Equinox Creativity

Today I am celebrating the Autumn Equinox by being creative in a different way than I usually do - I'm drawing and doodling. Hubby got me a new kit of pens, pencils, and pastels, and encouraged me to take a break from my writing (I sent off my Family History Book to the printer last night- YAY). So I did.

This was the perfect time for bringing some balance into my days. I've been caught up in writing for months now, pushing myself, especially these final two weeks, to complete the Family History book project. Time to bring in creativity from another part of my being.

Give it a try!

waiting not

infinity
never ending
life


catch a falling star and become one myself
worms crawl in and out yet all life continues
anything is possible


no point to fret over what we cannot control and cannot see--
I cannot see what lies behind the mind and actions of others,
all I see are my non-senses and perceptions
react and respond ... act


Take action in my own life instead of just waiting for what I think someone else ought to do--I could wait forever, spend my life waiting instead of acting with joy in each moment. This moment--what is it and what does it bring--what do I bring to it? Sunshine, dogs, chair, quiet, writing, walking, singing, healing, meditating, preparing food, honoring self and others. Kiss my loves. Love my life. All will be as it should. Yes?


Sun warming my back as I sit facing my shadow. Sun hat shading the page so I can see and the heat penetrating my cold spine, warming its stiffness into softness; like a flame warms the oil I feel the juices of my vertebrae, loosening, becoming more fluid allowing freer movement within self. Thick molasses becomes a syrup flowing easily from the heat and as other liquids join in, all flowing the same direction for now, dark and light together, sweet and bitter co-mingling, their perfect blend a blessing. Blending within, I feel the softening deepen and soak up the balance, the wisdom of accepting differences. 

Blessings of change to open my heart to see moments of peace. 


Not waiting, rather embracing living, being here and welcoming the tickle of the breeze on bare toes warming in the sunshine. See the white miniscule flaking of skin on the high arch of a foot that shimmers like silk stockings in the sunlight a surface that sheds and grows moment by moment, always changing. Light blue veins tracing patterns of life allowing movement. Action. Wiggle those same toes and feel the blessing of knowing they can follow a path from chair to porch. They act. They twitch and bend. They aren't waiting, they are doing whatever they can right now, even as I sit.


Dogs watching the gates, one over to that side and one here, fully present, they observe the actions going on around them--see a car drive past, watch the bird in the tree then fly away, listen to the neighborhood dogs bark without their people home. Are they learning who those other dogs are? Listen and respond. Reaction or action. No thought but inner-intelligence acting senses. See and walk, toward or away. Halt, tilt head. Listen again. 


A whole world exists in this single moment--no need to wait for the next one. Even in silence of self, so much going on elsewhere--choose to act or remain still.

Being here now,

we are not waiting.

We are living.

Writing Prompt: "taking out the trash"

Looked across the way when 
taking out the trash and
saw silence
felt a darkness
in the windows of the house next door
where drawn curtains and smudged glass
hid more than they revealed
carefully crafted so that Light could neither escape or enter.


A wail rose in my throat
for the poor defenseless beings inside
where the trash never left but
grew and grew
becoming huge piles of refuse that 
molded and mildewed and
stank up the confined space.


Dark
the mushrooms grew
not the magic ones of 
childhood and forest and fairy circle but
those that poison and contaminate and
kill off all the Fire even when it tries to rise and shine.


Don't allow the crap to consume
to build up
to accumulate.
If no routine for taking out the trash then 
create one--
take it to the dump
or put it out by one handful each day
for Mother Earth to transform.


Not everyone is able to use a curb-side service
convenient though it is
for not everyone has reached that stage
and even then
sometimes too much is thrown out
good ideas with the bad
happy memories with the traumatic
because it's so easy.
Who wants to pick through the trash to find
what needs to stay or go?
Asking...
Maybe if I just toss it all then
my house will be clean?
Perhaps.
But then there is nothing to transform with/in
all the elements are mashed together like in a trash compactor and 
so tightly bound that we lose sight of
the True Me
for even the icky, sticky, gooey bits might be important--
salvageable
recyclable.
Can I re-use this hurt?
Can I learn from it and then share the lesson with someone else?
How can the trash become gold?


"One person's trash is another person's treasure."


So might it be with all this supposed
so-called 'trash'
that has piled up inside.
How to sift through it all?


Look at the house next door...
not next door at all but 
the mirror of my own home.
A reflection I stare at but
don't want to see because
who wants to look at the trash and
crap and stinking piles of refuse
that has accumulated?


Bring out a bull-dozer and just push it all into
one huge mountain of crumbling, thick, globs of
manure and decomposition but
that way none of it can be used again and
it's all gone and stagnating and 
pushed down deep
buried so far under the foundation 
that excavating could take years 
lifetimes even.


Okay.
Before throwing it in the trash
at least before taking out the trash
look, think, feel it out.
Can it be transformed
learned from 
reused
shared
and ultimately
put to good use
for a 
truly clean house?
___________________________
This writing prompt is a daily one compliments of Peggy Tabor Millin's Clarity Works. The day before this prompt, I had been contemplating and organizing my plans for offering holistic classes through the local wellness center in our new location; how to share, how to help, how to connect. I had fun with this particular day's writing practice where the words flowed so fast my pen could barely keep up, and provided so many ideas for sharing.

Mother~Daughter

love

wisdom

companionship

thank you, mom

Veins

Trace the lines of Her face,
veins of blood and spirit,
silver and roots,
deep within and upon the surface.
Each one a reflection as I sense my own
dips and valleys, 
mountains and hills, 
marked by time,
distended or sunken.
Age has brought Her vividly apparent and 
like a blind woman my fingertips follow Her story, 
shadows of Braille guiding me down each path of exploration. 
Feel Her roots traveling the earth, 
winding along and being diverted or pushing through, 
gnarly and rough or smooth as the green switch of divination 
that leads inward springing up fine hairs that sense every nuance, 
every pocket of air, 
every mote of dust or beam of light 
that gleams through the breaks in the full canopy of leaves overhead.

skyroots

Her veins giving life and experiencing decay 
as we transform the past into rebirth, 
rising tall and strong in Self.
An energy trail that calls to each of us, 
inviting like the bubbling springs, 
the tendrils of vines are drawn to twine around 
seeking Her Source of love and fulfillment. 
Brightness shines through the veins 
illuminating the Present 
and palms tingle with Her beauty, 
stretching out, opening, flowering. 
Patterns are created and create
lines on the surface 
that share a story of courage or defeat, 
tales of fear and love.
A deep vertical line clearly depicts 
the effects of anger and disregard for the sacred Beingness 
that one tries to change or use, 
deep as the grand canyon, 
yet it can be filled with the flowing rivers of love and healing, 
the cool rich nourishment softening and smoothing, 
allowing heat to fall into a simmer, 
a gentle glow of acceptance, 
even becoming an embrace of love pure and simple, 
true to Unity. 
As the veins flow, 
tracing the lines we step between 
faded patches of grass too frail to survive 
or pause in awe of the verdant moss 
plush and vibrant within Her dark and cool tapestry 
woven many times with threads that become stronger, 
not weaker, 
with weathering and wisdom. 
A line leads up to the entrances 
... enter into trance ... 
which one is calling now? 
Do I step into the forest 
or onto the beach 
or raise my arms for the hawk to swoop in and 
carry me far away to the unknown 
beyond the little valley of shimmering ores I've mined for years, 
growing yet safe, 
having set up my own timbers of support 
within the shiny cool mine where 
treasures lay waiting for all who see their potential. 
But what of those gems not yet unearthed, 
the rich veins criss-crossed by ancient roots 
that prickle and engender courage in those who take up the call.
Where from here? 

Follow the lines, 

allow Her graceful wrinkles of wisdom 

to lead the way ever deeper, 

farther yet closer ... to center ... to Self.

Core

Within the landscape of our lives we meet the lions and the mice, the herons and the roses, we walk among the stars shining their brilliance, and play with the fireflies, we run with the laughter of the butterflies among the flowers into the depths of the forest and come out the other side to swim in a river and cross to the other side, and continue our travels along a winding path that has no destination for we are the destination. 
Our landscape is the map to where we find ourselves, we are the pot of gold at the end of Her rainbow and we are the gold coins, each of us sharing the melting pot with all the lives and beings and experiences along our journey. 
We create within the pot a unique blend of soul experiences which are formed into a Soul Coin that is a fragment of the whole--for an instant I believe I am that coin separate and solitary--yet the Light comes in Her warm divinity and we all melt together into Her glowing molten Core of purity and essence and spirit beyond the single coin. 
My life journey is not mine alone but carried along in a river of gold--the river of tears fears joy bliss sorrow--and rolls and heaves together pounding and trickling alternating in force or gentleness as we flow together smoothing rocks and uprooting trees that will grow again downstream, building homes for some of us while others are disfigured-transfigured-transformed through breaking down and pulling apart to be explored and understood on a level that wasn't apparent a moment before. 
I flow downstream and grab a rock, pull myself out and spread my flesh upon the smooth hard surface to dry and warm and become the form of this new experience to take the opportunity to embrace this moment in the solitude of insight and reflection. 
Hold a fluid mirror cupped in trembling hands and see what is revealed, my body tattooed in scrapes and scratches and bruises, stained by the sweetness of berry juices, softened by petals of a thousand blossoms, covered in mud that is drying and staining and then flaking off with each movement of recovery from the toils of the flow with all the complexities and the simplicity of Life. 
The river of life in form that reflects the growth of my spirit, the soul within this birth that chose to come and to experience specific interactions with all those who chose to interconnect with me! Together we have created experiences unique and sublime, not in comparison but in rapture.
The eyes to see and know this life only grow and shine the light of love when they perceive beyond comparison into the Unity veiled from the blind. 
Balance the experiences I need and desire with those I feel drawn to learn from when instinct may say turn away yet from beneath comes the jewels and the golden coins at the end of the rainbow. 
Come home to the molten Core. 
Come home to Mother Earth. 
Come home to the Infinite that chose to manifest within one's Soul to experience here and know how to see in new ways, always growing, for growth from Core is Infinite.

Awe

Flower of Prayer

Fragile shell so temporary housing this Spirit, so many gifts like all the other beings yet unique each of us. Needing shelter from heat and cold, creativity of La Chispa and Knowledge combine to discover answers to survival having long ago left behind how to simply Be in the world comfortable entirely with skin born within. The great sentinel pine grows and stands tall, surviving from sapling the harsh snows and frigid temperatures and blazing sun in drought. The majestic saguaro with its cautious growth and precious arms that it spreads only when mature and finally secure in its place in the world. The wildflower that some call weed who springs up fresh and bright each time, living fully for its moments int he mildness then to release itself, scattering remnants and bits that are whole yet tiny, strong yet carried away on the merest breeze or the most miniscule beak of a bird that sees in the distance a field of clover or a stand of trees beckoning a journey. This fragile thing I wear, so precious, so needy and delicate, grateful for thoughts and inspiration that provide for its existence here and now to experience the world of form. Mountains calling, a crooked tree the invitation of a hand that blends into Her surroundings only visible if we open to seeing. She waves a little, smiling. Her creatures tend to their business oblivious to my gaze of awe.

Lady of the Lake

I rest under a sheet of ice, leaves upon my skin, as I press my hands against the pane, prints merge with dark, decaying matter, smearing.

I rest beneath the dying foliage, disintegration forms a second layer upon my skin, lightly marking me with its offering of the past now gone.

A time to reflect and release. The cool, dark blue of the lake where I float supporting me between depths of emotional womb and the transformation that awaits me. I breathe and taste the acrid, bitter waters infiltrated by the crumbling leaves, their once-glorious colors now drab and dull as they let go of what they once were, no longer of use. They permeate my flesh,melting into it from pressure and the natural merging of that which was into the present that is.

As I die to the past, accepting, beneath the smudges and sticky, withering of what was, I feel hands reach toward me, hands of new opportunity, new love, new life, that reach under my head and shoulders so that I don't sink into the lake's depths but rest easily in the moments of transformation, and then light emerges from my own fingers, drawn from within, from my own depths of Being, light that reaches out to touch the light reaching in, spreading, awakening.

The pane of ice once pressing me into death is lit and melts into the waters, taking with it the remnants of leafy past as the bits slide down my skin, slimy but no longer cold, no longer between but rising in the light, I feel the weight falling away as I rise into the air, the wind teasing my freed skin, the dawn on the horizon heralding a new moment until I no longer feel my light within and the light without as separate. We are One. We join even though we were never really apart, only a perception that kept us away from each other.

I am the new life rising from the leafy compost.

I am the new life emerging from the cold lake.

The light of opportunity and new growth spreads out from every part of me into all areas of the world around. Smiling, I move into and merge with Her and we awaken all to Her Glory and Grace in the new moment, new day, new life, the new age of Light and Love.

______________

I wrote the preceding based upon the Soul Card I drew blindly from the deck this morning. I wanted to feel a different catalyst, a different stimulant to my morning pages of writing. To see an image and write what I see and feel and imagine. I enjoyed the process! A beautiful way to tap into my roots. My life is a blend of so many aspects and concepts, directions and stillness, noise and silence. The merging can sometimes feel like chaos when I don't make space to rest. Rest not only physically, but also emotionally, mentally and spiritually. In my younger years I easily vacillated between hysteria and depression, extremes that were exhausting and carried me more than once to the brink. I think that is why I moved from home to home sometimes - the change was forced movement and transformation that pulled me out of stagnation or a vicious cycle of ups and downs and one that allowed new energy to flow through me.

As I sat down to post my writing on this blog, I went to Deborah's web site to provide a link for her Soul Cards. Awareness of the synchronicity in life is important to me so let me share this one with you...

I bought my deck of cards over 12 years ago, and turned to them regularly for a while. However, until I saw a soul card image on Divine Sparks last week, I had forgotten about them. So, this morning, I pulled my first card in years and, guess what, the image (out of a possible sixty images) I pulled is the same one used on the cover for her DVD "Through The Veil: The Story of Touch Drawing" -- there are no accidents, and, since I have been drawn to drawing lately, using my iPad to draw with my fingers as it so happens, I will be ordering some of Deborah's materials to see where they lead me!

___________

SoulCards® Deborah Koff-Chapin, Center for Touch Drawing

Impressions

Empty. Space. Shapes and textures. As I doodle, I realize that what draws (?!) me to it is being able to create shapes and flow. Perhaps similar to what I enjoy about handwriting - in cursive - to feel and see and sense the flow, the curves, the images evoked from the ink, the color as it flows across the page or pad whether paper or glass. It is like another world where magic appears, where first there is emptiness and then these shapes appear that are grounded in a knowledge but take shape, new, clean, each time, never exactly the same, and I can become one with the flow as my fingers move and my eyes see -- beautiful and sometimes letters are dropped or lost along the way where a word is still a word, recognizable, yet even more curious and unique than before. When I doodle, it can feel the same way, that here is what we call a circle or a straight line and yet the shape that emerges is not the same as it was before! And on the iPad, it is like finger-painting! Only a tip of a finger that moves, slow or fast, light pressure or more firm to create a different impression. Like our impact upon the world around us reflected within the drawing or image or word.

Anywhere Is

The moon upon the ocean
is swept around in motion
but without ever knowing
the reason for its flowing
in motion on the ocean
the moon still keeps on moving
the waves still keep on waving
and I still keep on going

~ lyrics from "Anywhere Is" by Enya

I love this song but what often strikes me the most is that the words have different meaning depending upon where I am in the moment of listening each time. Like the waves move through me, the song moves with me as I ebb and flow...

To Doodle

I've recently discovered doodling on my iPad - a fun and easy form of creativity that puts me in touch with another side of myself, that can be easier to access at times than my writing, because the doodling takes me totally beyond 'thought' and removes me from my 'mind.' Very cool.

I notice that I'm more comfortable saying that I "doodle" rather than "draw" or make "rhymes" rather than "poetry". These are simple terms for simple forms, without any pretense of professionalism or 'art'. I label using the standard 'drawing' or 'poetry,' though, in order to encourage a sense of connection within my Self to what is traditionally considered art and creativity.

Anyway, the doodling definitely releases a different energy - more childlike - than does my writing! LOL MORE DOODLING

Dancing the Flower

Dancing the flower

all through the hour

lifted by ether and air.

Tree granting shelter

for fire and water,

rooted in earth so fair.

Uluru

Sitting, hearing darkness call,

silhouette upon Uluru.

Blink - dusk - blink - dawn

and continuing on

through transitions' hues.

Peaceful, present, content to view

the unfolding wings of all that sings

witness to death and birth,

measuring our worth,

marking the eons of rise and fall.

My Heart one with All.

Echo

Hazy sky this morning, the heat lying in wait behind the thin veil, the fire dampened down from the cool lunar energy, the watery echo of sun to come.

Echo.

A voice from far away, my voice, but one I haven't heard in a long time, faint and fading but it can be heard by listening carefully, tipping my head, ears alert. There. Barely. Like CPE says "behave yourself - barely".

I like that.

And so does the echo of the girl who knew.

The girl who flew.

The child with wide eyes

and truth, no lies.

The being pure and sweet,

to be and love, not to compete.

A young soul, growing, knowing, being;

not blinded by cruelty or pain, seeing.

Oh so clearly she saw.

I see her there.

I hear her care.

Her face of love

and voice of softly floating dove

on wings so white and pure,

to cleanse away all we endure.

The path now clear and clean.

A trail of peace between

us as we step lightly,

onto its soft pad glowing brightly.

I hear her voice as she calls.

I see her face in awe.

She is not small,

only seen that way

through the echo of her way

that has come and gone.

Echo.

There, but not.

Here, but not.

Echo soft.

Echo strong but fades.

Carried upon the non-wind, the ether.

Comes back from all around,

from earth and sky and ground.

MY echo.

I return until I am one once more with the echo that is no longer an echo but a part of me, blending, creating, we join together until we are One.

Until I am Whole.

The echo now is of the future, not the past, because I have reclaimed the echo from that which was and only the call of that which will be can be heard faintly, calling.

But she lives in the now, the present, I can touch her and see her and feel her - we move together and live together and love as One so that the echo of future is not real and can't feel.

Echo.

No more of lostness, but of what has been found and of what has been set aside.

And even that, the soon-to-be-echo of lostness set aside, transforms from echo to a sigh to a wisp on the air, carried upon the wings of a will-o-the-wisp to the ocean where it is absorbed into the Source once more.

Only clearness. Brightness.

Sparkling and shimmering is the air all around.

Sharp with love's grandeur, I hear the sound.

I feel the openness, the acceptance, the forgiveness.

Because we are not alone or separate.

The blade of grass that spikes beneath my toe reminds my skin to tickle my heart and envelop my soul with laughter.

The crow that sits upon the branch, cleaning a wing as dark as night but shiny as an ebony satin shawl that surrounds and loves and protects and brings the shelter once more, not once more because never not here, only appearing 'as if' ...

the mystical echo that was.