Indigenous Burrow

My new space MAN P1040421

At last we have settled in to our new home.  It has been weeks since the logistical obligations have quieted, and now the new home-studio is calling me.  It’s been a long semi-imposed hiatus from art and poetry in the transition – I am finally ready to get painting.. (The poetry comes on its own accord, but I have my ways to coax it forth.)

I have been fortunate enough to have had a variety studios over the years of migration.  Whether the studios were public or private spaces; rustic or more refined; I’ve learned that larger size, more comfortable ergonomics and better lighting had not been enough for my creative spirit to flourish; the sometimes elusive qualities of intimacy and sense of sanctuary has always had the final say.   This particular indigenous burrow, I`m happy to say, carries a good Feng Shui current, and I felt it on first entry when it was empty – getting a good charge.  This space seems to intentionally  support my hermetic cave ritual ways…

I restrain myself from perpetual painting so as not to feel I’m in some repetitive production line.  I`m  not into art for art’s sake and it’s not a capitalist factory.   I have no inclination or notion of clever marketing for notoriety.  Art is work but if this work becomes rote without a passionate deeper communion; the painting is left empty of the mystical fire that is the foundation of my story building.

A rendering with this stimulus conceives a living story.   This story and its inhabitants can enter the dreams or visions of others, inspiring or enlivening the new receiving enthusiast.  That’s what I can hope for, and I have been lucky enough to see and hear such magic transpire.

Months have passed in gestation, I always learn a little more each time I take a break.  There’s a restless incubating for the future creative flow, the charged spontaneity of “art” needs to be cooked in nature: silence, solitude, dream and vision.  I am to fill up with longing and the strange emptiness, gathering the smallest flickers of shadow and light, the animal movements and falling leaves, the feel of stone and wood, earth and rain showers, patches of sun on the damp mountains filled with rogue winds.  I am to have the powerful meeting with the reindeer spirit in dream, and later its offspring.  It is gathering words and the unspoken things said, and sometimes the nameless oracular comes through.   It’s a composting of feeling attunement to the timeless time in the fullness of deep silence, and the minute sounds of nature calling attention forth to movement, in relation with the all.  This is the essence and some of the elements, and nutrients needed to birth a new story in paint or poem.

I am just one of many who must have this relationship with their art.   There is nothing grandiose going on here, nothing created out of an ivory tower, just a creative space I love inside out that allows a quiet simplicity to infuse the work, it is a way of life,  any nature lover would recognize … This is no highfalutin language to elevate the I, but reflections on a relationship with the earth and it’s ever unfolding spirit-how it gets inside and propels me to create like our living earth does.

I am one being in the eternity of cosmologies attending the mystery; often fumbling in the dark, sometimes my work  is enough to spark the sleeping fire in the heart of a wandering soul  – affecting their own inner story.  These fine threads cultivated by paying attention to the subtle nuances of life, have been my nature, witnessing the nature of nature.  Going inward to nature, seeing through my own atmosphere the earth and its inhabitants inside me.  The shape of the lake mirror and the clear reflection she holds inside or passing cloud obscurity.  I welcome the nourishing rain of Eire keeping me inside climbing the mountain of higher vision.  – returning always to ground in the paint and canvas with animal knowing drawn from the roots of trees and branches of my ancestors… With heightened senses I speak  through my heart/soul to the earth and the earth speaks back, and it says all things inside you for your work.  And I am ready now after being impatiently patient – to begin again.

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Life Is Put On Notice

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Teaching me once again

The stellar fire whispers its synapses creations

Through my soul skin

Moving currents of the earth birth neurons

With syllabic micro organisms

Of the primeval alphabet garden

Aflame under the flat stone

Two worlds spiraling neither here nor there

And the first letter created was O for wholeness

Head and tail coming together in writhing contortions

Thieves of dusk in the tattered earth notebook

O in the life circle Ouroboros

Unity of all living things all our relations

In eternal conduit

From the end of the word serpent

Turning the world inside out

To the repeated things

Remembered in the heart beat drum

Twitching eye thrash of vivid dream

Soul lit stories in the blood and brine

In the Rowans berried head

Mostly fallen to the floor

Dropping its deep red of the just past ripe

From its orange leaf best arrested

Branches rush their conversation excited

Hissing in the cellular air

Spine of the Axis Mundi

Vibrating above the graveyard bones

The aged and leaking childlight on the escarpment

Ancient travelers of the deep

Returning again our forgotten sacred words

For the cities built on the ashes of villages

Sterile placated paradigms programmed in the darkness

Coyotes bellowing through the ghost holes

Below the backward tongues of crow babble

Medicine words for the drummer on the canoe bow

Through the glacial valley of presupposition

Jaguar in the water words for reverence

My thoughts splinter into word animals

Finding homes in the earth crust wind and wave

I try touching the place inside me

Where butterfly wingtips meet above their body

A whirl of dried leaves crosses the barren

Trailing the honeybee their souls singing allegiance

To the holy earth spell

Our life is put on notice

With deep seeing into the ash

And fuchsia streams of pollen