School of Movement Medicine - Mindfulness in Motion

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Issue: June 2013
Song of the soul on Gipsy Bank and in Wolfscote caves

By Hannah Mackay
I attended the Phoenix Retreat in 2010. More recently I have found myself doing similar kinds of processing through poetry. This poem is part of a piece of soul retrieval, and is written in the voice of the lost soul fragment. Gipsy Bank and Wolfscote caves are in Dovedale, near where I was born.

Song of the soul on Gipsy Bank and in Wolfscote caves

In the circle

I was always on the edges,

Hand on the door handle,

Ready to run.

My grip on form was tenuous.

You might see me on a beach,

In a valley, on a hill

But then I’d fade out of focus,


Become illusion, apparition, mistaken mirage.

Receiving the beauty of the world,

My senses opened, attuned,

Every vibration resonating,

I was a conductor of connectivity.

The Universe poured through me

Into becoming.

But it was hard to hold onto the whole.

The pressing importance of imperfection,

Getting it right,

Belonging, being somehow unloved,

Pulled every criticism into sharp relief.

Every mistake, missed moment

Grew, shadows looming,

Overwhelming my ability to be.

So I faded in and out of existence,

Presence and disappearance

Each taking their turn.

Until I met a man who sees,

And I found a place to become.

Soul spoke to soul

Of something wider than wrongness

An acceptance I had never known was missing.

And I arrived in loving brightness,

All of a piece, light and shade,

Landing in sensual wholeness.

Later, when I left the scene,

Ceding my place to those

More active and confident,

Less vulnerable than I,

I knew you would be fine without me.

I released form and let go,

Soared out into insubstantial space.

Without the restrictions of form,

I could be everywhere.

Receiving the beauty of the Universe,

Letting it pour through me,

I spoke to you through the medium of mystery.

Impossible to understand,

I led you on

By the bleeding feet and fingers

By the lightning bolts of senseless words

By oceans of tears

By images of women bagged up for the bin.

I showed you the spaces in your life

That would not fill.

All the Universe of formlessness is available to me

Beyond the confines of time and space.

I am now, in the past and future.

I am a waif outside on the cold hillside


I am at home with you.

February 2013

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The views expressed here do not necessarily represent the views of the School of Movement Medicine. Roland Wilkinson, Nappers Crossing, Staverton, Devon TQ9 6PD, UK Tel & Fax +44 (0)1803 762255 http://www.