We go in different directions down the imperturbable street. The street that doesn’t care, will never care about our souls- having none of its own to mind. Is the street dangerous? Oh yeah, especially lethal if you start to care what a street might think – if street thinks. But you will never know, until the blade between your ribs hits an artery, or a voice in your head starts dictating how you should or should not make love, with who and where
Shopfronts don’t tell, though a twitching curtain on the fourth floor might drop a hint. You wouldn’t dare play poker with this street. It’ll call your bluff. Best walk briskly from that rendezvous, geniality written across your face, but not that give-away grin that tells the world you got something they didn’t. Always, look straight ahead and don’t catch anyone’s eye.
Hanging on my studio walls are three collages dear to my heart. The triptych represents the three aspects of theGreat Goddess, representing the three traditional phases of womanhood – maiden, mother, crone. It’s a fine thing for an artist to create something that expresses exactly how they feel. These kind of pieces don’t have to say everything about the subject, or all that the artist feels. They just have to ring true to the truth behind the idea, the poem or art work that somehow opens the gate to Rumi’s field…
Out beyond idea of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about. ~Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī
The amazing archetype of a powerful divine feminine has its home deep in the collective unconscious of humanity as is shown in hundreds of incredibly ancient artifacts dating back through thousands and thousands of years.
Venus of Hohle Fels
The three aspects of the Goddess also signify the seasons of spring, summer and winter. At the time in which I created them, I had no knowledge of the fabulous fourth phase, corresponding to autumn, that a woman enters after menopause. It is an amazing period of freedom, courage and creativity – the penultimate blessing nature bestows as a reward for the work of living and becoming wiser. Women haven’t yet settled on a name for this phrase – some call it Queen. It’s still barely being written about or talked about, but more and more she’s showing up in movies and TV – the wise older woman, not yet ancient, vital to her core. She is why I wrote my novel Magdalene A.D. – to exemplify the abilities and possibilities of this autumnal stage.
I’ve written poems to two of these collages. I created this set a long time ago, when I was still in the mother phase. Their corresponding poems carry the same deep sense of satisfaction for me that the art work does. Now that I’m becoming Crone, I’ll be able to write a poem to complete my triptych. Meanwhile, Grace at d’Verse Poet’s Pub has announced OpenLinkNight and because summer is fast upon us, I give you:
I must have been about nine the first time I visited New York City. We lived in Washington DC and Nana, my world -travelling grandmother, just back from Egypt, was laying over in New York on her way home. My family of four drove up to New York for a flying visit. Nana was my version of Auntie Mame– playful, smart, eccentric, and interested in me! I still have my gold charm bracelet with its tiny pyramid and sphinx. She gave the best presents ever.
First stop the Empire State Building. I remember the long ride up. We had to change elevators to reach the windy observation deck. Daddy held his hat, Mom clutched her head scarf, but I let the wind whip my hair around. My dad had told us all about the workers who built the tower without safety ropes –lots of them were Indians because their courage and sense of balance let them work great heights. I longed to see one.
Piet Mondrian left New York a couple of years before I got there. His Broadway Boogie Woogie looks like the birds-eye view of Manhattan he might also have seen from the top of Empire State Building. Tiny squares represent cars, bigger blocks are skyscrapers. The the white spaces are anonymous blocks of lower ordinary buildings. Best of all he captures the vibrancy of those city streets. His painting stirs the same excited anticipation within me that I still feel every time I visit New York.
After reading two supplementary, interesting, but densely elegant, essays on the difference between moraor onand syllables, I decided to eschew counting, take Frank J. Tassone‘s advice and just write. After all, dropping into the d’Verse Poets Pub is supposed to be fun, though I loved the info and all those different categories to which I will give serious attention to in future.
Meanwhile, the rapid response of our beautiful planet is my take-away from corvid . (Though we aren’t out of the woods yet – read this caveat as a knock-on-wood). I’m a bit hopeful for the first time in ages…
More sick, fewer sirens
sing-along dogs fall silent
lawns lack children laughing
clear air, open windows
so many songbirds singing
flood Mumbai waters
line dancing webbed feet
walking on water
God’s gift to lady birds
Waters clear haze disappears
mind returns to reason
calculates self-interest anew-
when a world reclaims itself
so quickly, how tarry?
Check out dVerse Poet Pub’s post for May 19th and read Anmol’s post on portals, our prompt for the day. He begins with a quote from Arundhati Roy that touched me profoundly. He also includes some very interesting poems, providing a small taste of the many possibilities inherent in this prompt. So many concepts lie embedded in ‘portal’ – home, boundary, shelter, imprisonment, freedom, etc. each with it’s own constellation of associations.
For me, doorways symbolize choice. Do we pass through them or pass them by? Do we slam them shut or fling them open? Where do they lead?
In fairy tales doorways generally lead one into a different reality, another kingdom, an alternative universe. Portals challenge us to change – our minds, our attitudes, our perceptions and assumptions. Change is at the heart of all fairy tales. And change is the core of the life force.
Portals intrigue me wherever I travel, and show up often in my dreams, poetry, art and ritual work. Below is a collage I made for an art blog, Two Twitch a Tale, created several years ago by my friend, artist Michelle Anglin and myself as an exploration of fairy tales
You think Time’s Arrow only points one way?
Have you gazed into the night sky, seen
the Milky Way cobbled with suns, flanked
with far galaxies extending into unimaginable
distances, traveled only by shape-shifting photons
whose nature remains mystery? Time was Einstein’s
doorway as it is ours, creating worlds that live, breath,
die and birth again – each story recorded in light
travelling planet to planet, filling dreams, illuminating
imagination. We only need a child’s eye to open; a hand
The quadrille is a tiny poem of exactly forty-four words not counting the title. Today’s challenge from the d’Verse Poets Pub is hosted by De Jackson aka. whimsygizmo who wants us to incorporate the word ‘fix’ as in “Oh we’re in a fix.”