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EMA SEC

Ema Sec is a piece of eARTh. Becoming a mother at a very young age, freeing herself from the heaviness of the society’s expectations and finding inspiration in nature, Ema after giving birth to her two daughters saw that birthing process holds a priceless key to access a portal of intuitive guidance.

Currently living in Mallorca, writing poems filled with breastmilk, soul lessons and healing, making a film about motherhood, aiming for self sufficiency. Ema is trusting the universe’ calling to become a doula and accompany other women on a journey of self discovery and connection to their unique true essence.

On her path nature’s belly has been her home, a place to release old wounds and tear old patterns apart. Plant new seeds and let them flourish. She often turns her head up towards the sky and holds a prayer. In the mother nature’s hands she feels the kingdom of unconditional love unlock softly.

Ema is wearing Dry jumpsuit.

She thrives in company of her daughters and believes she can help their initiation into priestesshood. “The way I choose to parent is unlike any way I have seen before. I trust the instinct of the child to become whoever they need and desire to become. They didn’t come here to feed on blast. They came here to do the immense work previous generations have forgotten to do and that is raising loving vibration of the Earth.” Ema and her husband allow their children to have full freedom in movement, connection to the natural elements and choice about how they spend their time.

“I find fruit growing on trees fascinating. Charged by sister moon and and brother sun, that’s the true gift of life”

That power a woman gains during childbirth will guide them through hardness, through pain towards love and peace. It”s like a fire starter, once lit- burning forever. “Having given birth in my bedroom, has given me a feeling of unstoppable force that no one can take away from me. I don’t think there is a wish I cannot make come true. I just close my eyes make a wish and wait.”

Ema is wearing Drap top and Drap pants.

The reason why I love to be with nature is that she doesn’t impose any classifications on me. My movements have no name. My soul has no age. My emotions fluctuate between the long arms of the palm trees. My body has no destination. My thoughts are unpredictable. She is full of life that chose many forms of sacred geometries. When I interact with her I cannot predict what happens, what animals will cross my sight, what noise I am about to experience, what smell will visit my nose. She doesn’t define my future. In her arms, everything is possible.

Ema is wearing T de Tul and Gatito jacket.
Below Ema is wearing Carne shirt, Cota pants and Naturae sweater.

I

She let her die
On a pillow of round stones
when the sorrow is unknown
In a shade of an wild orchid
When chlorophyll
is not enough
to speed up
The relevance of time
has gotten the face of sugar crystals
She will make the bones dance again
In hermit’s open arms
inhaling the dust
teeth grinning
her cheeks have that wild green flame
Sisters approaching one by one
The gates have never been so widely open
made out of olive wood
luring her into the salty cave
“From now on, you’ll write with your left hand”
both hands grown into left
leaving the asymmetric behind
roaring into silence
I prey to you stones and bones
I will be one of those ghosts
and grow apples of love.

In the next photographies Ema is wearing Dry jacket and Astral skirt.

II

My Earth,
I match my circles to your cycles
Beetroot to blood
Onion to kitchen cries
banana smiles
I harvest the herbs you turn into buqetes
Pending on winter to enter me in summer
Witty games of purple petals
pollen sniffing, the plant seeds and rays of brown grounds wiggle madly
You just want people to hear instead of listen
between the sand and rain
your innocence fluctuates
I free my blood without misery now.
Like the trees let their leaves
when the time comes.
I grow my hair
like you grow your grass
this time it doesn’t have to be cut
making it a special and recovering task
The winds have many faces I can choose from,
what a liberating time for a fly to fly through pupils of zephyr
yet paralyses is an unknown kingdom of western vocabulary.
On my four I go through your seasons,
letting you be one of my lovers
the switch of penetration
from cold to fevers
Famine is lacking in your eyes,
fostering everyone in your stomach,
there is room for all
the empty vessels, the restless beasts or bodyguards of skin.
My abyss palpates the moon
With it’s fingers full of ants
The tradition of dust and fire
is never going to leave.

III

The brides will come around 4 o’clock
Their arms wrapped in marine plants
voices fine as peacock’s plumage
lushes bring me towards dust
I stand there sensing them
My vagina wide awake
what is it all worth?
A short glance at a flower?
Or her smiles that come and go?
Their faces? -on fire
snowing through tunnels
They don’t see nor hear anyone
just the lullabies, made by their lips
The watchers of the time
hiding in the bushes
exploding through the mountains
that grew
between legs
between centuries
between layers of the earth
The brides are mine.
I’ve been catching them since I’ve died.
Their fingers play tunes
on the strings of my insecurity guitar
their tongues grovel towards my sorrows,
their nipples drip on my map of freedom
The brides, covered in silence,
live in and out of me.
they are my scales of life and death.
I promise to feed them,
and keep my vagina wide awake.

Photographed by Claire O'keefe

EMA SEC

Ema Sec is a piece of eARTh. Becoming a mother at a very young age, freeing herself from the heaviness of the society’s expectations and finding inspiration in nature, Ema after giving birth to her two daughters saw that birthing process holds a priceless key to access a portal of intuitive guidance.

Currently living in Mallorca, writing poems filled with breastmilk, soul lessons and healing, making a film about motherhood, aiming for self sufficiency. Ema is trusting the universe’ calling to become a doula and accompany other women on a journey of self discovery and connection to their unique true essence.

On her path nature’s belly has been her home, a place to release old wounds and tear old patterns apart. Plant new seeds and let them flourish. She often turns her head up towards the sky and holds a prayer. In the mother nature’s hands she feels the kingdom of unconditional love unlock softly.

Ema is wearing Dry jumpsuit.

She thrives in company of her daughters and believes she can help their initiation into priestesshood. “The way I choose to parent is unlike any way I have seen before. I trust the instinct of the child to become whoever they need and desire to become. They didn’t come here to feed on blast. They came here to do the immense work previous generations have forgotten to do and that is raising loving vibration of the Earth.” Ema and her husband allow their children to have full freedom in movement, connection to the natural elements and choice about how they spend their time.

“I find fruit growing on trees fascinating. Charged by sister moon and and brother sun, that’s the true gift of life”

That power a woman gains during childbirth will guide them through hardness, through pain towards love and peace. It”s like a fire starter, once lit- burning forever. “Having given birth in my bedroom, has given me a feeling of unstoppable force that no one can take away from me. I don’t think there is a wish I cannot make come true. I just close my eyes make a wish and wait.”

Ema is wearing Drap top and Drap pants.

The reason why I love to be with nature is that she doesn’t impose any classifications on me. My movements have no name. My soul has no age. My emotions fluctuate between the long arms of the palm trees. My body has no destination. My thoughts are unpredictable. She is full of life that chose many forms of sacred geometries. When I interact with her I cannot predict what happens, what animals will cross my sight, what noise I am about to experience, what smell will visit my nose. She doesn’t define my future. In her arms, everything is possible.

Above Ema is wearing T de Tul and Gatito jacket.
Below Ema is wearing Carne shirtCota pants and Naturae sweater.

I

She let her die
On a pillow of round stones
when the sorrow is unknown
In a shade of an wild orchid
When chlorophyll
is not enough
to speed up
The relevance of time
has gotten the face of sugar crystals
She will make the bones dance again
In hermit’s open arms
inhaling the dust
teeth grinning
her cheeks have that wild green flame
Sisters approaching one by one
The gates have never been so widely open
made out of olive wood
luring her into the salty cave
“From now on, you’ll write with your left hand”
both hands grown into left
leaving the asymmetric behind
roaring into silence
I prey to you stones and bones
I will be one of those ghosts
and grow apples of love.

In the next photographies Ema is wearing Dry jacket and Astral skirt.

II

My Earth,
I match my circles to your cycles
Beetroot to blood
Onion to kitchen cries
banana smiles
I harvest the herbs you turn into buqetes
Pending on winter to enter me in summer
Witty games of purple petals
pollen sniffing, the plant seeds and rays of brown grounds wiggle madly
You just want people to hear instead of listen
between the sand and rain
your innocence fluctuates
I free my blood without misery now.
Like the trees let their leaves
when the time comes.
I grow my hair
like you grow your grass
this time it doesn’t have to be cut
making it a special and recovering task
The winds have many faces I can choose from,
what a liberating time for a fly to fly through pupils of zephyr
yet paralyses is an unknown kingdom of western vocabulary.
On my four I go through your seasons,
letting you be one of my lovers
the switch of penetration
from cold to fevers
Famine is lacking in your eyes,
fostering everyone in your stomach,
there is room for all
the empty vessels, the restless beasts or bodyguards of skin.
My abyss palpates the moon
With it’s fingers full of ants
The tradition of dust and fire
is never going to leave.

III

The brides will come around 4 o’clock
Their arms wrapped in marine plants
voices fine as peacock’s plumage
lushes bring me towards dust
I stand there sensing them
My vagina wide awake
what is it all worth?
A short glance at a flower?
Or her smiles that come and go?
Their faces? -on fire
snowing through tunnels
They don’t see nor hear anyone
just the lullabies, made by their lips
The watchers of the time
hiding in the bushes
exploding through the mountains
that grew
between legs
between centuries
between layers of the earth
The brides are mine.
I’ve been catching them since I’ve died.
Their fingers play tunes
on the strings of my insecurity guitar
their tongues grovel towards my sorrows,
their nipples drip on my map of freedom
The brides, covered in silence,
live in and out of me.
they are my scales of life and death.
I promise to feed them,
and keep my vagina wide awake.

Photographed by Claire O'keefe