I will not die an unlived life

Hot pinks and reds are favourites at the moment, love the vibrant energy waves these colours emit.  Have been playing at patterns again, this one is from a drawing that I illustrated a poem with.  A beautiful poem that touched my soul and forms the essence of my being.

I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear

of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,

to allow my living to open me,

to make me less afraid,

more accessible;

to loosen my heart

until it becomes a wing,

a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk my significance,

to live so that which came to me as seed

goes to the next as blossom,

and that which came to me as blossom,

goes on as fruit.

by Dawna Markova

Flickr: Your Photostream.

The Frog by Hillaire Belloc

A priceless ode to Billy Bandyknees – especially for my dear friend Seanpaul whos frogs appear in the image and were my inspiration for this blog

Selected verses from
The Bad Child’s Book of Beasts

    Be kind and tender to the Frog,
    And do not call him names,
    As “Slimy skin,” or “Polly-wog,”
    Or likewise “Ugly James,”
    Or “Gap-a-grin,” or “Toad-gone-wrong,”
    Or “Bill Bandy-knees”:
    The Frog is justly sensitive
    To epithets like these.
    No animal will more repay
    A treatment kind and fair;
    At least so lonely people say
    Who keep a frog (and, by the way,
    They are extremely rare).

by Hillaire Belloc

Persephone

`playing with a ball of clay this afternoon, cant believe she appeared, a sense of real strength sprung from my  fingers, she feels so free,  so free its scary,  there is  a part of me thats down with Persephone ………….

Addendum:  I just realised that I went to see Julia Cameron speak (artists way book) the previous day, it was quite challenging and bought up a lot of childhood images, I see  now my “form” is my unconscious self that is bursting  to get out.  There is nothing to be afraid of.

Prayer to Persephone

Be to her, Persephone,
All the things I might not be:
Take her head upon your knee.
She that was so proud and wild,
Flippant, arrogant and free,
She that had no need of me,
Is a little lonely child
Lost in Hell,—Persephone,
Take her head upon your knee:
Say to her, “My dear, my dear,
It is not so dreadful here.”
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Flickr: Your Photostream.

From the Inside Looking Out

From the inside looking out DSC_1021This is my piece of the world, the piece I look out onto every single day.  This is the piece of my world that tells me all is as it should be.

What does your world look like?  I guess very different to mine?  Even if it was the same, maybe you’re my neighbour? …………………. Our world view would still be very different because it’s not just what we see that shapes our worlds, it’s our own individual life filter that we perceive the world through that shapes our perception.

 

‘Struggling souls catch light from other souls who are fully lit and willing to show it’,

Clarissa Pinkola Estes

When A Good Mother Sails From This World


Mending the Sails by Joaquín Sorolla y BastidaAlthough Mothers Day here in the UK bas been and gone, my mother, as always, is ever present in my mind.  

This year for the first time I was able visit her grave with my daughter and feel that I had at last come to terms with her death, felt that just like the libretto below, that I too had managed to weave together the threads of  her light into a  beautiful set of sails.  This beautiful boat with its magnificent rigging is majestically riding the waves and atop is the beautiful red flag of my mother. 

when I read this piece it took my breath away, it spoke to me in so many ways and confirmed  just what I have been feeling.  My mother will always be with me, wherever I travel, her spirit and love lives deep within my soul.  

WHEN A GOOD MOTHER SAILS FROM THIS WORLD

The following piece is actually an excerpt from women.life.song a libretto written by Dr Clarissa Pinkola Estes, commissioned and performed by Jessaye Norman in 2000 at Carnegie Hall.  

When I say, ‘My mother has died’,
I mean my ‘most beloved’.
Leave me to myself now,
for I am a ship who’s
lost her riggings;
suddenly
come unmoored.

My mother has died;
She has earned her rest now,
waiting only, and proudly so,
for her sails
to be taken down.

I, the daughter,
see to the mending of my mother’s sails;
I seek her
worn and broken
threads of light,
reweaving her dazzling linen.

And though there be broken threads
not able to be rewoven,
I will gently pull the edges together
and stitch one side to the other…
and if not able to be mended,
then I will patch with parts
from my own most earnest life
over the places where my mother’s life
was worn through,
. . . or never was.

Over time, the sails of the mothership
will be fitted to the daughtership;
raised up on the mainsail,
and the final touch –
the red ragged flag – hers –
will be flying topmast of my ship.

I’ll be let down into the waters then,
I, the daughter, will glide again…
but this time, under the best sails
inherited from my mother…
and all the mothers of the motherlines
before her.

Ay, Mother, let me tell you
my treasured dearie-dear,
one last thing I have learned
from your spirit passing through me
as sparkling shadow passes
through darkening shadow,
on this open night-sea journey…

I am learning to navigate
by the mysteries of the farthest stars –
the ones that the great wake of your passing
has revealed to me
for the very first time.



 

Dr Clarissa Pinkola Estes