Webs and Words for Wednesday

An homage to the spider energy in my path...literally. These webs, replete with large arachnids were in my back yard; I came across them while taking a break from the spider-themed custom witch hat I'm working on. Special thanks to Peter Ferioli for the fantastic photography. To Unlock the Soul pendant from my shop.

A noiseless patient spider,

I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,

Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,

It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,

Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,

Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,

Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,

Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,

Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

~Walt Whitman

Bee-Witching Words for a Wednesday

It fell to me to tell the bees,

though I had wanted another duty—

to be the scribbler at his death,

there chart the third day's quickening.

But fate said no, it falls to you

to tell the bees, the middle daughter.

So it was written at your birth.

I wanted to keep the fire, working

the constant arranging and shifting

of the coals blown flaring,

my cheeks flushed red,

my bed laid down before the fire,

myself anonymous among the strangers

there who'd come and go.

But destiny said no. It falls

to you to tell the bees, it said.

I wanted to be the one to wash his linens,

boiling the death-soiled sheets,

using the waters for my tea.

I might have been the one to seal

his solitude with mud and thatch and string,

the webs he parted every morning,

the hounds' hair combed from brushes,

the dust swept into piles with sparrows' feathers.

Who makes the laws that live

inside the brick and mortar of a name,

selects the seeds, garden or wild,

brings forth the foliage grown up around it

through drought or blight or blossom,

the honey darkening in the bitter years,

the combs like funeral lace or wedding veils

steeped in oak gall and rainwater,

sequined of rent wings.

And so arrayed I set out, this once

obedient, toward the hives' domed skeps

on evening's hill, five tombs alight.

I thought I heard the thrash and moaning

of confinement, beyond the century,

a calling across dreams,

as if asked to make haste just out of sleep.

I knelt and waited.

The voice that found me gave the news.

Up flew the bees toward his orchards.

By Deborah Digges

A Glass Offering

As with most things which hold my fascination, glass has ancient roots.

Colored glass beads dating to around 3500 BC have been discovered in Egypt and Mesopotamia; not the oldest types of beads, but certainly an artistic step in the evolution of this form of ornamentation. Glass glaze on ceramics was introduced to the Mediterranean in the third millennium by Phoenician merchants.

Hollow glass making was developing in the 16th century BC in Egypt, Mesopotamia, Greece and China. Fragments of glass vases were found in Mesopotamia, and vases decorated with the name of Pharaoh Thoutmosis III can be dated to 1504-1450 BC.

Not until the 9th century BC did glassmaking really spread further, when the center became Alexandria. From here did it most likely spread to Italy.

Finally, sometime between 27 BC and AD 14, glassblowing was discovered. Today, artists use relatively the same techniques and tools. In the last century BC, Romans began blowing glass inside moulds, which allowed for a greater variety of shapes. It was the great influence of Rome which really allowed for the glass industry to spread abroad.

Let me stop here, though, and focus on ancient Roman glass. There are a great number of artefacts existing in various states of intactness. Even the shards are so beautiful that they are prize finds in archaeological digs and make their way into fascinating jewelry art (yes, I have a few pieces in my collection!).

Relying on my favorite accessible antiquities website, Ancient Touch, to tempt and taunt me with objects of ages past, I offer these images for you to admire and ponder. The iridescent patinas and graceful shapes are captivating, and I imagine holding an amphora up to the light and letting it spin out tales of another world. They have survived thousands of years and bear the memory of water and wine, and the imprint of many hands and mouths.

Modern yet with an ancient aesthetic is the glass art of Willsea O’Brien.

These phenomenal artists work with color and form like divinities stirring up time and space. The ancestors of their craft would stand in awe of their creations and declare them god-touched.

These are just some of the things that influence me when I work with my small and humble bits of glass. I imagine through the past and admire the contemporary, and it inspires me to make an offering.

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

Feathers speak in images… breath, freedom, spirit, hope, transformation, truth, flight, vision, wind, power.

Since ancient times they have held symbolic meaning and spiritual significance for people across the continents; depicted in the earliest art on cave walls, pottery, jewelry, and tombs, mythology and creation stories, feathers are infused in virtually every culture.

Macaw feathers, native to the southerly Americas, have been found in prehistoric archaeology sites in North America, indicating extensive trade or import of these valuable objects, though their use is not certain. However, in recorded history, colorful parrot feather head dresses have been worn by indigenous people of Central and South America to signify nobility. Whether used as status symbols, religious items, or pure ornamentation they must have been highly prized to have traveled so far from their indigenous origins.

In Egyptian religion, Ma’at sat in judgment of the dead, wearing her ostrich feather on her head. She stood for truth and order, and weighed the deceased’s heart against the feather in hopes their souls were pure enough to attain the Afterlife. I wonder if the popular imagery of the “freedom heart”, the winged heart, is a descendant of the Goddess’ trial.

Feather cloaks were widespread in European and Norse mythology. Druids wore ritual cloaks made from many different birds; think of Rhiannon’s three birds which were white, gold and green. The Valkyries donned swan capes to transform and fly away, and Freyja could turn into a falcon by wearing a robe of the same feathers.

There are countless stories of maidens-who-are-birds and alight to the ground to take human form, folding their feathers into a garment beside them. One of my favorite stories is a re-telling in the shape of a song by the Decemberists, “The Crane Wife”. Set in Japan, a peasant man finds a crane that’s been shot by an arrow and he heals it, watches it fly away. Days later a woman appears to him, they fall in love and are married. To assuage their poverty she begins weaving with his vow that he will never look upon her while she makes this beautiful cloth. In his greed he works her to illness, and as is the wont of mortals, he fails her and spies, cracks the enchantment open:

“Each feather, it fell from skin

Until threadbare, she grew thin

How were my eyes so blinded?

Each feather, it fell from skin”

Of course, his fate is sealed and she resumes her crane form, leaving him alone on the ground; she, adorned in feathers again at last.

Feathers are certainly imbued with magical properties, as seen in the wands in the world of Harry Potter. At the core of the wand lies a feather, and the combination of the wood and the feather resonates with individuals differently.

Probably the most significant spiritual feather symbolism lies within the belief system of indigenous people of the Americas. Native American chiefs and warriors, especially of certain plains tribes, wear magnificent head dresses of eagle feathers which have been earned, each by each. Eagle feathers are incredibly important in creation myths, cultural ceremonies and healing. They transcend the mundane world and carry prayers to the spirit world; they are powerful medicine.

When you find a feather how does it make you feel? Do you see it as a gift, an omen? A message from Elsewhere, healing medicine?

Well, before you pick it up as a special treasure, be forewarned: The Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918 was designed to protect birds from the irresponsible trade in birds and feathers at the time. Four other countries signed this agreement (Canada, Mexico, Japan and Russia) to protect migratory birds. “The statute makes it unlawful to pursue, hunt, take, capture, kill or sell birds listed therein (“migratory bird”). The statute does not discriminate between live or dead birds and also grants full protection to any bird parts including feathers and nests. Over 800 species are currently on the list.”

Eagles, hawks, owls, doves, crows, ravens, vultures, swans, geese, ducks, cranes, and even pigeons, are a tiny representation of the huge list of protected birds. The only special exception is for Native American tribes that are “recognized” by the federal government; they can apply for a permit and then request some frozen eagle parts collected by the Eagle Repository, replete with permission slips to avoid $100,000 fines. So not even an indigenous Holy Person can pick up an eagle feather in the wild.

A parting blessing, with gratitude to Terri Windling for bringing this to me as recorded over 100 years ago in the Scottish Highlands:

Power of raven be yours, Power of eagle be yours, Power of the Fiann. Power of storm be yours, Power of moon be yours, Power of sun. Power of sea be yours, Power of land be yours, Power of heaven. Goodness of sea be yours, Goodness of earth be yours, Goodness of heaven. Each day be joyous to you, No day be grievous to you, Honor and compassion. Love of each face be yours, Death on pillow be yours, And God be with you.

*special nod to Emily Dickinson for the title of this blog post

Winsome Words for Wednesday

Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere

~Alfred Lord Tennyson

Like souls that balance joy and pain, With tears and smiles from heaven again The maiden Spring upon the plain Came in a sun-lit fall of rain. In crystal vapour everywhere Blue isles of heaven laugh'd between, And far, in forest-deeps unseen, The topmost elm-tree gather'd green From draughts of balmy air. Sometimes the linnet piped his song: Sometimes the throstle whistled strong: Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along, Hush'd all the groves from fear of wrong: By grassy capes with fuller sound In curves the yellowing river ran, And drooping chestnut-buds began To spread into the perfect fan, Above the teeming ground. Then, in the boyhood of the year, Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere Rode thro' the coverts of the deer, With blissful treble ringing clear. She seem'd a part of joyous Spring: A gown of grass-green silk she wore, Buckled with golden clasps before; A light-green tuft of plumes she bore Closed in a golden ring. Now on some twisted ivy-net, Now by some tinkling rivulet, In mosses mixt with violet Her cream-white mule his pastern set: And fleeter now she skimm'd the plains Than she whose elfin prancer springs By night to eery warblings, When all the glimmering moorland rings With jingling bridle-reins. As she fled fast thro' sun and shade, The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid: She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd The rein with dainty finger-tips, A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this, To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.

Sing a Song of Serpents

Snakes have big mojo. Serpent symbolism can be traced back to ancient cultures with both powerfully positive and negative aspects.

Everyone has heard the tale about the snake that tricked Eve. We all know about dangerous dragons, petrifying basilisks, and vengeful sea serpents.

What about the protector; a snake king shielded Buddha during his meditations. The Gadsden flag of the American Revolution is a rattler warning “Don’t Tread On Me.” The wisdom of Pythia, the Oracle at Delphi. The knowledge of Sophia.

Minoan priestesses clutched snakes, so did Moses. There’s Kundalini and the caduceus. The crown of Egypt. Medusa’s crown of hissing locks. So many world mythologies have serpents coiled about the World Tree, the Tree of Life.

Snakes have venom that can poison, heal, or take you on a magical mystery trip. They tell us about renewal as they shed their skin, about eternity when they eat their tail.

Fire, water, air and earth; rainbows, feathers; Chthonic birth-death-rebirth, earth and the underworld. It’s all there. I told you snakes have big mojo.

Now, for the sparkly snakey shinies. Victorians were so cool in their love for weird and creepy jewelry.

A bangle bracelet circa 1845; hundreds of pave set natural turquoise cabochons, rose cut diamonds and ruby cabochon stones.

Sarah Bernhardt's Cleopatra handflower, made designed by Alphonse Mucha and created by Georges Fouquet in 1899; gold, enamel, opal, diamond.

Mermaiden Creations snake skin pendants; shed skin preserved under glass with spiral accents reinforcing symbolism.

It's My Birthday and I'll Blog If I Want To

I was tagged a little bit this week by some FAE friends of mine, but I sometimes have trouble following rules, or doing things I’m told (and yes, I have passed that down to at least one of my children), so I’m going to participate in my own way. And like I said, today is my birthday and I can blog like I want to.

I love chainmaille. It is so intricate and webby, and harkens back to times I often read about. Athena’s Armoury makes some wicked chainmaille on Etsy and Janine does some fantastic blogging about especially strong women.

Glass fascinates me. Ancient Roman, hand-blown artisinal, or stained glass like you’ll find at Radiance Art on Etsy. Amy also has some really rad watercolor prints- and mermaids! She has a great blog too!

Here’s the part where I will do as I am told, and share ten honest things about myself:

1. I have an extreme lack of patience and high irritability with regards to b.s. Yes, I can be a bit forthright.

2. I heart tattoos. I wish I had my legs covered one arm, and my entire back. [grin] So far it’s just one piece on my shoulder and the lower side of one leg.

3. I organize my closet by color. Not shirts, pants, skirts. Pink, white, orange, brown, green, blue, black.

4. I am a clutter junkie. A collector. A treasure hunter. A prizer of cool things found. I like to display them and admire them all around me.

5. Onions are most-hated beasties. I cannot abide them raw in anything at all, and I will leave a clean plate but for a pile of cooked, translucent striated stinky chips. Blah, blech, nastiness like an armpit made into “food”.

6. If I could have another shot at education (and some memory enhancers please), I’d want to become an Archaeologist. Enough of this armchair stuff, give me a shovel and some brushes. Paleolithic Europe, if you please. Or some dark age castles. Or some Greco-Roman ruins.

7. I find myself getting very distracted at concerts by the stream of creativity that I start to channel during live music. Do I pay attention to what song is playing, or do I follow that necklace fluttering by to the left….hmmmm, what was that you said?

8. I have had three children through natural childbirth, all boys, none of them weighing under 10 pounds. Yes, I do wet my pants now and again.

9. I do not *do* Perfect. I don’t understand it; it freaks me out and gives me anxiety. I like things raw and wonky in my work. It’s the way I see the world; beautiful and asymmetrical, non-matching, chips and frays, gaps and tears.

10. I believe in magic. It rubs right up against you if you pay attention. You’ll step right in it if you’re not looking. You might get lost. Or worse, you might never find it.

AND, if that was not enough, I am having a birthday celebration sale in my Artfire shop! Come on in for 20% off every item through July 12th.