Heart of my land.....

 

It is an unpredictable land in which we live.

In primary school we had to learn a poem off-by-heart,

I chose "My Country" by Dorothy MacKellar.

the words of that poem rang so true to me as a 12 year old,

and even truer now, to me, as a woman.

True not just on the pages from which they are read,

but TRUE to the heart and core of living in this land.

 

We have blistering heat,

long hot days where the sun sears

turning green to brown,

 

 

drying up the last of the muddy puddles in the billabongs,

forcing all living creatures to seek shade,

leaving the earth cracking open, bone dry,

and one wondering......

 

 

while looking to the sky, burnt a pale blue by the sun,

if it shall ever rain again.

 

 

Just when you are hand feeding the cattle,

and giving up on a summer crop,

down she comes.

 

 

 

Ahhh blessed rain.....

 

 

As you give thanks,

the words of gratitude barely leave your lips

and the words of that poem haunt the corridors of your mind:

"A land of droughts and flooding rains".

 

 

And so comes the rain,

and so comes the flooding waters.

All in their fierce path all is washed away.

 

 

Roads.

Bridges.

Crops.

Livestock.

Wildlife.

Homes.

Memories.

Livelihoods.

Loved Ones.
 

 

In the still of the moonless night,

 as the flood waters rise.

 

 

There isn't the sound of a single living creature.

No night time serenade of crickets and cicadas

No chorus of frogs and toads

 

 

Just the bone-chilling roar of swift water.

 

 

 

Our small creek that is dry most of the year

and meanders lazily through the farming flats of our valley
 

 

becomes a ferocious beast

 

 

roaring across the landscape

scouring with its claws

 

 

gnashing with its teeth

taking all in its path

like an angry beast on a wild chase

hungry to reach the ocean.

 

Our little creek travels miles and miles before it joins a river.

As it makes it's way

it is joined in its ruthless march by unrecognisable rivulets, streams and gullies.

 

 

Each new recruit swelling its ranks...

swelling its capacity,

swelling its volume,

swelling its banks,

swelling its force.

 

One is left speechless...

 

 

 

 

Strangely, ironically,

with such savagery also comes strange beauty,

 

 

We choose to live in this land.

We choose to live on the land.

We choose to make our living from this land.

We choose to be part of this of this land.
We choose for this land to part of us.
 

This ancient land of great contrasts.
 

This land that seeps into your bones

and takes you from breathtaking to breathless

all in one day.

 

 

What Am I to Thee?

Am I a tree?

Am I a woman?

Am I a she-tree?

Am I a Goddess?

Am I a Spirit?

Am I a Goddess-Spirit-Tree?

What am I to Thee?

 

Am I the knowing eyes, seeing all hidden from sight?

Am I the deep listening, hearing secrets long buried deep?

Am I the one who sees and hears soul's whispers?

What am I to Thee?

 

 

Am I the soft rustle of leaves on a balmy eve?

Am I the soft flutter of newly hatched wings?

Am I the soft velvet of rose petals?

Am I the fanciest of costumes, turning heads?

What am I to Thee?

Am I the wildness of wind-swept hair?

Am I the steadfast-ness of aged trunk?

Am I the flighty-ness of startled wing?

Am I the fragility of  new blossom?

What am I to Thee?

 

Am I a mother's tender kiss?

Am I the first tentative stretch of wings?

Am I a new seedling pushing through earth?

Am I the first twirl on the dance-floor?

Am I the first rays of the morning sun?

What am I to Thee?

 

Am I the drum of rain on tin?

Am I the crackle of campfire?

Am I the call of song-bird?

Am I the sweet silence of old-growth forest?

Am I the bathing light of pinks as the sun says good-night?

Am I the soft glow of full moon?

Am I the dance of moonlight on still waters?

What am I to Thee?

 

 

Am I Love's first tender touch?

Am I that breath-taking moment?

Am I Grace about to take flight?

What am I to Thee?

 

 

Am I the mystery of glimpses on a darkened night?

Am I the promise of a Lover's first kiss?

Am I the beat of new heart in the womb?

Am I a thousand life-times growing as one?

Am I all of this, yet much more?

What am I, if I am not Thee?

 

 



"She-Tree" was painted during a six week intensive on-line course called DEEP with Connie from Dirtyfootprints Studio. This was my third time delving DEEP-er into my intuitive practise with Connie. I've been fortunate enough to take DEEP twice, the second time, it extended into a double journey, this painting is the result of the second round of six weeks of that second class. Every time I paint with this hot chica I learn more about intuitive painting, my own art practise, learning to listen (and I mean really listen), connecting with Source and about myself then I bargain for.  I thank Connie DEEP-ly for allowing me this opportunity yet again and for the many gifts that journeying with her and a Tribe of amazing painting-sisters and all that the experience/s have afforded me.  I am blessed.

Hell.

"Hell" not a very inviting title is it?

 

"Hell is not a place, but a state of mind"

are the words that came to me while painting today.

My Gremlin/Inner Critic doesn't want me to write this post.

He doesn't want me to share this story with you.

"What about the five others you have in draft?" he implores me.

Yes, why not complete one of them?

Why not play it safe?

Why risk baring your soul and art for ridicule?

                                                                                                  

                                                                                 

 All very valid points, my dear inner guardian.

But I have had a few prompts from The Universe in the past few days....

It began with an innocent looking email.

My dear friend and mentor, Connie wrote a post Vulnerable Naked Bare.

where she bared her soul,

shared her raw emotions

and shared her "dark" paintings.

 

                                    Underworld1                                

Reading her words, seeing her art, "feeling" her pain, her vulnerability,

it stirred things inside,

it opened up the wounds buried deep down inside,

in that dark hiding spot,

the one that no-one usually can find.

Connie's paintings.....her words......her recent journey.....

they moulded together to create a key,

and it flung open the door to my 'secret hiding spot'.

The flood gates opened,

the tears streamed,

my breath quickened,

my chest tightened,

and my gut churned.

I sat in front of my computer feeling like my heart had just got ripped violently from my chest.

     Underworld1 (detail)

Old wounds fester in the dark.

We pretend they aren't there.

We think if we can't see them, they will just disappear.

We think if we don't think about "it", "it" will just melt away,

dissolve into the tapestry of our past.

We put on that "brave face" that we are taught about as a child.

We make sure the world thinks "she copes so well".

Trust me, I've worn that:

"Can cope with anything life throws at me" badge

proudly on my chest for all to see.

It became a badge of honour.

"Yes world, look at me. I can cope."

When younger I had a boyfriend whose favourite saying was:

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger".

"Crikey, I'm so strong I can carry the whole world on my shoulders",

my EGO would boast.

Chin up.

Brave face.

Smile.

Fall apart later.

Hold it all together.

Cope.

 

Underworld2

 

Yes COPE.

I ended up so busy coping, that I turned it into an art form.

I've mentioned before

How I used avoidance as a coping mechanism.

Yes, avoid the pain.

Avoid tending to the wound.

Cover it in layers and layers of "busy-ness" and it will just go away all by itself.

Sailing along quite nicely, thank you very much.

Unexpectedly,

someone I admire greatly, starts to walk a similar path,

her story starts to mirror my own.

And the tiny, almost invisible hair-line fractures start to form.

They travel like cracks in sheet ice,

moving swiftly but silently across the surface.

If I don't look too closely, I won't see them.

I can continue on blindly.

"No worries, mate."

 

Underworld2 (detail)

 

One.

One extra straw gets added.

and I know.......

I know I can't put it off any longer.

I HAVE to face the un-face-able.

I HAVE to heal those wounds.

I HAVE to heal with a brush.

I HAVE to heal with paint.

I HAVE to stand in front of that blank page and face my demons.

I HAVE to venture into the Underworld.

 

Underworld3

"It's a privilege to journey the Underworld." my friend Connie over-heard Pixie say.

I feel like I'm eaves-dropping.

Eaves-dropping on a conversation my soul NEEDS to hear.....

 

Underworld3 (detail)

 

The Underworld beckons.

But,

rather then entering fearfully.

I enter with reverence.

I enter with the open mind of knowing it will bring forth good.

It will bring healing.

It will bring closure.

It will bring in the light.

 

Underworld4

 

My gorgeous friend Shamsi wrote, only days ago, in our Painting Tribe

"playing it small serves no one..."

so I hush my Gremlin,

and I share my "dark paintings"

I feel GRATITUDE.

I bring them into the LIGHT.

For Art Heals.

LIGHT Heals.

 

 

Underworld4 (detail)

 

 

WILD

  Earlier this year I was very fortunate to complete a series of workshops, of varied and differing content exploring a wide range of aspects of the Feminine Journey.  These classes were offered by the most amazing array of very talented and compassionate and creative women from all over this great big blue ball of ours that we call Earth. 

  One of these classes was called Primal PoweR with the lovely Lisa Dieken of Wild Creative Heart, whom hosted the wide array of classes in a Ning site called WILD. I truly had the most amazingly insightful and creative experiences while working my way through the smorgasbord of classes.  I met truly compassionate and gifted women from every continent, many of whom I've formed the loveliest and most supportive of friendship with via this amazing technology we now so take for granted.

  A little while after the completion of the workshop Lisa floated the idea of me writing a guest post about my experience completing her workshop.  I happily took up her generous invitation and I share my experience and the art work that I painted in response to Lisa's class. I also share the 2 paintings my daughter created along-side of me.  The content of the course inspired my 10 year old to join in too and it truly was a blessed experience to see the course through the eyes of innocence.

So please grab a cuppa and take a moment to pop over to my post titled "Elements and Grandmother Moon" and I'd love it if you left a comment too, if you feel called to.

Wild-ly watching over me.



Artist~Healer Circle

Early in 2011 I 'met' Hali Karla of  LilyWheel Slide Studio through my Painting Tribe.

Hali is a member of this amazing on-line network of ladies and fellow artists whom have completed BIG with Connie Hozvicka of  Dirty Footprints Studio  that you have, or no doubt will, hear me talk about in real life and here on my blog. This sister-hood of like-minded ladies has become a pivotal, nay, essential part of my life.

I've been blessed to play along with Hali in a number of e-courses, and painting groups (I'll give you more insight to these another day).  In the time we've spent together painting and exploring, we have come to know each other as kindred spirits and formed a very bonding friendship.  I was granted the honour of creating a painting for Hali in a fun 'Secret Santa Art Swap thingy' that some of the artists in our Tribe chose to participate in last year. Creating for a fellow creative is a story in and of itself, but I'll leave that for another day....



Secret Santa paintings for Hali 2011.

Hali floated the idea of a link between healing and art within our Painting Tribe some time last year.  Hali herself is both a Nurse and an Artist, so naturally she saw the very strong and powerful bond between the two crafts.  I too felt that there is a strong link and put up a very tenuous hand of interest in the idea, seeing myself as an Artist, but not as a Healer, but, recognising the very important connection between the two.

During the course of this year Hali has had some 'blow-your-sweet-little-booties-off' type of amazing guests post in this series on her blog at LilyWheel Slide Studio, so many 'aha' moments have been experienced while reading their posts or watching their videos. So when the email arrived from Hali declaring my 'due date' for my post to the Artist-Healer Circle, I froze. I felt fraudulent. I felt unqualified, a phony, a charlatan, an impostor.  I expressed this to Hali, and in her compassionate, loving and insightful way (that I totally adore about her) she gently encouraged me to share my story, reminding me that no matter what, through my sharing, somewhere, someday, someone, who NEEDS to hear just the words that only I can say in my own way shall read that blog post, and maybe, just maybe, through my words, through my story, I can help another soul on their journey. 

So really how could I back out..................?

I invite you to grab a cuppa and a cosy chair and please come over to Hali's blog with me, read my offering and dive into the amazing offerings by other Artists and Healers. Also, while you're there do your eyes and soul a favour that they will be forever grateful for and explore Hali's amazing art works.

Artist~Healer Circle Guest Post

 

"Seeds of Change"

 

Meet Gibblewort!



"Gibblewort the Goblin" by Victor Kelleher and Stephen Michael King

Are you familiar with Gibblewort?

 

The 'Anti-Everything-Aussie' Irish Goblin from the imagination of 
Victor Kelleher and Stephen Michael King.

Well, he is exactly what my FEAR GREMLIN is like.

 

I feel like Victor and Stephen plucked him straight out of my mind.

They look alike.

They sound alike. They smell alike.

They have similar bad habits and both whinge ALL the time.

 

 They are both always looking at the storm cloud,

and never seeing the rainbow appearing  faintly in the distance.

Even before I read these fabulous books to my kids at bedtime,

I KNEW that Gibblewort inhabited my world.

He hides you see.
He doesn't like the light.
He hides in the dark and whispers in my ear.

He's very convincing, right at this moment,
he's on my shoulder telling me:

"No one will read your second blog post, you just had beginners luck....."

"Everyone took pity on you, that's why they visited or commented......"

 

"You're getting too big for your boots. You know what happens to tall poppies....."

"Best throw in the towel now, before you make a fool of yourself!!"

 

"You live in a small town and everyone you know is laughing behind your back, right now!!"

Oh! he so KNOWS how to press my buttons. You get the picture.....
I'm guessing you've also heard these whispers,
I'm guessing you've got your own Gibblewort.  
Your own Fear Gremlin.  Your own Inner Critic.

If you've read any of the Gibblewort books,
you'll be familiar with his style of adventure. 
Even the other goblins get jack of him and ship him off.
And so, too, I get jack of MY Gibblewort.

 

Some days he wins.

 

I give in.

 

 I don't follow that dream, that hunch, that gut feeling or that yearning. 
And then I reside in a town called REGRET.
It often all comes back to bite me on the bum and rub my nose in it!! 
I imagine you've visited there, at some stage too?

I'm sure my Fear Gremlins skips away, 
 snorting and snickering as he rubs his grotty-warty hands together all smug....

But other days I win.

I DON'T give in.

I STAND my ground.

I FOLLOW that heart's desire, that gut feeling.

Some days it might be a fight to the death between 'ole Gibblewort and myself,
rolling and tussling on the ground with hair-pulling thrown in for good measure.
He doesn't go quietly!

Some days, I may argue 'til I'm blue in the face,
winning in a war of words, rather than fists.

Some days, I simply stand my ground and refuse to budge an inch.

Refusing to listen to his barrage of abuse.

Some days, I'm sneakier....

 and wait until he's preoccupied picking the grime from under his fingernails,
 I slink past,
then I run like a spooked fox sprung in the chook pen.

Some days, I invite him in for a cuppa and a biccie and a civilised chat. 
 

 

Oh, he whinges about the tea being too weak,
the biccies too hard,
and the cushion too soft,

 but sometimes.....sometimes, he listens,
throws his hands in the air and says;
 "Why do I bother, you'll do what you want anyway!"

 

These are the days I feel taller. 

These are the days I feel wiser.

These are the days I feel stronger.

These are the days I feel braver.

 These are the days I follow my Inner Wisdom. 

These are the days I follow my hunch, my feelings, my heart's yearnings, my dreams.....

These are the days that I decide:  

"Yes I will frame that painting I put my heart and soul into and hang it in the exhibition
in a week's time while the framer is 2 1/2 hrs drive away
and it's all a crazy, mad dash!" (phew)

 

 

Or the times I decide:  
"Yes I will offer my paintings to a Doctor's surgery to display and sell even thought they are
6 hours away and framing and transport are a nightmare." (phew)

Or the times I decide: 
"Yes I will accept that offer to co-ordinate a collaborative  public art project in time for a
state wide conference on a crazy deadline." (phew)

Or today when I decided:  "Stop fussing with this post, and just press the 'publish' button."

(Are you seeing a pattern here? I am. Hmmmmmm....)

 

That's when I beat the Fear Gremlin. 
That's when Gibblewort hides in the shadows mumbling to himself
 that next time he'll stop me,
next time he'll protect me from myself.

See he's only trying to protect me. 

Poor thing,
he thinks he's doing the right thing with his 'tough love'. 
 

He's trying to stop me going out into the jungle, by myself,
 to be eaten by the tiger he imagines is lurking, waiting to get me. 

He hasn't stopped to LOOK at me,
really LOOK at how I've grown. 
He thinks I still need his protection.

Sure, sometimes I probably do need to think things through from every angle,
to prevent me making a silly decision that really could end me in strife. 

But I AM a big girl now and can make my own mind up. 
And hey, if we don't take risks, if we don't experience failure or disappointment,
how do we learn?
How do we grow?
How do we develop the courage to try again?

See, now when I stop and look inside,
listen to that Inner Wisdom,
really LISTEN....

I AM BRAVE enough to press the "publish" button.

I AM BRAVE enough to share my thoughts with the Whole Big Wide World.

I AM BRAVE enough to show the world my art, my photographs, my words.....

I AM BRAVE enough to be, ME.