On Swooning, Paintings, and Sundays

It's Swoon Sunday with Effy Wild.  Here's what I've been working on.

Angels We Have Heard on High

Harvest Queen

Matron Brigit

Have a happy and swoony Sunday!!!

Karen

On Loving Spirit, Morning Coffee, and Painting

September 23, 2013 Moonshine Journal

I can lovingly mother my spirit by . . .

I wish when I came to the page the words would freely come. However, sometimes I just sit and stare at the screen and wonder what it’s like for others—if they sit and stare at their screens too. 

It would be nice if words simply tumbled in great wisdom onto the page. Even with freewrites, sometimes the words fight back. They refuse. Stubborn words.

So I sit here trying to say how I can lovingly mother my spirit by . . . and I find myself wanting to say something profound, but nothing is coming.

Maybe that means I don’t mother my spirit at all. Nah. I think I do in some ways. In the warm cups of coffee in the morning that act as a gentle wake up call to my soul. In the painting after painting and journal spread after journal spread I bring forth. My sprit is fed through each one. In spending time with my writing. In hot showers. In the smells of the plants outside at dusk. In the flowers my husband planted that will bloom through fall. In the talks with my daughters over the phone. In the good classes I have with my students. In the sweet love I make with my spouse.

My spirit is fed in all things—every sight, smell, touch, taste, sound that visits me each day are ways I filter healing to my soul. Even seemingly bad things can cause the thought patterns to turn inward. Reflection becomes part of the connecting to my soul.

I thought of more. In the pretty turquoisey and pinkish comforter I bought for our bed. In the comfy clothes I wear that make my body happy. In the flowers my husband buys for my altar to keep me painting. In the people I run into who change my day. In the fluff of my dog against my skin. In the ¼ cup of American Dream Ben and Jerry’s ice cream at night.

Wow. I didn’t think I lovingly mothered my spirit. I see now that I do. It may be the reason I am happy. When I do these things for me, I am happy. Happiness lies in the soul-filled moments. We create those moments by delving into spirit, loving spirit, listening to spirit.

It may not be profound, but it works for me.

Here’s to all the ways you mother your spirits. I’d love to know a few.

On Mother Paintings, Brigit, and Love

Here is a trance painting from Effy Wild's class, Moonshine Mother

Thanks for stopping by,

Karen

On Goddesses, Brigit, and Gifts

Brigit.  I like the spelling Brigit rather than Brigid.  I don't know why.  I just do.

When I first started goddess research, I'd look here and there as time allowed.  When I looked at the Pinterest board of goddesses, I was pleased to find so many but overwhelmed at how to pick one or two or even three.

Then one day while I was walking my dog, I heard the name Hecate in my ear.  I couldn't remember what her gifts were but didn't sense they matched me. 

I looked them up.  They were                     

I kept asking myself, "Maybe you are unwilling to accept a goddess who doesn’t look and act and have the gifts you want.

I said, "Well, of course.

Every goddess I looked at seemed like they had the gift of death (which I haven't done), or fertility (which I have already done), or sea (which I'm not totally drawn to.

When I read about Brigit, how she is the goddess of poetry and craftsmanship and healing, I was intrigued.  I love poetry.  At some times in my life, I have written a good bit of poetry.  Lately, I've wanted to write more and enhance that skill.  I haven't really had a thought about how to do that, or maybe I have, but it's expensive. 

Anyway, I want to be a poet again.  And I always want to be a craftsman.  And I have helped others heal. 

Ah, I breathed deeply.  I have found my goddess.

Then I searched around the internet about Brigit.

I liked that she has a festival, The Feast Day of Brigit or Imbolc, on February 1 and that you can put a white woolen cloth outside of your door the night before the festival.  The cloth will attract the energy of Brigit.

I like rituals so I immediately wanted it to be January 31^st so I could try it. 

I like that she has this party day.  Parties are good.

I like that there’ this pagans and Christian part of her.

I like that she has known sorrow at the death of her son in battle and that her “keening” was so loud it went throughout Ireland and brought the warring sides together.

I like that she possesses an unusual status as a Sun Goddess Who hangs Her Cloak upon the rays of the Sun and whose dwelling-place radiates light as if on fire.

For me, I feel inspired her gifts and her story.  So much information is out there that it is difficult to gather it in this one place. 

I’m looking forward to painting her and knowing her and incorporating her gifts in my life.

On Childhood, Green Grass, and Honeysuckle Vines

September 19, 2013 Moonshine Journal
The child within me wants . . .

I remember sitting cross-legged
by the honeysuckle vines, licking
its clear syrup from the stems,
the taste so sweet. I want that time again,
the afternoons that drag by, that allow
quiet pleasure.

I want a pastureland of green grass
where I can walk barefoot forever
feeling the coolness of the green
between my toes.

I want the most important thing
of life to be watching the seasons,
learning new spelling words, and
playing dress-up.

I want to ride my bike and feel
the wind whip my hair back
to let go of the handlebars, to
sense the freedom air.

I want to mingle with my childhood
friend, Deloris Dugger,
and wear the beauty queen
crown of her sister like
we were just crowned ourselves.

I want to write more poems
like I wrote in the second grade
in Mrs. Brown’s class, to draw
more pictures to paint, to paint.

I want to smell the lead and wood
in my nickel fat pencils and the
promise of the tablet paper
to hold my words.

I want to feel connected to the
universe--my frame of reference
being a blue domed sky and
a solid ground of earth beneath.

I want the sureity, the miracle
Of a child’s tiny hands, how much
they can hold, dandelions and water
from the stream, dirt and frogs.

Those days were innocence
and mama’s pearls, the
smell of summer cut grass
and the sure promise of
doing it all over again the next day.

On Sharing, Journal Spreads, and Effy Wild's Moonshine Mother Class

Here's an art journal spread I did for Effy Wild's Moonshine Mother class.  I'm having soooooo much fun!

Here's to your Sunday!

Karen

On Mother Earth, Green Hills, and the Divine Feminine

September 10, 2013, Posting in Moonshine Mother/The Earth as Mother
----------------------------------
Protected.

That’s what I feel when I consider the earth as a mother figure. We have this huge globe of Mother caring for us, watching over us, twirling in her daily fancy for us.

I remember being at a women’s spirituality retreat some time ago. At one point, I walked into the woods to observe, or see what observed me. It was the time of green in the seasons when everything effused life.

I walked around seeing moss attached to the rocks and stopping to feel its soft green pelt. I heard sticks crack under my feet. I picked one up to use as a walking cane of sorts. The heat soaked through my body. Suddenly I felt at one with all that was around me.

That’s when I saw her.

On the other side of a huge valley she lay. Her green knees were bent up towards the sun. She was on her back. Her legs were spread wide a part giving birth. The hills rounded and had become the Mother. The sky was her birthing room.

I was in awe.

It was as if I was witnessing something sacred. To me the sight of the hills resembling the Mother giving birth made me fill with gratitude.

She was in labor. She was birthing all women. I found it beyond beautiful. It was reverent to me. Holy.

I left that woodsy place feeling a deep closeness to Mother Earth. I had seen her in the birthing position. I had watched as she breathed in and out the pangs of bringing the world to life.

Even years later, I can see that scene in my mind’s eye as if I am standing on the edge of the wood watching her again—feeling the pulse of her mothering.
I thank her for being there.

I could almost touch her womb, rich with life. The Mother Earth made my birth possible that day—it was the birth of the Divine Feminine inside me.