Category Archives: Love

The untamed wilderness of heart-song…

Each heartbeat a longing for desire

Each step a call to the wild

The wind stirs up the dust of lust

Dancing in the moonlight

Circling your soul

Heat radiating from the Earth

Warming your thoughts

Power rising in the night

Simplicity and eternity

Woven into the galaxy

Stars twinkling with a mischievous grin

Sweet fragrant blossoms of the midnight hour

The scent of untamed beauty

The opening of a heart

The echo of a promise

The lure of a future

If you only step beyond the imaginary confines of your mind

And out into the wild

To wield your magic into the night

By Yours Truly a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 


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Tender loving care and frustrating thoughts…

There was one day last year when I felt a little bit embarrassed and all I wanted to do was go hide in my best friend’s kitchen. Only she was in Greece. And I was frustrated.

I wanted my best friend. I wanted to cook with her and laugh with her and host dinner parties with her. Like it’s supposed to be. Only it hasn’t been like that for years because we live in different countries. We don’t share a house anymore and our friends no longer come marching over saying we’re “the hostesses that are the mostestes”. And it sucks.

That particular day it sucked even more because I felt humiliated as something had happened that touched upon an old wound. So I wanted to be with someone who made me feel loved for who I am and who would laugh together with me at the ridiculous thoughts we have surrounding old wounds. I wanted someone who made me forget my pain, in short. Because I really didn’t want to face it.

Today I woke up exhausted – my boy is scared of ghosts and he won’t sleep unless he sleeps next to me, or his sister. He was raised in a township and he never had a bed of his own till he came to stay with me and he still hates it. We’re working through this issue, but in the meantime to save myself from horrid tantrums at bedtime he either falls asleep in the couch in my bedroom and then wakes up and sleeps in my bed, or he sleeps next to me or his sister all night. Last night he slept next to me, so I couldn’t sleep properly and woke up exhausted with a headache.

I was irritable and I felt horrible. All I could think was that I wanted someone to hug me and look after me so I could relax. I didn’t want to clean up the mess after the kids, work and attend meetings. I wanted to be pampered. And given I’d never sink so low as to admit to wanting a man that’s like not cool. According to my ego, it’s so not cool.

What’s more, I was irritated with myself because I’ve been so happy lately and I wasn’t prepared to face a day of being a grumpy old fart. After three years of battling problems the size of Mount Everest I’ve finally turned a leaf and then…I’m grumpy? As someone with a history of depression I do not like gray days. I do not like them one bit.

So I clearly wanted TLC, which I didn’t want to admit to, but it would be a quick fix for my intolerable mood. And I wasn’t going to get it. Which was frustrating as hell. It was like wanting to go to see my best friend and knowing that it would take months before it happened (though now it’s just TWO weeks!!!!!!). I might be decent at magicking up men, but the same day? Besides, I’ve promised myself not to do it like that anymore because like The mousetrap… will clarify, when I magick up men…

With no snuggle party in sight and me wanting to hit myself in the head with an iron skillet for wanting one in the first place, I decided to do the next best thing: use my intuition (OK so that’s like the first thing to do, not the second, but hey…).

Intuition fucking rocks. Whilst it might not immediately relieve you of your headache or sexual frustration (take your pick) it does help you see the obvious solutions you couldn’t see when focusing on all the illogical logic brought to you by an overwhelming stream of thoughts and emotions.

Today I realized I can still create magic, even when I’m tired and have a headache. I’m not “bad” because I run out of energy. I’m still a magic pixie who can throw about my fairy dust when I look upon the world like poetry. I can choose my focus and instead of focusing on my frustration at being tired, I can look upon the same mountain I looked upon yesterday feeling inspired. I can still write poetry and marvel at the beauty of life. There are also ways to recharge that will truly recharge me – I realized that I need to relax in nature, which I fully intend to do this weekend.

I want my best friend to spend more time with me, even when I’m in the best of all possible moods. I genuinely miss her like crazy and I know we have to take responsibility for spending more time together instead of bitching about being apart. She’s one of the people who make me feel free because she allows me to be me, as described in Painting the sky with stars… However, she’s not an excuse to hide from my pain and thereby avoid dealing with it.

And whilst I need to face up to the fact that we all need TLC and open myself up to that, no matter how humiliating I think it feels, I can’t run myself to the ground and then expect someone else to pick up the pieces.

We all need to take responsibility for our own lives and emotions, whilst simultaneously accept that no matter where we are along the way, we’re worthy hugs. Big juicy hugs. And I would really love some.


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Out of the shadows and into the light…

What makes you squirm uncomfortably? Often somewhere in our squirming moments we tend to find ourselves.

Personally I have this issue with helplessness and receiving care; usually because I confuse the two.

If people care for me I think they believe I need their care because I have some flaw, something I can’t handle myself, and they pity me and want to help. It’s a most humiliating feeling.

As a kid I thought the only reason most people cared for me was because I’d lost my mom. I was bullied and my step-mom wasn’t particularly nice to me so when people were nice I assumed it was pity, because so many people weren’t nice to me, meaning I must have some fault. Otherwise, why was I constantly rejected?

I even had this idea my mom hadn’t loved me – she refused hugging me the last time I saw her, then she died without leaving behind any letters left saying she loved me. It was not a good 24 hours of my life. And afterwards there was a huge hole inside of me and I didn’t know how to fill it. Being cared for by someone hurt when you could lose them, so my six year old self thought.

What’s more, my dad always encouraged me to better myself, so on another plane, I had this idea love was related to achievement. The only times I felt love was real was when people said “I love you, but…” Because then I could keep the idea of being flawed. If they seemed to just randomly love me, without pitying me (i.e. they actually seemed to care), I thought them stupid, or blind…take your pick.

Together with some early on rejections on the love front (try having your emotions and rejection trumpeted to a whole school when you’re fifteen – I blushed for a week straight), I’m not very good with emotions. I simply don’t want to confess to having them (not even to myself), because I think they cause trouble.

This has manifested in different ways in my life. First I became shy as I figured it was better being rejected for who I was not, than showing my real me. Then I wanted to change that and ended up always trying to prove my own strength. My can-do attitude. My willingness to perfect myself. My fiercely independent spirit. I feel safe when I’m independent. I feel in charge.

As my principal in drama school would have said, I’ve gone from using one cover (shy) to using another (independent). Being the seeker I am (and being as miserable as I was) I’ve always worked on myself though. I wanted to find happiness and happiness has a lot to do with self-love, loving people and letting them love you back. So I’ve worked on it. And recently what made me realize there’s a way to go is the “being cared for” thing.

When people try to care for me beyond my comfort level three things might happen: I feel suffocated (I can’t accept the care), I feel embarrassed (clearly they think I need help), or I think they’re being ridiculous (i.e. still thinking people blind to the real me). In some cases, I might also question if they’re doing it just to later embarrass me by telling me it wasn’t real (it really was very traumatic being fifteen, OK). If I actually want to receive the care I feel completely helpless because I don’t know how to. This leads to me wanting to be alone so I can feel powerful again and I can turn mean in the process of pushing people away.

Due to this I have had a tendency to fall for aloof men – men I connect with intellectually and/or physically. I don’t have to open up emotionally, because they’re like clams (or well, you know, a little bit clammy at least). They’re never completely into me, which means I don’t truly have to ever lose them. They won’t look after me, so I won’t feel stupid.

When I dated caring men in the past, it was always men I didn’t really have a connection with, so they never got close and I remained safe and aloof.

In a nutshell: the guys I liked didn’t care and the guys who liked me I didn’t care about.

Now, I could blame this on fate, or I could look at the common denominator in all this: me. I choose to look at me.

This year I’ve decided to turn everything in my life on its head, including my emotional life. I will do the things I fear the most. Like opening up socially in the place I call home, instead of waiting to go to places where I feel anonymous and safe. I will professionally go where I’m the most scared to go, because I care the most. I will also only date caring men I care about AND have a connection with. It will probably make me wanna puke, run for my life and feel like a claustrophobic person stuck in an elevator, but I’m determined that the only relationships I will have are soulful ones. In fact, I want everything in my life to be soulful – my work, my home, my kids, my friends…

For so long I’ve wanted to be the person who didn’t care, who didn’t feel, who just went on adventures and ran off with the circus. Well, whilst I do like the adventures and I’d happily join a circus for a while, I’d like to explore caring. Right here, right now. I’d also like to explore being with someone. Someone who would go on adventures with me; near and far. Someone I could create a home with, but also have freedom with. I like being independent, but I don’t like being a fool. And I’ve been a fool for long enough.


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Love and pigeons…

The Dance of Love

I want to tear the confines of my soul open

Dance across the shattered pieces of barb wired fences

Stand naked in the glory of the unknown

I want to sip the dew at dawn

Without consideration that this might be the last

Or the first

Of Everything

I want to sit surrounded by love

Knowing that the false pretense

Is all gone

I want to experience

Every nook and cranny of my soul

I want to dance

On the thorns of my past

And see myself melt into the nothingness

Which is Everything

I want to be free

Yet I scratch my back at the barb wired fence that I built round my soul

I tear at it

I scream in pain

And as blood rushes over me

I yell at others to make them open it

To set me free

I push them, hoping they’ll get so angry

They’ll tear me to pieces

So I can open

So I can be free

So I can love

I’m holding onto my fence

I tear at it

It hurts

I wonder why I can’t make it open?

Why it can’t go away?

Then I let go

I lick my bleeding hands

I take a step

Then another

I dance

I feel my body turned onto the steps

I awaken

I breathe

There’s freedom within my movement

There’s life in my steps

I love to dance

And love, love changes everything.


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Pigeon Thoughts 

The pigeon is looking at me

Impressions in ink

Thoughts sliding across the mountain

Like tiny dots of fluffy white

Waves crashing against the shore

Reminders of the wild

And the untamed

My Africa

Adventure pulls at my soul

My heartbeat quickens

A smile twinkles in the corner of my lips

I stand

I go to cook dinner

Maybe tomorrow.

We Are

We are all the ripple effects of each others’ consciousnesses

As we laugh

As we cry

As we reach for another cigarette

Or whatever our kind of poison

We touch a soul

Somewhere in the distant skies

So maybe

If I smile, just a little

I’ll tickle your soul

With a feather of delight.

old_9554Ralph Gibson; Leda

The Battle

Opportunities palpable

Breathing; whispering in the distance

Chances pulsating through the night

Giggles rising as your dreams chase them

You wake

Thoughts overpowering

Logic so illogical

Debates inside your mind

Pros and cons

Predicting the future with your head

Round and round

So many thoughts

So many roads to get there

So many things you could do to manipulate fate

Instead you slumber

You listen to your heart

It asks you to set it free

To let it roam

And trust that one day the thoughts will be silent

And your path revealed.

The Confines of Your Mind

I dance

Outside the confines of my mind

A choreography of lunacy

Illuminated by moonlit spells

Truth emerges

Until the confines no longer confine me.


I’ll be Rimbaud, you’ll be Verlaine

I’ll be Kahlo, you’ll be Trotsky

You’ll be Byron, I’ll be Lamb

You’ll be Shakespeare, I’ll have black wires on my head

You’ll be Da Vinci, we’ll be arrested for sodomy

The path of true love

Never did run smooth

And we’ll go down in history

Because lord what fools these mortals be.

Ludicrous Enlightenment

Between Jungian metaphors

And split consciousnesses

You’ll dance

I’ll play the fiddle

Dreams in waking hours

Sleep deprived nights of lucid moments

Echoes of truth

Amidst foolish thoughts

A wolf tooth for wild adventures

A dolphin’s call to play

Idiotic synchronicity

As the stars chase your name

And I knit the fabric of my soul.

By Yours Truly, a.k.a. Maria Montgomery 


Filed under dance, Dancing, Freedom, Love, poetry, Spirituality, Uncategorized

Sunny with a Chance of Love Affairs – Why Brexit Won’t Lead to (Only) Break-Ups

Home is not where you were born – home is where the heart is. As someone who has lived abroad since I was 19 and fought several visa battles, I’m sure of it. And in the wake of Brexit I predict a wave of love across Europe. Why? There’s nothing like people determined to get visas to set the scene for international romance. If you weren’t certain whether to marry your girlfriend or boyfriend before, the idea of being separated by borders will soon get you in the spirit. It might even make you fall in love with someone new if you’re single, because suddenly your time in a place could be limited. And a lack of time always leads to an opening of the heart, for some peculiar reason.

Today I see tumult in my Facebook feed. I see anger and disappointment. I see panic. And I see a great deal of humor and people fighting to keep the international love going. What possibly cracked me up the most (as serious as the matter is) was people wanting London to become an independent state so they could stay in the EU – having lived in London on and off for 14 years I recognize the international spirit that binds Londoners together. And as sad as I am with the outcome, I am certain that Brexit isn’t going to break the spirit of London. The Londoners won’t let it.

There are serious issues within Britain that made people vote for Brexit. Those issues have to be addressed. There are also serious issues within the EU that need to be resolved. And there will be serious consequences because of the vote. I’m Swedish and have a business in Britain. Today wasn’t a good day for me. But tomorrow might be, because no one knows what something will lead to. Besides, I always did say that the best thing about London is its proximity to Paris, so today I told the director for my business we might just have to pack up the company (together with our brollies and wellies) and catch the Eurostar. He remains British though and I Swedish. It’s still an international affair. And there are so many more such affairs that won’t be broken because of this vote. If anything, some people will fight even harder to remain in international waters.

Currently I’m fighting to get a permanent residency visa in South Africa to be able to adopt the kids who call me mom (it’s a long story) and I can’t begin to describe how I feel about certain man made borders. I woke up feeling like I walked into a wall this morning, but I don’t think today should be a day for mourning. I think today should be a day to step into the spirit of working across borders even better than before and address the problems that make people want to close their borders. I think it should be a day where, no matter what the government says, people decide to keep the borders in their hearts open. Because it’s never a matter of closing borders: it’s about keeping problems away and solving the problems at hand. Sadly, many confuse the two.

So yes, my prediction is a wave of love spreading across Europe. All the Brits who have fallen in love with French cuisine will soon end up falling in love with the French too. Not to mention the Brits who have got caught up in linguine and rolling Tuscan hills – there will be Italian weddings! And all those EU citizens in Britain and the Brits swarming around them…in this summer heat there will be more romances than there are brollies in Britain.

Keep calm and love on.


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French kissing…

“Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.” That’s what Shelley says about kissing and it sounds damn good. Personally I think I’ve experienced anything but.

There were the kind of kisses that tasted like fairy dust – you knew the men would magically disappear as soon as the moment was gone.

Other kisses were so good you felt them in your knees…but somehow the same guy never had that effect again.

Some kisses were just persistent – you ended up with a rash on your chin for weeks to come. And maybe the stubble was sexy and the kissing good, but soul? It was the kind where two souls are drawn together in a storm; fragments of the souls flying about and meeting on your lips without any kind of binding love. Like two magnets filled with parts that reject and attract at the same time. You see something in each other, but the rest you don’t want to see.

Then there were the kind of kisses where you could taste the regret in your mouth, whether his or yours. Rancid kisses sprinkled with attraction. Possibly the worst kind.

At times kisses tasted of love and maybe there was a bit of their soul, or even all, but  you asked yourself if it was really meant to feel that way? Because it didn’t feel like when you were fifteen and madly in love with some guy you’d never date. It felt different. Like a friendship with kissing. A soulmate you were drawn to, but not attracted to. Not in that way. It’s like discovering there’s salt in your honey – it just tastes wrong. And so you can’t get lost in the kiss. Even if you kiss them for years.

There were air kisses too. The ones where you felt they meant nothing, whether you wanted them to, or not. Like kissing the air looking for meaning. Only the air was empty.

Of course there were also kisses of desire. Maybe you thought one day they’d be more. Or you thought spice would be nice, for a change. Either way, it never led to that soul meeting. Then again I guess each meeting is a meeting with a soul. Even if none of you put your soul in the kiss, or the other can’t taste the soul given.

Personally, right now, “I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me.”* With their soul. Tear me naked with their soul. Bare me with love. Till then, I’ll…refrain from kissing. I think. Maybe.

* quote from Kim Addonizio (I came across some quotes whilst writing product descriptions for Magique. If you don’t know my brand it’s a lot about love. And desire. I’ve spent half the weekend trying to invent the scent of sin. It’s hard going. I think I once smelled it, but unfortunately it wasn’t essential oils. And I have a deadline. For the scent of sin. So help me lord.)

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Warm hugs and snuggles…

The other day after a cold dip in the pool at night I asked my little boy if he wanted some hot and spicy food? “Yes. And warm hugs,” was the reply. I heated up some homemade pumpkin Thai curry with rice noodles and he decided it was his favorite food. Ever. Afterwards he started singing “Mommy is the best, yum, yum.”

A year and a half ago the same boy, in Afrikaans, called me a bitch, a whore and a cunt on a daily basis. There was one time he was standing in a glass bowl, on a table, screaming. My tactic was to ignore him and praise good behavior and with that tactic, everything changed, but when he stood on the table that day I thought my life was going to hell just the same. At the time they stayed with me as their relatives were too tired to look after them.

Back then I had to put everything on top of the fridge. Anything that could be used as a weapon that is. My gemstone collection that used to decorate the table, any small item and so forth – anything that was the right size for being thrown at you in anger. Most things ended up on top of the fridge at some point or another.

One night when him and Miss T got it into their heads there were ghosts in the shower, I jumped around in the shower singing “There are no ghosts in the shower, there are no ghosts in the shower.” Dancing and singing proved a great distraction method for tantrums – one morning an impromptu performance of The Lady Is a Tramp (my repertoire is limited – I don’t know any breakfast songs) steered off another tantrum. The night of the shower episode though, he eventually tried hitting me in the shower and I was literally so angry I was shaking as I was singing. I was close to a nervous breakdown after weeks of non-stop tantrums – it was impossible to take him anywhere as he might decide to run away in the store, throw stones at people in the park, steal something, or jump out of the car. As a result I had constant stomach aches and chest pains and his sister was miserable.

This was in combination with people at Little Angels losing near ones, people relapsing to drugs, people getting cancer, family being ill, me losing a big client and having previously had RSI in my hands that year, unable to make money. Everything was going to hell and we had no money for resources for anything. I knew my boy loved me. I knew he was working through years of abuse. I knew he wasn’t used to living in a stabile environment. I knew all that, but all the same, I was a wreck.

People told me to give up on the children. I told them you don’t do that. You don’t give up on children. Faux pas.

Just now the twins sat snuggled up next to me watching Pan. Before that they were playing in the pool. Every day I have with them I know how blessed I am, because I know how far we’ve come. Every time they call me mommy I know I earned that title. When they smile at me, or hug me, I earned that. When I see them happily playing together, I know I contributed to that. When they do their beds, or eat properly, I know I taught them that. No one at home pays attention like that.

Till I have permanent residency I have no legal rights. I can’t adopt. I don’t know what their family will do next, I never do. Ever so often they decide to give them away to relatives. The ones that aren’t in and out of prison, mad, or high on tik (meth). I ended up in trouble the other week for taking a picture of a drug dealer’s car outside their house. For a while a convicted murderer lived there, but it turned out he was more someone who took the law in his own hands to protect people (though killing is obviously not the solution) and I heard it through the grape wine he’d decided to protect myself and Liezl as he is certain we bring good change to the community.

Sometimes when I stand there, waiting for the twins, looking around, or talking to other neighbors and kids, I wonder how I ended up there? I’m Maria. The woman quite a few kids in Hangberg fantasize about having as their mother (and would no doubt take out all their frustrations on), but I’m just this Swedish girl who grew up in the countryside. I bake pancakes on Sundays. I wear clogs in my garden. Admittedly I also wear stilettos and leather pants, but still – there I stand, talking to drug dealers, gang members, mad people, high people and thieves like it was completely normal. That’s usually when it strikes me how abnormal it is. Yet, it’s part of this world. This world us humans have created. And if none of us stand up to change it, we’ll lose the possibility of happiness.

I was emotionally abused as a child so I know what it feels like. I know self-hatred and loathing very well. I know what loneliness is. I know what praise, compliments and love mean for the same reason. And when I see a child change, when I see hope and love in their eyes, that’s everything to me. That journey.

It’s the same with adults – it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, all that matters is where you are going. I care little about people’s past, but all the more about their future. And love is the only bloody thing that’s ever going to change it.

Raising other people’s kids might not be your thing, but do me a favor – go love someone who “doesn’t deserve it” and see what happens. Everyone has a heart, no matter how far removed they are from it. Love can take them back there, but they might have forgotten how to do it. So show them.


That’s my boy. 

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