emotional writing – Raw Nature Spirit

Approaching the Hag

What of her in these times of destruction and division? She is angry and she is hungry. Furious at humanity and hungry for punishment and resolution.

The forest is on fire and the walls around her dwelling, which is now a fortress, are higher than they’ve ever been before.

The horsemen are dressed in black. Their armour heavy in readiness for destruction of its own kind – complete elimination of nature and all that is human. They are ready to carry out her will.

She’s furious and in mourning for humanity that is no longer… yet there’s an opening, a small one, a loose panel in her fortress wall for those, who are still aware of their soul; that element that remains unaffected, pure and unchanged. Hope it is not, but a connection to what they are from the root. She thinks of those, who have some memory of where to go to become whole again. However faint the memory is by now, it is still there and she smells it.

I feel small and insignificant in the face of all reality and such is my preference during these years. Resignation and tiredness are part of my day-to-day and only participation in watching it all burn remains. Hopeless anguish. Despite it all I wait for the time to rise again when the voice can be heard from the depth of the forest summoning the brave and crooked; open anew to learning; in eternal love for what remains of nature external and within. Even if only one tiny flower can be saved, it will be worth doing. If only one soul can be awakened, it will be worth the work and hardship. As one wise human said: ‘For as long as there is birdsong, we must listen.’

And for now, we scream, we rage and we sob until the sky above is cloudless once again and there’s renewed stillness in the heart.

Breakdown

A wild something screams out of the flesh, released for all to see
The fear, horror, hopelessness
With only one desire – not to exist

The uncontrollable despair comparable only to deep dark sorrow
Once you experience sorrow, someone said, the depth is done, for it is sorrow that defines the darkest of darkness
How does one continue after such exposure, sorrow repeated over and over?

But it continues… how, I don’t know
What saves one?
Logic, sense, love, meaning of some sort; all the things that can not be grasped at in moments of being stripped of all flesh

But it subsides, comes back into itself beaten, broken and bare yet somewhat whole
Pierced with holes and stained with blood of a battle just passed
But living, catching breath, continuing

I heard a whisper between sobs and spiky mess of the ravaged mind
‘Keep looking out’
For I was surrounded by mountains on one side and by a forest of the other
Keep looking, seeing, let it be in elemental presence
Oh how I tried to see with no vision and feel through the cracks of broken flesh. I tried yet failed

Another day came and the whisper persisted
‘Keep trying,’ it said and like a mother the vast landscape filled with light opened its arms
To which it drew me in embrace
And I was home again
The fog lifted off my senses as mist released the water off its hold
Revealing space, an openness, hope, a chance to take flight again, to take another breath

Primordial land

Primordial land is the monument to eternity. Jagged, raw, windswept into position of timelessness. Wild grasses and flowers scatter across the cliff tops and the land and sea are like the oldest companions of all elemental beauty. It doesn’t just tag at your heart and takes your breath away it consumes your soul.

With a single breath one transports into a place of deep belonging to the times long gone yet still running through your blood. It is a sort of remembrance for me. I know who I am there instantly. There are no barriers or limits, only recognition between the primal in me and the land. There’s no feeling like it.

I describe that feeling as merging with the core of something so familiar. Rocks are like tough thick lizard-like skin and breathe of the sea and mountains is like cells weaving together to form a being that can not be described, only felt from within.

It is a shape shifting experience one might say that is effortless there. It feels like wings and claws can grow out of the body and an animal-self comes home. Otherworldly place yet deeply grounding, which makes it a true manifestation of spirit on Earth type of experience. Heavenly, surreal yet so physically felt with all senses in perfect alignment that can be overwhelming. But the land holds you tight in its casing of rocks, plants and roaring water that you can’t help but become it.

more Soul Land reviews

Educator
Soul Land by Natalia Clarke engages the reader through lovely language and imagery. I’m looking forward to showing several of these lines to my students as mentor texts to inspire their own writing!

Claire M.
So beautiful. It really takes a special poetry book to maintain my interest and this one did. Gentle yet powerful. Highly recommended for poetry fans, and those who are open to new things.

Katie M.
This was such a lovely poetry collection. It was different from others I’ve read before. It showed a deep and personal connection to Scotland, the heritage, and the culture. I normally read poetry to relate to what is being said. This was rather hard for me to connect to since I have no connection at all to Scotland. Regardless, it was very beautiful. I loved what I read and wish it was longer.

Wulfie N.
This collection was incredibly unique. It painted a beautiful picture with its words, and I fell in love with every single one of them.

DeAnn H.
This poetry collection really was a love letter to Scotland and how the author feels about Scotland. There was some beautiful imagery and wonderful phrases that painted a picture of the wildness and beauty of Scotland. I did really enjoy the poems and language, but wished it was a little longer. I would have loved to read more since I did feel it was a bit short. Still, a lot of the images inspired by her words were wonderful and definitely make you feel like you can see the landscape she’s describing.

PUBLICATIONS

Foreboding – The future of wild places

I had a dream last night and it went like this.

I opened my eyes and met hers. She was looking at me with piercing blue like a frost-covered morning on a bright day. I smiled. She turned her face away, as if not wanting to be there.

I was aware of the best sleep I had in ages and also knew that I travelled a long distance to be here in this place, with her.

A white linen dress clang to her slender body and she moved as lightly as a ghost would sliding from one room to another. I followed her and came into a room full of people and noise. They seemed to have been preparing for some kind of expedition. She asked me to join them, which took me by surprise and I felt a sharp sensation deep within that screamed, “Why would I go anywhere else when there is all this, here, with her?” I looked out of the window. We were in some kind of cabin, which was spacious with many rooms and I felt the warmth of the fire coming from next door. “Where is everyone going?” I said to her, as she approached me by the window. “Paris,” she said lowering her head to the ground again. She was hiding something. She didn’t look displeased dealing with the visitors to what I knew was her house, but she felt detached, not all present. “No Paris, I said. Not for me”. Groups of people crowded outside waiting for transport. They seemed impatient to get out of the place, but why would they come in the first place, I wondered. She looked over in their direction with some relief, I thought. Her body displayed anxiety and I saw an emerging smile at the prospect of them leaving.

I began to cry sitting by the window looking outside on to a wintery wilderness. A frozen lake, deep, luscious snow and tree tops in crowns of white. My heart was exploding recognising the wild within. She looked bewildered at me as if not letting herself remember or believing my feelings.

“Why all these people? What happened to your homestead? I remember it being just you here.”

She looked at me with the saddest eyes, but averted it quickly not wanting to show emotion.

“We are showing people the last wilderness.”

I knew she didn’t want to, she was forced into it. I grabbed her hand trying to show her I understood and asked if we could go outside. She didn’t move away from me and said, “Later.”

When crowds dispersed I was glad of some silence and empty places I could go and check. The rooms in the house were furnished with simple furniture, but very old. Figurines and wooden carved animals were on shelves and by bedsides. Everything was basic. I remember hearing complaints earlier from the crowd of girls, “How are we supposed to cope with these facilities. There isn’t even a toilet and we have to sleep on the floor. Did you see what we had to eat?” Dissatisfied voices echoed in me and I realised that this is the future of the wilderness tourism; people coming to see the most remote, wild places, yet wanting to be away from it from the moment they arrived. The sadness in my hostess filled me up and I went to look for her. She was already outside clearing some snow and I could see the black earth underneath. I bent down and scooped some icy blackness bringing it to my nose to smell. She smiled slightly at me and carried on in her own now lost world, in a place no longer hers.