If we could reach the farthest recesses of human memory, we would find that the Winter Solstice has always been a time for humans to look deeply within. It is a time of reflecting on your soul, and on the meaning of your life. I am often drawn to art and writing that contains bits of the esoteric, mythological, or spiritual within it. Although, one could easily argue that art and writing always contain these things because the very act of creating is a spiritual act. Nevertheless, this week’s work weaves myth and metaphysical light as we have entered the month of the Winter Solstice.
The first piece of art is of a raven. Ravens are the prominent bird seen at this time of year in the Northern hemisphere as snow begins to blanket the ground. It is no wonder that many ancient myths around the world have Raven as the creator. Raven comes out of the void of winter and helps to bring the sun back at the Winter Solstice.
Tulugaq by Lynnette Shelley
Primordial by Alenka Co
you emerged from the primordial ooze
with all the other life on earth
but your evolution had an interesting twist
that made you separate from all else
it’s not that you are more intelligent
don’t kid yourself about that
I’ve seen a raven make a tool from wire
to pull food out of a jar
and it’s not that you developed speech
I’ve listened to swallows converse
it’s something more intrinsic
that makes you strive beyond yourself
can it be that you alone are aware of death
you’ve searched for the meaning of life
in every corner of the planet
and now you’re off to the stars in your quest
what if the answers are not out there at all
but inside your primordial soul
This next piece of art has to do with the grail mysteries. It seems to literally represent the place behind the veil where our primordial soul originated.
Monsalvat by angiandsilas
TIME’S CHILD by Cosimopiro
In Time’s distant mist
I was born
a supple thought,
the subtle whisperings
to utter my name,
to see my form,
to hear my breath,
to feel my essence,
and yet I pulsed
within translucent walls
in the infinity
of that moment.
born from night’s soft crest
and gently suckle
upon Moon’s golden breast.
At Sun’s yawn
I crawl from dawn’s embrace
and play with shimmering colours
of first morning grace.
In midday’s blazing sight
I stand proudly alone
to finally walk my unknown path
and call it my very own.
When nightfall beckons with sleepy song
I rest my weary bones
and into night’s deep sleep I repose
clutching a twisted cane.
In restful slumber
I dream a dream within many dreams
of a time I visited a distant land
now all but a fading memory, it seems
I picked this next work because one of my favorite myths are the ones similar to the swan maidens and selkies. They are myths of beautiful faerie women that are swans or other animals but when captured by a human man they turn into beautiful women. There is deep symbolism in these myths of our desires and longings for union with our source. This image seems to capture that longing.
Koi by Manolya F.
Our Design by Hector A. Encinas
The past gets written and
The present slowly evolves,
Into the future.
Into another blank page in history.
In the history of man
almost everything changes.
There are only
Recurrences in between,
And there is
And there is death;
Two faces on the same coin.
And they are renewal.
is the light of a new generation.
Opens the doors of perception,
Into our elaborate imaginations in which
Our own design.
One of our greatest abilities as humans is our gift of transforming pain and sorrow into beauty. This next image shows that in an almost fluid-like way.
Phoenix by SFlora
This next poem, well I can’t really tell you what it “means” and that is exactly why I love it. It seems to stir something in my subconscious and I put it with the last image because it feels dreamy and fluid-like too.
Undone but not done by Erich Biemer
crow is on the line about omens
omens of thumb prints
on red ochre skies
smelling of ghost blood
it’s hard to pay attention
as a neighbor vacuums
up another universe
as another brother,
performs a requiem
for the poles
too tired for an easy fiction
too warm i hang up
undone but not done
to tell him
the ghost blood is mine
Well there is no stronger image for this time of year than the image of the Christ child and the madonna. The birth of the sun bringing back the light into the darkness of our lives.
Madonna by Shanina Conway
Butterfly by Drew Trotter
Her life’s flame illuminates from within
The sanctum of your belly, your essence and hers, entwine
in an intricate balance of fertile beauty
your being and body nurture her fire.
Within the welling waters of your womb
our little butterfly flutters her wings and dreams
of life outside.
You are goddess, mother, full moon rising
to nourish and sustain the life of Lucy Lu, our baby
who emerges under the eye of Artemis
in high tide of the full moon dancing
through occluded February sky.
Sometimes I think that god is music and this next painting makes me feel that even stronger.
Troubadour by Caleb Hamm
A Disclaimer of God for God by Blake Steele
There is a dead way to think about God,
a way of oppressive connotations:
a baggage ladened, bickering,
constrictive way; a gray way,
all pinch-nosed and guilt riddled
of an angry old man in the skies,
or of three prudish guys — the status quo
I would like for you to set all that aside
if you can, and consider with me a second way:
a way of glacieral freshness, of deep belly laughter,
of love’s naked longing, of star spattered vastness
and the eruptive white spume of whales —
of delirious songs of birds drunk on berries.
It is about the greatest freedom you have ever known;
the wildest abandonment in beauty!
and a light that melts you
every time you see it shine in a human eye.
It is about the repose of a rose garden
in a face you instantly love…
and the greatest fairy tale of sacrificial love come true!
It is a Voice that captures your heart forever…
Or, being electric with life — like the Wild Christ!
Shaking your head in a dance,
refusing oppressive existence,
breaking open until you are brimming with life
— being crazy with love —
spinning in wild circles, singing
for no one — not even yourself —
just because you must sing to say it
and move in it, the eternal spume,
the gurgle in the gut: drunk and giddy,
angry and blatantly sober —
snapping the chains!
Passionate and flaming,
thirsting and howling,
green and all growing,
falling and flowing,
forgiving and free —
like a river!
When I mention the God name,
please know that I’m referring
to this second, more primal way
Okay, so that is it for this week. All I can say is Wow, you people inspire me and have brought the light into the darkness of my winter today!
Tammy, aka MoonSpiral