Winter Solstice 2015

luminaria on Serpent Mound

You, Darkness

You, darkness, that I come from
I love you more than all the fires
that fence in the world,
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone
and then no one outside learns of you.

But the darkness pulls in everything –
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them! –
powers and people –

and it is possible 
a great presence is moving near me.

I have faith in nights.

Rainer Maria Rilke

December Moon

Before going to bed
After a fall of snow
I look out on the field
Shining there in the moonlight
So calm, untouched and white
Snow silence fills my head
After I leave the window.

Hours later near dawn
When I look down again
The whole landscape has changed
The perfect surface gone
Criss-crossed and written on
Where the wild creatures ranged
While the moon rose and shone.

Why did my dog not bark?
Why did I hear no sound
There on the snow-locked ground
In the tumultuous dark?

How much can come, how much can go
When the December moon is bright,
What worlds of play we'll never know
Sleeping away the cold white night
After a fall of snow.

May Sarton

Pledge of Allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
      of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
      one ecosystem
      in diversity
      under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.

Gary Snyder

Completely Unrelated to Christmas..........Mermaids Enroute to Needles

Found in my photo files and never before shared.  A gas station Oasis in the middle of nowhere, on route to the desert town of Needles, California.  No less than 4 mermaids in their pools.  Bless the woman who refused to give up magic in the middle of nowhere. 

surrounding area

surrounding area

Telling the Trees: Wassailing

In a previous post I shared the practice of "telling the bees" - here's another old custom along the same line, which is the practice of "telling the trees" at the Solstice celebrations, in essence, thanking them for their bounty and generosity, and sharing the celebration with them.

I love that!  

Although Wassail is popularly a spiced cider drink, often with brandy added and served hot, originally it meant the Yuletide custom of  singing to the trees, in particular, the orchard of apple trees.  The spiced cider also was offered in ancient honor to the trees for their generosity, and around the time of the Solstice, wassailers would prepare  traditional wassail – soaking pieces of bread, cake or toast in it – and travel from apple orchard to apple orchard singing and talking to the trees, in order to ensure a good harvest for the coming year.  Wassail-soaked pieces of bread or toast were then buried at the trees’ roots or hung in the trees’ branches to appease the tree spirits and feed them well until the next harvest.

Like the Romans'  offerings and small farm shrines dedicated  to the "Numina", the spirits of place that assisted them with their crops and orchards (the indigenous Roman Goddess Pomona, whose name meant "apple",  originated as a Numen), this custom, which is still practiced with a lot of good cheer  in some rural areas of  England, reflects that ancient pagan sense of "reciprocity" with an intelligent, spiritually  inhabited natural world.

I read that our habit of "toasting" may go back to Wassail revelries.  "Waes hael"  revelers would say,  from the Old English term  meaning "be well".  Eventually  "wassail" referred less to the greeting and more to the drink.The contents of the Wassail bowl varied, but a popular one was known as 'lambs wool'. It consisted of hot ale, roasted crab apples, sugar, spices, eggs, and cream served with little pieces of toast. It was the toast floating on the top that made it look like lamb's wool.  The toast that was traditionally floated atop the wassail eventually became our "toast" -  when you hold up your glass and announce, “Let’s have a toast,”  or  ”I’ll toast to that,” you’re remembering this very old ritual of floating a bit of toast in spiced ale or mulled wine or wassail in celebration.

Wassailing – visiting neighbors (and much appreciated, friendly trees), singing carols and sharing warmed drink – is a tradition related to the Winter Solstice with ancient roots indeed.

 I found a good Wassail recipe, which I've taken the liberty of sharing at the end of this post.  I don't know if I'll be going out to sing to the Saguaros  this Solstice, but who knows what I might end up doing if I drink enough Wassail with brandy.    Huzzah!  Happy Wassailing!

Photo by Martin Beebee

 Apple Tree Wassailing Chants and Rhymes

Compiled in The Stations of the Sun by Ronald Hutton

From the South Hams of Devon, recorded 1871: 

Here's to thee, old apple tree,
Whence thou mayst bud
And whence thou mayst blow!
And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!
Hats full! Caps full!
Bushel--bushel--sacks full,
And my pockets full too! Huzza!

From Cornworthy, Devon, recorded 1805:

Huzza, Huzza, in our good town
The bread shall be white, and the liquor be brown
So here my old fellow I drink to thee
And the very health of each other tree.
Well may ye blow, well may ye bear
Blossom and fruit both apple and pear.
So that every bough and every twig
May bend with a burden both fair and big
May ye bear us and yield us fruit such a stores
That the bags and chambers and house run o'er.

 

http://www.aspicyperspective.com/2013/09/wassail-recipe.html

Yield: 10-12 servings,  Prep Time: 5 minutes, Cook Time: 4 hours

Wassail Recipe

Ingredients:

• 1 gallon Musselman's Apple Cider
• 4 cups orange juice
• 4 hibiscus tea bags
• 10 cinnamon sticks
• 1 tsp. whole cloves
• 1 Tb. juniper berries
• 1 1/2 inch piece of fresh ginger, cut into slices
• 1 apple, sliced into rounds
• 1 orange, sliced into rounds

Directions:

1. Place all the ingredients in a slow cooker and cover.
2. Turn the slow cooker on high heat and cook for 3-4 hours, until the color has darkened and the fruit is soft. Remove the tea bags and serve hot.

Artwork by Rima Staines

I'm always talking about "a Conversant World", a conversation that includes all living beings we interact with, not just humans.  (With cellphones, I'm beginning to wonder about our capacity to interact with humans either, but, oops, sorry about that.)  Here's a wonderful practice, still done in some rural areas of England, called "telling the bees".  I was glad, when I learned about this, that my tendency to talk to bees has historical precedence. 

Bees have always been magical creatures throughout many cultures.  In ancient Greece there were Bee Priestesses - who no doubt were also bee keepers - called the "Mellisae", and many myths of the Goddess include bees, the Queen Bee, and the creation of honey.  Also the Semitic name "Deborah" or "Devorah" means "Bee", and its origins may also go back to a time when there were women who were Bee priestesses.  

Bronze Age Bee Goddess

Reciprocity, the sense of intimacy with all the other lives and evolutions and intrinsic Spirits of Place  all around us..........I loved the movie "THE SECRET  LIFE OF BEES", where Queen Latifah explains to her young apprentice that it's important to just love the bees.  That "everyone needs love".  As the founders of  Findhorn demonstrated - there's a sacred collaboration that is going on all the time, or can be.


In New England there has long been a tradition called  "Telling the Bees", in which a death in a family farm, or among beekeepers,  is "told to the bees" so they will not be upset by the loss, or can participate, perhaps, in the remembrance, a folk custom that remembers as well that bees are "part of the family".

 According to Wikipedia:

"The telling of the bees is a traditional English custom, in which bees would be told of important events in their keeper's lives, such as births, marriages, or departures and returns in the household. The bees were most commonly told of deaths in their master's family. The custom was prevalent all over England, as well as in a few places in Ireland and Wales but not in Scotland.If the custom was omitted or forgotten then it was believed a penalty would be paid, that the bees might leave their hive, stop producing honey, or die.

To inform the bees of a death their hive might be hung with a black cloth, while a "doleful tune" is sung.  Another method of "telling the bees" would be for their master to approach the hive and knock gently upon it. The house key might also be used to knock on the hive. When the master of the house had the attention of the bees they would tell the bees the name of the person that had died.  Food and drink from a beekeeper's funeral would also be left by the hive for the bees, including the funeral biscuits and wine. The hive would also be lifted a few inches and put down again at the same time as the coffin.The hive might also be rotated to face the funeral procession, and draped with mourning cloth. If a wedding occurred in the household, the hive might be decorated, and a slice of wedding cake left by their hive. The decoration of hives appears to date to the early 19th century.  The custom spread with European immigration to the United States in the 19th century. ^"

 

Telling the Bees

 by Deborah Digges  (1950 - 2009)

 

It fell to me to tell the bees, 
though I had wanted another duty—
to be the scribbler at his death, 
there chart the third day’s quickening. 
But fate said no, it falls to you 
to tell the bees, the middle daughter. 
So it was written at your birth. 
I wanted to keep the fire, working 
the constant arranging and shifting 
of the coals blown flaring, 
my cheeks flushed red, 
my bed laid down before the fire, 
myself anonymous among the strangers
there who’d come and go. 

But destiny said no. It falls 
to you to tell the bees, it said. 
I wanted to be the one to wash his linens, 
boiling the death-soiled sheets, 
using the waters for my tea. 
I might have been the one to seal 
his solitude with mud and thatch and string, 
the webs he parted every morning, 
the hounds’ hair combed from brushes, 
the dust swept into piles with sparrows’ feathers. 

Who makes the laws that live 
inside the brick and mortar of a name, 
selects the seeds, garden or wild, 
brings forth the foliage grown up around it 
through drought or blight or blossom,
the honey darkening in the bitter years,
the combs like funeral lace or wedding veils 
steeped in oak gall and rainwater, 
sequined of rent wings. 

And so arrayed I set out, this once
obedient, toward the hives’ domed skeps 
on evening’s hill, five tombs alight. 
I thought I heard the thrash and moaning 
of confinement, beyond the century, 
a calling across dreams, 
as if asked to make haste just out of sleep. 
I knelt and waited. 
The voice that found me gave the news. 
Up flew the bees toward his orchards.

---

 

** There is also a wonderful folk group from the UK called "Telling the Bees"..... I couldn't resist posting them here now as well.  (Many thanks to Valerianna for all of this!)

 

"Do it because you love it".....

"Emergences II;   Anima/Animus" (2015)

Sometimes the Oracle speaks.  Sometimes the Oracle Speaks in the form of a Chinese fortune cookie..........

Recently I decided that, since I have so many bodies of work wasting away in closets and boxes  it is time for me to tackle the "Art World".  So I have been dutifully sitting down every day writing Proposals and Applications, pulling out the Art Speak Dictionary, and going to it.

It is a grim business.

For one thing, I feel more "out of it" than ever, a virtual relic in a strange new world of stunningly obscure Artist Statements (what?  what on earth is he saying there?  And what is that thing?)  which sometimes leaves me feeling like it's a bad case of "the Emperors New Clothes". Other times I feel intimidated with it all, and it is clear that I have early onset dementia or I need another MFA because they are speaking a whole new language here.  Everything is so Conceptual now, and so much about technology. Who paints anymore?   And then there is Raw Art, which is a whole other matter.

I learn that I'm too old, and have been around too long, to be an "emerging artist", so that is a buzz word in the applications that stops me in my tracks with a shudder. But most of the stuff to apply to seems to be for "emerging artists", so it's a catch-22.   That makes me, I guess, an "established artist", although I'm not sure where I'm established, since I generally don't get paid for doing art, nor do I have Curators doing Retrospectives of my 40 some years of work.  Darn, I have to do it all myself.

Can you be 65 and  "emerging"?  I always feel like I'm "emerging", but my sense of the word may be somewhat more metaphorical.

I also noticed that, in all those applications, it seems Curators expect to get paid for Curating, but the artists generally have to cover their own costs and don't forget that $30.00 application fee.

I think of it as Artist Bingo.  Sometimes you win.

There seem to be some unwritten rules.  One has to do with subject matter, which has been around for a long time - this is a predjudice toward anything that is too overtly "spiritual" or "religious".  I'm not sure where the Visionaries went either......I don't much see them in the august pages of Art in America either.   Political is good, and highly valued.  Craft and "Beauty" is not, in "high art", much valued, but "Statement" is.  And it seems that the darker and grimmer or intangible the statement, the more Depth and Meaning it seems to have,  No Pollyannas allowed here.

Ok, I'm exagerating.  But I do feel like a relic, and wonder if there is anyone out there that is going to like my stuff enough to let me hang it in a gallery and bring some wine for the Reception.  I love Receptions.

Feeling very depressed by all of this, I went out for lunch to a nearby Chinese restaurant.  And at the end of lunch, what did my Fortune Cookie say?

"Do it because you love it"

Perfect!   And one of the things I realized is that  most of my work are Shrines, Reliquaries, and Icons.  Even the Masks of the Goddess are really a form of mythic Shrine, waiting to be collaboratively activated.  My art is my spiritual practice, my way of conversing with the Divine.  When I work, it centers me, it connects me, it integrates me.   That's all I need to know, really.  Do it because you love it.

Earth Shrine (2007)

An Irish Blessing by John O'Donohue

Beannacht  

          ("Blessing")

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

~ John O'Donohue 

 

Celestial Navigations and Geoffrey Lewis

I was sad to learn that Geoffrey Lewis died this year.  He seems to be remembered for his roles with Clint Eastwood, but to a great many of us he is remembered as  storyteller, a truly contemporary Bard of the 80's.  I listened to Celestial Navigations with rapture, just as I did the work of the Scottish Bard Robin Williamson.  Those stories will always be imprinted on my imagination.  Thank you to the BARD and his colleagues for a treasure!

And because this Blog is also as much an Archive as a Memoir, I take the liberty (thanks once again to the great generosity of UTube)  of adding below a site that has a great many of his stories, in case you are  maniac like me and can listen to them forever.  And a few of my favorite ones preceed that listing.  Although I'm a film fan, there is something about the listening to Story that really holds to the heart  just as reading a book does, because the listener must fill in the spaces with her or his imagination.  It's not  a passive process.  Viewing a painting is the same - a painting is really a window into another world.  

But the Storytellers.............I find myself becoming a child again, listening before a campfire to that story, wanting to know what happens, and also wanting the story to never end.

https://youtu.be/nPW7osZrL0A









For a large collection of Celestial Navigations stories:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJ0nWoWqNDwFbRHCRWjgcXjNP6g4l7-xp