Winter Solstice

~

Ouroboros

The moon shivers silver and stirs

As the branches of Life’s Tree, kiln dried,

Spark and Ignite in the cauldron of a Dragon’s exhale

As still holding the Center

The Dragon pauses before its first next Breath before Flight

As the Vesica Pisces, resonating through eons

with the Triangle of Light’s Blessing,

In quantum symmetry smiles

And Mycelium dance in prayerful delight!

~~~~~~~~~

” There are two ways of sustaining something. It may either be carried, or enfolded by creating an unbroken circle round it to prevent its falling apart.”

The Penguin Dictionary of Symbols 1996 addition… by Jean Chevalier and Alain Gheerbrant under the category “Serpent”.

~


(Adieu to the Chinese “Year of the Wood Snake”)

~

I was a child with dreams of becoming

Now that I am older

The same dreams of being hold

Like a snake shedding it’s skin

While spitting out it’s swallowed tail

Returning and turning

Always the same

In all ways transformed

~

Happy Solstice!

~

Painting and poems © Jana White

Instagram @ Jana_h_White

Perfect Landing

I step lightly between the landing of the animus

The muse that comes lifting honey from the hives

Pollinating words penetrating through veils

Boundaries permeable by light

Still feeling the sinew and bones of intention

Smiling around dark corners

Unabashed!

 



Painting and journal entry © Jana White

Instagram @ Jana_H_White

Dengue Diary

~

Becoming

~

Even substance

can not slow to definition

The holiness

of momentum

~

Weather

~

It’s called the “Bone Crusher”.

At the end of 2019 and five days into a month long artist residency in Mexico, I fell into a deep viral vortex known as dengue fever. As the virus rummaged through my physiology, the microscopic mutants concentrated in my skull. My brain swelled with a pain so focused that I couldn’t open my eyes and for days I lost all sense of whether it was day or night.

All I remember of this time is literally having no other choice but to surrender to the pain. Finally, within this weird dark place I “saw” what I remember as an image of the archetype of Mary, which I held on to with the thought that perhaps I wasn’t being swallowed whole afterall.

Shortly after the pain subsided, and other than the bones in my head being tender and my lungs congested, I slowly re-entered the day to day world of the rest of the residency.

The canvasses I had prepped were all ready and hanging on my working wall. My paints were arranged on the table, but I found that I could not tolerate color! Light also bothered me and I was unable to look at a phone or computer screen without feeling some internal wires were being crossed. My original intentions disrupted, I sketched instead in black and white trying to express the experience and make something of the residency.

Even more disconcerting was how it felt simply inhabiting space. When walking there was the feeling of riding up and down an elevator. For months afterwards I would have to stop to steady and ground myself….in a panic. Since this feeling was this side of actual dizziness or vertigo, it took months to understand my eustachian tubes had been permanently altered. Finally allergy testing confirmed this and also that my body remained on high alert. I continually exhibited allergic reactions, and I became a human barometer of weather and environmental and seasonal changes. It took years to convince my neurology that neither hard wood trees, nor a new weather front, would upend me.

I was finding that I was having to come into perceptual relationship with everything around me…in a deeper way. This relationship wasn’t a new experience. I had been relying on nature for a sense of wonder and relationship, but also emotional regulation, since a child old enough to wander alone in the wildness of it. This is where I found true beauty in the rhythms of life, sometimes death, and learned to trust change.

Considering the archetypal image of Mary that I saw during my dengue episode? It has become clear to me that this was the Earth herself….in one unbroken seam.

~

Drawings by Jana White ©

Instagram @ Jana_h_White

The deep

~

small rusted tacks                                                      medium_133146861

holding my toughened skin

to bone

to muscle

like pictures cut from a magazine

pinned to the wall

~

I’ve given up looking for saviors,

no messengers with bright news.

~

I see only inside

this heart

cocooned

deep

in the warm darkness

listening to the words spun

from the silk of the stories

we’ve given wings.

“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/striatic/133146861/”>striatic</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

Night mirrors

In my winter dreams

I look for seeds that have curled up in dry dark corners

caught there when the floods washed through.

I pull away the broken limbs and detritus that collect

and watch the seeds that float to the surface

~

Like mirrors end to end

they shift and turn

reflecting the barbed light of other suns.

Birthing memories.

The only heat sometimes is in memory

passing through the heat of the wound.

~

I wake from these dreams disconnected

I have instinctively stretched out in time.

~

Deep in the night

no birds singing yet

waiting for light.

“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

intro page

Stillness

medium_4324520032

 

                                     All you see is the glow from the warming fire

                                     The cold night

                                    the bright moon

                                    your breath in the air

                                    Stillness

I often pull myself together in the YWCA pool, swimming laps… water therapy. I joined the Y initially to cure my fear of deep water. I can float and swim but for some reason when I try to tread water I sink to just above my nose. For months I dangled around in the deep end with a very large floaty. Then I discovered swim fins. Continue reading

Archetypes

fingertips:skin

                                                             Winding down

                                                              inside the mountain.

                                                              Fingers tracing the edge of shadows

                                                              Trusting

                                                              this is leading

                                                              to air and light.

                                                              Spinning slowly

                                                              arms freed from gravity’s holding

                                                              into the deep.

 

I used to think archetypes were stories we collectively tell ourselves that eventually, over time, become the fabric of our personal considerations, but now I understand they are more like skin.  More real, more intimate than the clothes we wear to define us.  More intrinsically ours.  The calluses, wrinkles, birthmarks and scars. 

It would seem that in order to have weight, to be as intrinsic as skin, an archetype would have to hold more than just story.  We are our skin.  Skin is experiential in every sense.  It is our largest sensing organ.

Going deeper…individual cells make up the structure of skin.  Cells replicate, know their purpose, are in relationship with other cells, have memory.

Archetypes are both the macrocosm and the microcosm of skin. Experience and memory.

photo credit: D. Sharon Pruitt at http://www.flickr.com/photos/pinksherbet/338444355