Here it comes again.
Over and over, all is thrown up, stark against the Sky.
On landing, reassembled in a new and curious shape.
Spread out thin across the constant, living, Ground.
Before I get a chance to catch my breath
It comes again.
These seismic shifts create a chaos and confusion that can only be allowed for,
Such is its Might and Power.
There is no rider. No helmsman. No pilot. No driver.
All sense of knowing as fragile as the new leaves that burst out all around.
Only fierce Love to hold on to in turbulent Times like these.
Kat Robertson. April 2021.
(video created by scattering mustard seed on the skin of a drum and banging it. Audio only what resulted when the video was slowed down.)
(working inspired by the ‘7 Days of Rest and Radiant Diversity 2020‘ global, online, earth healing, experiment)
I am tired tonight. It has been a long day.
I am blown away by the choice and variety of experiences the 7 Days of Rest org. are offering this year.
I wish I had the Time to listen to them all!
I did find myself doing the harmonies to that old, beloved chant ‘River is flowing’ though.
(I know slightly different words and launched into the ‘sister moon’ verse, which did not happen.)
As a devoted Treesister, I am happy to see Clare Dubois is contributing.
I, almost religiously, join her regular Full Moon calls and know the worth of her guided meditations well. I can highly recommend her work and cause.
Such an awe inspiring woman with language.
But I am glad to find my place, and make the space, to listen Day Two‘s meditation by Shelley Ostroff, who was my guide last year also, and look forward to losing myself, once more, in a bigger picture.
To rest deeply in it and let my mind free.
Day Two, Experience
The sound is the wind howling around our house this dark night and the occasional whirr of my laptop. Nothing else.
The taste is the bitterness of tobacco, tonight’s roast dinner and rich chocolate cake.
The touch is the warm tingling in my hands upon my knees.
The sight is the mesh of lights on the inside of my closed eyelids, ever changing as the candles flicker in the draft.
The smell is awesome. It is the mixed aroma of frankincense and myrrh!
I found these two, tiny bottles in a charity shop and have been enjoying them all Yule. A drop on each candle and the room is full of these powerful fragrances . They smell genuine.
So exotic and laden with mysterious stories and powers.
I begin to imagine all the other types of life forms that share this world with me.
So many, so very many. Too many!
I end up just trying to imagine the other life forms in this room.
The obvious spider or two. The mites. the bacteria on my skin….
Loving to be reminded of Bee.
I do actually experience life in a similar way, but this has never done me much good in human society.
Since childhood I have always put great reliance on my instincts, my gut instincts, but always been ridiculed for this.
Mainly because it carried with it an innate criticism of mainstream ways.
I seemed unable to follow the prescribed path, constantly seeking the next nectar, the next ‘flower’ of inspiration.
I have never understood how my Joy in this caused so many such concern.
And this led to me becoming always the wanderer.
My father used to call me his ‘little butterfly’ as I would never stick at anything.
Perhaps this is, in fact, my gift?
I recognize , not for the first time, my need to be seen.
If not, comfortably, physically, (I have lived remotely for a long time now!), then, at least, to achieve recognition for what I do.
I struggle with what appears to be the superficial vanity of this and the way it makes me, and my ego, vulnerable to criticism.
I feel I do have something, so simple, yet powerful, to say to the world. otherwise why would I put so much Time and Energy into this?
I do not even really know what my message is.
But it goes something like this….
Please try to remain open, playful and curious, as a child. Try to learn to love the ‘not knowing’. It is ok to appear foolish. Just be honest. Strive to be always fully in the present, in the full understanding that we are all, always, supported and never alone. Age is a gift not a burden. Tears release pain and the world needs that water. Grace is directly linked to gratitude.
And all is LOVE.
There are so many wiser teachers than me saying the same thing.
I am driven to persevere with this practice by a power outside of me, but I am aware that I do this also to illustrate that literally anyone can have a go at reinventing themselves.
Even a drop-out , middle-aged, ex-traveller, cleaner/dish-washer, mother of two teenagers, who carries scars borne from a misspent youth and the tortuousness of the path she chose!
My real life situation is the stuff of a gritty novel, not the haven many might suppose.
But my eyes are always open to this weather. This living breathing landscape that surrounds me. It holds me. I am of it. The knowing of this empowers me. It constantly inspires.
And I dream.
My prayer is to inspire others to find the courage to have a go at finding their own, unique, voice, to get in touch with, and follow, their dreams.
If nothing else, it heals me to see myself reflected in this work.
But until received that feels often feels not very far from pure narcissism!
I smile as I recall finding this note, just this morning. Carried for nearly a year in the back of my 2019 diary.
I wrote this as part of a workshop I took part in at the beginning of last year.
We only had crayons.
This is the sentence that appeared when I reversed all that my inner critic had to say on the matter of my being!
I will leave what it had to say up to any readers to work out.
I open a book near me and these are the words I am shown.
‘This is a delicious evening, when the whole body is one sense, and imbibes delight through every pore. I go and come with a strange liberty in Nature, a part of herself. As I walk along the stony shore of the pond in my shirt-sleeves, though it is cool as well as cloudy and windy, and I see nothing special to attract me, all the elements are unusually congenial to me. The bullfrogs trump to usher in the night, and the note of the whip-poor-will is bourne on the rippling wind from over the water. Sympathy with the fluttering alder and poplar leaves almost takes away my breath; yet, like the lake, my serenity is rippled , but not ruffled. These small waves raised by the evening wind are as remote from storm as the smooth reflecting surface. Though it is now dark, the wind still blows and roars in the wood, the waves still dash, and some creatures lull the rest with their notes. The repose is never complete. The wildest animals do not repose, but seek their prey now; the fox, and skunk, and rabbit now roam the fields and woods without fear. They are Nature’s watchmen – links that connect the days of animated life.’
from ‘Solitude’ (Life in the Woods: 1854) by Henry David Thoreau.
Honestly…what could be more perfect than that!
I bow to love of Divine Timing.
I have finished the mud painting I began last night.
The illusion of it works best when seen from a bit of a distance.
And as shown here…the colour of the soil pigment is proving very difficult to capture well.
It changes so much in every light and with the proximity of the lens.
I suppose similar to the ‘holographic’ experience Shelley Ostroff refers to!
Looking forward to Day 3 and to what will be revealed.
Perhaps I will find time to go for a walk……whatever the weather!