plates and burn ourselves out completely, because a physical or mental health crisis comes along and we have to stop absolutely everything.

I hadn’t realised how deeply I was stuck in that particular behaviour pattern, until someone did it to me – and then proceeded to explain, in a beautifully clear and well-thought-out way, exactly why she’d changed her mind about the commitment that she’d made to me.   At first I was upset about it, but after sleeping on it, I had a new breakthrough.

What I realised is that through living in Tanzania, I became a world expert in putting other people’s needs ahead of my own – because other people’s needs were usually urgent and sometimes life-threatening.  I didn’t care if I had to sleep on a bed made of sticks with a couple of animal skins thrown over the top, and get bitten to death by fleas, as long as I was ‘making a difference’.  It didn’t matter to me if I had to live on boiled maize and soya beans for three days, as long as The Work got done.   As for savings – forget it.  Pah, who am I to worry about a savings account when the mother of the plumber that I’ve hired to fix the shower (yes, this is a real-life example…) has cerebral malaria, and her life depends on medicine that costs $10, and I’m the only person in the plumber’s immediate orbit with a ‘spare’ $10?

There was always a `plumber’s mother’, or some other such walk-on character in my drama, who seemingly had a greater need for my time and my money than I did.

Yet after coming back to the UK, I started carrying that same sense of obligation into other things, which weren’t matters of life and death.  The kids want to go to Tanzania and visit their family?  Of course they must – even if I have to put it on a credit card, and don’t have a plan for paying it off.  The teacher at the village nursery school wants me to take over paying his salary, because his funders have pulled out?  Well, I wouldn’t want the nursery school to be forced to close – even if I’m behind with my bills.  Someone wants me to do this, buy that, go there?  Has to be done, I suppose – even if I can’t really afford it.

So this morning, I woke up with the lyrics to a new song in my head – “For Love, Or Not At All”.  I think this could be a helpful song for me, because it’s pushing me to examine my own motivations every time I’m on the point of saying ‘yes’ to a substantial commitment of time or money.  That doesn’t mean I’ll never offer to help anyone again, but it means I’ll try to be more realistic with the promises that I make, and ask myself questions like these:

Am I doing this because I really, truly care about it?  (Or is it because I’m afraid that you’ll think badly of me if I say no?) 

If yes: Have I got the time, energy and resources to do this properly, without hurting myself or anyone else?  (Or would it be at the expense of my true soulwork, if I agreed to do it?)

If yes: Am I the right person to do it?  (Or would it actually be more helpful, in the long run, if I just directed you to someone who already has this skill set?)

If yes: Is this the right time for me to do it?  (Or would it be more appropriate to wait until later?)

 

This song still makes me squirm and feel selfish.  But I’m going to keep singing it until I’m comfortable with it, because like Ani DiFranco in ‘Circle of Light’, “I ain’t got time for half-way, I ain’t got time for half-assed’.  I’m tired of wearing myself out with half-hearted commitments, and doing things ‘just for the sake of the money’.  Money is essential to life, of course, but money loves to flow wherever Love is – and when I’ve tried to do things `just for the money’ in the past, they haven’t tended to work out well.   As I sing in Limitless Flow, “Money is sacred energy made tangible.”

My aim is to reach a point where if someone asks me to do something, I can either do it for Love, or delegate it to someone who really will love it…

 

For Love, Or Not At All

I will do it just because it sets my heart on fire,

I will do it just because it’s my spirit’s deep desire,

I will do it just because I have heard that inner call:

I will do it for Love, or not at all!

 

Not because of habit, not because I feel I should,

Not because, if I don’t, you’ll say that I’m no good;

Not because I’m under pressure, not because I want the fame,

Not because I need the money, or fans to shout my name,

Not because everyone else is doing it, not just because I can,

Not because I think I have to prove to you who I am…

 

I will link it to the songs my heart still yearns to sing,

I will link it to the joy my soul’s true work can bring,

I will link it to the dream that is always burning bright,

I will do it because it feels so right!

 

Not because of habit, not because I feel I should…

 

I will do it now because Love won’t let me refuse,

For my hands are just the tools that Spirit wants to use,

I will do it so that through me, the light of Love will shine,

I will do it because this work is mine!

 

Not because of habit, not because I feel I should…

 

I will do it just because I have heard that inner call:

I will do it for Love, or not at all!

 

Becoming the Sacred Flame: the power of self-belief

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Just two votes decided the election result in one of the Scottish constituencies in yesterday’s General Election, and 31 votes in one in Southampton, my nearest big city. It reminded me that we all matter – we can all make a difference.  We have the power to co-create the future that we want to see, not just in politics but in other ways too!  And soon I’ll be sharing some ideas for doing exactly that…
Meanwhile, here are two of the characters from ‘The Nineteen Songs of Reunion’, Brianna and Aelfric, talking about the power of self-belief:

“You told me that I was strong, and had the power in me to bring all my dreams alive: the very opposite of all the things Aedan had been telling me for so long.  He called me a poor child: he was always pitying me, and telling me that I was small and weak and helpless, and that’s just what I became.”

“Of course you did,” Aelfric says.  “Aedan was cunning: he wanted to use you for his own pleasure, and he knew you’d never stay with him if you were in your right mind, so he set out purposely to destroy all your self-belief.”

“But when you told me with such authority that I had to become the Sacred Flame, and get up and go to Beckery, I found the strength to do what I needed to do,” I go on.  “I changed out of my clothes that were soaked in blood, and tore up my old dress into rags for the bleeding, and even had the sense to bring out our two pottery bowls to trade them for a ride in an ox-cart, although in the end the man wouldn’t take them.  I was still so dreadfully unwell: I blacked out again on the journey, and bled all over that poor man’s barley sacks.  But you made me believe in myself, so I was able to do all those things, even in that condition.”

“Whatever we believe about ourselves becomes our reality,” Aelfric tells me.  “It’s true: you are the Warrior Maiden, my Brianna.  You’re strong and brave and powerful, no different from Brigid herself.  And you’ll always be the Flame Keeper and the Sacred Flame, just as long as you remember that’s who you are.  I’m just grateful to the Lord and Lady that you listened to my voice in your dream, and were led to the very people who could help you see that again, after Aedan made you forget your own light.” 

 

My prayer today is that we might all be led to people who remind us who we are at our core, help us believe in ourselves, and keep us burning as brightly as we can! 
For me it’s Stephen Simmonds with his beautiful song ‘Lisa’ – I just love the refrain, “Who you are is good enough / You have my faith, you have my trust / All that matters now is our love / Hallelujah!” 
And then comes my favourite song lyric of all time: “Everything I’ve ever been afraid of is all in my mind…”

The remedy for deep fear is Deep Love

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There are so many people out there trying to spread fear, hatred and division.  We notice the violent ones, who make grand gestures and kill a lot of people in a short space of time, but we often don’t notice the ones who work in more subtle ways.

Much of today’s politics is based on fear.  Fear of those people who don’t look like us, or that culture that doesn’t do things the way we do them, or that guy who wants to change the system, or that group that calls itself by a different name and seems to be worshipping a different kind of Divinity.

That’s because fear is a natural human emotion.  It’s evolved to keep us alive, which is usually agreed to be a good thing.   So it’s easy for politicians to exploit it – to appeal to our primitive survival instincts, rather than our higher consciousness that keeps trying to wake us up and tell us the truth: There is no ‘us and them’.  

As I wrote in a poem when I was a teenager at the Drielandenpunt, where the borders of Belgium, Germany and the Netherlands all meet – countries that were once at war, but have now turned the site into an international peace park:

And should we speak of ‘them’ at all,

as ‘them and me’, or ‘them and us’,

or should we speak of us and us?

Why all this fuss?

A name is just a name…

 

And as one of my characters has explained it more recently in my forthcoming novel, The Nineteen Songs of Reunion:

“Although the fluttery feelings don’t go away, they’re easier to dismiss when I’m in the middle of a story.   It’s after the others have gone to bed that I feel the anxiety most, and wish hardest that I could be with Aelfric, and wonder what’s happening and whether he’s in terrible agony, or might even be dead.   

But then, in an instant, I remember the great truth I learned on the night when Aelfric was attacked: that the remedy for deep fear is Deep Love.  Instead of fretting, I give myself over to praying, letting myself be caught up and held and embraced by the Love that has no beginning or end – the Love beyond all names.  It isn’t about my love for Aelfric any more, as a soul in a body; but love for the great Soul that rises in Aelfric and in all of us.  

I sing new songs and pray new prayers that the world has never heard before, and  Terithien wakes from his sleep, and stares at me with wide eyes.  He shakes Orla awake and begs her to light a candle and take up her ink-pot, quill and vellum – for he can’t read or write – and capture all my words so that he might learn them by heart.”

 

This is my prayer for all of us affected by people’s attempts to spread terror: that we remember, as the members of the Fellowship learn to sing in `The Song of the Healer’, You are the Love beyond all names. 

God, Goddess, Allah, Mungu, Engai Brahma, Jehovah: these are just our feeble human attempts at naming something which is far, far bigger and more beautiful than we can ever dream of.

Muslim, Christian, Pagan, Druid, Baha’i, Buddhist, Hindu, Jain, Jew, Zoroastrian, atheist, agnostic, spiritual wanderer, or whatever other names we might come up with: we are all seekers, chasing sparks of that Divine Love and trying to fan them into flames.

We can’t let ourselves be distracted from our quest by people who don’t understand it, and think that ‘those people’ over there are ‘the enemy’.   A name is just a name…

 

 

 

 

On dreaming crazy dreams and making them realities

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We were all created to create something amazing.

We all have the potential to become artists, pilgrims, pioneers, visionaries, revolutionaries and world-changers.   This power isn’t just in some of us: it’s a Divine gift that’s been granted to every single soul.

We all have that Light burning within us, but most of the time, we hide it.  It’s too scary to shine that brightly.

Whatever it is that we’re dreaming of… we tell ourselves it’s crazy, or too weird, or too ‘out there’, or it’ll never work.

Or we kid ourselves we’re too small, too unknown, too young, too old, too short, too tall, too fat, too thin, too dumb, or too unknown to make it work.

Or we insist we don’t have the right education, the right training, the right skills, the right background, the right contacts, the right car, the right shoes, or the right handbag.

What I loved about Tanzania in 1999 was that none of that stuff mattered.

I was part of a group of 19-22 year olds with a dream of building a Peace Village – a place where young people from all over the world could come to learn about African music, culture and wellness traditions.  We didn’t let anyone tell us we couldn’t do it.  We raised money, bought a plot of land, registered our own arts and culture organisation, and started building huts.

It got burnt down, so we adjusted the dream, grew the big crazy vision even bigger and crazier, and started again.

You can’t build that there, people told us.  Whatever are you thinking of?  You’re insane. 

It’s a barren patch of bushland.  There’s no infrastructure.  There’s no water.  There’s no electricity.

What you’re trying to do has never been done before.  There’s no path.

So we created the path by walking it.

Within five years, we had our place where young people from all over the world could come to learn about African music, culture and wellness traditions.   But it wasn’t just a Peace Village.  It was the beginning of a secondary school for underprivileged youth.

Those aren’t classrooms, officials told us.  An octagonal timber-frame building can’t be a classroom.  Classrooms are rectangular and built from concrete blocks.  They measure 9 metres by 7.2 metres and have three windows.

You don’t have to demolish them.  Just use them as store-rooms, or whatever.  But go away and build us some classrooms.

So we did.  And two staff houses, and toilet blocks, and a laboratory, and dormitories.  All in accordance with the officially recognised plans.

Those aren’t students.  You can’t be a student in a secondary school if you’re wearing Maasai robes.  Make them all buy shirts and trousers, or skirts if they’re girls.

Ouch.  That one hurt.  We thought about giving up at that point.  But we knew school would come to the village sooner or later.  We figured it was better to have one that honoured the Maasai traditions as best it could, and showed young people the power and the beauty of indigenous knowledge by bringing Masters and PhD students from overseas to study it… and let them wear their robes on special occasions, if they wanted to.  (Some of them didn’t, which was also fine…)

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I won’t say it was all 100% benefit and no costs.  Nothing in life ever is.  But since our first graduation in 2008, more than 300 students – most of them from low-income families who’d never have been able to afford an education – have graduated from Noonkodin Secondary School with a Form 4 certificate – the equivalent of GCSE or tenth grade.

Many of them are now teachers, nurses or business owners.  And one is the Headmaster.

So if you have a dream, however wild and crazy, don’t let anyone put you down.  Don’t let anyone tell you that it’s too much, or that you’re not enough.

You are enough.

We are ALL enough.

We are big enough, smart enough, brave enough… even when we aren’t feeling it.

In this week’s blog series, I’ll be sharing my own insights about how to face your fears.  I’ll introduce you to Daman, the crazy dreamer from my new novel The Nineteen Songs of Reunion, who’s all fired up about crossing the Irish Sea with a lighted lantern to win the patronage of the King… and to Brianna, the heroine of the story, whose spark becomes a flame when she falls in love with Daman and discovers new dreams of her own.

And I’ll be telling you about my new crazy dream, which you can join in- a powerful initiation for Summer Solstice, held at the ancient sacred site of Aquae Sulis (Bath Spa), to help women awaken the fearless Goddess within and start living those dreams!

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The healing power of song

One of the greatest tragedies of the West is that we’ve lost the magic of song.

In the Maasai community, singing is part of everyday life.  People sing to praise God, regardless of whether they’re Christians, Muslims, or followers of their own indigenous spiritual tradition (where ‘Engai’ is actually translated more accurately as ‘Goddess’).

People sing to preserve their memories and histories, most of which are still unwritten.  All the rites of passage have their own songs associated with them, including weddings, ceremonies to bless unborn children, child-naming ceremonies, initiation into adulthood, and the transition from warriorhood into elderhood (although the latter doesn’t have an equivalent for women), and funerals.

Songs are used to welcome important visitors, to launch projects, or – as in the photo above – to entertain parents at the school Open Day.   Crucially, they can also be used to open people’s minds to the possibility of change: in our project to reduce the prevalence of female genital mutilation (FGM), we started every seminar and workshop with a performance by a women’s commuity choir.

Yet, in so-called ‘developed’ countries, we’ve created a culture in which most people are afraid to sing.

Shows like ‘The X Factor’, ‘American Idol’ and ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ – where harsh criticism of people’s vocal performance is seen as entertaining – certainly haven’t helped.  But a bigger issue is that, with the decline in church attendance, most people just don’t have a space in which they can sing freely without being criticised or judged.

When I recently started attending my local Baptist church in England and the very first song we sang was one that I recognised from an international church that I used to attend in Tanzania, it felt like coming home.  But traditional church services don’t appeal to everyone, and despite the vast amount of content available on YouTube, a lot of people – whatever their religion – wouldn’t know where to start looking for inspiring, uplifting, soul-stirring, life-changing, motivating songs that can support their own personal journey to reconnection and wholeness.

That’s why I was inspired to write ‘The Nineteen Songs of Reunion’.

I’m a huge fan of Jodi Picoult’s book Sing You Home, which has a downloadable soundtrack.  I LOVE those songs, especially ‘Ordinary Life’ – a cry from the heart for LGBTQ rights and non-discrimination – and the title track, a haunting song dedicated to a child lost through miscarriage.  So, inspired by this, I decided to go a step further and write a novel in which the song lyrics are actually woven into the text and form an integral part of the plot.

‘The Nineteen Songs of Reunion’ is a story of transformation and healing through song, and I’m starting to explore ways of recording the 19 songs – which include, among many others, The Song of the Sacred Land, The Song of the Wilderness Wanderer, The Song of the Pilgrims, The Song of the Midwife, and The Song of the Artist – with a Celtic harp and chorus.

I’ve already posted some excerpts, but will be adding more in future.  And please keep watching this space for more details of my Transformational Song Healing workshops, and the role of song in the Travelling Light program…

 

Mud huts, but not as I knew them: or why I’m writing a novel instead of memoirs

When I first had the idea of writing a book, the obvious thing was to assume that it would be a memoir of my time in Africa.

This is the book I nearly wrote:

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I started from the beginning, as most people would – my very first trip to Tanzania in 1999.  I got so caught up in writing about the first man I ever loved that I found I had reached my 50,000-word goal – it was a National Novel Writers’ Month 50k challenge – and barely even mentioned Lesikar, let alone the projects that we did together.  In trying to write memoirs, I found myself focusing on the parts that were easier to write, either by virtue of being further back in the past, or because the story was just more straightforward when I was only 21 and had no dependents.

But in trying to write memoir, either about my relationship with Lesikar or my earlier relationship, I was so upset about the level of racism in the world already that I felt I couldn’t say anything even remotely negative about any individual who’s ethnically African and living in Africa, in case it fuelled people’s stereotypes.  There’s that whole ‘it’ll never last’ mindset: the idea that Africans and Europeans are fundamentally so different that they can never have a successful marriage, which is utterly ridiculous.   Some of the comments on the YouTube video were just disgusting, and it was a huge wake-up call to realise that even now, in this supposedly enlightened age, there are still people for whom the colour of someone’s skin is such a big deal that they think a black man who marries a white woman doesn’t deserve to live.   Duh.

I was in a position where I didn’t want to say anything at all about Maasai individuals or the Maasai culture that wasn’t 100% positive, and of course nobody and nothing in the world is 100% positive, and we’re always projecting our own issues and insecurities on to other people anyway.   I think that’s the reason why, when I first started trying to write memoirs in 2006, I wasn’t succcessful in finding a publisher: there was just too much sunshine and roses, or rather sunshine and red hibiscus, to be interesting or convincing.  So, having successfully created this 50,000-word memoir, I decided not to publish it.

My new book, ‘The Nineteen Songs of Reunion’, has given me a safe space for me to work through some of the emotions that I’m still processing, but to do it in a way that doesn’t put the blame on any one individual or on the Maasai as a society.  All the characters are fictional, although obviously they have to be based on something and come from somewhere.  I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea and think that Lesikar `is’ one of the three male leads in the story, or that any episode in the book is an actual replica of something that happened in my life.  It isn’t that at all.  But there were certainly aspects of the story that mirror some of the emotions that I went through in Tanzania – not just with Lesikar and with my first boyfriend, but in other situations as well, all sorts of different interactions with people.  So one thing that really did exist in a variety of situations was the challenge of trying to work out who people really are, how much is their true face and how much is the mask – the image that they present to the world.   And, on the other side of it, whether they really saw and loved me for who I was, or if it was more of a transaction – ‘I’ll give you this if you give me that’.

So, if not Africa, why 672 AD?   Why not modern times?

There’s the superficial level, of course, which is that I know far more about what it actually feels like to live in a mud hut than most people who might decide to write a novel set in the Anglo-Saxon era (or the Early Medieval period, as it’s become known in relation to Ireland, Wales and Cornwall, which were all separate countries with a similar culture).  That’s true enough: but it goes a lot deeper than that.

Setting my novel in a familiar place and an unfamiliar time has actually been enormously healing for me. It gives me the chance to imagine a setting in which I could be all of myself.  It allows me to envisage a way of living what might be termed a ‘Maasai-style’ life (based on a strong sense of community, a deep connection to the land and to Spirit, freedom from the stress and overwhelm of modern Western society, and the opportunity to be creative) but doing that within the sacred landscapes of the UK, places that I’ve come to know and love all over again since I came back from Tanzania.   And I’m hoping that this is something I’ll be able to share with my readers, and maybe inspire them to make some changes in the way they live their lives: to start reconnecting with some of those things for themselves, and discovering a healthier and happier way of being.  Not that I’m trying to suggest that Maasailand is a utopia; but there’s a lot we can learn.

I have a deeper ‘why’, too.  But that will have to be another blog post for another day.  Work is beckoning…

‘Who We Are’ – song lyrics

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This song is dedicated to everyone who’s going to be involved in ‘Reconnecting Education’, our global movement for education that focuses on igniting Deep Love in people’s hearts by helping them reconnect with nature, creativity, community and their authentic emotions.

Reconnecting Education will be launching on March 20th, Spring Equinox, with a dedication ceremony shortly after 12 noon at the beautiful Chalice Well Gardens in Glastonbury, England.  On the same day, our Patreon platform will go live!  I’ll be posting more information in the next few days to let you know how you can get involved, but meanwhile please feel free to e-mail me if you’d like a sneak preview.

Enjoy these lyrics while I am still getting up the courage to post the audio. I’m aiming to do that before launch day.  One step at a time…

WHO WE ARE

There’s no dream too big for us, and in our souls we always knew it:

We’ve waved goodbye to doubts and fears, and now we’re certain we can do it…

We’ve seen the way that things can be, now it’s our time, the world is waiting…

With shining eyes we spread the word about the vision we’re creating.

Now the spark at the centre of our spiral is alight, and we’re on fire,

And the energy of love flows through us, bringing all that we desire…

Now we’re spinning in space like a cosmic superstar,

Now we’ve woken up and remembered who we are.

Touch a heart, transform a life: for us it only takes a minute.

And if we don’t know where we’re going, let’s just trust, and then begin it…

Let’s make some miracles today, we are the source of hope and healing:

We’ll sing it all from soul to soul, there is no language for this feeling!

 

 

Now the spark at the centre of our spiral is alight, and we’re on fire,

And the energy of love flows through us, bringing all that we desire…

Now we’re spinning in space like a cosmic superstar,

Now we’ve woken up and remembered who we are.

 

 

Who you are is who I am, and who we are is the beginning,

We are the light, we are the love that keeps the stars and planets spinning,

We stand united and we know the time has come to reconnect now,

And we’ll create an education built on justice and respect now!

 

 

When the spark at the centre of your spiral’s set alight, you’ll be on fire,

Let the energy of love flow through you, bringing all that you desire…

Join us spinning in space like a cosmic superstar,

For you’ve woken up and remembered who you are.

 

By Gemma Burford, 2017.  Shared under Creative Commons: Attribution-ShareAlike (BY-SA).  This licence grants you permission to share freely and make derivative versions, translations, etc., provided that you cite Gemma Burford as the original author and require all future users to do the same.