Biomimicry

so thankful there are people like this

in this consumerism driven world....

If Women Rose Rooted

Dr Sharon Blackie – Cultivating the Mythic Imagination from Sharon Blackie on Vimeo.

yes....

Moon Wisdom

thankfully....

Sacred House

 this.....

girlseed

bloodflower

fruitmother

spinmother

midwoman

earthcrone

stonecrone

bone

The Scent of Fresh Wood

"the scent of fresh wood is among the last things

you will forget when the veil falls.

the scent of fresh white wood in spring sap time:

as though life itself walked by you

with dew in its hair.

that sweet and naked smell kneeling woman-soft

and blond in the silence inside you

using your bones for a willow flute.

with hard frost beneath your tongue

you look for fire to light a word..and know..

mild as southern wind in the mind

there is still one thing in the world

you can trust." 

the Standing Ones

always a part of me

It's A Keeper

i've baked my own bread for

years..usually sour dough

in loaf pans

my first attempt baking

in a dutch oven using

a basic flour..yeast..salt

and water recipe

nice hard shell

the best part:

i could hear it talking

cracking..popping

murmurings

when i turned it out

onto the board

think this recipe will 

be a keeper

Angel of Menopause

lawd yes

sigh...

Angel of Misery

some days......

We Are The Ark

We Are The Ark

 

listen to the podcast here

 

 

please help our planet...

Earth Day 2019

yes...

Yes Please

wood fired

ceramic eggs

by mona_naess

yes please

New Carving And Something Delicious

she watches over me

new goddess carving

look at these bowls

by allfiredup.pottery

delicious

seems like everything

i'm drawn to comes

from over the pond

cellular memory?

World Voice Day

"while I am watching the animals and birds I am watching the river and listening. In the water I hear the aboriginal sounds which musicians and poets, shamans and seers have heard in the Great River from the beginning and repeated to their people. In the sound I hear their songs cast into the Great River a long long time ago. Music from the veiled source and these human melodies gather in the long bed waiting to be heard and retrieved by someone, somewhere downstream, in time. Adding to this eternal litany, I tell my own stories to the river, stories I have heard, dreams which people have entrusted to me, my own dreams, tales I have read. The words I write I take to the river and read to the water. Until I have given the words to the river they are not mine to give. Until they are thrown into the flow, washed and bedded in her body, I do not trust their purity. The water absorbs the sounds and the timeless commingling continues, running with purpose to union with all the waters circling this sweet earth. In the waters the sounds go round and round. 

Sometimes I think of the animals hearing the songs in the water and perhaps understanding something good about us. I always carry with me one of my stone animals. Washed in the river, the animal returns the sound to its altar in the studio and the sounds in the stone sing like the stones in the riverbed."

beautiful words about voice

by meinrad craighead

who do you share 

your voice with?

Never Give Up

"how sad to think that nature speaks

and mankind doesn't listen"

 

trees

my greatest mentors

 

never

give

up

Honouring Your Crazy Woman

listen here:

The Language of Stones

there are those of us

who walk the earth

The Beauty of Wood

i am simply gobsmacked

by the beauty of wood

i share my mealtimes

with this wood spirit

Solitude

“Loneliness is our precious gift. Solitude can give us back time we have lost and a wide empty space in which to wander without purpose or constraint. In this place all life slows and becomes suspended. Inside solitude we may lay down the burden of our wounds. When darkness has enveloped us with endless nights of chaos and confusion..when we are dismembered..broken into pieces and reduced to fragile threads..when we are disappearing into wounds that it seems may never heal..then we shall seek out solitude to be our refuge. We may be thinned out by all the work of letting go. There is so much scraped away from us..more than we could have imagined and in ways never anticipated. We have been left only with these gaping..hungry wounds. But there is release in the diamond clarity of being stripped to the core. Perhaps only in this moment..with nearly everything peeled away..do we truly understand the value of what remains. And grief will pursue us if we try to avoid the sorrow of our wounds. It will sit quietly working its roots down into our souls. But when we are wrapped in quiet isolation..we may walk more closely to our sorrows and come to understand the nature of the journey that we share. We know that in the end our wounds have the power to change us and we will find relief in this haven of wept tears. True isolation may take us to a liberation we did not even know was there. The protection given to us by solitude is without measure. Let us be unafraid to be alone. Loneliness will still be holding us with tender care when all other arms have dropped away.”

i know this gift....

Something Old...Something New

i rescued this old sink

decades ago

thinking i would use it for

potting flowers

i dug it out from under a 

blanket of pine needles today

doing a little spring cleaning

i've thought a lot lately

of redoing my kitchen

i think this old lady will

be right a home there

she's been patient.....

cuttings...

hydrangea
lady banks
not sure they'll root
spoke to their spirits
we'll see

It's Said....

it's said that to hold a jaw bone

you own the voice of what

spoke on earth.

when carving this antler

i wondered if i now own

this animals thoughts

Hag Stone

ancient memories

stone and water

wood whispered stories

bone

blood

breath

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