
KIRSTY
The landscape of care
A home on the hill, a home by the shore, the ways between, the flow between
Peace and love by the shore
History on the hill
Yin flowing streams down the ways to the sea, the roads and paths that also flow this way
Yin gentleness and recouping
Yang conflict, and the unsaid words
Yang armour-plated showing-up
Yang place that draws Lee to Kirsty
Yin place that draws Kirsty to Lee
A place to fight for space, a place to be at ease.
My place, his place.
A house well-lived and equipped but neglected in loving care. Survival mode made material.
A house newly inhabited, but cherished and done-out joyfully. The building of a new era.
On the hill: Light, space, room for many people. A share of use, a future of owning.
At the shore: Colour, comfort and privacy. Sovereignty.
The churning flow of change, felt in both places, as close and far away.
Love as the unfurling, opening force.
A core of pure being, a burning eye and mouth, surrounded in safe-keeping.
I am seen. I am understood.
We exchange and unpack, we care for the other and receive care.
The place of wounding, of raw essence.
The place that seems messy, but knows.
A continued opening.
A practice of sharing, of admitting things, of searching for the right words. Speaking from the heart, listening from the heart.
Holding circle, community, friendship networks, precious ones, dear ones.
Protection of the real, tender, heartfelt centre. Mine and his, and those in our our sphere of care.
The weaving of Yin and Yang
Devine masculine and Feminine entwined and rising.
A balance and partnership, sweet collaboration for good.
Non dual.
A blending or pairing of light and dark.
Riding out the big swings between.
A curiosity. Adventuring spirit, free and playful, and cutting no corners.
Provisioning care, awareness of finite energy, and caring for capacity.
Roads following waterways, always maps to the sea
Steps over springy ground
A step into a bog up to the ankle
Steps into silt, sinking
Passersby watching us pee at the side of the road
Water through the trees
Sunshine through the trees
Tiny wildflowers nodding in the wind
A coiled rope, serpentine and prickly
A spiral of cordage with plants weaving it into place and shape, held together by many delicate roots, merging with the land
A carpet of sea pinks like scattered cherry blossom on the shore
Holes in the carpet, big enough for a body
SERAZER

Landscape of care: London Underground
Archetype: The Seeker
I'm not lost but also in a way still practically lost and it's ok. In the dream I'm free to move around so long as I don't leave the underground (for now!) I have no identity, no past, no friends or acquaintances, nowhere to go, no means of communicating my needs (yet). But I have all of me and my gifts (one suitcase containing "the gift" - even though I don't yet know what it is or how to work with it). I am to find it out in order to come up. It's happening now. But there's no urgency. There is patience.
The liminal journey: descent into the invisible veins of the collective subconscious; enforced intimacy; memories of missed trains (opportunities); urban labyrinth; metallic serpent that I'm going to be waiting for, keeping an eye out, focusing, fighting, missing, catching (OPERATING?). I'm going to find myself in and out of its belly from time to time. Where is it going to take me? WHERE AM I GOING TO TAKE IT?
Date: June 30th My mother's birthday
I'll work with the dream. Doing the research now, finding out what is needed. I'm preparing a sound recording for myself to go back to the same exact dreamscape and come out with my gifts for myself. My gifts are first and foremost for me, not only for me but I am my priority. All welcome but I have no responsibility for others.
This is the image of the seeker.
CAT

Landscape of Care
The Pilgrimage
Facing East the sun is warm and the wind is gentle, the Tor acts as a shield. Walking through, you can hear the wind and in the West, it is completely different, cold and hard.
I have brought my story to the top but it feels more correct to offer it to the secret Orchard, which is half way up. I was delighted to spot the gate and it feels such a magical place. I want to offer my story before asking for one back. On route I have been joined by several birds - the robin, magpies and crows. As I descend the weather is changing, as predicted, and there is an urgency to tell my story before the storm comes. The story is one I wrote last Spring for Beltane - Flora and the Green Man. I sit on the bench and tell it out loud to the orchard. The ancient apple trees are like children listening intently. I feel them shiver when I get to the part where the fire rips through the trees. I say, ‘This is the scary bit but don’t worry….’ There is of course a sacrifice demanded in the story but there is healing magic too and the end promises a union. When I get back I am invited to join a ceremony to honour the cedar and we mould flax clay, performing a ritual around giving and receiving.
Journey (partnering Aga)
I’m carried to the upper world holding the claws of the giant eagle. We arrive at a hut and I am compelled to stretch my arms out and hug it. As I do so I feel the hug of a number of beings from behind me. A cloak is put round my shoulders and a crown on my head, which has the moon in it. I am holding hands with an older woman and we are floating in the air as if we are skydiving. I have a message from her to keep placing one foot in front of the other.
I am sitting together with many, many spirits with different faces - some are crying, wailing, shouting, many are angry and in pain, some are gentle and some are singing. There is a pot in the middle and the message comes, ‘We are the spirit story, hold us and we hold you.’
Trees wave at me, with another message, the ancestors want to speak and be heard and their songs to be sung. There are blue flowers in the garden to be shared, they are the spirit stories.
There are so many different spirits and I see their faces float by. It is time to welcome all of them and also to honour them, I feel like each one needs to be heard and their story told.
When my mind stops shaping reality there is more – one step in front of the other. The feeling is one of peaceful strength. My mind stills and I feel connected to essence somehow.
My map or constellation is full of spirits that want to be heard. I wear my cloak, which nourishes me and a crown that carries the moon. I am ready to tell their stories.
Honour the spirits and I will be flow.
AGA

My landscape of care
while I rest my head on her lap
the High Priestess strokes me
her fingers delicately braid my hair
into a spiral
weaving in the soul of life
whispering the spells
of sacred threads
between the realms
There are many of us giving and receiving, continuing the braiding till the beginning of time and back, this thread passed in the community is the sanctuary of the mystic, the alchemist, the healer
***
PAIRWORK
To journey for myself is informative and exhilarating at times, to journey for another is sacred, I am grateful to be let in, honoured to be of service to the spirits and the spirit of another being
***
Relax, trust into your knowing - easier said than done, still working on it
I am sometimes inpatient, feel incompetent, there is so much I don’t know and don’t understand
Hoping that when the time comes I will tune in and discern what’s needed
I think my pilgrimage is around the place in Poland
When I was there recently I was called to perform a ceremony for a dead tree and a dead bird
First I found a tree, then the bird
I knew the songs of farewell and I knew what to do even though I was doing it for the first time;
my rational mind feels out of depth afterwards
There is an old cemetery next to my house, it’s said that there are no bodies there, I think there is work to be done though - I will dedicate my pilgrimage to paying homage to the ones who crossed the realms there
…
The pilgrimage of my Birthday, 17th June, is my desire for balance, to connect the professional, school life with my mystic, creative self - still haven’t decided what to do apart from bringing fruit and cake
SARAH
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Hello heart helpers.
Here is a sound offering that captures what I currently see in the reflective pool at the sacral center of my landscape of care. It is a place that holds nothing in particular and everything at once. It is a pool of deep clarity, cleansing, and darkness. My work is to know when to go down to the water to look into the depths, and when & how to share what I see. It is also my work to learn how to discern between my own reflection and the unconscious content that wants release, witness, or with-ness in the deep. I’m still working through it all and am grateful for everyone’s support and grace while I find my work and my way.
PATRICIA

Landscapes of care
Nurturing and being nurtured
Family home, Bulli, Australia
A space of creative caring in my family home, holding the past, holding the present, imagining the future.
Succour from a mother’s love – body at peace – her spirit embodied in the home, in the objects, the trinkets, the atmosphere, the circulating air, the streaming light, the disrepair.
A place to rest, a place to care for life, my father, frustratingly stubborn and wilful and sadly decapacitated.
A line of ancestors; a shift in my inner world between going forward into the distant past and staying present, still, with the rhythm of time.
MIREIA
SHELL
INWARDS
ANNABIE
We talked about the group bring part of the landscape-being able to excavate our true gifts and offer them out to each other, to share our wisdom, our intuition that supports and calls forth the vulnerability and intuition of the other. We also talked about the work itself being part of the landscape -shes act of respecting and honoring the softest part enough to share it...something about our own personal evolution tied in with a collective evolution. We also talked about the presence of spider coming forward-what that is for Jessica right now...that was alive
For me, right now, walking, my body, routine, my sleep, making space for being with this creative energy and finding moments in the day to be in relationship consciously is part of my personal landscape...and having loving people near my life, who see me and allow me to see them. Gratitude is in the landscape - and holding a place to care for others, to allow suffering and to bring care, and to cultivate a listening garden with all ways of listening...
Jessica
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Uprooted
You. Come show me what you are carrying, with its heavy belly on your back. Dead limbs over shoulders, root tendrils swinging, no longer even the slightest bit thirsty, just trailing. Tell me, would you like to set it down now, and tell the story of this thing that used to grow so tall and proud, so important, and how it became kindling long ago.
She poked my feet and lay the kindling there. A flame flickered and the smoke rose, wisping and cleansing my corners. She leaned in and whispered in my ear. Become the serpent. Flowing, shedding, guiding. Be the snake, she whispered.
So then, it seems there are only three things left to do:
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Go to the ancestral river. Offer your eyes and your bones to the land and the water. Moving like the river, lay your heart upon the mound with ceremony and ease. Then ask for forgiveness.
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Go to the ancient cave. Shed your skin at the mouth and become vapor. Go alone into the dark and be afraid together. Find the limestone chamber and the deep river there. Offer your essence, formless and permanent, and be entirely absorbed by the darkness.
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Begin again.
MAGI
Telma
gathered so far as a journey of cues to a fermenting vision, from the heart, from under the skin, through the sourdough of that matter at my fingertips. The matter that is mother.
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The mo/ti/ons of the moon
High - low tide
Empty vessels
Full cups
Waters waves soils perhaps songs of endangered species of care.
This is one of the visions dripped so far.
The Moon Salon springs into a new iteration, setting a ‘feral table’ with attention, food, reverence, deep listening, slowing down, nourishment, microorganisms and beauty.
An embroidered glossary of care. Bread and roses. Inner and outer fermentations, metamorphosis, emergent memory.
Collective care looks like love shared. Bread shared. Silence shared. Listening together. Small gestures. The sense of touch, having touch, touching, being touched. Another almost lost language.
I continue to explore what arises through aliveness, through a field of resonant intuitive truths, through synchronicity.
And now, I feel the roots of my family offering a floor, strength, and a structure of windows to be opened when the time ripens. Or when comes a certain wind of heart. Maybe as a prayer.
I learnt from my family of origin to recognize food as a language of care and love. Always available, always abundant, ever present.
I learnt to thresh green peas and defoliate corn sat on the floor, running through fields of flowers and playing under fig trees pregnant with the luscious fruits and their milk, their stickiness, the sap, their staying on the fingers. I learnt in those early days what now feels like a promise to bring back to the outer circle of my action and service: to offer food as medicine, as love, as care, as beauty, as delight, as living edible prayers.
Food as a language of reconciliation, of bonding, of tending, of feeding utopias.
Of home
Of shelter.
Of belonging.
Food as a nest where being nourished is a both a soul quest, and a soul expression.
This table, this food, these gestures, scents, voices start to tell a manifesto of care.
As I tend to the mother inside, I notice how the mother principle sneaks in, touching my relationship my own mother, with the mother starter in all ferments, with mother cells, mother land, mother tongue, with the moon and earth mothers. And their sacred polarities. The polarity that generates motion, and thus, is life giving.
The translation of this landscape happens through lived experience turned embroidered reality. In free flow between what is seen and what is masked. Maybe using traditional embroidery techniques.
A mapping that takes place at the table
Over time
With the shared experience of very small and intimate groups of people
Sensing
Smelling
Tasting
Listening
Communing
Like entering a semi kaleidoscopic dreamlike space.
Like touching an altered state of perception, immersion in slowness.
The landscape happens in layers.
A tender map in the making, encapsulating our voices, human and more than human, from all directions and elemental families.
A tender map of stories and emotional topographies, a felt sense of care that at last becomes activated through waters, motions and emotions. Through an ecology of micro life that continues the breath.
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Clare
Born from the womb of my own secret work, a space that’s big enough to hold others as they birthed. Feeling the sensation of stretching, expanding. Challenging, heart warming, inspiring.
