Angels in Nebraska

In my previous post I discussed Alzheimer's, and I mentioned my Grandmother, who I loved dearly as a child. I became her caretaker at around the age of 12 when she developed Alzheimer's, until she died when I was 16. I still have a kind of empty place when I try to remember those years.

I wanted to write down this story, because I feel it's important to the previous post, a gift, I believe, from my grandmother, whose name was Glen.

Glen was from Nebraska, and she married my grandfather, who died long before I was born, when she was in her 20's. He was considerably older than her, and died in his early 50's, leaving a young widow in a small farming town with a small boy to raise in the midst of the Great Depression. Perhaps, with no money, she had no other choice but to leave her homeland, or perhaps she wanted to make a new start; but whatever her reasons may have been, like many during this time, my grandmother took my father and went west to California. In Los Angeles she worked as a seamstress.

Right or wrong, when Glenn developed dementia, my father would not put her into a nursing home, but confined her to a room in our house. When we went to Afghanistan in 1963 (he worked for A.I.D.) she went with us, and lived her last years in our house there, no longer the grandmother I knew. When she died my father took her body back to the States, to the little town of Dewitt where her husband was buried. It was never discussed again.

In 2005, I was driving cross country to a residency in Connecticut. One day out from Tucson, I stopped at a rest stop in New Mexico for lunch. Sitting at a picnic table, I noticed something shiny under the table, and looking down saw a pair of pliers by my feet. Expensive looking pliers........so, since no one was around to claim them, I threw them on the floor of the car when I got ready to leave, and didn't think about it again.

Somewhere around Missouri, I had the idea of taking a little detour, and seeing if I could visit my Grandmother's grave. No one had been there since my father took her body there all those years ago, and if I didn't go, no one ever would again. I wondered if the little town of Dewitt even existed still? But there it was on the map, not far from Beatrice. So I headed north, visited the Prairie museum, found Dewitt, and found at last the little graveyard.

I remembered visiting that site when I was a child with my family, and I remembered the Black Eyed Susans that were ubiquitous - so that's what I planted at her grave. Then I explored Dewitt, a town of about 1000 people. Dewitt, surprisingly for such a small town in the Prairie Lands, seemed to be prospering, due to the Tool and Die company there, which was founded by a Danish immigrant named William Petersen in the 1920's. There was even a little Dewitt museum with historical information, and a bronze statue of Mr. Petersen was proudly displayed on the green lawn at its entrance.**
It should be obvious where this is leading, but not to me at the time............I went on down the road, happy about my detour to my Grandmother's grave, and ended up in Connecticut eventually. Where, when cleaning out my car, I found that pair of pliers on the floor. On each side, they were stamped: "Vise-Grip: The Original".So now I never go anywhere without my "magical pliers", which I like to think my Angel in Nebraska provided for me.

Nebraska Sunflowers

**I am very sad to learn, from Wikipedia, that "On October 31, 2008 the plant was closed and 330 jobs were lost when manufacturing of Vise-Grips and other tools moved to China."

Alzheimer's and Integral Consciousness

'So here, we see hope. We see that Alzheimer's is neither a decline nor a reduction of the person, but an opportunity to move into the higher plane; an opportunity for self-discovery, the self-discovery and self-transcendence we must all accomplish, in our own journey of ascension."

Maurie D. Pressman, M.D.

This entry is no doubt going to meander. Increasingly, I find myself observing what I call the "non-local" or integral nature of "mind". (Boy, does that sound pretentious, but I can't come up with anything more elegant at the moment.)

For example, yesterday I pulled out a folder of prints from a show I had at a friend's gallery 5 years ago. I haven't spoken with him since, but looking at the prints I found myself thinking fondly of him, remembering many good conversations. Later in the day, Lewis called. He said he found himself thinking about me, and on an impulse picked up the phone. So we talked about what we've both been doing in the past 5 years...........and I put down the phone once again reflecting that we are, indeed, telepathic beings.

Lewis, like myself, is dealing with the care of elderly parents. I spent most of my adolescent years as caretaker for my grandmother, who developed dementia. Lewis is trying to cope with his mother who has Alzheimer's. It is profoundly stressful, profoundly painful, to deal with not only the physical, but the gradual cognitive loss of a loved one. To see that person we recognize gradually slip away from identity, memory, this world.

I left our conversation with the name of a book I thought he might want to read by a psychologist who believes that understanding Alzheimer's is about understanding the nature of our multi-dimensional being. And there was also a story I felt like sharing, a story about my grandmother, but I think I'll leave that until my next blog entry.

The book (It is very much in the form of a journal, and many passages have a kind of "stream of consciousness" form) is written by the founder of ISSEEM, Elmer Green, who is also one of the founders of Biofeedback. Dr. Green agreed with his wife and life-long collaborator, Alyce, to study the progression of her disease from a spiritual perspective. The Ozawkie Book of the Dead - Alzheimer's isn't what you think it is! *

Here's an excellent excerpt from a review by T.M. Srinivasan:

"The book under review is by 'the father of clinical biofeedback' in this country and co-founder of the Council Grove Conference for the study of Voluntary Control of States of Consciousness, the Association for Applied Psychophysiology and Biofeedback, and lately, the International Society for the Study of Subtle Energies and Energy Medicine. His long time associate and wife, Alyce Green had Alzheimer's for the last seven years of her life. Elmer tended to her during these years and "explored the realms of consciousness beyond Alzheimer's and death."

Part 2 of the book deals with their experiences as Alyce slipped into her own world initiated by Alzheimer's. Alyce, during times of profound lucidity, was able to communicate an experience of dual consciousness, of being both "here and there". She was in "two bardos" (to use a word from Tibetan Buddhism), moving from the present to the other which was beyond death as she progressed with Alzheimer's. For example, she tells Elmer in one passage, with much sadness, about the "big goodbye that is shortly coming up" (knowing about the present) and then says "they had taken her to see the great temple" (aware of the beyond). [p. 423]

Elmer kept a diary from May 8, 1989 till after Alyce passed away on August 6, 1994. The widely swinging moods, the sudden show of affection towards Elmer, the awareness of events at several levels all makes this part very informative and touching.

The last part is titled "Learning to enter the Yogic states of deep stillness". This part deals with karma and how to get over its entanglements, Theta Brainwave Training, channeling, and stories about dreams experienced by Elmer and several others, who received instructions and support from Alyce. In a series of three synchronicities, Elmer meets his school friend and sweetheart, Gladys Strom. All these synchronicities are arranged by Alyce, who wants a companion for Elmer during his travels and lectures.

The book also contains information from an earlier book by the author that dealt primarily with biofeedback [Elmer and Alyce Green, "Beyond Biofeedback", Knoll Publishing Company, Fort Wayne, IN, 1989]. "

*Published by Philosophical Research Society, 3910 Los Feliz Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90027, 2001. Total pages 873.

"Compost" and the Black Madonna

I've always loved the idea of "compost". When I became a gardener, I was delighted by the daily visit to the compost heap, the alchemical magic of watching it gradually become fertile soil, coveted by renegade watermelon seeds that sprouted at it's outskirts, and mice that nibbled at it's warm, smelly, decomposing wealth.

I ran across the idea of "energetic compost" today in a recent article by Sig Lonegren, a spiritualist minister and geomancer who lives in England. I myself have seen "fairy rings" that marked places of geomantic energy when I lived in the Northeast.........I love his description of how he turned to Mother Earth to help him with "psychic compost". Reading his thoughts about "compost", I had to pull out and re-read one of my own articles as well, about the "Black Madonna" - to me, these ideas are intimately intertwined.

Sig writes:

"I would like to suggest an approach that employs some geomantic magic (for dealing with fear and negativity). Crossings of underground veins of primary water are very yin. I see them like a psychic vacuum cleaner that sucks energy into the Earth. It helps things to fall apart, to decompose. Yes, there are some beneficial things that can happen by spending time over places like this. For example, it's a great place to put your compost pile. But mostly, it is deleterious to human health. It shrinks your aura when you spend time over such places, and helps you get a number of different degenerative dis-eases - like cancer, arthritis, auto-immune diseases and difficulty in sleeping.

But these yin centres are great places to get rid of stuff that is no longer useful to you. I learned this in the early eighties when another geomancer moved in to my area and began writing me rather provocative unpleasant letters. One day, I had had enough, so I took his letter to a place on my lawn where there was a crossing of veins of primary water, and Mother Nature had made it clear by leaving a small circle of English Daisies. As I lit the letter, I asked Her to take this negativity and use it as compost for the new. I just didn't want this negative energy in my life any more. (He never wrote again.) Six months later, someone asked me about this guy and what had been irritating me, and I couldn't remember! I still can't."

The Black Madonna

Black Madonna of Guadalupe, Spain

"Older yet, and Lovelier Far, this Mystery
and I will not forget."

Robin Williamson

"Black Madonnas" are found in shrines, churches and cathedrals all over Europe - France alone has over 300. These icons have been the focus of millions of pilgrimages since the early days of the church, and probably rest upon sites that were pilgrimage sites long before the advent of Christianity.

Why were these effigies so beloved that pilgrims travelled many miles to seek healing and guidance? Why, in a European medieval world where peasants or even aristocracy were unlikely to see a dark skinned person was the Madonna black? Some of the effigy statues are made of materials that are true, ebony black. And why are there so many myths that connect the effigies with trees, or caves, or special wells?

In 2005, during a residency on the 150 acres of IPark, the land spoke to me, and I had time and space to speak back, to engage in a conversation, and my own " Black Madonna" arose from that numinous time.

Many suggest that the Madonna with Child originated in images of Isis with her child Horus (the reborn Sun God). Isis was a significant religious figure in the later days of Rome, and continued to be worshipped in the early days of Christianity. In general, when Isis arrived in Rome she adopted Roman dress and complexion, and was sometimes merged with other deities, such as Venus. The images of Isis that survived the fall of Rome were perhaps the origin of later "Virgin and Child" icons - temples devoted to Isis continued well into the third century. "Paris" derives from the name of Isis ("par Isis")

fresco from the Temple of Isis at Pompeii

Mother Earth

Whether originally derived from Isis or not, most of these images are connected in place and myth to healing springs, power sites, and holy caves. I believe The Black Madonna is also the ancient Earth Mother, metamorphosed in the form of Mary, and yet not entirely disguised. She is black like the Earth is black, fertile (often shown pregnant) like the Earth is fertile, dark because she is embodied and immanent, as nature is embodied and immanent.

I did not realize until recently that there are many pilgrimages in Europe to Black Madonnas. A significant pilgrimage route is the one that concludes at the Cathedral of Santiago at Compostella, the endpoint of "The Camino", the long traditional pilgrimage still made by thousands today across Spain.

Pilgrimage routes to Compostela

It's believed that the earliest pilgrimages were made to the "Black Madonna of Compostella", a very ancient effigy. Compostella comes from the same root word as "compost". Compost is the fertile soil created from rotting organic matter, the "Black Matter". The alchemical soup to which everything living returns, and is continually resurrected by the processes of nature into new life, new form. Matter. Mater. Mother.

"From this compost -- life and light will emerge. When the pilgrims came to the Cathedral at Compostella they were being 'composted' in a sense. After emergence from the dark confines of the cathedral and the spirit -- they were ready to flower, they were ready to return home with their spirits lightened."

~~ Jay Weidner

There are many legends and miracles associated with Black Madonna icons. The icon at Guadalupe, Spain, is said to have been carved by St. Luke in Jerusalem, although this is highly unlikely. It doesn't ultimately matter how old the icon actually is. The question is, what does it embody that strikes a deep chord, that speaks to those who come to contemplate the icon? And what does the icon emanate? Can it actually have healing powers, or is the site itself a "place of power", it's energies renewed by millenia of worship and pilgrimage? What resonance does it attune those who come there to? And how significant is the act of making the pilgrimage itself, the long effort to come to a sacred place, a sacred image?

In the Middle Ages when the majority of the Black Madonna statues were created there was still a strong undercurrent and mingling of the old ways. Black Madonnas were discovered hidden in trees in France as late as the seventeenth century, suggesting these were representations of pagan goddesses who were still worshipped in groves. Black Madonnas are also found close to caves (the womb/tomb of the Earth Mother). In churches the statues were sometimes kept in a subterranean part of a church, or near a sacred spring or well.

"Again and again a statue is found in a forest or a bush or discovered when ploughing animals refuse to pass a certain spot. The statue is taken to the parish church, only to return miraculously by night to her own place, where a chapel is then built in her honour. Almost invariably associated with natural phenomena, especially healing waters or striking geographical features" Ean Begg

Black Madonnas, not surprisingly, are also associated with the Grail legends. The Grail or Chalice may represent the mingling of Celtic mythology. Cerridwen's cauldron was an important myth about the womb of the Earth Mother, from which life is continually renewed, nourished, born, composted, and reborn.

The extent to which people make pilgrimages to these sites is amazing. For example, the Black Madonna of Montserrat, near Barcelona, receives up to a million pilgrims a year, travelling to visit the 'miracle-working' statue known as La Moreneta, the dark little one.

So why am I writing all of this? Well, because it's important to know that the ancient "Journey to the Earth Mother", which exists in all cultures and times, intimately connected to long ago "pagan" sacred sites, sacred sites that probably always had an intrinsic geomantic power.... never ended. It just transformed again. The pilgrimage is a human pilgrimage, an impulse that is made, ultimately, throughout many cultures and times.

Black Madonna of Czestochowskad (Poland)

Procession to the Black Madonna, Poland

Resources:

Sig Lonegren, SunnyBank 9 Bove Town Glastonbury, Somerset BA6 8JE England, www.geomancy.org

The Cult of the Black Virgin (1985) by Ean Begg;

Miraculous Images of Our Lady (1993) by Joan Carroll Cruz;

The Virgin Goddess: Studies in the Pagan and Christian Roots of Mariology (1993) by Stephen Benko.

Martin Gray: Sacred Sites (www.sacredsites.com)

Jay Weidner, (www.jayweidner.com)

James Swan, Sacred Sites, (www.jamesswan.com)

Dapples

Solar Eclipse, 2017

I have always loved the word "Dapple". "Dappled light" to me is "integral light", the play of shadow and sun, yin and yang, light and dark that is ever in contrast, ever creative, ever illusive. Maybe because I had tea today in flickering, dappled light several poems came to mind, one my own, one a famous poem written in the 19th century by Gerald Manley Hopkins. And then I also found a beautiful poem by Tucson writer Arthur Naiman, in which he disagrees (poetically speaking) with Mr. Hopkins.

IN PRAISE OF WATERS

How are we turned
again and again
to find ourselves moving
into the shadow land
where our best and finest intentions
drift out of true,
and into the truly opposite?

Love becomes hate
hope turns into despair
inspiration hardens into dogma.

Perhaps,
we must find our faces again
in dark waters
revealed among fallen leaves,
our reflected sins,
our cherished scars,
the dappled shapes of light and dark
that surface toward a whole.

There is something that wants us to open
Something that pours from the crevices
where we have broken

Something that laughs like a river in the morning

1998

Solar Eclipse, 2017

Pied Beauty

by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844 – 1889)

Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh fire-coal chestnut falls; finches wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise him.

Contra Hopkins

by Arthur Naiman*

(A response to "Pied Beauty", in the same style and form)

The world does not need God for us to praise it—
Its beauty aches inside our jagged loins.
Lightning that tears the sky to show the hot white light behind;
The crannied, riddled earth; the colors that emblaze it;
A jumble of two pulses unthinking passion joins;
Healing from the taproot, redemption of the blind.

Blood like holy water shrouds each birth;
Fish amid the coral like random, sparkling coins;
Waves that curl and sputter; the forest veined and lined;
The earth is all the grace we need on earth:
Embrace what’s kind.

*Copyright Arthur Naiman (2002)

Mandelas and Midwives

"Non-Local Quantum Mandela" (2010)

Finally sent off my Guggenheim application..........whew, what a lot of work! But good for me to really review my 5 year project as it required, giving better form to what is meaningful to me, what "strands" I've been following. It's been a long trip!

"Tse Che Nako, the Thought Woman, Weaving the World into Being" (2007)

Among the Navajo, to this day a bit of spider web is rubbed into the hands of infant girls, so that they will become Good Weavers, and Grandmother Spider Woman will bless them. Weaving, as interviews with many traditional Navajo (Dine`) weavers have revealed, is a spiritual practice for them, a practice for creating inner and outer balance. To "weave a beautiful pattern" is a metaphor for weaving a beautiful mind, a beautiful life.

Two Talking Masks: "The River Face" & "The Bone Goddess"

May we all rub a bit of spider web into the palms of our hands.

"Ancestral Midwives" (2009)

The New Story - Brian Swimme

I truly do believe that story (myths) is the name of the country where the archetypes enact their dramas, the Gods and Goddesses weave their relationships and teach their values. Within the Mythic Realms we find the templates of societies, and as individuals, each of us is "in-formed" by story, by mythos. Which is why the ancient Native American archetype of Spider Woman has been so fascinating to me.

Also called "Thought Woman" in Southwestern Pueblo cultures, Spider Woman is a primal creatrix who imagines things that come to be; she weaves the world continually into being and dissolution with the stories she tells. At the center of the great Web (symbolized by the ubiquitous cross (representing the union of the 4 directions) that is always associated with her) Spider Woman/Thought Woman sees the ever evolving pattern, the resonance, the harmonies and the disharmonies. The gift of weaving, and the gift of story, are the gifts Spider Woman endowed her grandchildren with.

In various Pueblo mythologies, when the world fell out of balance, it was Spider Woman who led the people from the deluge and destruction of the dying "Third World" into the "Fourth World", which is our time. As the Hopi (and Mayan) calendar or cycle is almost ended, perhaps, it is Spider Woman who again will lead us into the new world, by helping us to spin "new stories".

There are some who say the "world wide Web" is Spider Woman's latest appearance.

I wanted to share this video with Brian Swimme, and revisit again the New Stories Foundation, which I find so inspiring!

Samhain/Dia de Los Muertos

It's that time of the Year Circle again............when the spiral spins into the darkness of winter, and the veils between the worlds are thin, and we remember the Beloved Dead. I want to share some images and the beautiful music of the Spiral Dance, which was just danced in San Francisco by Reclaiming; this beautiful ritual I myself participated in a number of times, and created many sacred masks for. "The Circle Has No End". If the video link above doesn't work, follow:

http://reclaimingspiraldance.org/

GHOSTS

Where do the dead go?

The dead that are not corpses,
cosmetically renewed and boxed,
their faces familiar and serene.
Or pale ashes
in elegant canisters.

I ask for the other dead,
those ghosts that wander
unshriven among our sleep,
haunting the borderlands of our lives.

The dead dreams,
The failed loves.
The quests,
undertaken with full courage
and paid for in blood
that never found a dragon,
a Grail, a noble ordeal
and the Hero's sacred journey home.

Instead, the wrong fork
was somehow taken, or the road
wandered aimlessly,
finally narrowing to a tangled gully
and the Hero was lost,
in the gray and prosaic rain,
hungry, weary, to finally stop
glad of bread, a fire,
a little companionship.

Where is their graveyard?
Were they mourned?
Did we hold a wake,
bear flowers,
eulogize their bright efforts
their brave hopes
and commemorate their loss with honor?
A poem? A stone to mark their passing?

Did we give them back to the Earth
to nourish saplings yet to flower,
the unborn ones?

Or were they left to wander
in some unseen bardo,
unreleased, ungrieved.
Did we turn our backs
on them unknowing,

their voices calling,
whispering impotently behind us
shadowing our steps?

(1997)