Here is an amazing post that pretty much explains what I’ve been trying to say the past week, but says it way better:
I actually have a spirit doll waiting in the bead room, and some holiday sewing that I better think hard about, and more pieces to make for raku this coming Friday – that’s going to be a fast push to fire – so tomorrow morning it’s into the studio and no excuses.
stories about those words, which were, in actuality simply pulled out of the air for fun. Such is art.
Medusa – Reprise
I am the chosen one
who will re-vision the world
who knew that writing it down
would make it hard and unyielding
My voice is water
and the wearing down has already begun.
smell of crushed herbs
wreath of healing amidst
dark night’s sweating dreams
there is blood here
on forgotten ribbons snaking
like streamers that could herald spring
but do not.
The wound is raw
the edges serrated, torn and tinged
How to cut it out and still
still remain alive.
In the dream the yellow cat with six eyes
longs to be touched
taken from the darkness where it lives
beside the cartoon house
with rainbow bricks.
The river is rising. It has crested the old pathway
and the house may soon crumble.
But the cat loves the finny fish
flashing turquoise and blue in the meadow’s pond
and will not leave.
The rumors were all wrong.
It isn’t stone. Never was.
Illusion has always been my specialty:
dark onto dark makes
light, the double negative
black owl eyes
as the moon escapes
from thick storm clouds .
The halo tells
of more rain.
There will be no front page report of this
but tonight 100 women will share the same dream.
In the cycle of seven upon seven upon seven
four more times
the ocean’s fingers have flattened sharp edges
smoothed away visible lines.
(This is the true story.)
Open your eyes
see what you are become
Move if you wish
but first you must open your eyes
There is so much to see.