Tag Archives: connections

Prompted

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While waiting for my new images to arrive by snail mail, I’ve been using my collage as a prompt for poetry. So far I’m finding that without a pre-determined focus in the making, my writing is moving more in its own direction and less in mine. I don’t feel so compelled to wring meaning from every image.

In other words I’m stepping off the path and wandering off. I can see I’m still more attracted to purple flowers than blue ones, but at least I am not setting out to pick a bouquet of purely lavender hues. In fact I can pass the violets by without a glance while chasing butterflies…

Reality

Aromatic coffee wakes me.

Scent from the steaming cup creeps

into my dream, slips beneath closed doors,

between tight-locked window panes

and brings me back to bedsheets and sunshine,                                                         prompt 1 chris_0001_NEW

crisp-folded napkins, and the morning news.

I blink, changing worlds each time eyes

shut open, open shut.

Staring across the threshold of my tray

into mystic daimon worlds where mystery

manifests in different forms

from native prophets’, I wonder

why familiarity breeds contempt.  How

we fail to honor miracles that surge

like restless crowds beyond the nictitating eyelid

with which we veil second sight, third eye, active

imagination. We notice

the fluttering moth, but fail

to perceive the prescient mites

migrating toward its ear; grab

a fistful of mixed nuts, but never ponder

the strange collaboration between bee,

flood, and fish that lets Brazil nuts propagate.

We scorn connection at our peril.

One wing flapping

can wreck a world

or save it.

This is another piece that came. As I reread it just now, I realized I was unconsciously applying the “I Am One Who” SoulCollage® method of dialog, in which an image in the card is allowed to speak through the artist about itself.

Fusion

She is the old one, grass green,green elf

shot through with veriditas, wearing

serpent as succubus, confidant, familiar—

ancient chthonic companion, Jezebel

of Eden. The one who tempts us

to love what we are.

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Rumpelstiltskin

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Rumplestiltskin 1_0001

This is actually a collage I made years ago. It was the last of a series of fairy tale collages I created last century.  I was never very happy with it.  I think because this piece is a rather traditional overview of the tale and I’ve always felt that in this story, justice wasn’t really served.  It seemed to me Rumpelstiltskin had been cheated.  As I recently discovered, I’m not the only one who felt this way.  Sara Maitland in her beautiful book From the Forest: A Search for the Hidden Roots of Fairy Tales rewrites Rumple’s story in a much more sympathetic vein.

As you might have guessed, the strange little woodland creature was my favorite character.  I loved the combination of grotesquerie and wisdom, foolishness and wicked pragmatism; besides, like me, Rumple had a very strong innate sense of Justice.  Like me he was an inveterate outsider.

I liked that he lived in the woods and danced wildly around the fire at night.  Because of the time and places I grew up in, I didn’t do any moonlight prancing until my early forties.  it turned out to be every bit as wonderful as I had anticipated.  I despised the greedy king and father. The maiden seemed rather dim at best, not to mention untrustworthy.  Of course, at the time I hadn’t any children of my own and had not an inkling of the lengths a mother would go to keep her child.  Still, in spite of my intervening years and experience I still prefer Rumpelstiltskin and my inner child would have much preferred to grow up in the forest.

One day, while puzzling about what it might mean to spin straw into gold, I suddenly realized that straw could stand for all the mistakes and unpleasantness in my past, while the gold stood for all the meaning, insight and teaching, which had grown out of those events.  With this same end in mind, we have unraveled fairy tales over the past twelve months, harvesting innumerable golden threads that connect our personal lives to the greater history and heritage of humankind.  Thus, Rumpelstiltskin seems a fitting conclusion to our year of twitching our tales and spinning the resultant fallout into gold.