I’m always surprised what wants to be posted—I have ideas about what should come next, but that’s not what comes forward; the energy doesn’t flow and I seem to resist getting it done. Then an idea or an image pops up seemingly out of nowhere and pushes itself to the head of the line. “I’m next!” it proclaims, and it’s clear that’s what I have to do. So it is with this one.

Millions of words have been written about color, millions of dollars spent on studies about it. Most of us know how important it is, even if we have never read anything. It can make us feel good, change our mood, help us heal. Our world is incalculably richer because of color.

While I am tempted to start sharing amazing facts—to write for example about colors outside our normal vision and who can perceive them (about what animals see that we don't), or about the way color in butterfly wings is not really there (not to mention that color is not really out there but “read” inside our eyes)—I’m stopping myself.
 
This post is just meant to be a celebration. It was prompted by a poem I wrote last week, a poem that came because I was taking in nature’s color as I was walking, looking around and noticing the trees and plantings fronting the houses I was passing. The familiar feeling of saturation overcame me. The word saturation means a lot to me—years ago, I even wrote a book called The Saturated World. (www.amazon.com/Saturated-World-Aesthetic-Meaning-Intimate/dp/1572335424). As I’ve had to explain over and over, I wasn't writing about a soggy planet, but about that state of consciousness or awareness where everything seems heightened. Something that is saturated has absorbed all it can of its medium—a sponge absorbs the moisture around it until it can hold no more; a color absorbs the maximum amount of a particular hue.  I sometimes feel myself saturating—taking on that heightened awareness, feeling as if I have stepped into a poem, or become a poem, where each word is pregnant, dripping with import and possibility.
 
I’m sharing the recent poem here, and a variety of photos I’ve taken within the last year that feature different colors—to me, they literally shout, “See my COLOR! Take it in! Absorb it! I also found a few (much) older poems that speak to the same thing—taking in, almost inhaling the color, tasting it, feeling it deeply, as a kind of synesthesia.
 
I invite you to celebrate and inhale with me.

 Late Summer Walk Home From the Market
 
A hot afternoon.
the yellow blooms rule
presiding with other warm hues
the monarchs drink orange
tomatoes ripen red
coleus shouts a pinkish pattern
shot with sienna
 
abundant purple plums
droop on their branches
bellflowers wave gentle lilac,
asters are appearing, their violet stars shouting,
calling to the anemones
which have spread so thick
terra cotta chairs
beckon me to rest
 
the leaves, still green
begin to be tired
they are toning down
the mulberry tree
has golden age spots
the coneflowers are darkening,
going to seed, turning deep brown
the leaves of the downed poplar branch
are curling up white,
grieving, saying goodbye.
 

   Green

In my primal landscape
in the rain
dark veins of
granite
heavy with lichen
the unquenchable wet green
everywhere
 
melancholy rises
and soothes
sheeting off the
boulders the
wet wet leaves the
darkness of the forest
the depth of the
green

Water Lily

I floated today
among the lily pads
happy Pac-man faces
trailing long graceful stems
spaghetti strands I waved away
as I swam to the flower
to inhale
its sweet yellow silence

I have been readying several posts featuring recent art works and stories of working with natural elements—including owl pellets!  Those will be coming soon, but I am just bursting with impressions from my recent trip to Mt. Shasta. The experience was so full of blessing that I’m going to share that before anything else.
 
Mt. Shasta (northern California) is a power spot, a holy place, with great presence and energy. People have all kinds of “woo-woo” experiences there, and it’s true that one doesn’t know what will happen. It’s good to go without expectations and just stay open to the magic. I’ve been there before, the first time in 1970, long before it was “discovered,” and in June I started to feel a calling—a message to “come visit.” I listened, and am so glad I did. My husband and I had deep, meaningful encounters of various kinds. What I am led to primarily share here is flavor of the gifts that came from the natural world—from the energies of the living mountain and the myriad life forms it supports.
 
We were at Shasta while the Carr fire was raging in Redding, about 60 miles away (as of this posting, it’s still going on), and the usual clear vistas were obscured with smoke haze. A sad reminder of course about the difficulties of our out-of-balance earth (and that’s echoed by a horrendous red tide algae bloom on the opposite coast, by my Florida home by the Gulf of Mexico). I believe one of the reasons I wanted to share these poems and images today is to broadcast my love for Gaia and to insist on holding the earth in reverence and great love.
 
Quite a few poems came to me during my week on the mountain, and I offer a few here. All of it feels like an offering.

                  At Red Fir Flat While The Carr Fire Burns Below
 
Afternoon light hits the gold-green lichen on the tall firs,
then fades for a moment in the smoke haze.
Like the mists of Avalon, the haze envelops all. We grieve its source, but
in gratitude receive its caress.
 
Attention to the crunch underfoot, dried-out spiral twigs, wood rot, small stones.
 
Still, this holy space is about reaching up, the tree spires rising forever
to the passing cloud, the glacier snow, the beckoning peak.
There is a counterforce: the weighty, grounded boulders that have known falling, rolling over and over down the slope.
The energy fields meet.
 
The boulders, like the trees, are lichen-kissed and keepers of accumulated time.
Old spider webs, forming white cups, hold sun and particles of smoke.
In the air, fly drone and an insistent note repeated from an unseen bird.
 
The young fir branches undulate, slow bouncing with the breeze. They become the tall ones, seeking sun, calling prayer.
 
Ever-eternal moment, crystal echo, holding the holy.

      Dragonfly Meadow  (Panther Meadow Idyll)
 
I.
dragonflies dancing
above the meadow,
hundreds flying swiftly
and riding the waves
never stopping, just breathing air
breathing the water
breathing the swaying flowers,
being the symphony
weaving lines to
invisible worlds, magic places
 
rising from the ground
rising from the spring,
enjoying everything
these our fairy gifters
blessing us with their wings
riding the currents,
never landing, just being there,
flying, harbingers of joy
telling us to love, telling us to revel
telling us to love
love those flowers, love that water,
love those trees, love those rocks
it’s all about love
just love
 
 
II.
all the fairy godmothers flew over the meadow
singing the song
echoing the water
bestowing blessing

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The theme of blessing and sacredness is felt in many ways throughout Mt. Shasta. One magic place is the Peace Garden, where literally thousands of people have left prayer ties with blessings to be sent out to the world. Here,I gift you with a curtain of this prayer.

On my last day on the mountain, this was the vision that came:

              Shasta Stones
 
I could build a house of Shasta stones, which
having tumbled far and shattered,
hold the hologram.
Stones imprinted with the mountain
the volcanic cone
the rising peak
pushing out streams, leaving
trails of wildflowers
Stones imprinted with the tall reaching firs,
the crystalline snow,
the dragonflies patrolling over
rocks shaped to circles and cairns,
offerings of those hungry to be
transformed.
These are tonal stones, remembering
the lichen,
remembering the prayer.
 
If I fit them together into a shelter,
I could stand up against the walls,
and know them in my bones.
 

I've been deliciously aware of birds this summer. An amazing cardinal is singing outside my window almost all day, every day--singing so insistently that even people I am speaking with on the phone comment on it. The dawn chorus is also just astounding. In addition to the songs, I have experienced the sensation of flying in some of my meditations--mostly the feeling of riding the wind and looking with that bird's-eye view at the landscape below.

It seems timely to post images of some of my creations that "touch" bird energies (or perhaps sound their echoes). They have been made over a number of years. The pieces incorporate actual bird parts, left for me by bird beings that have passed on from their bodies (e.g., found on the beach or in the crook of a tree). Some people are a bit uncomfortable with this kind of detritus--they find it too visceral--but that is what I appreciate. I experience a deep sense of reverence in working with these bird traces, and use them to embody and communicate something of their spirit.  I hope you will be able to share that quality and feel the honor of the gift.

(Remember to click on the image if you wish to see the full view and the captions.)

If you have questions or comments, do let me know.

I realize that birds often appear in my SoulCollage cards as well. A sampling is offered here. These are all completely flat photomontage collages.

I've just completed a poem that addresses the inner wisdom about letting go of struggle, and when I sat with it, I was aware how much of an ongoing theme this is for me. I knew even as I was working on it that The Worry Coat energetically echoed a piece called Incantation that I wrote nearly 30 years ago. When I went to look for Incantation I found other poems from the intervening years that also spoke to the issue of release. My collages come back to that over and over again as well. too. Reviewing the images in this light added yet another layer to this understanding. I am left with a sense of comfort--almost as if someone is smiling at me and putting a hand on my shoulder, saying, "yes, my dear, this is your work, your life path. Enjoy it, and hold fast." 

It's powerful to trace the consistent themes of the inner journey, and it's fascinating too, to see the way they keep appearing in different guises. The trajectory of a lifetime: a strong part of me always seeking to reach up out of human limitation and pain, always trying to get closer to oneness and the light. There are so many pieces I could include here! But I have been selective. I chose only a few of the examples that focus on release, and decided to save the work that features the helping energies or spirits that sometimes comes through for a later time. What I offer here are three poems, written about a decade apart (these are in reverse order), and a handful of collages and the messages they communicated.


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             THE WORRY COAT (June, 2018)
 
You’ve fashioned a coat, worked on it for years
adding burrs, scratchy threads that shoot in all directions
You’ve spent so much time plying the threads, interlacing them to a thick mass, felted-in tighter all the time, with each push of the hands.
It’s crafted well, once-graceful edges blunted to roughness.
 
Oh those jumbled colors, jagged juxtapositions like frayed nerves.
It’s heavy, overloaded with grime and layers of painful moments,
strata of fear.
You wear it, and it weighs you down.
Your shoulders ache, your back bends in submission.
 
Zoom out. Bird’s eye view now, taking it in with clear night vision.
Why, asks the flying one, can’t we just remove this garment, lift it
up and away, and throw it to the north wind,
who will carry it off to a stream bed to decompose.
 
Why bear it any more, this coat of thorns, obscuring the body below?
Uncovered, your skin is smooth, fresh and pliant, unencumbered.
It’s easy to touch, to run a hand over. No stopping in the brambles.
 
Speak now, in bird language, and claim your ground.
You are whole without that coat, ready to move in rhythm,
to pelican glide with ease.
Let the river undo the plies of worry.
Go now without a costume, and having shed the coat,
feel the guidance of the breeze.
 


      GESTURES THAT CALL FOR THE LIGHT (January, 2008)
 
There is a beckoning
a slight breath blowing softly
here in the winter cold
when life isn’t easy,
and even breathing can be a chore
when the body needs layers of protection
 
those gestures in the distance,
not altogether absent
but without force or power
 
I despair of old habits
the fury of the joy-thief
the insistence on weightiness
that pulls it down
the empty place of denial
the light imprisoned.
 
Time to focus on the beckoning
that gestures in perpetual motion.
 
                                                                          
 
      INCANTATION FOR N.  (June, 1989)
 
The darkness of your tunnel
   With its compression walls
      Will start glowing.
 
The tightness will soften around you.
   Silken fingers will touch you lightly.
      Mind webs will release.
  
The tunnel illuminating, you
    Will not need the weight.
 
Ease, the birthright river,
   Will spread from bank to bank.
 
Take a breath:
You are emerging.
 
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DARK DREAM
Dimensional collage: Paper, palm bark and palm fragment, goat hair
10” x 12” framed
2017
 
I am in a dream state, holding sadness as I look backward at the pain we have created.  I am deep in the vision of what has gone before. At the same time, I can turn the healing mandala (the Shaker vision of heaven on earth) to that very past to help it release. Know that I see pain, but am a healer, not a sufferer.

LIFE FORCE: WAITING FOR RELEASE
Paper collage (SoulCollage (R) card)
5" x 8"
2014
 
I am a dream of forever, an offering to eternity, well wrapped to try to hold in my energy of life. I have a painted face, a mere ghost of the life force, I am the reminder that we mummify, try to stop time. All is held within me, tight, contained, yet dead, bound in linen, crisscrossed diamonds, a yearning for the heart, getting  to the core at the deepest level.  I look up, awaiting forever. See—my mouth is sunken,  I cannot speak with my own voice.  Wanting to be unbound, to sink into the earth, allowing the real eternal life –composting and continuing--to go on. 
 
And behind me the ongoing life force, bursting, beautiful, irrepressible, the glow of energy—that’s the light, eternal, bubbling into planets, into cells, bubbling into form. I dream of exploding, alive life force, not caught in religion, sacrifice, in wrapped-up form. I want unwinding and the bindings removed, my essence to let go to the ever-present now of being.

ANCESTRAL PAIN
Dimensional collage: Paper, paper beads, fossilized shark’s teeth.
8” x 10”
2018
 
I am somewhat stupefied by the pain that has been inflicted over so many, many years. I am waiting to be released and to return to my true glorious legacy. I have riches, and loving energy has made me what I am. I am waiting, but ready to shed impediments and fully shine once more—to smile, with the beauty of the true wealth, not the imagined wealth of conquest and hierarchy.

SUFFERERS CALLED TO AWAKEN
Paper collage (SoulCollage (R) card featuring underwater statues by Jason deCaires featured at MUSA Cancun
5" x 8"
2012
 
Holders of the pain. Some, from the multitude, targeted, the light hones in on us and asks us to lighten up, to awaken to the other dimension, turn tears to emeralds and light catchers. 
Our crowns are awakened, we are marked, called, targeted. We are not to be frozen but to remember and turn golden. We are the mourners who are asked to stop mourning, unfreeze, awaken, lighten up, act.  Grief and mourning, targeted by the light to move, to awaken and enlighten, to move out and up.

ASCENSION
Dimensional collage:Altered paper, palm efflorescence, pieces of pen shell, porcupine fish spines, paint, glass beads.
9” x 11” framed.
2018

Lightening up, shifting from one plane to another. We glow, with bits of matter flying into a new form of being

I'm at work on a number of blog posts--bones 2.0, 3.0 etc., thoughts on giving new life to "dead" materials like shells and bones, making vessels, and more. As a kind of placeholder here, I'm sharing images I've taken on recent travels that I  enlivened with some photo editing, usually with the Prisma app. I see this as quite similar to the "re-animation" I do with natural detritus. That will follow soon. Meanwhile, enjoy the images.

Today, the topic is bones: musings and images, both of bones themselves and some of my pieces that incorporate them. This is a huge topic to tackle, for I have been collecting and working with bones for decades. I have wonderful stories--boiling down deer legs to extract the animal’s toe and shin bones, playing with sea robin skulls, hanging out at the (sadly defunct) Bone Room in Berkeley... I will certainly post Bones 2.0, Bones 3.0 and so on as I am inspired in coming months, and will share more of the particulars. May this entry serve as a teaser that will pull you in for more.

I am drawn to the remarkable forms that bones take, each of course serving a specific and essential structural purpose. And so different--the weightlessness of bird bones, supporting the bird but allowing it to soar; the solidity of a buffalo jaw; the strength for bearing down evident in a horses' tooth; the mandala-like form of concentric rings on a fish vertebrae. Each a truly magnificent design.

It's fascinating that bones hold such a draw for me, since at this point in my life I am quite concerned with bone density. I can almost feel my own bones tingling in sympathetic recognition as I handle the bones of other creatures, feel their heft, clean them, sometimes drill through them or even dye them.  I am saddened by the fact that for most people the typical first association with bone is death. Yes, the bone I work with is no longer living tissue, replete with blood and moisture (living bone is one fourth water), but it holds the imprint of the animal it supported.
 

Here is a selection of pieces I have made with bone.