Today is a day of urgency, of false obligations, of anxiety, rushing around, feeling overwhelmed and under-rested, and not meeting my own ridiculous expectations.
I'm grateful for beautiful little surprises that shake me out of my shadow and remind me that I am enough, and this too, shall pass.
Bear with me!
More Sarah Maingot. Never enough Sarah. I'm SWF for Sarah.
I love the stick this woman is holding, it makes the whole photo. By Sarah Maingot.
This is a time of year when I start feeling really bold. I wonder if it's because the promise of the new year excites me so much? It feels like getting a new pee chee folder at school, crisp and ready to write I Heart So-and-So five million times on it, a perfectly clean slate with the potential for any number of wonderful things to happen. The earliest days of manifesting in action!
Last year I decided to carry A Gift from the Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, around with me everywhere I went in order to allow her messages to infuse me. I didn't end up carrying her everywhere, but I did stuff it in many a satchel during the earlier part of the year. Without being overly intentional about it, balancing this act of mothering and turning the creative wheel did end up being the motif for my year. In other words, it all worked out as I'd originally hoped.
This year, I'm going to take the easy route and carry my all-time favorite book with me. I own two copies because I can't bear to walk to the other end of the house to find it if I want to read in bath or bed. I'm sure it comes to no surprise that my favorite book in the ENTIRE WORLD ever written is Women Who Run With the Wolves. When I open the stinky pages of this aged thing, the hairs stand up all over me and I know I am finding the words that are blueprinted on every inch of my own soul.
This is the work of my very favorite photographer, Sarah Maingot. Can I bottle this?
It doesn't matter how many times I read it, I still find myself jumping up and down in confirmation that I am a criatura, that the aspects of woman that have been coerced and driven out over the centuries are not whispering under my skin, but screaming to pick up the *stories, the bundles for healing, the dreams, songs, signs and symbols* and feel, as CPE refers to it as "the sureness of their soulfooting". My hope this year is to reconnect with the archetype that speaks to me the most.
Maybe I'm hopping up and down howling all the time because this trail of crumbs is not new or unknown to me. Rather because it feels so warmly...familiar. By some strange twist of lightening striking in the moment of my birth, I have always known that I would be on this path. It's almost as if the tiny little genetic code of wild trickled down quietly through the women before me, but lined up in a quick blast for me, so that there would be no question about why my fur twitches when the wind blows in two directions at once and why I'm passionately drawn to other bitches with sixth senses who prefer to preserve their instinctual nature over...
Photo by Sarah Maingot.
...let's just say that I can smell you on the wind, sister.
Today's feature is a guest post by my friend, Christine Miller. What I've come to know about Swirly is that she is always willing to change. Please enjoy her offering.
Christine and Charlie.
When I think of my history with pets, most stories feel loose and frayed, with straggly threads hanging down like a scarf that was never finished. I’ve shared time with a number of different animals, but there was only one whose death I experienced firsthand – a gerbil named Scooby. His breathing became irregular, the vet said it was pneumonia, and the next day he died when I was trying to give him medicine. I was in the fifth grade, and I’m not sure I even cried. I had by then developed a certain level of stoicism thanks to a domineering father; if the loss of my tiny pet created an outpouring of grief, I have no memory of it.
The rest of my pets came into my life and were somehow abruptly removed, so my experience of their deaths was always at arm’s length. A German Shepherd named Charlie died after my parents divorced and he stayed with my father; two cats my college roommate and I adopted went with her after we graduated, so their passing was shared with me years later in a letter. With other dogs and cats, the story is the same – I had them for a while, then some circumstance or event took them away – so I have yet to take a journey with a pet from the beginning of its life to the end besides Scooby. That was more than thirty years ago.
My husband and I have decided – after months of discussions about it – to get a dog, and as excited as I am about this, I am also fearful that I am not up to the task, that I will somehow let this animal down and not be able to stay in its life and ensure a peaceful passing when the time comes. Going deeper, I am also terrified of what that experience will be like. Will I be able to handle that loss? How can I let myself get attached to such a loving creature, knowing I will likely have to say good-bye to it in just over a decade? It is a wide open territory of unknowns, and I am afraid I will somehow fail.
This is one of those situations where I could easily talk myself out of it – we’re too busy, it’s a big responsibility, I travel too much, etc. And while all those things might be true (we are busy, it is a big responsibility, and I do travel quite a bit), I know that they are not reason enough to not get a dog. If I use them to justify remaining safely pet-less, then all I’m really doing is giving in to my fears, and if I do that, I’m letting down this creature before we’ve even met.
I know our dog is waiting for us right now. I can feel it in my bones. When I think about bringing this animal home, training it, feeding it, walking it, and loving it, it makes my heart swell, and then it makes me weepy. For I already have so much love for our dog, and I’m already dreading the day I have to let it go. But then I see that this is precisely why it is time for me to take an emotional risk and bring this responsibility into my life. It is time for me to make this commitment, to trust that I will be able to follow through with it, and give our dog a warm, safe home as well as a peaceful, quiet passing. For in between the day we bring it home and the moment we have to let it go, there will be love and frustration, long walks and snuggling, learning to sit and cleaning up poo, and opening my heart that much more.
On the other side of deadline, I have cards to give away! The winner will receive four animama notecards with envelopes. I currently have these cards to choose from:
Buffalo-Abundance
Crow-Alchemy
Rhinoceros-Sanctuary
Fox-Change
Owl-Magic
Deer-Harmony
In your comment, I'd love to know why you retreat, what you go on retreat seeking and/or where your favorite retreat places are! I'll post a winner up on Sunday night...good luck!
This {sweet creature share} has been brought to you by Wendy Cook, of MotherRising!
Monday, September 18, 2006
Self Portait With Elephant
"Ask for what you
want, and be prepared to get it." - Maya Angelou
I had a childhood dream
to do a self portrait with an elephant (I just
adore elephants) and after a
previous encounter with an elephant named
Siri at the local zoo, I decided
to "ask for what I want". I'm not
religious, I don't pray to God. I
"communicate with life", as the
character Maude, in one of my favorite
films (Harold & Maude) said. I
emailed the director of the zoo, and
after our phone conversation he
agreed to grant me my wish. I knew I would
need an assistant because
once I set up the camera and framed the shot, I
wouldn't be able to
push the button. I asked a friend if she would be my
"button pusher"
and she agreed to do it. (Then my husband took Satch and me
to a
little mexican joint for a celebratory dinner...cheese
enchiladas...Satch loves 'em!)
And THIS is what I plan to teach my
son: If you have a dream, a
vision, a wish, an idea...try to make it
happen. Never be afraid to
ask for what you want.
Saturday morning
we drove up the service entrance of the zoo and
walked to the elephant
barn. It was quiet and we could smell the scent
of animals as we approached
the barn. Once inside, we saw Siri and I
was amazed by how much larger she
appeared indoors than outdoors.
Walls and a ceiling give a different
perspective. Mick and John, her
handlers, greeted us and took us to the
yard. It was overcast, but I
took a quick look at the sky to make sure that
the sun would be behind
the camera and set up the equipment while John went
to get Siri. A few
moments later, they appeared. She was magnificent with
wise, amber
eyes. With Siri in the view finder, I adjusted the tripod, set
the
camera, and framed out the shot. I let her sniff me before I
approached her. Then I wrapped my arm around her leg and stroked her,
leaning my body against hers. She leaned back...an elephant hug. It
reminded me very much of how a dog leans into you when you're petting
it. Her skin was both rough and soft like velveteen tree bark. I could
smell her breath, hot and sour like wet hay on a summer day....her
skin, earthy, musky, mammalian. She was gracious and patient while the
photos were taken and we thanked her for both the photos and the
wondrous experience. We thanked the handlers too and after John
brought
Siri back to the barn, I asked him a few questions about her.
I learned
that we have a few things in common:
Siri: 39 years old (but believed to
be in her early 40's based on her
characteristics);9,600 lbs; vegetarian;
likes jelly beans; She is an
artist. (Is it any wonder that I was drawn to
her?)
Wendy: 42 years old (but believed to be an old soul); 110 lbs;
vegetarian; likes Jelly Bellies; Also an artist.
We walked back to
the car still absorbing our magical experience with
the scent of the wild
on our skin and our clothes.
Namaste, Siri...from one who loves
elephants.
"They are incorrigible tons of strength and harmony. Their
hide is
ancient, their eyes sweet, they roll in dust to cool off, they
make
their own showers. They know how to frolic out under the sun. They're
learners. They do not forget, and they don't hold grudges." -Bradford
Morrow (A Bestiary)
My piece for CORE which is seen here missing a couple of elements, such as it's deer antler button closure and wooden cap. Her capelet is also unpressed. She was prettied up for her debut, I assure you.
This piece evolved from a very different idea into one which symbolizes so much to me. She speaks about integrating all of the parts: Innocent, wise, vulnerable, fragile, ill, reborn, enchanted, rescuer, shadow, wild; parts that we split off of and yearn for until we can piece ourselves back together. I'm sure you can guess which fairy tale I borrowed from to make my point.
Here she is in her glory. The Goddess McCabe Russell took this photo and I'm so grateful because I took only two pictures of the piece and they're both super dark. What you can't see in either of these photos is the fox tail that adorns her back bottom side. Perhaps someone got a good pic of her showing it.
CORE was an unbelievably fun night, filled with amazing music, familiar faces and art. I'm so proud to have been a part of it. The women who came to this venue were divine on so many levels and I've learned so much from them.
These are snaps from the show. I can't recall the titles of each one, so I'll just have to list the artists only! I wish I'd gotten more photos. Shame my hands were full of people and wine all night!
Photo of Miles and Erin by the illuminating Stacy de la Rosa. Brandon braved the traffic with both little ones and came all the way to Los Angeles so Miles could see the display and meet some of the artists. I love my husband. He is so courageous and willing.
I have to thank Anne Carmack ONE MORE TIME for her vision, her energy, her grace and her unfaltering sense of glee at organizing this show. If you were able to come, thank you for your support! It was a lovefest, man.
And I can't mention the week without raising my tea mug to the finest Alpha Goddess to walk the earth, my Girly Blue. You my love, are what dog history is made of. How I miss you and yearn to kiss you and sniff you nose to nose. I'm remembering all you've taught me, recalling your beautiful, gentle strength. We love seeing you in our dreams, so please visit often. Peace to your ever joyful heart, sweet hound.
You are invited to come have your socks knocked off by the work of fifteen artists who pushed beyond their safe, creative perimeters to bring you this show.
Thank you, again, Anne Carmack, for creating this divine experience for all of us.
+ Me. :)
Ann Wood is so amazing. Perfect for this wicked week, don't you think?
Any more owl encounters out there? I'll be posting up a bit more about them tomorrow, eyes to the night sky in the meantime, okay?
These photographs are all the work of Sarah Maingot, my new photog crush. Her work is nothing short of mythical and I am completely smitten.
"The hero, whether god or goddess, man or woman, the figure in a myth or the dreamer of a dream, discovers and assimilates his opposite (his own suspected self) either by swallowing it or being swallowed. One by one, the resistances are broken. He must put aside his pride, his virtue, beauty and life, and bow or submit to the absolutely intolerable. Then he finds that he and his opposite are not of differing species, but one flesh."
-Joseph Campbell
I'm a busy little worker bee, worker bee, worker bee. This week every thought turns into a gay, little song when I'm buzzing along at a mighty pace. And buzzing along I am. I always get through, though, and this time will be no exception. Here are a few little random yummies to chew on while I'm foxtrotting away, getting finished up for CORE and doing the Animamarama.
Loving this piece on balance by Christina of My Topography.
This pumpkin necklace by Lara Lewis has stolen my heart, as well as these animal paper dolls by Julianna, the genius behind Oh My Cavalier! I've been following Julianna for some time and her work is only getting wickedly better and better.
And here is an interview I recently did about courageous travel at sweet Kate's site. Whether I'm courageous or just plain crazy, I don't know.
Dog coverlet at Custom Hotel, September 2009.
The first Sunday of the month is my day. Since 2003, with a few short breaks for babies, I've been sitting in a circle of women in the Los Padres National Forest to connect, heal and do all of the rad things that women do when there are no boys around. Like weep openly just because we're so grateful to have each other, hug for no reason, journey for messages for each other, feast, celebrate the animals and the earth, drum, rattle, and explore the teachings of the ancient ones. When we have to skip a month, I really feel it. I've come to rely on this circle and others like it to re-center me.
As Blue and I were heading out (the Goddess of Blue rides in the car much more now), I spotted a bird on the roadside. I passed it because, Ugh, I didn't feel like dealing with roadkill today and I was already late. About a mile away, I turned back. I didn't feel I could leave it there. Animal medicine is part of what this circle is all about. I phoned Brandon to tell him to meet me at the gate with supplies: rubber gloves, cat litter, cardboard box. When I got back to it and got a good look, I saw that it was a Great Horned Owl. Which is really strange because barn owls are a dime a dozen here, but I've never seen a GH.
It's qualities, as far as I know, is really simple-it's quite a formidable bird with a large giant beak and furry legs that lead to enormous talons. In the tradition of the elders, we harvested wings, tail feathers, and claws and gave it a ceremonial wrap and burial complete with songs, sage and a prayer. This may sound a bit macabre to some, but it's what we do. It's very sad for the animal who has lost it's life, presumably this one to electrical wires, as so many are. One way of honoring it, and all that it has to teach, is to use the feathers in ceremonies or gift them to those who might need them for healing work.
Owls teach us about the feminine aspects. I also call on Owl to help me practice flexibility-think of the magnificent range of motion of their heads. When my neck is sore, which it often is, I ask myself what it is that I must learn to be more flexible about. Usually, the answer lies somewhere among having too-high expectations, thinking in a rigid or controlling way, or needing a break from the pressure of deadlines. I know, loosen up, Pixie.
Owls are survivors, they can adapt to almost any environment. This comes in handy to remember, too.
I'm so grateful for my life, my friends, and the messages and blessings that continue to find inroads to me. I'm so grateful that you stopped by!
This is the event I was telling you about! If you'll be in Los Angeles, please stop in and say hello! The ever-swirling Christine inspired this project and has all the deets! I want to thank the passionate Anne Carmack, of folkandfable, for pulling it together and making it really fun for everyone.
Working with this medium has taken me on quite a ride. I am sitting here wanting to talk the backstory of it all, but since the piece isn't finished, I'm going to postpone until a bit later. I'm intrigued by the idea of many artists interpreting on another artist's *canvas*. It's going to be one lovely partay.
Photo courtesy of Bill Roth.
Some believe that when white animals, like the moose pictured above, are born, they signify the coming of a time of unity. What exactly is expected for the future cannot be known, but doesn't it seem as if new, meaningful communities are being born with more frequency?
I feel a great pull to gather in groups of safe people to share ideas, art and stories, to learn, and to teach. It feels like an intuitive decision, one which requires little logical thought. This explains why I jump at every chance I get to circle with those I adore: believing that we are all gifted is much more important than believing that only a few are gifted. Gathering is a reminder that we are not alone as we find our way through the thickets.
I am fortunate to know a woman who is bringing artists closer together because she feels a strong calling to do so. She does it with such grace and humor and she's loved by everyone who comes to her *camp*.
I've spent a couple of weeks trying to find words to say thank you to her. And I can feel tears fogging over my eyes and lumps forming in my chest when I think about how grateful I am to have met her. Maybe it's because she gives from such an authentic place within her, or because she understands deeply, even though she makes no claims to have walked the exact path. Or perhaps it's her ability to gently hold the dreams of so many in her vision.
Maybe it also has something to do with the fact that she helped me achieve what seemed like an impossible feat at first, without one single word of caution or projected worry about bringing my family to SAW. She believed in me one hundred percent and cheered my family on wholeheartedly as we journeyed east to join in on the fun. The woman is fearless. Brazen, bold, and fearless.
Such an individual is simply....rare.
My heart is full of gratitude for YOU, dear Elizabeth. Thank you for answering the call so that we, as individuals and as a collective, might be able to hear the whisperings of our own hearts, as well...
THANK YOU.
These are some little bits of watercolored board that I created so that when Miles and I are seeking some direction for our day, we can either draw some out and be spontaneous or we can shuffle them around and decide which ones we'd like to try. His favorite thing to do at the moment is do papercrafts on the floor or sculpt with clay. Perfect for the hottest days of the year.
Ivy and I are off to Connecticut tonite to go to a wedding. There are plenty of things I meant to do this week, like upload new work, update my store, etc. And I just didn't get to them all. Travelling for the first time with this babe has had me all wrapped up in listmaking and crossing things off of lists and then making new lists.
I may try to keep up here...or perhaps I'll just have a drink in the middle of a northeast thunderstorm! Who knows? I'm open to just relaxing and enjoying our time there, but you know me...I'll be checking in from time to time.
I've been enjoying Susannah Conway's blog, Ink on My Fingers. Her videos are inspiring for me as I gear up to shoot my first 30 second video as part of overcoming my fear of speaking to an audience directly. I don't know if I'll be able to do 30 of them, but I'm going to try. Check out her kewl camera!
You HAVE to try these caramels! They will blow*your*mind. I promise. The lavender and vanilla bean. Oh dear. Heather will take good care of you and maybe include some yummy samples for you in other flavors...(I smell a giveaway coming...stay tuned.)
Photo courtesy of La Bella Caramella
Many of you already know McCabe Russell, the heartful and sassy woman behind Dancing Mermaid Designs and Mermaid Warriors e-Camp. I was curious to know more about her camps and what led her down this path, so I had to investigate.
What moves me so much about McCabe is her generous spirit with little people. To {speak} with her and read her blog is to know that she has so very much to give. Her offering of art camp e-courses for girls is very dear to my heart. I don't think a person's energy could be better spent than by investing it in the creativity of girls and tweens. I get so sentimental when I watch the videos she's taken of the kids in her backyard camps-I mean, what if each one of us gathered children just once a summer in order to *see* them, *perceive* them and *listen* to their souls? What kind of ripple effect could that create?
McCabe does a smashing job of creating safe, sacred space for the girls who attend her courses. I had a few questions for her and she was kind to indulge me. I want to share our exchange with you...
mc: i began this work 10 years ago when i was part of an outreach program that was geared towards supporting young girls. there was a booklet and outline i was supposed to follow, however, it seemed to me a bit dry just teaching text alone. i started sharing my own stories of questions and ache, along with art projects to keep it fresh and interesting. we created this magic that i will never forget, and the rest came from that place.
mc: i feel like every time i teach my heart heals a little more. the parts of me that i felt were not enough~not pretty enough, smart enough, successful enough, etc...seem to be irrelevant while i teach. it is a process and practice healing yourself. some days are better than others, but at least i know i am going in the right direction. this is what grounds me the most.
px: What is your hope for all who attend your camp?
Being a parent is no easy task. No matter how present you are with your children, there is always, ALWAYS room to give more empathy and creative attention to young people. Being a positive influence for a little girl (or boy) could save their lives. That's how deeply I believe in the work of the Dancing Mermaid! I'm so grateful that other women are taking her lead and starting their own gatherings, as in the case of my dear bud, Wendy. (Be sure to listen to "Beautiful Flower" by India Arie on Wen's embedded mp3 player for tears and the full effect).
Long before I had children, I heard someone say "It takes a village", in reference to raising kids, and it stuck with me. I've enjoyed sharing my friends with my kids, encouraging Miles to create his own relationships with trusted adults so that he could receive varying forms of attention and direction. I wish McCabe lived in my village. *sniff*
Right in our backyards, all of us can begin today. Thank you, McCabe!
*I'm too knee-deep in other affairs to go to animama and change all of the print prices back to 24 so please enjoy one more day of the 19 dollar print sale * Yay!
Being on a getaway to our friends' home was bliss. Their house is a haven by all accounts, not unlike Narnia, where there is fun lurking around every corner as well as yummy British foods such as Jam & Cream biscuits (it's a cookie, already). I'm *so grateful* to have friends who let us come and stay for a week. (Especially after I fell skirt over teats into a hedge at their wedding outside London in '93-thanks guys.)
There is so much to do back at home-fun stuff, mostly. I'm actually going to share some pics of my studio this week, something I've never really done at my blog Since I'm celebrating four years of blogging this month, I thought it would be nice to give you a peek into my little creative space. Of course I started frantically cleaning at the thought of it, so it's turned into a beautifying week of chaotic sorts. I'm taking the week off from painting and instead putting things in order, etc. Allowing myself to take time off while I'm at home is practically unheard of, so I'm trying to take advantage of my generous gift (from me to me) and work my can off. I have to make it worth my while, right? I'm making hay while the sun shines, I suppose. Speaking of that damned sun....
It was a hundred and ten degrees today which means there will be no going out of the house this week with the littles, and Brandon will not be riding his bike to work, leaving me carless. Can you believe it? 110? Unspeakably brutal. I'm watching our peaches ripen and the rest of the plants melt.
Clearly taken in a climate other than the one I live in.
I'm also overhauling my banner and making some changes to the look of this blog which has been a long time comin'.
I received Momma Zen's post today, which reads: Attention is the most concrete expression of love. "What you pay attention to thrives. What you do not pay attention to withers and dies."
There shall be no withering here!
I'm taking Marisa Haedike's (of Creative Thursday) e-course, In the Fishbowl, and the first class was today. She has such a calming voice, I kept having to slide the audio button back a few mm's to relisten. I wonder if she missed her calling as a hypnotist? I loved the podcast, nevertheless.
Some of the questions that she put forth sound like some I've considered before. So I'm trying to hear them with fresh ears. It was in 1993 that my cellmate Nancy (in the prison of my dayjob as a clothing production manager, no drama here) introduced me to SARK, who at the time, was revolutionizing young women's lives with her cries to "Live juicy!" and "Eat mangoes naked!". She was the colorful, creative equivalent to Betty Freidan, in my world. It was then that I began allowing myself to consider being creative as a profession.
So much has transpired since then. For one, my Succulent Wild Women's group is turning ten years old this year. Unbelievable! We haven't called ourselves that since it's inception, but we are still rather succulent, I must say. I started my own business in 1999, in clothing, just the way I'd learned it. I was trying to marry my new creative freedom with pretty much the only way I knew how to make a living in L.A., but I forgot how much I didn't love that job in the first place. I closed the company in 2003 and went back to school-to figure out how I could create a job that was more....creative. I gathered some tools there, but I have certainly taken the scenic route to what I'm doing now.
The first question is "Why do you love what you create?" and I'm starting to notice an uncomfortable feeling coming up, only tempered by knowing that the work I do now (my paintings) is the work I get totally lost in. I'm willing to stay up until four in the morning if I can do just a little more. I feel like my heart is totally in the right place at the moment. My paintings are my little babies. I feel a little afraid to name why I love them. I wonder why? I'm going to try anyway.
Awakening, mixed-media on board.
I love what I create because I think my paintings are a reflection of where I'm at in my life right now. They have relevance to me. Each of them is meaningful and helps me to grow in the process of making them. I have to admit, I love when someone tells me that a piece has moved them in some way or even just that they like the colors. I love the community that my work (in its own way) fits into. By community, I mean that small, but growing group of people out there all hooked into some similar ideas about how we humans operate and what we require to live satisfying lives. There are insights to be explored, risks to be taken, wild bits within us to rediscover.
I think of my work as gently supporting those notions. Like little colorful affirmations of what is circulating in the greater consciousness during a significant time in creative history. Just being "creative" feels like being superheroic to me because it opposes that which is destructive, without directly trying to control or stop things that must find their own way. I believe that living a creative life is choosing to live a whole new way; it shifts energy and gives birth to...goodness and thoughtfulness, authenticity. The promise in that is what I can taste just a teaser of when I'm creating.
There are so very, very many good mamas around me. So many. When I started this blog in 2005, I was about to give birth to Miles. Mamahood has been woven tightly into my little piece of fabric here in blogland. It is such an essential part of who I am in my soul and who I am as an artist. Lately, with the boom of just about everyone I know connecting and reconnecting on Facebook, I am experiencing another explosion of meeting and greeting new mamas that I've never known, but, like me, have been finding others like them and growing their circles. Plus it seems like new babies are popping out everywhere! Another baby boom!
I consider myself so lucky to know so many yummy mummys. One such lady just whipped the business out of breast cancer last year and I am SO proud of her. One of the unique things about Jill is that she's one of those mamas whose ears are wide open and wants only to hear about me, me me (or whomever she happens to be talking with). She is absolutely the most amazing and attentive listener I've ever met. This is such a rare gift, one that I cannot claim myself, but wish I could! She is deeply intuitive, (to the point of saving her own life with the cancer thing, choosing to do the opposite of what her doctors recommended) wise, caring and bursting with the joy of life and her two boys. Plus she has mondo cajones.
I decided to honor Jill by driving the beautiful Stacy of Bellawish crazy with a last minute necklace order the week of Mother's Day. I think we were both half asleep, burning the midnight oil, (as I am now) when we discussed the details, but she agreed to hustle and ship it out next day, because she is, in fact, saintly.
What ended up happening was that in our haste, we crossed wires, I didn't match my stinking paypal address! and the necklace was shipped to me instead of Jill. It arrived Monday and I was having a crappy ass, shit-tastic day and so I tore into the package and put the thing on myself, shouting dramatically, "I need a little JOY in my life!" And in that moment, I realized my foible was totally meant to be. (I really did need some serious joy right at that exact moment.)
So, to Jill, there is another superb JOY necklace on it's way to you. And when I see you in a couple of weeks at hippyfest, we can take a twinsie picture!
And that is my little story for today.
Wishing you a little joy...
We're sick and in the healing/birthing cave at Campbell Castle, so I've asked a few friends to guest blog for me. I hope you enjoy their mother/daughter offerings...xo
A look at the meaning of the myth of Persephone: Initiation
The myth of the maiden Persephone -- who while picking flowers in a
field sees the earth suddenly open before her and is abducted and
raped by Hades in a horse-drawn chariot, leaving her mother, Demeter,
bereft -- is one that makes every mother’s heart ache. When Demeter
learns of Persephone’s disappearance, she does what any mother would
do: search high and low for her, and when she cannot find any trace
of her, is wracked with grief. She takes out her anger and resentment
on the mortal world over which she presides as goddess of the harvest
and causes a severe drought and famine over the land. Eventually she
learns that Persephone was the victim of a plot by Zeus, uber-
Olympian, and his brother, Hades, god of the underworld, who made her
his wife. Persephone is eventually allowed to return to her mother but
not before Hades tricks her by giving her a juicy pomegranate before
she leaves. Upon taking a bite, she unknowingly binds herself to his
realm, but is allowed to live half of the year on earth with her mother.
I recently read a feminist revision of the myth, which left out the
rape and changed the story so that Persephone and Hades were equal
partners and she made a choice to live part of the time with him and
part of the time with her mother. While I can appreciate the desire to
turn this into a fable of equality, in which Persephone is less of a
victim, it misses the point of the myth. And as someone who loves
understanding archetypes, fairy tales, and myths, with all their
shadowy elements from a Jungian perspective, I see the story of
Persephone differently. It is a tale of initiation: a young woman's
coming of age and need to separate from her mother so that she can
become her own person.
While the imagery of Persephone being kidnapped and raped by Hades is
not one that on the surface any woman (let alone mother) would ever
ascribe to or condone on any level, if we look at it metaphorically,
it makes sense as told. (We mortals shouldn’t mess with the gods.
Their lessons are often severe and have teeth -- the better to eat you
with, my dear.)
Perhaps because my own 12-year-old daughter is going through puberty
and I have watched her in a sense be "snatched away" from me, it hits
close to home, and the metaphorical meaning is more apparent. I am
reminded that there is no easy way to go from girlhood to womanhood.
It is in some ways a violent shift, involving the shedding of blood,
the raging of hormones, and leaving the comfort of "home," or what is
known and safe – and venturing out into the social world at large. I
know how Demeter felt as she searched for the long, lost little girl
she had known only a short time ago.
Hades represents on a masculine level what Persephone, the naïve,
feminine, is required to face at some point in coming of age: the loss
of innocence and the gaining of experience. This involves risk-taking
and venturing out into the scary world without mommy to hold her hand
as she has become used to. (And who amongst us has not been seduced or
tempted by the bad boy, the dark haired charmer who drives up in his
snazzy car to whisk us away on a daring first date?) Every one of us
as Persephone must venture into the darkness, the unknown, and find
ourselves as well as our inner masculine so that we can use our
personal power in the world. While the consecration seems harsh and
brutal, Persephone survives it and goes on to marry Hades and preside
as Queen of the Underworld. She did what we must all do: consecrate
the marriage between our inner masculine and inner feminine to achieve
balance and wholeness – the ability to call upon the yin and yang of
these energies when we need them.
From Demeter's point of view, which I can now thoroughly embrace as a
mother of a daughter who is starting the leave-taking, it all seems
harsh and scary out there for my tender young daughter, but I must let
go. I can relate to Demeter's grieving. Many times as my daughter has
raged and pushed me away in the throes of her coming of age, I have
had to remind myself that this is normal; this is what she needs to
do; she needs to claim her own identity, separate from mine, and the
ties that have bound us until now. We have had talks about these
"battles," and she is always so relieved when I let her know I don't
take them personally, that I see that she is going through the painful
process of expressing and finding her authentic self. She must push
away; and I must allow it. (And I remember my own struggles as a
maiden in her position. How I longed for a mother who understood and
could contain my feelings.)
And at various times, my daughter, Chloe, like Persephone, has come
back to me (from her time underground) and let me know she appreciates
my tolerance and understanding; and at times she comes to me as the
little girl again who needs to feel close to her mommy. I see the
relief on her face. And she, too, tolerates my anger and perhaps a
little bit of my pain in letting go. It is not of her choosing, as it
is for any of us. At some point we are called to the journey, to
become the heroine in our own lives. We will either answer that call
with courage and meet our fate or we will stay undifferentiated from
our family and afraid to take a bite of what life has to offer. It is
a difficult but necessary reordering of the mother/daughter
relationship and a drive towards wholeness that should not be thwarted.
Stephanie Anderson Ladd is a Licensed Professional Counselor in Chapel Hill, NC. If you will be in the area, check out her Soul Collage workshop at Panopolie. Contact her at
stephanie@saladd.com. The above pictured card is her own creation.
Though I'm anxious to meet my little girl, I don't want to rush her. I'm officially due next Monday, the 16th, and I'm sticking close to home today mainly because M was few days early...well, four days before his "guess date" and I don't want to be waddling through Target and break my water in the tp aisle. (Though I do need some things from Target...like tp...)
I'm painting with a late night fever again. I'm not sure if it's because I wonder if I'll be able to make time for it after she arrives... It's keeping me sane, actually. I am up wandering the halls long after bedtime here just enjoying the peace and quiet.
This angel recommended a homebirth book (here's an untapped book niche one of us should jump on) that's out of print from Australia. I snagged a library copy from amazon.com and we love it to pieces-apparently I got a super deal at about fifteen clams, but it looks like the going rate is about fifty. It's called Welcome, With Love by Jenni Overend, and it's about a family who is preparing for a homebirth- told in the voice of young Jack. Jack helps his dad gather wood for a fire, which they all sleep next to once baby is born. It's a nice realistic account of birth, as opposed to every other book we have where mommy disappears for days while the children stay with a family member or mommy and daddy appear magically with a baby and present it to the siblings. There is even an illustration of mom leaning on dad, and baby's head poking out of her bottom region, as well as a picture of the placenta and cord. Miles has been captivated by the story since it arrived.
The first connection I made with this baby was in a dream in which I got to see her briefly in a piece of retro table tubing in a funky old trailer(!). She appeared as a sleeping, little baby turtle bathed in blue light. I only got to see that she was safe and then she was gone. The amphibious nature of babes in the belly fascinates me.
This looks a bit rough because I snapped the shot while the turtle was still surrounded in liquid mask, but I like the way it's turning out. At some point, I will have to share this cool stencilling technique I've been playing around with. When I get the kinks worked out. In the meantime, I'm having lots of fun with the paint-on frisket. And saying "frisket" whenever I get the chance.
Turtle detail.
After tea on my favorite corner of the couch that has been seeing a lot of my bum lately, I caught up on some of my favorite blogs and knitted while the pages loaded. I've been holding my breath to see a post from the sweet Boho that her baby boy is on his way. I can hardly stand the suspense!
I spend so much time with my head in my family matters, my local interests, and being generally avoidant of what is going on in blogland that I thought Out of the Loop would be the perfect name for a knit design company! I truly feel left out of the doin's most of the time. I have a little circle that I stay connected with, and many cyber relations often fall to the wayside. I think I'm okay with that, but there are just so many interesting people doing the most amazing things (check out any of the links in my sidebar for a taste of what some really creative peeps are doing). When I don't keep up I wish I'd done a better job of staying in the loop.
This business of the "placental bleb" (can you believe it's really a word-I thought it was a typo) and "lake of blood" on my babe's ingoing and outgoing feedsack is probably not a big deal and most of the time I don't think of it. But I had a meltdown in the shower yesterday (why always the shower?) because my imaginative fearfulness ran away without my noticing and I imagined that if I had to birth in a hospital because of a condition that needed that sort of care-what could happen to my early moments of bonding? Or what if in the case of a C-sec, I didn't get to see my baby for hours? Would nurses bathe her roughly and stick her with needles and drugs I haven't authorized them to use? I freaked out in tears at the thought of it and then the shower washed it all away and I was totally okay again.
I have tried to make a stern practice of being fearless in nearly everything I do. It really goes against the way I was raised, so I make a point to dismiss or face fears with as much courage and faith as I can in the moment. But I find myself needing to freak out to unsettling news sometimes and then as it sinks in and my higher self comes back into the picture, sensible thoughts return rather quickly. I can't hold it against myself for overreacting if it's only for a short little time, can I?
I know well that birth is not something to be idealized or controlled. I'm prepared to be as fearless as I can be about it again. But no matter how many times you do it, there are still so many unknowns. Can anyone be a pro at childbirth? Each little bean comes with his or her own mysteries about how they will come in. It requires so much trust- and a few trusty distractions, as well.
I've been knitting up a storm preparing for a faire this weekend and another one the weekend after Thanksgiving. I'm excited to show my work, to see what the economic climate is like in the crafter's market, to meet with people and have them try on my goodies. It has been a very long time since I've put myself out there this way and it is going to be fun to share table space with some amazing glass and jewelry designing friends.
Here are yet another pair of wristwarmers (with thumbholes one can't see in this pic) that I finished a bit ago. I like working with the thick/thin yarn-more alpaca-just so delicious and four times warmer than wool, it is said.
I think my biggest inspiration these days comes from unexpected sources. I love hearing about grassroots movers and shakers who are finding different ways to create incomes while making room to stay home with the babes, growing food for the neighbors in their yards, travelling, creating local products and information sources that nourish the earth and protect young people from poisons. I love what is happening in our country right now. We have a mess to clean up, but never before have I felt so...um...united. There have been times where I've wondered what the heck I was thinking to have children in such a time of corruptness in politics-and then there are days like the ones I've been having lately. Despite real or imagined fears, I feel a deep sense of peace that everything will be alright.
I'm already getting flack from my healthcare practitioners about having had a homebirth with Miles and of course, they want to know if I'm planning another one, which they strongly advise against.
I keep telling them (the practitioners' whose organization begins with K) the same thing: "I can't know now if a homebirth is what will feel most safe for this baby. Thank you for your professional opinion." And I try to respect the medical community's vast experience of birthing emergencies while trying to stay in a mindset of honoring my own intuition and listening to my body and what it needs to do it's job.
I was so fortunate to have a previous doctor who believed in me and in my intuitive vision for birthing my son at home. She took great care to monitor my low-lying placenta with a marginal previa to make sure that I would be safe to pursue labor at home. I respected her authority and would have scheduled a C-section if that is what she could have proven to me to be best. What a gift to be so cared for and feel so supported. But this birth is proving to be a bit different. I have the same sort of situation going with a thickened placenta that is also low-lying, but I have practioners who are vague and will not be honest with me about any impending danger to my child. I know it's a watch and wait game, but as a pregnant woman, I would feast on some real information that I could use to follow my own progress.
It's so frustrating to believe that my healthcare agency wants me to just be a good patient and not make any waves. It may be an unfair projection, but it feels as if some western providers have lost touch with the heroic feminine process of birth. Instead of helping a woman do her job, they seem to get in the way and try to take over the process. It isn't as if billions of women have been doing this for tens of thousands of years with grace and dignity....right?
(If this subject is of great interest to you, I suggest Ricki Lake's film, The Business of Being Born, all about the medicalization of birth.)
At 22 weeks and gestating, I'll be biting my nails for 18 more weeks (with luck!) to see how this little seaturtle plans to come into the world. In the interim, I'll wish for warm jelly, kind hands and strong heartbeats under the bright white lights...
I work at a little spa in town that is so cool. Tonite we're having a fundraiser for a humble, helpful organization called Links for Life. Rebecca Cotton, who owns and operates our oasis in the middle of downtown Bakersfield was struck to dramatically change her path in life when a dear friend was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago. She's a great example of how we can be moved by the journeys of others to move in a completely different direction than we thought we were headed, and enjoy every moment. Our spa offers many chemical-free and organic products, which is right in line with how I roll.
Cancer is something I've had my head in the sand about for too many years. The number of people around me facing it or helping a loved one who has it is slowly growing. The environmental influences we face today, coupled with all of the aspects of modern life that create cellular distress in our bodies, means early detection needs to work its way into our young lives sooner than later.
A very dear friend in our world just recovered from a double mastectomy at the age of 39. With babes ages two and four, she could not risk the recurrence rate that a lumpectomy and radiation promised-so she went for the total removal. Of course, she has a gorgeous new rack now, but the irony in the story is that the precancerous activity she gave up her boobs for would have been the least of her worries. Lurking near her collarbone was a bit of active, invasive cancer, missed by the mammo, but caught by the surgery. Whew! Her intuition guided her not to take any chances and she listened. Her courage blows me away.
For Jill, and anyone else who has been affected by this disease, six gals will be partying in your name tonite. The scarf above is my contribution to tonite's giveaway-it's made of the most divine 100% brushed alpaca, which is like cotton candy on your skin. It feels like a soft, warm, hug...
Peace.
Returning from Squam Art Workshop has left me with many inspired feelings, as well as being quite exhausted. I hardly know where to begin to describe how significant this experience has been for me. Perhaps I'll tease you at least a little, as I'm sure I'll be talking about the event for a while as I digest and find a way to put it into words.
Being a tree-lover who now lives in the desert, New England is a balm on my soul. The birch, maple, oak and white pine are so thick and dense, a feast for my spirit. That being said, imagine being plopped down smack in the middle of my idea of heaven on earth and then let me play for long stretches of hours in a trance...creating! With dozens of women I love and admire!
We made a big family adventure out of it and left five days before the festival began, starting in Boston and visiting my college roommate and her sister. We walked around Harvard Square eating ice cream and Italian food, enjoying one of the loveliest cities in the country.
It was so worth it to take some extra time to make our leisurely way up to the lakes region of New Hampshire. We stopped in Methuen, Mass to get a much-needed dose of my girl, Nina, even though we'd be seeing her at Squam. Her kids were so sweet! We had an amazing lunch and the kids painted pumpkins grown in Nina's dad's garden.
We devoured the best clam chowder in Portsmouth, NH, loads more chocolate ice cream and had so much fun at The Friendly Toast downtown- where Brandon ate Almond Joy pancakes. Delish. Because it's all about the food. We happened into Nahcotta for the Enormous Tiny Art Show and were so excited to see work hanging by artists we actually knew-several of which would be partying down at SAW. What fortune!
This is all my little jet-lagged fingers can muster tonite-I will get into the nitty grits tomorrow. There is too much to share to try to squeeze it all in in just one post!
I love the energy of this hug. Miles woke two Thursdays ago to find that his Great Grammalo (Gramma Lois) had been sleeping in our guest room all night. "Gramma-Wo happy to see Miles?", was his first question. He's really into people being happy to see him. Seems like there is no shortage of them lately! Our precious Grammalo spent a week here and we ate until all of us thought we would burst, and played so hard we missed bedtime by almost two hours every night. It downpoured rain her final day here at Huntington Botanical Gardens, where a Great Blue Heron fished and flew across the water in the new Chinese Garden. All of the water and the heron seemed like perfect symbols for an emotional day of parting. We will miss you, lady. Please move to Sacramento and be nearer to us!
Since mother's day, it has been wild around here with visitors and clean up and long to-do lists that seem to be getting longer. Checking in with myself today as I drove to work, I noticed I was lost in unconscious, tedious thoughts about absolutely nothing that mattered. I burst through them by asking myself what it is that I hold sacred. That word, sacred, means everything to me. It brings me back to the quiet part of myself that seems whole, alive and grateful. Here is what came to mind:
*Bedtime conversations in the dark with Miles and hearing him say his "night-nights" to everyone he loves
*Friends who are willing to stand in a fire with me
*The last ten minutes of sleep I get before rising to respond to the gong of demand
*The quietest time of night when my boys are sleeping and my thoughts belong to me
*Sitting on scratchy, orange wool blankets inside a sweat lodge
*Figuring out what my dreams mean while I'm having them
*Connecting with humans on the table each day in a totally present way that is healing and meaningful to them
What do you hold sacred?
oh,yes, i met these women ten years ago on the planet sark message board before it became trendy camp sark when everyone i knew was postcardfairying and eatingmangoesnaked and learning how to be comfortable in her own skin as the appeal to do was replaced by a seed of BE which scattered all over the world and we began to talk-oh, the talks! long and deep and intimate with a charge underneath it that shouted, "we can do anything we choose!" with flames and invitations and returns to love and lost loves and marriages, too, twisted hurricanes and earthquakes and fires come and gone we still meet, this time on the milkiest tit on the west coast....my beloved big sur.
my beloved elements!
we rhoooule the whhhuuuurlldd!
What a lovely weekend I've had with my favorite mountain medicine women. When we gather, we seldom have a plan (except for food, of course!) and the weekend unfolds as it is supposed to. We've become so tuned in on this path, that we often make easy connections between what is going on for each of us and that unofficially becomes the theme of the retreat. This weekend was all about finding peace in the midst of the unknown.
I found in my journeywork that it is easy for me to spend time in the realm of seeking treasures underground-my mole medicine was very strong! My message was that I need to come up above ground and learn how to BE when there is pure chaos going on around me. I have pulled into my safe cave since giving birth over 2 years ago. I don't even have cable or watch TV, and most certainly don't read the newspaper. It isn't that I don't want to empathize with what is going on for people, or be involved with the world, I have just been using my energy differently to benefit myself and others.
I also feel like I am finally coming to peace with my job as a bodyworker. There are about 10 other jobs I would love to try, but right now, I love the job I have and it has been so good to my family and me. (I go to work to relax, as we say at the spa). The clientele I've built are the goodliest people I could ever wish to see each week. I think that I take what I have acheived for granted at times and just yearn for the next adventure. I'm trying hard to love what I am doing and what I have at the moment. That includes living in this town where only one day out of every five is a healthy air day! Hard to sit still in this, but I'm trying.
