The Divine Feminine 2

right yourself upon the earth..traveler

with the spirit of the divine feminine

a gift for my first born

The Divine Feminine

i am woven into the land

soul to wind

heart to river

bone to stone

beginnings of a new

walking stick...

Witnessing

i sit with these gentle wood spirits today

as they whisper their secrets

seeking direction

who are you?

how can my hands bear witness

to your mentoring?

Birdsong

i get to begin my day

every day

wrapped in birdsong

i remember

when women

were birds

The Gospel According To Jody #1

some days

all you can do 

is have the grace

to lay yourself out under

a vast and forgiving sky

and let its steady winds

blow over you

Shadow

Shadow

Udegan of the Winter Pipe

She Guards Sad Songs and Darkness

 

"Sometimes the earth herself cradles grief enough within her lap that sad songs spill unchecked and pour like drenching rain into the soil. There was a forest hag whose work it was to collect and care for those sad songs..so that all the sorrows laid across the world might endure and become refuge inside which the lonely..lost..and maddened could safely hide. In her tradition..sad songs were a balm that filled the soul..and no one should die empty. Sad songs were a sanctuary for grieving hearts..and no one should have to root among thin desolate scraps to find some comfort. Sad songs were soft fibers of kindness whispered into silence..and no one should find themselves wrapped too long inside isolation. So the forest hag scooped sad songs onto her gathering stick..stowed them away beneath her many layered shawls and kept them secure. The protection that she offered was profound for she was swathed abundantly in woolen plaid..hunched and tucked and folded inside thick coats..and bundled over everything..she wore the cloak of winter. But sad songs were not her only harvest..for she also picked up the hidden songs of nature as she walked the forest trails and the secret songs of quiet creatures moving on the land. She padded through the forest gloom..gathering stick in hand..collecting up the songs sung by dark keening winds and dark murmuring ice and dark dreaming trees and dark sleeping earth. All those she ladled with her stick into the safety of her cloth. She understood the solitary mind of wolf..or bear..elk..or eagle..and she was intimate with all lone spirits on the empty trails. A dense..concealing blackness hung around her..offering a safe haven to the subtle and transient energies that she found. This forest hag was heavy with the secrets of the winter land. And that was not all. She always had a wooden pipe clamped tight between her teeth. She worked at her pipe to create tangled plumes of smoke that blew across the land..serving to veil her tracks and those of all the creatures that she guarded. She used no words ever..but communicated messages and wisdoms only through the smoke that drifted from her gnarly pipe. All her knowledge of the winter..all the intimacies she had gathered on her stick..all the mysteries of the dreaming forest rose up inside that wondrous smoke. Her smoke bore witness to the sorrows of the quiet land and to the vulnerability of nature. The tendrils curled and twisted to form images in which some clues or warnings might be glimpsed..or the sad songs of the grieving earth..so those who saw them spread out from the forest might know that it was time..indeed almost too late..to act and save the world."

Happy Camper

today is the first day

in forever that

it's not raining and cold

i've been planning this carving

for a while

will leave the face primitive

do some wood burning

on the "hair"

will most likely give her

a body at some point

 

sunshine....

carving...

happy camper

 

 

Murmuration

this.......

Deity

deity

a god or goddess

divine status..quality or nature

Moon: Grandmother of the Human Heart

Moon...grandmother of the human heart: 

"Love is indecipherable. Perhaps it is easier for us to write about power..because its force field is tangible and its outcomes may be hooked onto the ends of our pens. Maybe it is more straightforward to find good words to invoke integrity or truth..because they shine through those things that oppose them or deny them. Magic can be caught in the clever twist of a sentence..and the many fluid expressions of sadness might be laid with little difficulty into a phrase. But how is it possible for us to adequately describe the simplicity and complexity of love? Our emotions are drawn by the tides..responsive waves of feeling that are small and immense..brilliant and tender..potent and wild. We are oceans created in many harmonizing and churning layers by our emotional deep waters. Here is the salty pitch of our longing and here the soft tone of our compassion. Here is the pale whisper of our bewilderment and the dark timbre of our anxiety. Here are the cold high notes of our clarity. Each one of us is a watery choir of feelings. But underneath all this noise there is something else going on. This full-bodied swell is underpinned by a single rhythm that steadily resounds along the perimeter of our awareness..a constant beat that may rise into a resonant crescendo or pulse gently behind melodic confusion. But it is insistent..strong and always present somewhere in the mix. That sound is love..indecipherable love. Love which rouses..impels and gives purpose to the drumming of our human hearts.

Flying Fuck

flying fuck

nuff said

Raven

 Raven binds the story to the scar

"All the land we ever loved is creased into each fold and crinkle in our skin. This land has known our every step..witnessed our journeys..nourished and received us. The land that recognizes us will always find a way to mark itself onto our skin..and once that is done..we can never be without the place that most reflects our soul. Our skin forms the final boundary that separates our dreaming from the outer world; it is the last barrier that protects our souls from sliding into death. And all the death we ever feared is crushed and smeared inside each pore of our skin. Death demands respect and fear of death needs remembering. We shall honor that landscape beyond life with every drop of moisture that is wept or labored from our pores. All the truth we ever yearned for is scribed into our cuts and rubbed into the raw wounds of our skin. They are a lasting record of the truth we have been seeking..while we forgot and then created memories..while we reshaped our understanding of the world. All the songs we ever heard are pinned into our skin by sharp bone needles; there are so many songs and each one carved from the shards and fragments of our lives. The bones pierce us over and over again pressing who we are and what we know into our hidden flesh..bonding us forever to our songs. And all those folds and pores and cuts and piercings on our skin are sure to last. We will never lose our land or death or truth or songs for we carry them with us always. They are forever in our scars."

Shaman

we do not become healers

we come to the earth

as healers

Cold

just more outsider art

Touched

touched

"orange is the color of insanity"

Where Does This Come From

feeling blue

....happens

selfie

don't think i've ever created the

idea i began with 

this was going to be a chair

with a head

then i saw the hand and

....this

Mo Digital Work

This Much

Magic Hands

i hate days when 

i can't make myself 

go outside  :(:

hence: mo digital work

Oh My.....

these need to be mine

katharine morling ceramics

The City Makes Me Crazy

it does

The Way According To Arlene

more outsider art

No Fux Given

that 'bout sums it up

Tough Titty And A Hot Dog

tough titty 

said the kitty

but the milk's still good

hot dog

see how my mind works

sigh....

The Rider

more digital art

furnace gave up the ghost

this morning

might have to resort to

digital art for the 

next ten years

sigh

Update: $250 relay switch
yeaaaaaa!
(just have to live on beans
for a couple of weeks)

Collage

Fallen Angel

Excuse Me

digital collage

for when you can't

afford more art supplies

Chattel

chattel

times up

To Hell On A Fast Horse

to hell on a fast horse

 story of my life....

Thoughts

thoughts

running thru my head

Memories

nuff said...

Sale Rack

there's always a reason

Battle Of Wits

i find that i battle with

many things that hold 

no pity

Use By Date

me too........

A Little Equine Fun

sketchbook collage

and animation

Flushing Out The Crazy

if only it were

that easy...

Half Assed

my mom always told me not

to half ass anything

sorry mom

The Dreadful Wind And Rain

old appalachian ballad

my roots

Mabel Was A Real Swinger

happens to the best of us

Where Are My Glasses

all the time...

Hush Hush

my first attempt at animation

got a lot to learn

Moonshiner

finally got my wood carving shop

set up and the weather is so cold

i can work in it.....

back to my inside studio

teaching myself animation

sketching

journaling

warm

Murphy's Law

note to self:

wear your damn gloves when

adjusting the chain on your

chainsaw

cashed two checks this morning

at my banks drive thru and asked

for all 20's. i always count my

money before leaving but didn't

today because of my sore finger.

got home and was short $100

murphy's law

Immersed In Wonderland

WOW....

Withering

there is a weak root that barely

anchors me to this world... it's 

withering

realizing that i need it 

 asking help of the plant spirits 

on a rainy morning walk

Rooted In Nature

WOW
amazing artists
diana scherer AND mother nature!

Keep Shining

i will ~ j

Old Bone Mother

 

image: Carolyn Hillyer

 "Old Bone Mother is an archetype, a potential; we find her in the old folktales. In the person of Baba Yaga, with her forest hut which runs on chicken legs, and is surrounded by a wooden fence topped with skulls. In the Siberian story of the dead hero who is taken to an old woman in a cave; she sleeps on his bones, and so brings him back to life. In the Mexican story of La Huesera, who takes bones back to her cave and sings them back to life.

Bones are the essence of us, and they always speak the truth. The childish bones buried beneath The Juniper Tree; The Singing Bone with its story of murder and treachery. You can’t fool the bones, and you can’t fool Old Bone Mother. She’ll lead you to the cave; she’ll sleep on your bones; she’ll show you the way to tend your wounds, how to grope your way gently back to wholeness. Old Bone Mother knows all the tricks of the healing dark. But Old Bone Mother knows we sometimes need a little tougher love. She knows when it’s time to let you go, when it’s time to kick you back out again. Back into the world, back on the path, on out into the promise of returning light.

We need to focus on coming back to our bodies, beginning to repossess our instincts, beginning to reclaim our deep connection to the land and its non-human inhabitants. This is how we heal." ~ Sharon Blackie

untethering.....