We took a long stroll at Sherwood Island the other day, and this tree near the World Trade Center Memorial at Sherwood island struck my heart again as it has before.
My dreams last night were about spectacular and unusual nature spirits. The veil is thinning and what we are able to know is increasing. The entire dream scape was about truth vs trickery, knowing that we can no longer be deceived. What is true will surface, for us and for others. It is easy to deceive even the self for fear of truths which are hard to face, but the times we are stepping into are about transparency and light.
“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.” Buddah
I still remember my amazement at discovering, as a young child, riding in the back of the car, how the full moon followed us no matter where the car went. It seemed to skim along the sky with us in an enthralling way, as we passed trees and houses. It didn’t seem to remain still, but to magically stay right with me. The wide, orange-yellow open stare of the full moon was an all-seeing and knowing presence–the moon wanted to follow us, I thought. It never wavered. In later years, when I felt deep longing as I tried to grow up and make sense of the world, I became wary of that big, blank stare of the full moon. The moon that had always followed me, thrilled to be wherever I went, seemed at that point, in my teenage beseeching, to be fully without opinion. “Pray all you want, I have no answers,” it seemed to say. But the soft glow of light that filled it’s face gave it a hint of empathy, which I took and still do take as solace of some kind. I learned, no matter how much I looked up at the moon expecting love and understanding, and no matter how let down by a blank stare I might have felt, something in the moon was trying to speak, to let me in on some mystery. The moon may appear passive, but is not. The moon is about things I can’t possibly fathom–mysteries I do not understand, with all that magnetic tugging I felt in me each month, as though the moon wanted to pull the entire sea out of me. And the way my farmer friend talked of planting certain seeds on the night of the full moon, when the gravitational pull of the moon draws the water from the soil. I pictured her out at midnight, under that watchful glowing moon, planting. Really? Still astonished to learn of this magic, I want to learn more. If the tides are effected by the moon’s pull, even my own personal tides, then the moon really does follow us everywhere we go. And the moon summons from us not just water (our life flow) but the truth, always.
From my sketchbook/2012
In my time travel dream this morning, I was at first awake, but with eyes closed, very relaxed. I saw (with eyes closed) familiar scrolls rolling by, what I see almost every morning and which I think is some form of the Akashic Records. I tried as I always do to read the names or numbers on the scroll. I was able to see one, and it was the number 109 beside a simple drawing. I began to see who had created this drawing. It was a young woman. I began to go where this drawing had been created, and it was a time in the late 1960′s or early 1970′s. The young woman who did the drawing was at the site where there was a port and Olympic kind of sports going on, it was winter. I heard music, a particular song from that era that I recognized during this vision, but cannot now remember the tune. I dimensionally entered the place, a small hotel room where this person was staying. I found on her dresser the exact drawing she had created, which the scrolls had shown me. I wanted to leave her a little sketch of some kind to wish her well, as a kind of acknowledgment. I realized that the information was intended for me, but not necessarily for me to do anything with, and then I realized I was not sure how to dimensionally leave the space the way I had arrived. I was left with mixed feelings–that feeling of youth and idealism this young woman had during a more innocent era, and with the certainty that I had much more to learn. The vision ended, and I was glad. Like most time travel visions or dreams, this one had a light hearted sentimentality mixed with urgency.
The moment you wake up, do not move. Let the feelings of your dreams surface, and the images from those dreams will stay with you. Once you feel the dream and see the dream again in your conscious mind (now that you are awake) you can reach over and grab your dream journal. Try to remain as still as you can, even in reaching for the dream journal (hopefully the pen or pencil is right there, too). Close your eyes again, let the feelings of the dream resurface. Then, try jotting down what the dream was without looking at the paper, just jot a few lines while you are still laying in bed. This is what I do to get the basic parts of the dream logged into my sketchbook journals. Then throughout the day I can think more about what the dream was trying to tell me.
George Washington’s visions are well worth reading, click here to read. The visitor, an angel, said to him, “Son of the Republic, look and learn” and he was shown what seemed to be the development of America, a true vision of the future. I get the chills reading it. I started to really appreciate George Washington when we lived in our farmhouse, built in 1750, and I heard tell of George and his troops marching up the hill to what was once a drum factory. They say he visited the tavern that once stood a few acres away from our old house, and the tavern’s foundation stones were still on the property. In reading to my young sons about the early days of America, George Washington came to life for me. I carved this so it stood on our mantel, the original from 1750, where I also painted that scene of George and the troops marching up the hill.
Clairvoyant Abe Lincoln was ever on my mind yesterday, and so I drew on a nice, thick piece of plywood and my husband kindly cut around the lines I drew with a band saw (I don’t like using saws!) and then I painted him. In the 1980′s I once visited the great, eccentric folk artist, Reverend Finster (down in Georgia) and so if my Abe reminds you of his stuff, it would make sense as I always felt aligned with that kind of art and probably no matter how sophisticated I intend some of my sculptures (carvings, wood cut outs, etc.) to be, they may always have at least a hint of folk art nature about them. (And if you want your own Abe, let me know!)
My fast sketch of Abe this morning/2012
When I was about 5 or 6, my family was on a car trip (seven kids and 2 parents). I don’t remember where we were going, but I remember saying, “Remember when we went to Abe Lincoln’s house?” And my dad, driving, answered, “We’ve never been to Abe Lincoln’s house!” Everyone in the car agreed. But I said, “Yes we have, yes we did go there!” And saw in my mind’s eye the house (black wrought iron fence or gate, a creamy shade of yellow, a long corridor and a sunny room where we all sat for tea). If we didn’t go there, then how did I get this perfect, serene image of having gone there? I am pretty sure it is a past life memory, especially after 2 different psychics have told me I knew Abe in a past life. I’ve had so many interesting Abe Lincoln synchronistic events, I feel there is something there.
PS I loved it when I read that Abe kept letters in his tall hat, so he wouldn’t have to carry them.
When I was young, I made my own hard-backed miniature books. I was enthralled and inspired by books and wanted to create my own. I think my fascination and feeling of wonder around folk tales, fairy tales and myths made me want to make the books tiny, as though they were the original books kept by fairies who live inside of trees and other secrete dwelling spaces. I wish I still had those, who knows where they are now. I also made my own teen tabloids. Those would be hilarious to find now, I had Tony DeFranco (anyone remember him?!) and Donny Osmond in mind when I created “The Evans Brothers” and Steve Evans was my super teen star. I wrote articles about his life, and did drawings of photo sessions he’d have, with large Osmond like teeth shining. I seriously pray those resurface, somewhere, somehow. I promise to post them if they do, I remember how hilarious they were for me to rediscover years after creating them, grotesquely naive!
Now when I get the chance, I like to make little art books, accordion books are a favorite because they appear to be small magical packages of something worth opening. Often, they look better on the outside than on the inside, so I’m still working on it. They don’t have to have “beginning, middle and end” as most books seem to, they can simply make you feel something when you open them, or they can be places where poetry comes to life. (Just take thick paper,something you’d love to work with, and fold it like an accordion and put harder backing on each end. Glue a ribbon on each end also, or some other closing device you may dream up. Then whatever happens on the inside of this accordion is up to you!)