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I attempt to never tell others what to do – preferring to use story and example of directions and paths than might benefit and enhance one’s life. But I will tell you all what NOT to do. A week ago Sunday I cut up a felled tree into 12 fence posts and hauled the debris to the street. After setting the posts I connected them with rails and woven ‘rick-rack. It wasn’t lunch time yet so I mixed three bags of concrete to patch a leak in the basement wall, painted a door, cut up an old gas line and installed a set of lights and switches and fixed the fountain pump – and wrote three poems. I was hurting quite a bit by then and decided (stupidly) to have a couple of drinks to relax. Later, in the hospital I learned that my body no longer metabolizes alcohol – even a single glass of wine will poison my system.
Being 62 isn’t as much fun as I thought it might be. Rats – I forgot to change the spark-plugs in the car. Take care, my friends. I guess I don’t know how! Creation is everything for me. Guess I am going to have to ask for help.
papa
The threshold is a liminal space,
a time of transition,
a walking between two worlds –
one a spirit world
where soul resides in perfect harmony
with all of life and every living being;
and an awakening world
where who I am
becomes a question
that there is no felt need to answer–
an open space of ambiguity.
Now is the time to learn to live
a life of integrity.
Entering the Cave of Ancients was like reaching the end of a long spiral that wound downwards, deeper and deeper, inwards, towards the centre of Mother earth’s womb, which was the room that I found myself in. The Cave of the Ancients is a liminal place, a threshold space. It marks both the ending of one journey and the beginning of another. So it was that I found myself standing in the centre of the Cave, having arrived here after a long and arduous journey, which was a pathway into a new realm, a threshold place, ‘an airy space’, as Luce Irigaray writes in her book Sexes and Genealogies –
’’Once we have left the waters of the womb, we have to construct a space for ourselves in the air for the rest of our lives on earth…To construct and inhabit our airy spaces is essential. It is the space of bodily autonomy, of free breath, free speech and song, of performing on the stage of life.’’
This is no enclosure designed to silence and curtail the wisdom of women! It is more akin to Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle –
‘’Consider our soul to be a castle, made entirely out f diamond, or out of very clear crystal, in which there are many rooms.’’ (Interior Castle, I,I,1)
This threshold space was like being present to a living oxymoron – an open enclosure, an enclosed space without walls, without limits. And here was I standing in it.
An ancient priestess emerged from the darkness. She was carrying a golden chalice with a jewel encrusted lid on top. As she walked towards me she slowly lifted the lid from the cup. A beautiful butterfly of many hues fluttered upwards and out. It flew towards me and encircled me numerous times. Each time I grew more and more drowsy, until finally unable to stay awake any longer I let myself fall gently down on to the soft, damp and welcoming earth. It was then that the most wondrous and terrifying vision appeared to me. At first all was covered in gloom. Then the ground beneath began to move, gently at first and then more violently. Clinging to a rock at the side of the cave I watched in horror as the earth split open But then the darkness was dispelled by a bright light that appeared to have the contours of a woman’s figure, with no features visible. The luminous figure rose higher and higher until at last she left the earth behind. She spun round and round, faster and faster as if she were dancing a wild and glorious dance of life and energy. And as she danced the earth sealed up again, returning to what it had been before. Then she spoke: ’’I am you. You are me. I am that part of you that you are afraid of. Be not afraid. You have buried me for too long. It is time to set me free. I am the fire in the centre of your being. I am rising like the sap in springtime. Feel me run through your veins. I will erupt and flow through you. Do not be afraid. Yet you are right to feel fear. Well then feel me and know that I am here deep inside of you. You cannot bury me again. The time has come to let me break free. Be free.’’
And with that she raised her light-filled arms and screamed a high pitched cry and disappeared.
When I awoke there was only me and the butterfly which came to rest on a stone nearby and as I moved closer to see better I saw also a cocoon not far off and knew that I was the substance lying in the cocoon awaiting re-birth.
—The spiral goes on spiralling. The journey continues.
The Venus of Willendorf was carved from oolitic limestone, and was covered with a thick layer of red ochre when found. The figurine was unearthed during the Wachau railway construction in 1908. The page reference below has links to more photos of not just this venus but many more throughout ancient times. I have always loved this figurine. I have some clay and I think it will now be my turn to make a representation of Venus myself too. To me beauty is always soft and round.
Photo: Vienna Natural History Museum
Before descending into the opening that holds Mother Earth’s deepest mysteries, I shall leave behind a token at the entrance to Her womb. This fragment of my soul is a prayer to She Who Is, that I may learn Her secrets of birth and re-birth.Dark Goddess of the moist and fertile earth,
Black Madonna who sees and knows all,
Take me now
And assume me into Your heart and soul.
Wash away my fear and shame
In the underground rivers of Your love and compassion.
Drag me from my hiding place
And teach me how to live with courage.
The time has come
to descend and find out
who I am.
To let all the busyness fall away,
leave the ‘to do’ list undone
for a while.
Letting it go,
drifting away,
floating on the currents of the lost sea.
Lie there, empty, naked, vulnerable.
Not knowing,
not wanting to know,
not needing to know.
Just be-ing.
Forget the cry, ‘I am somebody’.
Remember I am no one, nobody.
Only spirit drifting in a vast universe of nothingness.
I embrace the emptiness that surrounds me
and let it fill my soul.
I breathe deeply from the essence of via negativa.
Becoming open to receiving the gift
that the black hole may bequeath.
It may creep up slowly and gently,
or it may arrive hurtling
like a meteorite from an exploding star.
One way or another the metamorphosis will happen,
whether I will it or not.
In my dreams a
numinous
all seeing
all knowing
raven
watches my descent
into the underworld
to plead for
time.
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