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.

On Sketches, Busy Schedules, and Upcoming Holidays

Here's some graphite sketches I'm doing for Effy Wild's Moonshine Mother class.

I've been so busy with the online class that it's been hard to blog.  With teaching starting back, it's a challenge to get it all in.  I'll have to get it all in a balance.  Fortunately, my night class I teach only lasts for eight weeks, so there are only 12 classes left.  Amazing.  Then I'll feel freer and have my time opened up before the holidays arrive!  Cheers all around.

Hope you have a blessed day in your world!

Karen

On Worrying, Criticizing, and Intending

I'm having trouble intending.

So much seems to be cramming itself in my head--a daughter flying to Germany right now for three months, a painting I need to mail Tuesday and not being sure how to do it, student papers to read, classroom plans to make, and on and on.

I intend not to worry so much while I take this class.  I intend to be fully present while participating.  I've already had some blips in the being present intention.  When I printed out my calendar and journal, I clicked on the link without prompts when I really wanted the one with prompts.  I "promptly" had to print out the journal with the prompts.  Not the best being present or paying attention I've done, but I'll keep on trying.

I intend to listen to the call of the Divine Feminine in my life, to accept her nudgings, to accept her love.

I intend to love myself through this process.  Sometime, maybe a lot of times, I'm too self critical.  I can mess up my process because I beat up on myself.  This has been a long time problem.  I intend to place my critical self on some hot air balloon far away from commenting on what I'm doing or berating me.

I intend to find more of my new self.  We are always evolving into the new.  I want my new self to be brave, strong, fearless, loving and kind.

I intend to open my heart to this class, to its participants, to Effy and to myself.

I intend to be changed.

On Subscribe to Links, Computer Knowledge, and Giving In

I'm a little bit "not" savvy with computers.

Yesterday I tried to put a "subscribe to" link on my blog.  I don't have a clue to how to do that.   Does it have something to do with an RSS feed app you get online?

I wish computer-world talk meant something to me more than gobbledygook.  When I look at computers, my face, mind, spirit, intelligence do a combo shut down.  

Seems I could pay someone to complete these little tasks for me, and maybe I will.  So much better for them not to suffer while doing something they love, than for me to suffer while doing something I despise.  

I think this is a quality I inherited genetically, or maybe it happens to all Capricorns born on Jan. 12.  If so, then I wonder what Kirstie Alley, Howard Stern, or Rush Limbaugh do about it since their birthdays are on Jan. 12 too.  Also, it could be about some technical computer class I didn't take in college.  The one I did take used punch cards for the programs.  Can we say dinosaur?  

It will be alright, I keep telling myself.  Some way I'll make it in this highly evolved, computer entrenched culture we have.  I'll find that computer smart person to help me.  I'll pay them well deserved monies.

And I'll finally get my "subscribe to" link on my computer.

Have a great Sunday!

On Blogathons, Endings, and What I Learned

Over.

The blogathon ends today.

What do I know after thirty days of a dedicated practice to blogging?

1.  Practice is the key word.  To vest in the practice is to make it worthwhile.  Knowing one has shown up each day and written from our hearts and spirits, is a marvelous thing.

2.  I don't have to be read by others to keep going.  Some days no visitors dropped in or commented on my blog.  Of course, having an amazing readership would be great, but it's not mandatory.  Coming to the page to write is honoring who we are as persons, it tells us we count, that our voices are important.

3.  It's a joy to read others' words and view their art and thoughts.  I was part of this dedicated community.  I got used to seeing and connecting with blog participants.

4.  Effy deserves a huge thanks.  Thanks for calling us to write, for seeing this through, and for creating community while we wrote.

5. My favorite blog I wrote was "On Pedicures, Good Food, and Love."  This writing was about a recent visit with my daughters.

6.  I had many favorite bloggers to peak in on each day, including Zoe and Cynthia Lee, and many others.

7.  I'm glad I did it.  In a whirly world where its hard to start something without getting stopped along the way, this is a big deal for me.  A really big deal.

For all the fun and for sharing your words, THANKS!!

xo Karen

On New Things, Intuitions, and Comforters

Sometimes you just need an update.

About a year ago we purchased a new bed for our master bedroom.  The headboard we were using was a beautiful bluish screen of metal and rattan.  It was totally shabby chic.  However, it didn't make for a very comfortable backrest while drinking coffee or reading emails in the morning.  That's the reason for the new bed.

The comforter we had worked well.  I bought it for $25 at an antique stores.  It was white and light lime green and matched perfectly the chartreuse antique chair.  I liked the white one but thought we were ready for some color.

I received an advertisement for a home sale at Belk stores.  I decided to go and check out a few of the floral ones for sale.

Once in the store, I zoned in on one particular comforter that matched all the colors in our room.  I decided to buy it and try it on our bed.

What happened was a glorious pop of color.  Upon putting it on the bed, I took a little snooze just to get the energy of it.

It's funny how if you follow your intuition for finding this or that new item or doing this or that new thing, the right item oftentimes comes to find you.  That's what happened with this pretty floral comforter.

Maybe something new is calling you right now!

On Blogging, Late Classes, and Teaching

Well, I did not blog yesterday.

I forgot.  The day got old and my body went into dreamland without even thinking of it.  Of course, I want to finish out the final days, so hopefully I'll post tonight too.

This evening my fall term starts for school.  I'm teaching college freshman their 101 course.  One of my classes is a night one that goes from 8:05 p.m. - 10:30 p.m.  On most days, I'm already in bed by that time.

I remember one night when I was supposed to be teaching class, I already had my pajamas on.  I was sitting on the couch all comfy when the alarm went off in my head--you have class tonight.  Fortunately, I had time to get ready and head off to class without being late.

I've been so lucky to have had the summer off.  I'm spoiled now about working--as in I don't want to.  I've been able this summer to play and do art and relax.

But I need to get in gear--get my little backpack filled with books, pencils, and notebooks, and head into the semester thankful that I am able to teach these students.  Actually, they teach me a lot too.

Just heard the school bell.  I'm off to class!!

On the Tried and True, New Computers, and Loving What We've Got/27

Today the computer we bought for my husband is returned.

It didn't work as he had planned.  Windows 8 was a disappointment among other things.

I suggested him getting a Mac like I have or another computer, but he wants a computer that works like the one he has now.  We thought getting an updated model of the same computer would work, but, alas, it didn't.

I guess there is something about going with the tried and true.  The tried and true computer.  The tried and true journal.  The tried and true paints.   And I figure a lot of times in our lives we attempt to replace items or others that we feel have lived out their better days with us when sometimes the tried and true would still do.

We set aside relationships that still have that little glimmer of hope for that glossy, funner relationship looking over our shoulder.  We set aside the old bedspread just when we're tired of it for the fancy floral patterned one in the catalog.  We set aside our favorite pair of heels while looking for a replacement pair.

And don't get me wrong.  It's okay to want things--new things.

But I guess I didn't realize until today that sometimes we discard what could still be useful so we can have more of something else.  Sometimes simpler may be better.  Sometimes the old computer edges out the new one just by a nose.

Sometimes what we already have might just be all we need.

On Swimsuit Trauma, Trips to the Dentist, and New Computers/26

The above model is NOT me, unfortunately.  :-)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Long day.

Traveled to Florence, AL, to go to Best Buy and purchase a new computer for my sweet husband, Tom.

I also had an appointment with my dentist to start a crown on a tooth.  I'm not a big fan of dentists or getting crowns or root canals or anything.  My mouth is sore now.  My tooth is sore.  I hope all will be better tomorrow.

Next we drove home and I received my much anticipated swimsuit--the only thing is only half of it arrived.  The next hour was spent with Macy's trying to figure out why the bottom half of my swimsuit did not arrive.  Long story.  They didn't have the bottom half in my size at all.  If I wanted to wear the suit, I'd have to wear it bottomless--well that's never going to happen, of course.  Now I have to return the top-that-didn't-come-with-a-bottom-because-they-didn't-have-a-bottom swimsuit.

I searched online for another swimsuit and finally found one.  It costs more than the other one.  The coupons on the website didn't "count" for the swimsuit I wanted.  I need a swimsuit for upcoming trips so I went ahead and bought it.  Sigh.  Swimming suit trauma.  No telling how bad it would have been if I had had to try the suits on!

After a drink, things began to settle down.  But it's been a crazy day.

The one good thing that did happen is I signed up for Effy's Moonshine class.  Thank goodness for gold linings at the end of swimsuit trauma!

On Dirty Dishes, Yellow Latex Gloves, and Finding Self/25

        Leave the Dishes

(with thanks to Louise Erdrich for use of some lines from her poem of the same name)

                                                Leave the dishes.

 Let the oranges rot in the fridge with their greenish spots of mold, along with

the cantaloupe and the celery.  Leave the sugar spilled on the counter.  Let the

  ants in for a sweet fest.  Leave the grime thick in the sink, the bed not made

    for days on end.  Let your junk drawer, full of batteries, old prescription

          drugs, the one paper napkin from McDonalds stay as junk.

                          Let the wind have its way, then the earth.

          Send off a rocket to your sky and steer it towards the moon.

        Talk back to what hold you in place, to the thing that inherits

          your earth, then move towards the clay you came from, that

                                          makes you proud.

Don’t worry about the sandals in your closet that are eight years old,

           that one framed picture of your old boyfriend, the permanent

                             stain in your favorite coffee mug.

Don’t worry who uses whose toothbrush or if anything matches at all.

                     Except one word to another.  Or a thought.

  Pursue the authentic—decide first what is authentic, then go after

    it with all your heart.  Your heart that sends its soldiers into your

                                      body to find your truth.

         Don’t sort the socks that don’t match from the ones that do,

Or worry about separating the loose coins from the peace sign key chain

   you found one day on a walk.  Don’t ever wear yellow latex gloves or

                      clean the blinds that carry the dusts of years.

                     Accept new forms of life and talk to the dead

         who draft in through screened windows, who stand in lines

        on each side of the hallway, who encourage you as you walk

       from room to room.  Wait two more weeks before you vacuum

         or don’t vacuum for a month or a year.  Don’t do anything.

      Except what destroys the insulation between yourself and your

     experience, or what pulls down or what strikes or what shatters

                                 this ruse you call necessity.

On Pedicures, Good Food, and Love/24

My little trip with my daughters is over.

I drove the three hours and thirty minutes home without a glitch and am thankful.  This excursion with my girls reminds me how important family and connections are.

Of course we did the things that were fun--went to a French bakery, Douceur de France, and took our blueberry cheese croissant and regular croissants to the pool to eat.

The pool was blue watered and cool to the body as you stepped in.  I remember ducking under and feeling the wash of water over me--like a renewal of sorts.  We sipped our coffee, fought the local bugs around, and laughed and talked.  It was scrumptious.

We dined one night at a restaurant called The Chicken and the Egg.  I had a shrimp and grits entree that was delish.  This restaurant was sleek and modern, yet the tables and white chairs had a rustic feel to them.

I guess it sounds like all we did was eat!!  And it was!!

On Saturday, we had manicures and pedicures done.  As it turned out, each of us picked out different shades of gray to for our polish color.  A tea room with a little shop beneath it provided lunch--rose tea and chicken salad.  In the shop I discovered this bright pink little bottle for $6.00 that I bought to put in my kitchen window at home.

That night we ate Mexican food and went back to the hotel for wine by the pool and more talking and laughing.  We stayed until a big bug got close to us and we headed back to the room.

All this seems like a pretty simple menu of days, doesn't it?  No matter where we went or how many restaurants we ate in or what we did, the camaraderie of family was prevalent.

Is this to say that there are never disagreements or concerns or different wishes we have for each other's lives?  No.  But it is to say that a common bond threaded throughout the weekend and does every time we're together.

I think it's called love.

On Fun Days, Silence, and Knowing Both are Good/23

It's 11:03 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time.

I'm in a hotel in Atlanta.  I've spent the day with my daughters.  We have had a marvelous time together.  Now they have gone back to their dad's house and I am here alone.

All I hear is the hum of the air conditioning unit and the tapping on the computer keys.  My white wine in a paper coffee cup is almost empty.  I've washed my face, brushed my teeth, taken my medicine.

Here I am to say a little goodnight to the blogging world.

Huge days are are often followed by silent moments.  Silent moments may be what make huge days worthwhile.

It's when the tired kicks in from the laughing and talking and eating and playing, when you know it's over for the day, the quiet slides in unexpected on its heels.

Tonight I'm watching the quiet and am grateful for huge days.  I'm watching the quiet and realizing how grateful I am for that and for living life out loud.

I'm tired this evening but I wouldn't give up the tired for the amount of fun I've had today.

And I wouldn't give up this silence either.

On Daughters, Mothers, and Rendezvous

Oops.

I missed a day.  But I'll catch up again.

I was traveling to visit my daughters.  We are rendezvousing in Atlanta.  That's where they grew up and I lived for 30 years during my first marriage.

Now we are spread out across the eastern United States.  The oldest lives in Brooklyn and is studying for her doctorate in English.  The youngest by two years lives in Charleston and works for an advertising company there as a writer/editor.

I love my girls. So proud of them.  They are so different.  The oldest one is a little more reserved and organized and truly thoughtful of others when buying gifts or spending time with them.  The youngest is more of a free spirit, fun and laughing and very giving as well.

They are both great writers.  I love that about them.

They've grown up to be such wonderful women.  They each have their own views and thoughts and life plans and spirituality and ideas on feminism.  I feel privileged to see what they create, what they say, and watch their lives unfold.

This weekend we will have delicious meals together, shop at Phoenix and the Dragon Bookstore, lay in the sun, get pedicures, laugh, talk and laugh and talk some more.

I can't think of anything else I'd rather be doing.   Period.

"Thank heaven for little girls."

------------------------------------------------
What is the most favorite thing you do with your daughters or sons?

On Small Journals, Art Blocks, and Non-Judgment

While working in my big altered book, All Things Sacred, I hit sort of a block.  The pages seemed so big and my ideas sparse.

I thought I'd give myself time away from the large page spread to work in my little pocket-sized Moleskine journal.  This little book I've worked on off and on.  It's been some months since I've returned to it.   In the book, I just let the pages be free and loose as a way to get me relaxed about creating.  So it is not as much about the product in this journal as it is allowing anything to come and not judging it.

Yesterday, I enjoyed making small spreads in this book.  I think there are nine more spreads to go before I finish the journal.  I love that this book is fat with art--not fancy art--but art nonetheless.

Today I may work in the book and look forward to finishing it.

If you come up on a block in your art, a small "play" journal is a great way to handle the block.

On Tuesday Mornings, Sirens, and a Baby's Birth/Day 20

Outside sirens sound this Tuesday
morning in.  I wonder if somewhere
a house is burning, a car has
flipped over, a woman is
found dead in her bathroom
by her friend who has come
to visit.  We wonder what
control of our lives would
look like.  What if every
siren we heard meant a
hot air balloon had been
launched into the sky, or
that the night stars had issued
their glory for the evening?  What
if we could say what the
siren's call portends?  Then
the bad would always be
taken out and the good would
come and those sirens might only
forewarn that a baby has
been born in the backseat of a car.

On Gold Sofas, the Beach, and Rain/Day 19

It looks like rain.  I don't think it will rain though.

I am sitting on my gold sofa, a ritual of this summer.  My puppy, Happy, snoozes by my side.  She has a ritual of being on the sofa with me.  My husband just sat down on his side of the couch.  He's propped his feet up on the leg rests that pull out from this piece of furniture.

So here we are.  We're this tiny family living out our summer days with contentment.  We move  with a twin sentiment of living, loving, and enjoying the season.

Later this year, we are going to the beach for a bit.  I love the beach, the ocean's salty smells, the warmth in the air entering the lungs and cleansing it, the feel of the sand between the toes.  I'm excited.  We don't go until October.

I look forward to the trip now.  I anticipate it now.  I imagine what we'll do, where we'll walk, what shells we'll find.  I wonder what tales the ocean will reveal to me--how I'll feel while viewing one of those endless sunsets--how I'll feel being one with the Source of all that is.

It's been an easy summer--of coffee in bed, of pampering, of doing whatever we want to do.  I don't know if next summer will mirror this one.  I hope it will again provide the leisure.  There's something about slow-paced days that brings one home, that makes one stop to see if the anticipated rain did come.

And it did.

It's raining now.

On Creative Pauses, Listening, and Honoring/Day 18

I'm in a little bit of a dip relating to my art.

Canvasses await.  My altered book stares at me from the corner of the room.  The desire is simply not there.  I cut out something to use in a journal spread, then it sits there.  I don't make anything from it.

While trying to analyze the issue, I get a sense that the desire will return, that sometimes we have to let things remain fallow.  The season, the day, the moment of creativity will return.

I believe our bodies are the best indicators of what we may be called to DO at the moment.  If our heart is not into it, the experience may feel lacking to us.  In the past, I have pushed through that dry spell in my art.  I can't say that I'm glad I did.  Of course, everyone is different.  For some folks keeping going may be the thing that sparks more creativity.

I've noticed if I honor the lack of interest in my art, then it returns stronger and bigger and better than before.

So those images I've cut out for a journal spread can wait until I'm ready.  The canvasses will be ready upon my return.

And I'll be a better artist for listening to what the creative self wants.

To all viistors/Day 17B

My posts got out of order, so post 17 is before 14, 15, 16, if you're interested to scrolling down to it.  I had to be out several days due to computer issues.  I caught up, but the posts appeared in reverse order.

Take care,

Karen

On All Things Sacred, Virgin Mary, and an Angel/Day 14

I've worked on a couple of pages in my altered book All Things Sacred.

I don't feel the flow with this book yet.  I like the cover.  Less inspiration comes for the pages so far.  This last two pages showed up as something I didn't like at all.  I painted over and tried again.
I am happier with the result.  Not ecstatic.

I've decided to keep going.  Maybe I'll come to the point I feel inspired.

One of the pages is centered around a picture of the Virgin Mary.  The other is a picture of an angel.

I'm trudging through, trying to find my rhythm with this book.

I'll let you know if inspiration comes.

On Sorrow, Depression, and Its Many Faces/Day 16

The Disease of Many Faces

Last night, the sadness
overtook my chest.  It came
out in sobs--that feeling
of not being worth anything
to anyone.  I was reminded
of the depression that
entered my body two
years ago, the one that
took me deep down into
a cave of sorrow. The one
that made me not want to
be alive.  My body remembered
too and issued a fear alert--is
this where you are headed
again?  I thought, "Oh no.
I cannot drop into
the darkest night of my soul.
How can I make sure
I do not?  "Sleep," the voice
in my head offered.  "Sleep."
I closed my eyes to the
tears and the dark dread.
"In the morning," I thought
to myself.  "I'll feel better."
And I did.  But I await
night and the return to
this disease of many faces.

On New Kits, a Reliquary, and a Triptych/Day 15

I ordered a a kit to paint a reliquary.

It came from paperwhimsy.com.  After being glued together by my husband, I stared at the blank pressed wood triptych reliquary.

Most folks, I guess, know that a reliquary is a receptacle, such as a coffer or shrine, for keeping or displaying sacred relics.  A triptych is a picture or relief carving on three panels, typically hinged together vertically and used as an altarpiece.  This art piece combined both.

I couldn't think how to decorate mine.  Finally the colors cream and gold came to mind.  I began.

I painted the first coat cream and added gold accents.  I added three pictures of Virgin Mary that I cut out.  I added some glitter and a few beads.  It sounds like it didn't take long, but it did take a little time.

For my first try, I was pleased.  I have the finished product on a shelf in my living room.

I enjoyed the project and may do another one soon.

On Old Computers, New Computers, and a Day at Best Buy/Day 17

The computer died.

It started by simply slowing down.  A rainbow circle began spinning 'round and 'round again.

I thought maybe it was something I had downloaded or "done."

I let it rest overnight.  When I woke up on the 14th, it wouldn't work at all.  So much for trying to blog 30 days in a row.

I'm going to try to catch up.  I've missed reading everyone else's blogs while computerless.

My husband and I took the worn  out computer to the Geek Squad at Best Buy.  We left the store while they worked on it for an hour.  We visited an antique store and bought me blue rhinestone necklace.  It wasn't that expensive, but reminded me of one that my Grandma Lucy had.

When we returned to check on progress, the little Geeks said it would take about another hour or so to complete what they were doing.  We went to Ruby Tuesday to try their new pretzel burgers.  They were okay.  Not something I would want anytime soon.

Back at Best Buy, the guys and gals were awesome in diagnosing the problems--one being it needed a new hard drive, two being the fans to keep the computer cool had stopped working.

All that meant we had the option of sending the computer to Apple to fix the fans and then buying a new hard drive and installing it (which would be expensive) or buying a new computer.  Since my computer was more than a few years old, we decided we should probably put our money into a new one rather than on repairs on the old one.

We backed up the info on the old computer.  It took two days to finish b/c the computer was so slow.  But today it finished.  We set up the new computer and here I am typing on new little computer keys that click their happy sound as I type.

I'm thankful I'm back online again.

I wonder what I'll blog about next.

Old Computer

New Computer

On Dreams/Day 13

A poem I wrote on dreams.

Dreams

When you're unsure and

your dreams seem captured

in another land, set out for

a journey to find them,

invite your feet to take you

there where you can fight

the beasts who have taken

your tongue, your hand

your heart hostage.  Invite

yourself to rage, to assert

how your new life warrants

dreams.  Then with a swipe

of the blade sharp into the

enemy, send them cowering.

Notice your dreams, sleepy-eyed

and weary appear from this

foreign land prison.  Take them

by the hand, one by one, and

tell them you love them and

carry them home.

On Childhood, Hydrangeas, and Girl Scout Cookies/Day 12

Blogging Along with Effy Wild Day 12
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On Childhood

I am from books I loved as a child that told of tea parties under the gazebo and spoiling thunderstorms that came.

I am from hydrangeas, crowns made of clover, mud pies and their ooey-gooeyness.

I am from playing rock school with my dollies, being five years old with no friends to come over,  switches used to tame my behavior.

I am from shiny mirrors to admire my little-girlness, sashay dresses of voile and dotted swiss,  red velvets and white muffs in the winter.

I am from enjoying a game of in and out the window as the frame of the new church went up, new offering plates, and spiral-like ceiling lights all through the building.

I am from This Little Light of Mine, Bible drills, and Sunday School chairs and tables.

I am from Barbies, midnight blue dresses, and paper dolls, Candy and Her Cousins.

I am from moving to a new town at age 7, the longest hallways at Pulaski Elementary School, a scary teacher, Mrs. Brown, and a loud principal, Mr. Howard.

I am from moments taken from a little girl, hands out of place, deacons gone bad.

I am from dark clouds, a fear of tornadoes, hiding in the southwest corner of my basement.

I am from being seen and not heard, "Don't cry.  Shut that up now," and being in a perfect family that wasn't perfect.

I am from Girl Scout Cookies, standing in the middle of the street and waiting for people to call me to their doors to buy them,  from one woman who bought ten boxes.

I am from breasts forming, Bonne Bell makeup, the whispers of boys in my ears.

I am from folding the little girl dreams and putting them in a suitcase for later years, for the
time I would find them again.

On Orange Sherbet, Happiness, and All Things Sacred//Day 11

Happiness.

That's the second page that wants to come to my altered book All Things Sacred.

Even though I made a list of All Things Sacred and happiness wasn't on it, happiness made it to the page.

The first page was Gratitude.  Of course Gratitude is sacred.  Think what our world would be without it.

But now happiness.  I want bright colors.  I mix hot pink, yellow, and orange.  Those colors represent happiness to me.  When I put them on the page, they blend into a kind of a sickish orange--more like orange sherbet, I guess, than the happiness look I am aiming for.

If I was more patient, I should have waited for one color to dry before I put the other one on.  But I wasn't more patient.  I did add some purple ink for flavor.

So I am working with orange sherbet.  In my happiness pictures, a huge sun always appears.  I add in some fluffy white clouds, flowers and a little girl.  Little girls remind me of the happy me when I was an imaginative, precocious child.  They remind me of dancing around hydrangea bushes, playing on an old quilt under the maple, doing a little hopscotch, or roller skating down the street.

I write the words Happiness across the page.  I sketch in my happiness symbols.  Next, I grab my paint and color in the picture.  This truly makes me happy, engaging with the paints on the orange sherbet page.  By this time, I have gotten used to the orange sherbet.  I'm at peace with it.

I dress my little girl in a purple frock.  I paint my flowers deep, deep pink with cool blue centers.  The stems are that lighter shade of green I love.  Bubbles on the page form from the purple of the ink then some white and blue.  White dots appear across the top.  A bluebird chirps at the bottom of the page.

The coloring is done.  But the page still wants more.  I add white squiggles.  I outline what is on the page in white.  Everything seems happy.

This was a pretty easy page to do once I got over the orange sherbet background color.  Once I accepted it, observed it, and became happy with it, all was creatively well.

But this process taught me a little about happiness.  How we try to MAKE it be a certain thing, appear in a certain way.  We demand our background be the color we want, not the orange sherbet that shows up.  We try to change or get rid of or ostracize people or jobs or things that come along in our lives that don't make us happy.

If we accept what comes and live into it--happiness can be the result.  I know.

I discovered that happiness can come as orange sherbet.

--------------------------------
Where do you find happiness in unexpected places?

On Art Journal Pages, Gratitude, and All Things Sacred/Day 10

I'm working on gratitude.

In my new altered book All Things Sacred, Gratitude is the first spread that wanted to be explored.  Isn't it funny how when working on a particular page of a journal, the theme "works" on us too?

The page didn't come easy.  It started with masking tape put at random on a page, and then I painted over it in magenta and purple.  I thought some yellow would add a pop of color.  It ended up hurting my eyes.

I don't use a color wheel to select my colors.  I kind of go with intuition on who wants to be grouped together for a page.  Maybe, after this yellow turning up, I might want to consult the color wheel for the next page.

After that dried, I pulled up the masking tape and added, if you can believe it, more yellow.  I saw the page wasn't going to work.  I considered making a sort of stylized stained glass window out of the parts that weren't yellow--the magenta and purple part.

When I cut out the yellow, I had bits and pieces of the pretty colors.  I arranged and rearranged to try to get them to make kind of a mosaic--like a stained glass.  Eventually it worked well enough to put it on the page.  Then I decided to add white to see what it would do.  That was too much for the stained glass to have the white added.  I had to take it off and go back to black.

Eventually, during the whole process, I made a spread.  I get nervous making that first spread in a book.  It's almost like it sets the stage for what comes.  I wasn't overjoyed with the page but felt I needed to let it stay in the book, even if it was page one.

And I found this process to be how gratitude can be.  We get into life and it gets kind of messy.  We find ourselves comparing, or wishing, or hoping this or that will happen for us.  We see it happen for others and we wonder if in time this will come to us.

It's like the page evolving.  It doesn't alway turn out right with the first try.  While working on the Gratitude page, I noticed myself thinking again and again about gratitude--thinking how it would be if I looked at every moment and every experience with the frame of gratitude.

When I did that, everything shifted.  Everything unraveled into simplicity.  I found in being thankful for   wonderful things happening around me, accomplishments of others, that I saw how being grateful turned the feelings over.  I saw those situations differently.

I rejoiced in others' successes.  Every success by someone puts amazing energy into the universe which makes way for more success.  Gratitude turns the chaos into a sacred place.  Now when I begin to feel out of sorts with judging or worrying, I turn to gratitude.  I see everything in a beautiful light.  What had been messy and problematic in a journal page, and in life, falls into place.

I wonder what the next page will be in my journal.  I know now that whatever comes I'll be thankful for it.

On Commandments, Goddesses, and Freedom/Day 9

Seven Commandments of the Goddess

I wrote this at a writing conference held at Ghost Ranch in New Mexico taught by the truly gifted, award-winning writer Eunice Scarfe. It sort of "came" one early morning while I inhaled the beauty of that much Red Rock form in one place. I love how this writing calls us to journey always toward our true selves.

Enjoy your day!

Karen
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Seven Commandments of the Goddess 

I went to the mesa.

I saw the goddess.

The goddess said, “Bow down. You are on holy ground. For every place you are is holy and every place I am is holy and one is not holier than the other. So bow down low and rest your head on your own holy of holies.”

Then her breath came as a cream wind, but it came and lifted me off the holy ground of me and you and her, and it lifted up my arm as if it was a puppet of the cream wind, and placed a thin stone in my hand. Then the voice, gentle and hers, that matched the cream wind again spoke.

“Carve.”

I knew what to do.

1. Always look back at Gomorrah. You don’t want to miss one thing. If you turn into salt, then salt the earth with your body, a human shaker across the bland lands.

2. Don’t wait for the sunrise to come on your dream. Arise, it has come. Look out your window. It has raised its balled fist of fire to say, I can. I will. No one can stop me. Just behind the mesa it rose and surprised us all. The power of it.

3. Abandon any thought of others “doing” life for you. You are the carver, the Red Rock your tablet. If the Red Rock remains without story, the etch of your four elements—air, wind, earth, and fire—nations will not know. Go alone. Do not fear the mesas.

4. You may want to bring your mother or father, brothers or sisters, or significant others to witness the holiest places you’ve been shown. You may do this if you wish. Know the price of pinning miniatures of your family to your garments for the journey. You see, they have their own journeys as well where you can’t go. They have their holiest place and you have yours. Allow. Allow the split in the rock to occur naturally.

5. About saving the world with whatever it is you carve in the Red Rock. Bow your head in humility—the world is saved as each one of us takes up our thin stone driven by the cream wind of goddess and drives epics into the walls that have held us captive. Save yourself. The world is nourished by one woman telling her story and the next and the next until we’ve created a weaving of story, a vibrant shawl of light we can wrap around the world as love gift. Remember, wrapping something in love and trying to save it are two different things.

6. Go where no woman has gone. That means if you stand on Kitchen Mesa, reach on your tippy toes as high as you can, your hands trying to touch the secrets of the lowest stars. Don’t stop there. “Bend and stretch. Reach for the stars. Stand on tippy toes. Reach for Mars." Reach farther, even though it may hurt a little, for the nine planets of women that haven’t yet been discovered. Be an astronomer of women. They sparkle about the earth undiscovered. They live in wells as holy water never drawn. They are embedded in rock waiting for lullaby hands. They smother underground. You see the sprig of their growth atop the desert. Dig down under the smallest green and you may find a vegetable or root you’ve never known.

7. Never forget each of you have the cream wind—no one different from the next. The cream wind blows the same for all. It comes down to who is willing to be on the mesa alone, take the tool in her hand, and change the shape of the Red Rock forever.

Copyright 2013 Stewart