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Dear Grandmothers
Venus shining in my window awakens me early these mornings. Jupiter is nearby. It is breathtaking to be awake at the end of night, hours before dawn. Venus and Jupiter, the feminine and expansive benefics are in the sign of Capricorn. I make no claims to asto-wisdom though for many years I have been exploring the subject. Capricorn is a feminine sign and yet it covers corporations, big business and banking things we think of as the masculine world. As i lay in bed this morning watching the stars, I was contemplating the feminine nature that might belong to Capricorn.
The Grandmothers
When i was young (1950s) I was surrounded by powerful older women. My Swedish great aunts were among the first to graduate from the University of Washington. Aunt Lil taught school her whole life. When she retired she took a mule and hiked the Cascade Crest Trail from Canada into southern California. Alone. Aunt Clarabel with her husband bought land to log. She set choker, he was the faller - just a little gypo operation in northern Washington. Her husband was seriously injured early on and she took over the logging herself. Swedish women, we come from a very egalitarian stock. No one in my family thought a thing of women doing such things it was completely normal.
Our family lived on the reservation (Salish). A clash of culture? I never, ever noticed any. Differences yes, but I believe that the women created a bridge.
ALL of our children ARE all of our children.
The Grandmothers agreed.
And as this totem implies all are unique, each has it’s own tomanawas (power or medicine) and all are connected.
From Scandinavian women i learned to knit listening to clicking needles and various dialects and languages of a far-away north; Swedish, Norwegian, Finnish. From Salish women I learned beading and basket weaving listening to a soft wind and rain in cedar Lashootseed language that the eldest of elders still spoke.
The Salish grandmothers could raise a finger and without words silence a disrespectful adolescent. One finger in a movement so quick and small you could miss it; power of generations - respect and love.
I owe a large debt of gratitude to all of my Grandmothers, strong women with clear memories embodying the current moment in a long line of ancestors ~ the feminine strength of Capricorn? Perhaps.
Far mountain range
This is where my heart lives
Eighteen hundred miles from me
the tides roll in and out
I feel them in my body still
hear the wind in the fir tops
smell the salt flats
Where thought has carried us
BLACK RAVEN
~Thought~
LEGEND
On a cold, wet day in the ‘distant time’ when the earth was beginning to dry out after the great flood, Raven was flying above the shore wishing for something to relieve his boredom. He noticed a bright shiny object on the beach partially embedded in the mud. It was emitting strange squeaking sounds. Swooping down to investigate he found a clam shell filled with tiny wiggling objects. Raven helped free these struggling creatures. Helpless, two-legged, pale, bent, cold, wet, hungry and quite afraid of this towering dark object in front of them- the first first humans emerged. In the beginning Raven had to help them with everything but eventually they became hardworking, productive people.
~
(image: Raven and the First Men by Bill Reid. Story: Haida)
Winter Sea
without words
images
another way to think
not think
winter sea
sky ice
sound
smells
these lay themselves upon the paper
and it is done before i knew it began
Hope rides on her wings
WHITE RAVEN
~Memory~
In the Circle of Hel White Raven rides upon Hel’s left shoulder. She represents memory. When Odin carried the ravens, “Thought” and “Memory” out of the circle both were black. Odin never worried about “Thought” but was not sure if “Memory” would survive. It can be read as a story of the changing of aeons.
Among Native Americans the tale is somewhat different but still takes place at the end of an epoch. A Hopi story goes something like this;
In the long ago time Creator made White Raven as a bridge between the spirit world and the mundane world. White Raven was lonely in the empty world so Creator made White Buffalo. They were soul-mates. The above and below. In the day White Raven would fly about and find succulent grasses for White Buffalo to graze upon. At night she rested upon his back.
When Creator made the mud-men (that would be us) he cautioned them that they may have anything for their use but not White Raven nor White Buffalo. Predictably a mud-man killed White Buffalo. White Raven in her grief cried the great flood. Mud splashed upon her turning her black. She turned her back on the world of men and flew across the spirit bridge leaving her black shadow form behind. She told those who could hear that she would return only when mankind was ready to walk the path of harmony and beauty.
The Hopi waited for millenia. Then, several years ago, White Buffalo reappeared now there are many.
White Raven is flying in our local skies.
She is radiant.
Has memory returned?
Does she herald the dawn of a new age when man can walk the path of harmony and beauty?
~~~~
I began dreaming of a white raven in the winter of 2002.
I had never heard of one. I asked my birder friend, Michael but he had not heard of any. Michael is also a sculptor. He carved me a white raven in alabaster. I placed her on a glass table in an east-facing window where the rising sun can shine through her beak and wingtips. Beautiful.
About a year after the alabaster raven arrived to grace my living room, Michael called full of excitement. A white raven had been sighted in our local desert. We went out for days with binoculars slung around our necks. We hit all the raven hotspots, like the dumpster behind the ribjoint. We saw lots of ravens but none white. We eventually did meet her. I have since seen her several times. She is not albino but a true white raven. She now has offspring who are also white. When I first saw her she was in the company of two black ravens flying on each side of her. She is large and radiant. Stunning in the sky.
She gives me hope.
Happy New Year
Yielding
Places in my past often lie behind my paintings.
When I was a young woman I lived in the Canadian Rockies. My partner and I had developed a liking for ice climbing. On one adventure we decided a particular frozen chute required maximum daylight to ascend. We drove out the afternoon before and set up camp on Spray Lake, frozen of course. All of this required some extra precautions, like draining the oil from the Volkswagen bug so we could get her to start again. Fun did not include being stranded miles from nowhere. We settled in to our tent with stacks of down and polyester to insulate us ( and the motor oil ) from 45 degrees below zero. It was actually a pretty comfortable night. Considering.
I was awakened by some terrifying cracking noise. Zip…peering into the bleary pre-dawn I could just make out two local boys scooting their ice fishing house across the lake. One spotted me - well how could he not, the tent being red and all. “Hello the tent” he called. Cheerful, cheerful? in 45 below? “Coffee?” he raised a monster thermos. Say no more, even though I was not a coffee drinker I was sliding into my parka. “Donuts?” His partner came into view with a massive bag.
What a gorgeous morning.
The local boys had it right they were out for pleasure. I was out testing myself.
We did climb our chute, refilled the beetle’s oil and got home without incident.
Ease of movement in one’s environment, these guys had it. I was inspired.
Sometimes life does shift gears just a bit over coffee and donuts.
