the stains of holy water

it is time...

there is another world, down there, beneath
the surface and superfluous;
a world i spoil for,
to revisit time and again,
a world i crave.
it is a beautiful world;
when stripped
of the binding and bondage
of the humdrum
and the crowded mundane.
a vast expanse of golden desert,
where the mouth, dry with thirst,
seeks quenching;
where the temporal
and lumbosacral
dissolve, drenched
from fire and furnace
of desire;
where limbs become molten
and weak.
i seek
one sip from
that fountain.
it is a beautiful escape,
a flank of desert dunes
that shift
with each breath.

i want to lose myself
and all sense of time
and purpose
in this space
and feel the land
slide and arc
beneath me
as i fumble;
because here i could stumble,
for days
circling, crazed by
a thirsty daze.
i long to feel its silken sands
pass through my hands
and taste the salt
on parched lips.

it is time
to disappear from this world
and to make my
ephemeral pilgrimage
to this altar; to exalt
until exhausted,
to pray, idolatrous,
’til consciousness
is lost
amid the stars and the attars,
the incense and
the stains of holy water.
i have time to devote there,
are you ready, my love?

image (c) Kat McDonald Photography
words (c) Kat McDonald 2016

+ it is time, Robert…  are you coming?



a cracked rib. a thorn in my side. [fuck!] seering pain. seeing stars. [don’t move, Kathryn… just close your eyes and breathe…]

i yearn for sleep. a sleep unbroken. the legs feel like sand, heavy; but head and hands are light as air.  the mind, coiled like a cobra in a basket. waiting. the imagination, untethered like a cloud, drifts eagerly above and beyond. the body, grounded, upon a bed of cotton and fur* but it may as well be a bed of nails. i cannot recall my last seven hour sleep. it has been weeks of dotted hours. the air i breathe is lilac to the touch.

prescription painkillers and a scribe are all i have in sight. they are all the entertainment i have tonight. this pain. driving me mad. but the visions are nice. my write hand, seemingly in zero-gravity, struggles to stay down upon the page. inside, i rage. i am invalid. the worst kind of invalid. i will bite. it is going to be the longest night. [you think this is trite, don’t you? fuck you!]

oranges illuminate the world outside. so pretty. the gentle hum of traffic in the distance is a not altogether unpleasant accompaniment to my own breathing. all is still.

i look up at Sirius with his head bowed; pining the death of his master, his starman.  [after all, all that is left are dying stars to illuminate this life… now that our brightest is gone]

“are you lonely?” i yell.

his voice is thin and white; but i hear him through my skin.

(c) Kat McDonald 2016

image: NASA, of course.

*faux, naturally…


wilderness – part two : this is the most honest we have been.

wilderness part 2 COVER

Source: wilderness – part two : this is the most honest we have been.

[a huge fan of Pilgrims, obviously, being one of the singers/songwriters… but don’t let me cloud your judgement.]

this is the sound that came from a gorge . this is what happened when lovers cut each others hair with a samurai sword. this is inside out and up ‘n’ down. this humble creation from this hibernation. baring and purging. this is defining heroes. this is katsu curry & fermented pears. this could be winter. these are our scars. this is our music.

thank you, fellow writers



when i first joined WordPress and began to share my work… my ramblings… with the WordPress community – fellow writers, literary aficionados, critics and publishers etc – i never anticipated anyone would want to read what i had to say, let alone subscribe to my rants and ramblings and share their thoughts on my work, and actually enjoy reading my work or be moved by it in some manner. but i shared it anyway. now i have an international audience of over 1000 readers. so i have to thank you, from the deepest chambers of my heart. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i write from the heart so it really does mean a lot to me when you connect with me – and tell me why you liked a particular piece. it really does resound in the heart. it makes me feel it is all worthwhile and not just a ‘cheaper than therapy’ means of self-expression.

i hope you all continue to read my words. i hope i can always keep you interested, your fascination tickled and make you want to keep returning to share my ‘inner focus’, my words & imagery.

thank you all so very much for your loyalty, those of you who keep returning and leave little footprints by way of comments. i love to hear from you.
and big a big thanks to those of you who merely stumbled upon a particular piece and shared your thoughts with me. i like that too.

one love.

Kat xx




a journey, a long and beautiful journey, that saw me and my words and images drift around the Sun six times has led me here…

… happy 6th anniversary to me!


THANK YOU all of my loyal followers, and accidental readers…

Your support has been noted.



Pilgrims on the radio! LISTEN UP…

Oh my stars… a delightful interview: candid, off-kilter, on fire… explicit honesty, openness and flowing conversation.

4 tracks from Wilderness Part One were played, and the ‘story’ behind each song was brought to light and explored.

2 new tracks (as yet unfinished) played from the imminent Wilderness Part Two, again, each song’s tale was told.

Watch and listen as Pilgrims’ journey unfolds…   (full album & accompanying film coming v. soon!!)


DOWNLOAD ‘WILDERNESS PART ONE’ for FREE << here >> or RECYCLE THE LOVE, leave a donation… 

pilgrims – part one of the journey

ep art1

a sound born in a storm. this is what happened when a bird fell from the sky and foxes followed us home. this is supernatural, homespun honesty. this is soup, at 4am. this is a map of the stars that trace our fate. this is paprika tea. this is animal instinct. this is our story. our music.


words, imagery, music (c) Pilgrims, (c) Robert Davidson, (c) Kat McDonald – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

how to harness lightning


this heavy weather, oppressive and unsustainable, has me in its clutches. i am shivering, with anticipation of something… something more; something epic; something that will shake my world and clear my head.

something is cracking.

the air, crackling, bristling. my body, tingling. electricity, in the air and in my veins, coursing, shimmering and illuminating.

sparks light up the darkened room. i power down my laptop and look outside. my hands are on fire.

can i harness lightning? dare i?

i go outside, into the night, into the storm, to see…

barefoot, i stand on the warm tarmac.  with eyes wide and arms outstretched, i beckon… i summon… i shout your name out.

do you hear me? do you hear my voice through the storm?


awestruck, i watch the light unfurl and blister the gathering skies above me.

flashes of light unfurl, brilliant and sharp as a whip, cut.  mercilessly, stabbing the night air with unyielding ferocity.

i gaze up to the infinite sky and watch as it simmers and begins to boil.

where is the rain?

when will this end.  i do not want it to end, yet i crave the release from this insurmountable tension and folly.

the air is close. i can see it.  particles of white light surround me, float around me. electricity.

this is supernatural. this is exquisite.

i count the seconds between fork and gunshot snare.

i listen as the sky is ripped apart.

i listen as the sky grumbles and bellows above me, straining beneath the weight of this air that engulfs me.


it is not light. it is heavy as night.

i feel the night around me, surrounding me, impounding me.

i reach up and cry out your name, as if summoning a dark magic.

i reach up to the sky and roar, like some crazy woman.  my lips tingle. the air is bristling as charged particles of light swim around me.

the sea, no longer melancholy, has company. she is raging, and closing in. i hear her crash and roar and spew forth her exasperation and desire for a quiet life.

and then it happens.


but only for a split second…

i find myself in the eye of the storm. i can no longer breathe. there is no air. i can no longer count. time has been sucked out and sucked off by the vacuum.  there is no escape, and it’s beautiful.

spears of jagged light are thrown down from above… they pierce and burn all around me.

time has no place here. time has no purpose. time is a servant.

there is only light and noise, an ear-splitting noise as particles war and destroy angels.

the ground shakes, my body quakes. i remain steadfast and fearless. i dare not weep at the beauty i witness.

i stand barefoot, in my absent lover’s shirt. we were borne of a storm. across the raging sea, he breathes.

do you feel it, my love?  do you feel the electricity, connecting you to me?

i hear my heart pound as loud as the thunder that pounds the ground.

oh that sound.

i miss you…

i ache for the sky.  the broken sky.  that noise. that absolute noise. that beautiful terrifying noise as the sky is ripped wide open as is my beating heart.  all i feel is love and exhilaration; awe and collectedness.

and now the rain falls.  heavy.  a release.  i ache for him.

i drink in the rain, feeling it soak my dry bones.

amid the wail of car alarms, i find myself laughing amid tears as i run my hands through my drenched hair…

i smile up at the sky.

and only God knows why…

(c) Kat McDonald 2015

– last night’s storm was epic. i have travelled the world and witnessed storms in far-flung places but i have never witnessed a storm in Scotland such as this.  i lost two hours.  i lost my mind.




in this supposed summer, i find myself waiting.

waiting for light

waiting for night

waiting to cross each busy street;

waiting tables watching others eat;

waiting for the sun,

with hands chewed to the bone.

                                                       but i will wait for you

to turn

and return…

and garner my laughter and my sense of fun

and answer my question

“where is the sun?”

i’ve not seen in so long,

i fear i’ll forget the feel of his warmth;

the flight of his fire and light.

i will wait for you

to answer my question:

“where has he been hiding?

where can one hide when you are larger than life…”


maybe he’s never existed.

it’s a thought…

[a ridiculous thought. dismiss. dismiss.

don’t be bitter, kathryn

don’t be so remiss

and absurd.]

Note to self: perhaps in your quest

you will find yourself…


so… where is the sun?

i find myself waiting.  waiting for what?

waiting for life to happen…

i wish i could fly…

for i

am done waiting tables

and waiting for hours

for things i have yet to define.

my hands are fucked

and my eyes plucked;

and so, i am done with this sleepless dark

and burgeoning heart.

i turn and return to you


because you…

you are something else.

you, with crystal vision-

you, with otherwordly wisdom-

you come, and go, with wings outstretched

bright and beautiful

you are a dragonfly…

Lord Tennyson was right

you are, indeed…

… a living flash of light.


down by the water,

where the river returns home,

i will be waiting

to hold thee and forget.

(c) Kat McDonald 2015



the sun throws strange shapeshifting shadows across a white wall. they dance to the hum of traffic. quiet time. the mind is not quiet. the mind is a fairground. a fairground distraction. thoughts and memories spin, like a big wheel of disjointed thoughts, round and up to a dizzying height; the urgency of emotions make the belly lurch, like a rollercoaster of emotional spin, alternating currents of momentary weightlessness and serious gravity.



the  mind              is     lost.


the body, tight, an over-wound spring.
the mind, a sidewinder, coiled and primed.
step back, for it will attack.


(c) Kat McDonald 2015