In 1998 the Danish Ministry of Cultural Affairs honored Majbritte Ulrikkeholm with a full scholarship for three years in recognition of her work as a singer/songwriter and ecpecially for her way of exploring the poetry in the Danish language.
Already as a child she started appearing on stage with her sisters, and later on she began writing her own songs. While growing up she became familiar with Afro-American gospel music and sang in various churches. Along the way Majbritte Ulrikkeholm developed her own singing style and as a singer she is famous for her way of mixing primordial sounds, classical high pitch, gospel, jazz and blues with her own poetry.
During the last twenty years she has given concerts in churches and concert halls, in meeting houses and libraries, on television and on the radio.
“Majbritte Ulrikkeholm carries the voice of being in every song she sings. She is guardian of the mystical; carrying the flicker of everything larger than us so it can help us know ourselves and each other. Take these songs with you into the world the way you would take water on a long hike. Majbritte’s voice will take you to the place where all artists go after selfless work, the place that lets us know—whatever we have is enough.”
– Mark Nepo, author of Book of Awakening
Characteristic of Majbritte Ulrikkeholm’s books is her way of crossing the bridge between the realm of reality and the realm of dreams. Her books owe a lot to her being a song-writer, written as they are in a poetic language and with a rhythm that resembles the language in songs and musical compositions.
In 1997 Majbritte Ulrikkeholm wrote her first book “Into my Heaven”, and the book was followed by eleven books including novels, short stories and books about spirituality and the creative proces.
Previous review on the novel Marias Miracle Jyllands Posten 1998
when the last page is turned you are left with the same feeling as having witnessed the performance of a grandiose classical concert
She is also a popular teacher and she has written the book The magical dimension and The return of the Goddess about about her work that aims to free the human ressources through creative work such as writing and singing.
MORE ABOUT THE MUSIC
An important project for her as a composer has been to add music to her three favorite poets Kahlil Gibran, William Blake and Walt Whitman. The trilogy was published by Fønix Musik.
SONGS OF THE EARTH
At the latest she has recorded old sacred songs from different continents of the world together with producer Søren Frieboe. The two muscicians have taken the liberty to mix the old songs with their own music and arrangements – as a tribute to the spirit of the Earth.
ROME, MY LOVE – Prologue
Holes in the Sky
We do come in every night, carried by the wind bringing with us the Mediterranean salt as a memory. We follow the Tiber as a vein that leads us back to our destination. We are heading for the golden roofs, and we find them as in a dream that has no will. We are led – to where the people are, and we fly among the illuminated statues, and from here we can see the small lights that people have laboriously placed so that one can better see the petrified creatures from the ground. In all their splendor.
Human beings are really gorgeous. We can see that. And from time to time they look up to see their own creations from the ground – Marcus Aurelius, teams of horses, angels, warriors, oversized men and women, the Coliseum, a show of force that can take your breath away if you view it from the Earth . In a frog´s perspective. A perspective that does not exist in the Italian language. But soon we will know about that. Not yet. But we will get to know about many things. Things we did not know about. Because basically we don´t know very much. We only know that the sea holds a compelling depth, and we know of a world under the sea as great as the world above the sea. A dome reversed, a reflected image, where rigid forms when mirrored, begin to move refracted by the waves of foam. We know that the ocean is moving, that people are moving. When they have the courage to look down into the depths. We know that, and we remember it every night when we bring with us the salt and the foam as a memory. We know that people petrify just as the twelve apostles on the roof of Saint Peter’s Cathedral, if they are not in search of the sea. But we are coming in. For we are also attracted to life on the Earth.
Maybe I should not say we, because I might be a little different from the others. I am the one who always stays another little while to get a glimpse – of the beautiful people. They fascinate me. The others say that I should just remember the sea, the salt, the infinite depth and not be concerned about anything other but the food that we came for in the first place. But I come to Rome for other reasons than the food. I come to see the illuminated beings, the petrified figures, the Coliseum as a big magical ring surrounding human desire and the wish to be the greatest of all.
The others do not understand me. They reject all this as a childish mindset of the people, and they say that there is no other than this: to come in from the sea remembering the depth and the salt, to obtain food and to return to the sea, to the wind and to the foam. An infinate circulation. And I see this circulation symbolized when I approach Coliseum. The circle. The ring. The mighty symbol. Man-made.
However I also see that there is something outside of the circle. I can see this from here while in my flight. There is an other purpose than finding food before I return to the depths, the open, the foam and the salt. There are other things in life, but they can never be a part of me. I can never descend to Earth, and therefore I have never seen what they see from down there, when they sigh out of admiration, as if they let go of something – from deep inside. When they see the mighty, whatever it is, illuminated by lamps that only I can see, because I fly close to these masterpieces. I fly among them. In and out. Among terraces and towers, warriors, teams of horses, angels and trees that grow high up on the man-made terraces.
Trees should grow on Earth. Trees should be the cord to Earth, but not here. In Rome, the trees grow high up in the sky in soil that the people have carried with them all the way to the roofs and the terraces because they have this perpetual need to be connected to the ground. Even when they are up here. Where we are.They do not come here without bringing their trees with them all the way. Into the sky.
I don´t know if they are afraid of letting go of the Earth. Perhaps they don´t know that this is what we do when we rise to find the holes in the sky where no effort is needed. Here we lie on top of the wind just like a person who covers their beloved … oh, that’s why I love human beings. Because I’ve seen them when they let go of the will and the power and allow the wind to do the work. It´s then I love the people far more than anything I could ever think of.
I also love the other gulls, and I love to watch them when they find the holes in the sky, where they simply glide. It thrills me to see one of the others finding the place where neither the will of the wings nor the physical force is needed, and there is nothing but the ability to rise above man´s show of force and superiority. It is from this precise “spot” that Coliseum can be seen as an illuminated ring, that reminds us of life’s eternal circulation, the constant coming in from the sea, the moving along the Tiber toward the golden roofs and the eternal return to the grand, infinite deep sea, which is a reflection of life on Earth. A reflection where all the petrified beings sway and bend, become supple and let go of the will and the power to follow the movements, the water, the foam and the salt.
But most of all I love human beings. For two reasons. Let me put it as simply as I can: love and music. I know that when they glide, it is something quite special, because they don´t have wings like us. But they want to glide. And because they don´t have wings they must make a greater effort, they must find other ways. We have often laughed at them when they placed wings on their back and threw themselves from the highest places. And then they flew. But they didn´t really fly. We could tell from the comical invention that they call wings, that they wanted to become birds.
But they are not birds, and if they really want to fly, then they would have to take wing on human terms. And he who does not have wings, can never fly like a bird. Well, maybe for a while. On artificial wings that may bring about a momentary feeling of truly flying. But to really fly one must take the circumstances into consideration and turn the drawbacks into blessings. One must act in accordance with the factual conditions, and he who too often puts the artificial wings on, has a tendency to forget how to develop his real capacity – for flying.
Birds fly like birds. People fly like people. But many people don´t know that. That I understand from floating in and out among petrified illuminated creatures, and from the trees that people have brought all the way up here to create the sensation that they are still close to Earth. And that is exactly my point. They don´t really want to let go of the Earth. That´s why they bring their trees with them – to make sure they dont fall. They are afraid of the great deep sea, which you need to be familiar with – if you really want to fly.
But when people do fly, it is beautiful. More beautiful than when we fly. For we were meant to fly. It is our destiny to fly. Maybe man is destined to be close to the Earth. It looks that way when they bring the trees up into the sky. But when they rise … oh, then how I love the people. When they do find their own wings, not just stumbling around in the air all in large and clumsy artificial wings in order to get a taste of freedom. When they fly. Really fly. And I have seen it. When people fly, they are beautiful. The become radiant like stars, and I watch them underneath me and they show me that on the Earth there is a reflection of the great starry sky. Yet there are not so many lights in the sky of the Earth, because only very few people have really learned the art of flying, but I know that when they light up their stars, there is love.
And I’ve seen these Earth stars ignite and blaze and then die out. I’ve seen them when they just like the Aldebaran lights up in green and yellow and red, and then I have taken the chance to fly above them, just to be near this light. I have flown as close as I possibly could, and every time I almost got their heads, they laughed loudly and uttered a sound which I have only heard from the luminous Earth stars. They laugh in a special way when they fly. And they sing. From the depths of their very softest place where they no longer have a need to build towers or to illuminate the teams of horses on the roofs or to make lions fight against powerful men. They sing, the people. And they play the most amazing instruments, which only sound beautiful when they fly. The human voice, the sound of a bow touching the strings of a cello. A voice finding the place in the body where there is no will, a bow finding the place where there is neither will nor weakness. Just at that precise place, that exact spot. Right there, I can hear the sound of them flying. The people. And right there when they meet one another without the obstruction of the will, led by inexplicable circumstances, right there, I know that they find the exact place I find when my holes in the sky reveal themselves to me as flowing arteries guiding me from the sea along the Tiber to the city and the beautiful people.
And today I hear it. The sound of a bow touching a string. Without the obstruction of the will, but still not slack. It is Bach’s Cello Suites. I recognize the sound. It is one of the Sarabandes. Oh, this dancing floating melody that rises and falls, consisting only of tones and space. I listen for the space between the notes. I think people are listening for the tones. And perhaps this is precisely what makes us so different. I listen for the space. They listen for the tones. They listen for what there is. I listen for what there is not. Space. And I know that when this space is in the music, then there is love. And when that space exists between people, then there is love. But they listen for the tones, and they are afraid of the empty space in which love resides.
That’s why they put all sorts of things in the beautiful empty spaces. And love disappears, and the stars are quietly extinguished – without any of them even noticing. They turn into dead stars that wander side by side through an endless life consisting only of repetitions, and they act as we do: they rise from the sea, they find food, they live – and eventually they die as extinguished planets in the sky.
But today I´ve caught it. The Sarabande floating through the open terrace door of her room. She is listening. It is calming her. I know that she is nervous because she is humming along with the melody. It is a voice that is familiar with singing. I would even say it´s a professional voice. I think she is a singer. I would like to see her, and I would love to listen more to this human voice, that sounds a bit troubled. I still don´t know why. I fly closer. She comes out on the terrace. She does not see me. She sees us. I can see that, because her eyes follow us. But she does not see me. She sees us – a flock. She does not understand that I am me and that I have my own life. She does not know that I have a special interest in people, the human voice, the music and the love.
I fly closer. She is not from here. She is blond with long, flowing hair that reminds me of rays. A lock of hair flies to the front of her eyes. She pushes it off, but it comes back. She moves her hand in quick tiny little gestures, and now I see a man coming out on to the terrace next door. She sees him too, and she turns her face pretending she hasn´t seen him. At the same time he notices her the moment he set foot on the terrace. He also pretends he doesn´t see her. This is really fun. I hover in the air. And I chuckle within myself. I want to cry out, but I do with the chuckle. Now I would rather not have them see me. I want to watch the scene
“Oh,” he says trying to appear inquiring.
She turns toward him.
“Oh,” she says and removes the returning lock of hair in one of her rapid gestures.
And then she laughs. And what I hear is the sound of pearls being sung. It tells me she is a singer. For when she laughs she sings. She throws her head back and then she leans forward in spasms of sound.
“Oh,” she says in between the convulsive fits.
And he becomes more and more embarrassed. I can see it, because he pulls his neck back as if a big wave had come toward him. A great wave of life that he does not know how to handle.
“Oh,” he says to be part of the joke.
And then they both laugh.
I think they can fly. I think they have all the opportunities in the world. The laughter tells me so. They laugh at themselves and their own petrifaction. This is the first step toward the ultimate flight.
And I have decided to stay around them. I want to see that light. Just one single time. Before I return to the sea.