i am toad 
i was minding my own business just sitting still 
there was noise, the earth shook, i was trembling i was scared it came closer and closer, noise and movement, grass was cut away and it started falling all around me, my world was total chaos, there was nowhere safe to run, 
i did not move, i kept lying low, the roar was everywhere. it was everywhere
and then it subsided, the rumble lessened, disruption moved on, all was quiet once more....
everything is different, 
i do not understand what happened, i lost all 
birds are singing again leaves rustling
sounds normal 
i am shaken and sit waiting, i survived, i am alive 
as stated previously I am not a believer, not in gods, not in fairies, I accept facts. There is no denying the fact of beings having moved into the studio, how they got here is at times unclear, but they are here to stay; then there are the beings out there that I am sometimes fortunate enough to notice. These beings bring with them stories, their stories not mine. This is fact: they're telling me what they want to reveal, it's not my imagination it is beyond what I am capable of imagining. I am not judging whether what they tell me is truth or not, just recording...I am a record keeper of our traces, we all leave our marks in one way or another


Anonymous said…
intense, your hearing of the stories, and so lovely. I keep thinking about you not wanting to harm the leaves by pounding on them and wondering if perhaps something is wrong with me because such a thought would not occur to me (maybe plucking the leaves, but not after?)And I wonder, too -- do you actually hear these stories? Or do they only come as your scribe them down?
i have been waiting for this
stitching and here it is...i can
feel my fingertips tingle looking
at it...
and just thinking, maybe it
doesn't matter at all, what you
"believe in" or not..., because
What Is, is. With you or without
Saskia said…
nothing's wrong with you Dee, and besides I may feel it's cruel, but that doesn't stop me!!
it's just that at certain unpredictable moments I question what is accepted: plants don't feel and so (occasionally) when pounding or plucking leaves I ask self: what if they do feel, how awful!!.....and also for me to live something has to die (with or without feeling) on it goes; as to your last question, honestly I can't say I hear anything, but at the same time whilst writing it's not me writing...if that makes sense

most certainly Grace, what is, is, and I am grateful it is with or without me (what a responsebility otherwise)
so glad to be stitching again



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