english
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There is something that feels familiar about Poor Things. Behind its surreal, provocative imaging, I see a metaphor that I think neurodivergent women will recognise, whether they’ve named it yet or not. The young, awakening Bella Baxter embodies more than just an odd, fantastical experiment. She reflects a pattern I know in my own DNA:…
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The wind here doesn’t ask for permission.It simply arrives fast, forceful, unrelenting, carving through stone and skin alike. When I first came to Orkney, I thought the silence would heal me. I imagined the cliffs would hold me; the tides would teach me to breathe again. And in some ways, they have. But healing isn’t…
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Just a thought! If we want to avoid victims, if we refuse to become victims ourselves, we must first stop being perpetrators. As human beings, we have an extraordinary power: we create. We create respect, tolerance, equality, and peace; these are ours to wield, and we don’t need aggression to do so because we’re already…
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The hero stands at a crossroads, between two cards: The Devil and Temperance. She has stood before Justice, staring into the mirror of truth. She has hung in the void of The Hanged Man, her world turned upside down in search of understanding. She has surrendered to Death, letting it strip away what could no…
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Orkney has always been a land of omens, where the wind whispers truths few dare to listen to. It is a place where tides do not simply rise and fall, they call and pull, dragging the past from its shallow graves and placing it at your feet. But a sage will learn the art of…
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As we collectively have fallen into the Dark Night Of The Soul, “a spiritual, mental, emotion crisis in the journey of the meaning of life or union with god.” Sensing mother’s womb cry for salvation, still in human slumber, pages in a chivalrous story, neglecting our shadow side (our ego, that part of us that…
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The past six months have been a journey of transformation, marked by the turning of the seasons, each moment bound to the rhythm of nature itself. On the summer solstice, I left Orkney behind, banished by the greed of those who had forgotten their humanity. Homelessness followed, a time of untethered existence where the ground…
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The year began as though I were thrown into the heart of a mythic storm. Like a ship tossed in a wild, unknowable sea, I drifted rudderless, battered, and worn, feeling I could sink at any time. The winds howled fears that gnawed at my sanity as the waves crashed with the weight of loss.…
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Two months now, I’ve been back on these windswept Orkney Islands, with hail clattering against the windows and snow whispering its icy secrets into the night. The days have been long and strange, filled with waiting. I’m still somewhat camping, a nomad between hearths, as I anticipate the day I’ll receive the keys to my…
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As if faith itself has been orchestrating it all along, the paths converge, and you find yourself standing among those who share an unspoken understanding, as if by some cosmic design. The faces around you bear that quiet, knowing look, eyes as deep as the sea, hands reaching as if they could draw the ocean…
Notes from a Time Traveller by Elke Stevens 