she dreams of magnificence, mixed media on canvas
When we cannot bear to be alone, it means we do not properly value
the only companion we will have from birth to death – ourselves.
I’m working busily and bustily away at new and exciting projects.
I’m so excited to be having my first solo exhibition at blue roof gallery in Tharwa next month. More details to come!
in the meantime ~
:: i’ve been drinking up a wonderful tale in suburban self-sufficiency in “living the simple life“
:: i love swirly’s analogy telling of the cabinets of our spirits
:: and coyote’s sharing of soul mining
:: i managed to re-stock myself with the most *amazing* chai in the world this morning 🙂
:: on an adventure to the national gallery, me and chris agreed our favourite piece was trent parke’s “minutes to midnight” photographic series. seriously good stuff.
:: cherishing some sacred chants and poetry
:: and i can’t wait for the sun to rise tomorrow morning so i can go forth with our new canon 30d camera. excuse me as i go and paw at the feet of its loveliness. 🙂
aunty ella’s statue
“What must I give more death to today, in order to generate more life?
What do I know should die, but am hesitant to allow to do so?
What must die in me in order for me to love? What not-beauty do I fear?
Of what use is the power of the not-beautiful to me today?
What should die today?
What should live?
What life am I afraid to give birth to?
If not now, when?”
Clarissa Pinkola Estes
(Women who run with the wolves)
These days, these beautiful days, these words swim around in my head. I awake in the morning, and the first thing on my mind is my sketchbook. I tiptoe in the autumn cool out to it, and forage it back into bed with me. The morning is spent there, in the sunlight dripping full sheets onto me, ideas spilling from me. New ideas birthing from me. Big ones. Touch the World with Radiance ones. I would love to share with you, but for now I sit back with a tender smile, hands resting over the belly, careful to let the tender green shoots of my idea grow stronger in my own heart right now.
These days, these beautiful days, I find myself finally uniting the Holy Trinity inside me – body, mind, soul. We have been taking body on adventures to a gym for the first time in my life. Stretch, push, cycle. My mind evaporates there in the rhythm of breath and body alive. Last night I found a destiny of sorts ~ a body balance fitness session ~ combining tai chi, yoga, pilates and meditation. How I have longed for you, my body balance. I could not stop myself from grinning widely the whole class. Hello home. Afterwards, I tell the instructor that her joy was infectious, and I felt myself mirroring her heart happiness. Hello beautiful body.
These days, these beautiful days I find myself being brave in the studio. I paint over what doesn’t work for me. I delight in attempting to make my first ruined canvas. I feel it is an essential part of my artist’s journey to have that one wreck of a canvas, but as yet have not managed it. A canvas is always redeemable. It can always be reworked. Happy accidents happen there. Sometimes a canvas’ journey is long, with many phases and faces. I have no fear of making those mistakes anymore. I learn compassion for my canvas’ journey, as I learn compassion for my own.
These days, these beautiful days I find myself moved to tears easily, moved to tears at the possibility of trying to document the depth and breadth of life. How do I share of the fur of my dog that inevitably adorns all our clothes; of the blue kindness in my lover’s eyes; of the sweet ritual of chai tea in the morning; of the friends that enter my life, and those who will leave but remain in this tender, magnificent heart of mine?
When I count my blessings,
I count you twice.
– irish proverb
thank you for being all you are.
for the girl*woman*shaman*goddess that is sonya.
for being the object of affection for all dogs, despite being allergic to them.
for being the first woman to show your spirit to my camera.
for your honesty. for answering the tough questions. for dancing with me in the silliest of ways, and napping under a sark blanky afterwards.
for allowing me into your healing journey,
and being a part of mine.
amarlia reminds me of a deity sometimes…
funny i look outside the window, and i see rain, but there is none
and somehow i know that there is a part of me in london, typing as we speak, she is looking out into the london rain, experiencing all of this and more. i wonder who she is, is her name leonie also, was she born the same way as me, does she watch the sunset light unfold out onto the street too. what is her story, who does she love, does she write, does she ponder, does she know?
i feel like wanting to be compassionate, because that’s me out there, that’s me in that woman in london, that’s me in sydney, that’s me in tokyo and some province in china.
somehow all the unique borders of me fade, and it’s not all about being leonie, it’s just all about experiencing this. it’s all about the seamless soul that knows no face, that holds tight to no situations or circumstance. she just IS.
i wonder… how i am all one, we are all one, navigating this world, experiencing all experiences.
i send a heart call to you. i see how we are deepening in this together. how we are waking slowly, stretching our limbs gently, and opening our eyes to a new world, a new life, everyday. do you remember me? i think i remember you. and i think i remember where we may have come from, where we might be returning, what we might be doing here.
last night at womens circle i was handed the talking stick. i usually KNOW what i will say. i have it all in my head, ready to be said in a pretty way. this time, for the first time, i didn’t. i had no pre ordained river of thoughts. i just sat for a moment in silence. i didn’t know what words were in me. i heard the pitter patter of rain falling on the roof. the drops before the rain.
i feel like something really big is about to happen.
i sat with that stick until the flood of words and forgiveness came.
like the drops before the rain.
…i am learning FORGIVENESS.
my friend donna asked me what easter was to me.
i hadn’t thought about it. i wasn’t the christian type. so i asked her what it meant to her, and she said:
and it sounded so enticing, that forgiveness thing, that i drank it in. it walked around inside me. it began to seep into old wounds, and new ones too.
i am learning to forgive my friends. even if i think they aren’t doing their path “right”. even if they might screw up. the right path and the screwups – these are only my own perception. here’s a thought – even though it doesn’t make sense to me, maybe they are doing exactly what they need to do.
i am learning to forgive my lover for the past. and i am learning forgiveness for the things i have built up inside my head. i am learning forgiveness of the rough patches of sea our relationSHIP sailed through.
and the big one – the forgiveness tree of all forgiveness acorns – i am learning to forgive myself. i can be so CRITICAL of myself in the past – who i was when i was a child, a teen, a young woman – even me ten minutes ago. sometimes i beat myself up – WHY didn’t i know things then? WHY didn’t i do things differently? sometimes i feel NAUSEOUS about the past and nothing having it “all together” back then. it only feels *safe* in the present and in the future – not in the past. i love myself, but i am learning to love myself unconditionally. without conditions. i am knowing that whatever i did, wherever i was, i was and am doing the VERY best i can and could do. and that i’ve never done anything wrong.
there is something very healing in this. so much hope and love and forgiveness.
it feels freeing.
i have never done anything wrong.
i have always done the very best i could. and it was perfectly what i wanted for this journey of mine.
i sat with that stick for a while longer. the words sung in the air. we all breathed together.
i passed my stick on, to my womansister. she shared a story of new friends and eagles. of a woman making a decision, and knowing that no.matter.what, it was all perfect. there were no wrong choices. knowing that it would be perfect either way.
what a relief to hear these words.
and so the talking stick moved on. releasing truths with us, into the night.
this morning there is clay stains on my hand from the sculptures of mothers we made together, drinking in chai, eating french bread and eggplant dip, laughing deeply, speaking softly into the gentle darkness that held us, as tenderly as a mother would her child.
i set these words free,
like a small bird in flight across an autumn sky,
or a lone orange leaf twirling.