July 30th, 2012
The floor is covered by little piles – feathers, shells,
stones, bones, a basket of beads, thread, hemp-string, leather, and an assortment
of other things. The arbutus stick of yesterday lies to the periphery. Prayer
stick… Holding together small groupings of feathers, I wrap hemp-string
around their bases. Holding two pieces of bone, I wrap them
similarly. With each winding, I whisper prayers, binding the energies of
the journey with Ma and her teachings into them.
Prayer cloths are strung together on a long thin rope. As I sew, the movement of my fingers matches the movement of my mind… The verge of my birth-month… August almost always is an announcement of the year to come. What will it be this year? Intensely life-altering? Release of old structures? Or joyful, easeful? Last year, August marked the beginning of an epic 10-week bleed.
Sliding open the balcony door, I bring the prayer feathers to the pots of both Dark Ma and Ma. Dried branches of vine, found in the forests, are planted as companions to the living Ma and Dark Ma. Adorning these sticks with the feathers, I feel a sense of "rightness." Reaching for the prayer cloths, I tie them from one pot to the other. Gestures… The feathers begin to swing lazily in the summer breeze, and the movement of leaves on both Mother plants seems a nod of approval.
Carrying the prayer-stick and remaining feathers and bones downstairs, I open the large double doors of the house wide, to bring outside to inside. The small garden along the forest path leading to the house comes into view – a garden I created last year over a pile of rubble and ash left from the previous owners. Out of the ashes and muck of life, new life shall grow… Walking to the garden, I know it will become home to the prayer stick.
The end of the arbutus branch presses a few inches into the earth, allowing it to stand upright long enough for me to surround its base with stones gathered from the forest. Prayer-feathers and bones are tied to the top of the stick, and they too begin to sway gently in the breeze. Lighting obkuryuvannya, I ask that my declarations be woven into the roots and carried through the branches, leaves and flowers of the garden to become living, growing prayers.
July 31st, 2012
My Ladanka is in need of cleaning and clarifying. Bursting with all of the medicine gifts of this summer, it is too small to contain them well. Spreading its contents on a cloth on the floor, I decide to make a second, larger pouch out of an old leather glove. Stitch by stitch, the bag takes shape. Stone beads and amber from reclaimed jewelry line the bottom and one side. Hemp string is braided for tying the bag, and mother-of-pearl buttons adorn the end of the braids. Completing the Ladanka, I admire it – a balanced blending of simple and ornate.
With both bags before me, and the medicines spread out, I decide that the smaller bag will house all of the plant-helpers and teachers, and the slightly larger pouch will house the animal and stone medicines, along with any other objects I choose to include. Carefully wrapping and binding each individual object in cloth or leather, each Ladanka is filled, and then the two satchels are tied one to the other. Obkuryuvannya smoke is offered as a final step – preparations are now complete – August will be a welcomed visitor.
Aug 1st, 2012
Somewhere in the night, I awaken as a door at the other end of the hallway creaks open. A visiting friend whom I have not seen in many years gets up to use to the bathroom. He returns to his room, closing the door, and I feel my body beginning to grow fiery as a flash of heat and sweat burn from the inside to my outer skin. I toss and turn. Wave after wave of heat burns through my body. Finally, the waves begin to subside.
As I drift back into sleep, I hear him get up and walk heavily in the hallway. He then opens the sky-light in the bathroom next to my room, and climbs onto the roof. He stomps with such force that my bed begins to shake. And then, in dreaming-awareness, I realise the spirits are at play! Often, they will take the form of someone I know to lull me into false-trust as they try to bring fear into me. These spirits are like hungry ghosts, and feed on fear and anger. I think my energy is strengthening. When they visit in night-dreaming, I am recognising them more quickly, and refusing to give them energy.
I wake myself for a few moments, aware that I am alone in the house. When I feel calm, I close my eyes. Half in waking realm, and half in dreaming realm, my mind attempts to stay on alert as the spirits trudge up and down the stairs, opening and closing doors. My spirit is hovering in the delirium of the in-between-realm, where everything is real and not-real. It is difficult to describe this realm – it is usually a close duplicate of the waking-realm, and everything happens in "real-time". All of the events of the waking-realm are incorporated into this in-between-dimension – natural light flickers, sounds, movements. Eyes open or closed would make no difference as the two realms are perfectly superimposed.
Yet certain key features become clues to where I find myself. Lights that will neither turn on, nor off. Objects or papers that have writing I struggle to read. Slightly misplaced objects or odd structures. People who look like themselves, but do not look me in the eye, and rarely speak. The spirits hover or glide instead of walk, and have a somewhat malevolent sense about them. Their actions create reverberations that both paralyse as well as penetrate with a force that echoes and bounces within my energy-body like sounds that are echoing in an empty room.
Finally, as the sun rises, the between-realm begins to slowly release its grip on me, and I drop into a more restful nap just before my alarm – a recording of the ravens who were calling outside of my window last summer – awakens me.
This marks the first day of August. With this as entry into my birth month, what else awaits me in the weeks to come?
Prayer cloths are strung together on a long thin rope. As I sew, the movement of my fingers matches the movement of my mind… The verge of my birth-month… August almost always is an announcement of the year to come. What will it be this year? Intensely life-altering? Release of old structures? Or joyful, easeful? Last year, August marked the beginning of an epic 10-week bleed.
Sliding open the balcony door, I bring the prayer feathers to the pots of both Dark Ma and Ma. Dried branches of vine, found in the forests, are planted as companions to the living Ma and Dark Ma. Adorning these sticks with the feathers, I feel a sense of "rightness." Reaching for the prayer cloths, I tie them from one pot to the other. Gestures… The feathers begin to swing lazily in the summer breeze, and the movement of leaves on both Mother plants seems a nod of approval.
Carrying the prayer-stick and remaining feathers and bones downstairs, I open the large double doors of the house wide, to bring outside to inside. The small garden along the forest path leading to the house comes into view – a garden I created last year over a pile of rubble and ash left from the previous owners. Out of the ashes and muck of life, new life shall grow… Walking to the garden, I know it will become home to the prayer stick.
The end of the arbutus branch presses a few inches into the earth, allowing it to stand upright long enough for me to surround its base with stones gathered from the forest. Prayer-feathers and bones are tied to the top of the stick, and they too begin to sway gently in the breeze. Lighting obkuryuvannya, I ask that my declarations be woven into the roots and carried through the branches, leaves and flowers of the garden to become living, growing prayers.
July 31st, 2012
My Ladanka is in need of cleaning and clarifying. Bursting with all of the medicine gifts of this summer, it is too small to contain them well. Spreading its contents on a cloth on the floor, I decide to make a second, larger pouch out of an old leather glove. Stitch by stitch, the bag takes shape. Stone beads and amber from reclaimed jewelry line the bottom and one side. Hemp string is braided for tying the bag, and mother-of-pearl buttons adorn the end of the braids. Completing the Ladanka, I admire it – a balanced blending of simple and ornate.
With both bags before me, and the medicines spread out, I decide that the smaller bag will house all of the plant-helpers and teachers, and the slightly larger pouch will house the animal and stone medicines, along with any other objects I choose to include. Carefully wrapping and binding each individual object in cloth or leather, each Ladanka is filled, and then the two satchels are tied one to the other. Obkuryuvannya smoke is offered as a final step – preparations are now complete – August will be a welcomed visitor.
Aug 1st, 2012
Somewhere in the night, I awaken as a door at the other end of the hallway creaks open. A visiting friend whom I have not seen in many years gets up to use to the bathroom. He returns to his room, closing the door, and I feel my body beginning to grow fiery as a flash of heat and sweat burn from the inside to my outer skin. I toss and turn. Wave after wave of heat burns through my body. Finally, the waves begin to subside.
As I drift back into sleep, I hear him get up and walk heavily in the hallway. He then opens the sky-light in the bathroom next to my room, and climbs onto the roof. He stomps with such force that my bed begins to shake. And then, in dreaming-awareness, I realise the spirits are at play! Often, they will take the form of someone I know to lull me into false-trust as they try to bring fear into me. These spirits are like hungry ghosts, and feed on fear and anger. I think my energy is strengthening. When they visit in night-dreaming, I am recognising them more quickly, and refusing to give them energy.
I wake myself for a few moments, aware that I am alone in the house. When I feel calm, I close my eyes. Half in waking realm, and half in dreaming realm, my mind attempts to stay on alert as the spirits trudge up and down the stairs, opening and closing doors. My spirit is hovering in the delirium of the in-between-realm, where everything is real and not-real. It is difficult to describe this realm – it is usually a close duplicate of the waking-realm, and everything happens in "real-time". All of the events of the waking-realm are incorporated into this in-between-dimension – natural light flickers, sounds, movements. Eyes open or closed would make no difference as the two realms are perfectly superimposed.
Yet certain key features become clues to where I find myself. Lights that will neither turn on, nor off. Objects or papers that have writing I struggle to read. Slightly misplaced objects or odd structures. People who look like themselves, but do not look me in the eye, and rarely speak. The spirits hover or glide instead of walk, and have a somewhat malevolent sense about them. Their actions create reverberations that both paralyse as well as penetrate with a force that echoes and bounces within my energy-body like sounds that are echoing in an empty room.
Finally, as the sun rises, the between-realm begins to slowly release its grip on me, and I drop into a more restful nap just before my alarm – a recording of the ravens who were calling outside of my window last summer – awakens me.
This marks the first day of August. With this as entry into my birth month, what else awaits me in the weeks to come?
No comments:
Post a Comment