Warrior Women: prayer flag #11

This morning I’m thinking about a warrior woman–one woman in particular–a scrappy keeper-of-goats living in the harsh yet beautiful desert of the SW.    Not a place for the weak of body or spirit.  I’m joining her this morning in solidarity, vowing to take back what I’ve been relinquishing–stepping out of this small, spiteful drama and reclaiming, to the degree that I can–a sense of perspective–a sense of how it goes.  Viewing the big screen in high definition.

This warrior woman was part of a weaving exercise using a little box as the loom.  She stands on cloth dyed with black walnuts.  Mounted on fabric mordanted with sumac.  Her head is one half of a sampler I made while practicing slow cloth with Jude Hill.  And yes, Jude Hill is a warrior as well.  As was my mother.   As is my daughter.  My sister, friends cousins and nieces.  This is for you.

Settling and Shifting

This post is a catch up for me.  So many changes.  So many shifts.  Subtle and not so.  And now finally the feeling of settling again.  But this is what my days look like to me.  Time tearing along at its own accelerated pace.  
and I’m a streamer on the end of its tail. Hanging on tenaciously. And sometimes just barely.

In WV during this time of year, well more into August actually, when the air is so still and thick you can part it with a machete, locals say we’re in the “dog days.” Nothing to do with dogs. Supposedly a time when you don’t have to worry so much about stepping on snakes because they’re shedding their skin, and the skin coming off covers their eyes and they can’t see–and so they’re less aggressive. We’re told. It’s that hot here. And that still. It’s almost a tornado kind of still. Except for afternoon thunderstorms. And in the morning, condensation on foliage makes me think it rained the night before. But no. This is just a congreagation of dew holding morning service.
and the fly on the leaf–well, when the air is this heavy, flight is harder.

And before I fed Logan breakfast, because he’s staying here for a while–bed room under construction and other things–

I ran next door to feed my neighbor’s dogs and when I was returning I heard an insistent tapping on the window and it was Logan pointing out this–another flying friend simply waiting for the atmosphere to lighten up.

And now I remember the first thing I saw this morning. Nine crows. Five walking right down the middle of the road. And four walking next to them on the sidewalk. They walked with a purpose–obviously on a mission–going some where. Where? And they walked until they were out of sight. Maybe 500 yards. And really, it was a divine spectacle. So fine I didn’t think about grabbing my camera.

But I said “shifting” at the start of this blog. Called this blog “shifting.” It’s hard to pin down. These shifts. More like things arising that have me wondering, “Why now?” Specifically, why now am I REALLY drawn to feminine energy? Feminine creative energy? Energy as in Shakti energy–and although this is really SO unlike me–I’ve got to say it–Goddess energy. Why now. I’ve ALWAYS been squirmy when someone would start the Lord’s Prayer by saying, “Our Mother who art…” Really squirmy. It felt so contrived. And I never would have imagined substituting “Mother” in one of my favorite hymns–“This Is My Father’s World.”

So what’s going on here? I say all of this acknowledging that I’ve always felt on even par with men. Never felt inferior, less than–or more than. Have experienced serious irritation around discrepancies in pay in the work place–and frequently wonder why/how men have managed to get into control and muck things up so much. But generally it’s just not an avenue of thought I’ve chosen to pursue. I looked around my home. Were there any telltale signs? Any female deities? Not really.

Only these–a gift from my mother–an example of how she saw me
and this. Apache Woman by Santa Fe artist, Amy Stein:

Nothing else that sings for the feminine — sure, a few pictures of my daughter, mother and grandmother–but nothing to explain this sudden awareness/respect/understanding/embracing of the feminine aspect of creation. No indications at all.

Then the other day I was napping in the afternoon–hot, sweaty–kind of a feverish nap. And woke up suddenly almost in a panic. Wondering. Where WAS she? This THING I made 20 years ago. I never understood why and even who she was but I knew i needed to see her right then–need to see her regularly. And I was afraid she hadn’t made the trip here, to NC, because so much didn’t make the trip. But there she was, ignominiously wrapped in cardboard. Patiently waiting. She’s gaudy. Yes. But she’s something else, too. And she arrived unexpectedly at a time I was shaping primitive figures out of rebar wire and covering them with muslin and paint. Animal figures for the most part. Or at least half animal half human. But SHE is clearly her own self:

and her counterpart was already in progress before I remembered her.

so it’s this forgetting that’s shifted–shifted towards reclaiming– re-connecting with this basic, intrinsic, primal unharnessed wild energy– And I hear again as I’ve been hearing for some time–and maybe have posted it before–I keep hearing something that sounds like primal howling coming from the center of the earth. From the womb. And it is clearly time. For me. To acknowledge this.

And I suppose that’s the “shift” I was sensing.