tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55758743168013835862024-03-14T11:13:13.379-03:00Corpse CafeAstrology, MythologyS. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.comBlogger168125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-79505850061694192082023-05-31T11:58:00.002-03:002023-05-31T11:58:21.793-03:00Carl Jung The Wisdom of The Dream Vol 2 Inheritance of Dreams<iframe frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://youtube.com/embed/CQUsUMVd8XM" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/CQUsUMVd8XM/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"></iframe>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-70718336017370401052023-05-01T17:05:00.002-03:002023-05-01T17:07:06.368-03:00Martin Shaw in Truro, NS<p>When I first read something of Martin Shaw’s work, my body rumbled. I won't mention which book, but it wasn’t the only time I experienced a deep inner rumble while listening to the voice of an OTHER. Another time was while I listened to a conversation between Tyson Yunkaporta and his wife Megan Kelleher on the Future Thinkers podcast - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAeUsWlWaiI">Indigenous Thinking in Times of Transition</a>. The deep convulsing of my unconscious self responded to these voices as if they were speaking with my own unheard voice. A version of myself that had absolutely had enough of not being heard, not being seen, not being acknowledged, was a potential in me that was not willing to stand another moment of being ignored. You see, I was under the spell gifted to me at birth (insert sad emoji face), by traumatic early childhood domestic violence, a dissolution of my barely established ego, that alluded I was not real, that what I felt and experienced was not relevant to the mainstream conversation that was happening in my home and elsewhere. And this REAL me, was not having another second of life under a rock. Not once it heard itself speaking in the voices of these two men and a woman.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEcK0m11kcMuGMWXi9wUCuud3wF7cZ4NuWecSZl18WI6ASXgL2hE6Uj7vnuep6zsCok7iPwRaQeptuUQdA1MNzR8UNqsOMxiEvEWmw-M0cBULEEHWGh8a366D_EVZ5xONUL_e49ZmxgQ3ooBI67Xz3lt0YoJbIKkAJ3ftRy93lEM4Nvx4ZWGxyj8K7/s2048/Martin%20Shaw%20Truro.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1540" data-original-width="2048" height="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEcK0m11kcMuGMWXi9wUCuud3wF7cZ4NuWecSZl18WI6ASXgL2hE6Uj7vnuep6zsCok7iPwRaQeptuUQdA1MNzR8UNqsOMxiEvEWmw-M0cBULEEHWGh8a366D_EVZ5xONUL_e49ZmxgQ3ooBI67Xz3lt0YoJbIKkAJ3ftRy93lEM4Nvx4ZWGxyj8K7/w640-h481/Martin%20Shaw%20Truro.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div> <p></p><p>My experience of Martin Shaw live and in person, at the confluence of fires of Beltane & Walpurgis was life affirming. YES, I was real. His voice was truly my forgotten sacred OTHER. The one hidden for decades under the accumulated dust of dying stars. The unconscious me that had rumbled loudly and thrown me out of my sad illusion of a disgruntled and deep contraindication of life on THIS earth, was also an animated growler of the angelic kind. One of the Sidhe, was HE. This new earth contained the old earth too. And it was as REAL as the one I was standing on. I even have a picture now to prove it (thank you <a href="https://www.schoolofmythopoetics.com/">SOM</a> for posting it)… complete with bonfire between me and this enchanted OTHER, in the same local space (BTW, that is me in the bottom right of the image, in the wicker chair, in the front row under a blanket). Phew. I am so glad I have all the proof I need now. Thank you Old World Sir, for being so ROMANTIC in your storytelling, while being simultaneously GRUMPY about it, like an enchanted dwarf speaking riddles into my soft underbelly.<br /><br />On the drive home from this affair I swore out loud You Bastard you awoke me from my slumber and now I want to change. FUCK GOD DAMN it you prick! Where were you when I was 7 and needed you? Where were you when I was 14 and tried to give myself away to any taker while I was still young and fresh and unplucked? <br /><br />Oh, right, I had you buried safely under a rock and was quickly learning how to KNOT listen to you. The HOW was fast becoming a lie I would tangle myself in for years to come. So NOW you show up in stark clarity, the SUN to mirror my forsaken MOON and you politely decline my GIFTS of sacred mead (as was right for you to do)… STILL. I am so bloody wounded and OPENLY grateful to you for having finally come to my shore to grace me with your incredible GIFTS.<br /><br />Thank you, thank you, thank you, said three times to honour YOU and the memory of HOW to be held by a resurfacing TRUST, an emerging and unfurling trust in the sanctity of LIFE. Thank you dear Martin for all that you stand for, for HOW you’ve stood for it, both privately and publicly, and most of all, with the GRACE in which you’ve stood steadfastly with it throughout your life, and for remembering what I could not. The TRURO show (the 2nd Truro to you!) was and will always be a truly beautiful treasure.<br /></p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-4131379855254904002023-04-14T09:21:00.000-03:002023-04-14T09:21:05.562-03:00We Are Making Ourselves<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/PSFdJ7fRDjM" width="480"></iframe>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-81752895043198441542023-04-06T12:51:00.005-03:002023-04-06T12:51:51.500-03:00The Wanderer<p> The Wanderer
</p>
<p>“How often the lone-dweller anticipates<br />
some sign, this Measurer’s mercy<br />
— must always must—<br />
mind-caring, along the ocean’s windings,<br />
stirring rime-chill seas, hands as oars<br />
many long whiles, treading the tracks of exile—<br />
the way of the world an open book always.” (1–5)</p>
<p>So spoke the earth-stepper, a memorial of miseries<br />
slaughter of the wrathful, crumbling of kinsmen:</p>
<p>“Often, every daybreak, alone I must<br />
bewail my cares. There’s now no one living<br />
to whom I dare mumble my mind’s understanding.<br />
I know as truth that it’s seen suitable<br />
for anyone to bind fast their spirit’s closet,<br />
hold onto the hoards, think whatever — (8–14)</p>
<p>“Can a weary mind weather the shitstorm?<br />
I think not.<br />
Can a roiling heart set itself free?<br />
I don’t think so.<br />
So often those hustling for the win must<br />
clamp down grim mindings in their coffer,<br />
just as I ought fetter my inborn conceit,<br />
often wounded, wanting where I know,<br />
kindred pulled away, how many winters now?<br />
I shrouded my giver in dark earth<br />
and wended away worrisome,<br />
weather-watching the wrapful waves,<br />
hall-wretched, seeking a center,<br />
far or near, where they might be found,<br />
in some mead-hall, who knows of my kind,<br />
willing to adopt a friendless me,<br />
though they be joyful enough. (15–29a)</p>
<p>“The well-travelled know how slicing<br />
sorrow can be by one’s side,<br />
short a struggle-friend, however dear.<br />
The ways of wandering wind him round<br />
not even a wire of wound gold—<br />
a frigid fastness, hardly any fruits of the fold.<br />
This one lists the hall-lads swilling rings,<br />
giver-drenched in youngsome days,<br />
in both furnishing and feasting.<br />
Joys all flown, vanished all away! (29b-36)</p>
<p>“Therefore one knows who long forgoes<br />
the friendly words of their first,<br />
when sleep and sorrow stand together<br />
clutching at the crestfallen alone.<br />
Somehow seems that somewhere inside<br />
this one enwraps his lord and kisses his lord,<br />
and laps both hands and head<br />
on his knee, when, once upon a year<br />
blurry in time now, one thrived by the throne —<br />
too soon rousing, a friendless singular<br />
seeing all around a fallowness of waves,<br />
sea-birds bathing, fanning their feathers,<br />
ice and snow hurtling, heaved up with hail. (37-48)</p>
<p>“So heavy and heavier the hurt in heart<br />
harrowing for the lost. Sorrow made new<br />
whenever recalling pervades the mind,<br />
greeting kindred joyfully, drinking in the look of them<br />
fellowable and fathoming—<br />
they always swim away.<br />
Gulls ghost-call — I don’t know their tongue too well,<br />
much of their comfort weird. Worrying made new<br />
to that one who must send more and more, every day,<br />
a bleary soul back across the binding of waves. (49-57)</p>
<p>“Therefore I cannot wonder across this world<br />
why my mind does not muster in the murk<br />
when I ponder pervading all the lives of humans,<br />
how suddenly they abandon their halls,<br />
proud princes and young. Right here in the middle<br />
it fumbles and falls every day — (58-63)</p>
<p>“No one can be wise before earning their lot of winters<br />
in this world. The wise one, they stay patient:<br />
not too heart-heated, not so hasty to harp,<br />
not too weak-armed, nor too wan-headed,<br />
nor too fearful nor too fey nor too fee-felching,<br />
and never tripping the tongue too much, before it trips them. (64-9)</p>
<p>“That one bides their moment to make brag,<br />
until the inner fire seizes its moment clearly,<br />
to where their secret self veers them.</p>
<p>Who’s wise must fore-ken how ghostly it has been<br />
when the world and its things stand wasted —<br />
like you find, here and there, in this middle space now —<br />
there walls totter, wailed around by winds,<br />
gnashed by frost, the buildings snow-lapt.<br />
The winehalls molder, their wielder lies<br />
washed clean of joys, his peerage all perished,<br />
proud by the wall. War ravaged a bunch<br />
ferried along the forth-way, others a raptor ravished<br />
over lofty seas, this one the hoary wolf<br />
broke in its banes, the last a brother<br />
graveled in the ground, tears as war-mask. (70-84)</p>
<p>“That’s the way it goes—<br />
the Shaper mills middle-earth to waste<br />
until they stand empty, the giants’ work and ancient,<br />
drained of the dreams and joys of its dwellers.” (85-7)<br />
<br />
Then one wisely regards this wall-stead,<br />
deliberates a darkened existence,<br />
aged in spirit, often remembering from afar<br />
many war-slaughterings, and speaks these words: (88-91)</p>
<p>“Where has the horse gone?<br />
Where are my kindred?<br />
Where is the giver of treasure?<br />
Where are the benches to bear us?<br />
Joys of the hall to bring us together?<br />
No more, the bright goblet!<br />
All gone, the mailed warrior!<br />
Lost for good, the pride of princes!</p>
<p>“How the space of years has spread —<br />
growing gloomy beneath the night-helm,<br />
as if it never was! (92-6)</p>
<p>“Tracks of the beloved multitude, all that remains<br />
walls wondrous tall, serpents seething—<br />
thanes stolen, pillaged by ashen foes<br />
gear glutting for slaughter — we know this world’s way,<br />
and the storms still batter these stony cliffs.<br />
The tumbling snows stumble up the earth,<br />
the clash of winter, when darkness descends.<br />
Night-shadows benighten, sent down from the north,<br />
raw showers of ice, who doesn’t hate humanity? (97-105)</p>
<p>All shot through in misery in earthly realms,<br />
fortune’s turn turns the world under sky.<br />
Here the cash was a loan.<br />
Your friends were a loan.<br />
Anyone at all, a loan.<br />
Your family only ever a loan—<br />
And this whole foundation of the earth wastes away!” (106-10)</p>
<p>So says the wise one, you don’t hear him at all,<br />
sitting apart reading their own runes. (111)<br />
It’s better to clutch at your counsel,<br />
you ought never manifest your miseries<br />
not too quickly where they well,<br />
unless the balm is clear beforehand, <br />
keep whittling at your courage. (112-14a)<br />
<br />
It will be well for those who seek the favor,<br />
the comfort from our father in heaven,<br />
where a battlement bulwarks us all. (114b-5)</p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-59769490458108269072023-03-25T12:44:00.000-03:002023-03-25T12:44:05.977-03:00Crude Astro Artistry<p>Just beginning a foundations course in astrology through <a href="https://astrologos.co.uk/" target="_blank">AstrologosUK</a>.</p><p>This is the first lesson, determining a planet's strength or weakness by sign in a natal chart.</p><p>Rulerships, Detriments, Exaltations, and Fall are derived from Medieval Astrologer's <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al-Qabisi" target="_blank">Al-Qabisi</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guido_Bonatti" target="_blank">Giudo Bonatti</a>.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3jecJWHPz6BMvt1ZjkzVUssjjK2tbjUXEborlN72I269-BaHjxOTfkRJ6DN_2385deaRczJ8isuDtRPNsdfwp76A5j9TTEWraqiQFgTBziAXCsO34Z2W_QpotUPNr0xoUI5-PTePtbWHk7p8Vs34QgRn96bAzlYjTd6Qw0DN-TWbO_7cMj_fgxsU/s4032/Crude-Astro-Artistry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2789" data-original-width="4032" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3jecJWHPz6BMvt1ZjkzVUssjjK2tbjUXEborlN72I269-BaHjxOTfkRJ6DN_2385deaRczJ8isuDtRPNsdfwp76A5j9TTEWraqiQFgTBziAXCsO34Z2W_QpotUPNr0xoUI5-PTePtbWHk7p8Vs34QgRn96bAzlYjTd6Qw0DN-TWbO_7cMj_fgxsU/w640-h442/Crude-Astro-Artistry.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crude Astro Artistry - Ink, Graphite and Waxy Pigment ©2023<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-40250662818028983202023-03-20T19:10:00.003-03:002023-03-20T19:15:16.927-03:00New Moon in Aries<p>The mysteries associated with <b>the tarot</b> and <i><b>the moon</b></i> can be understood as being cyclical patterns representing basic contrasting patterns between light and darkness. The fundamental relationship between these two polarities, which define each other, can illuminate the principles which underly all of reality.<br /><br />Using the solar cycle, the lunar cycle, and the first four major arcana of the tarot as the starting point, we can see how a framework of understanding can emerge from the fundamental relationship between darkness and light, and maybe, how to use it to create systems of awareness, both emergent and repeatable.<br /><br />If we start with the ‘no moon’ phase, we may see that as a beginning. Even though in cyclic time there really is no beginning, we have to start somewhere. So here we are at the spring equinox and the celestial pattern representing this time-phase in the solar cycle is Aries (fire). We can start with that as a beginning of a new growth phase in the northern hemisphere, and correlate that with the new growth period of the new moon towards the first quarter, in a lunar cycle.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNYLU6c7FAqtNOiBH3t0BSuoT00YPoA7duNfRWIjREk0Ry1kHeAXLc2OLoGmwOWlJjET4uLHTONaqrA6-4OHY9SedYkVyKFlur_SpYGosvEFYnHhHEMIwR77ksTDF4QGoyfJ9eDBr3oHrm_Y4iwOn9Vguspc78SnlDE4At1LoEZ1FjaVxPHH7mBXM/s4032/IMG-0807.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNYLU6c7FAqtNOiBH3t0BSuoT00YPoA7duNfRWIjREk0Ry1kHeAXLc2OLoGmwOWlJjET4uLHTONaqrA6-4OHY9SedYkVyKFlur_SpYGosvEFYnHhHEMIwR77ksTDF4QGoyfJ9eDBr3oHrm_Y4iwOn9Vguspc78SnlDE4At1LoEZ1FjaVxPHH7mBXM/w480-h640/IMG-0807.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>The first major Arcana card, the symbol of The Magician, and the number 1, would represent the entire solar season of spring, new growth, warmth (fire) and a renewal of nature after a fallowing period of rest, cold, darkness and decay (winter). This is a period of time that is emerging, not from nothing, but from the decayed remains of a previous solar cycle’s maturity and death.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzcUMEDiQD0W_0qgMHDP8dAyCPL3gZYNwLtOoAq2utIiKqEdDjfnhCcyoH_WtJypSdykX5s8bvS1C6tUx5M492zLUbo3D4ocu5H4Jc1oyEnVNkoZrHiP1V9gIrj77PTv8zdU_41X9-RyAQNiQ7H_51m9fInificJgrSXd4o92Dd-ud4U6upKeW1nY/s4032/IMG-0808.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzcUMEDiQD0W_0qgMHDP8dAyCPL3gZYNwLtOoAq2utIiKqEdDjfnhCcyoH_WtJypSdykX5s8bvS1C6tUx5M492zLUbo3D4ocu5H4Jc1oyEnVNkoZrHiP1V9gIrj77PTv8zdU_41X9-RyAQNiQ7H_51m9fInificJgrSXd4o92Dd-ud4U6upKeW1nY/w480-h640/IMG-0808.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />At the first quarter, the summer solstice, the symbol of the moon in it’s ‘half full” growing phase (waxing), takes the form of the second major Arcana card, the symbol of the High Priestess, the number 2. Here there is clear definition of light and dark in equal parts and the relationship between them is observed by the astrological sign of Cancer (water). There is separation between light and darkness. There is promise. There is fluidity, softness, and awareness of the invisible.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLm_iccK0Bx7WAsqiU1fol5co5aOZ9jAtKejRHLu3Sj3nYG8KUdQ_Rh_EQ_t3UJQPufIwu6KIirAPIQhDWTBbO1Dp8fOlKUnBE9VThL-Ileu1ASADc_LJASOfwxCGm7cwpyQOSYTCcOqTvC9UqyzPQYhyzSRE_d1NJOX2f5CtLPp6w4eUbAjKED2r/s4032/IMG-0809.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLm_iccK0Bx7WAsqiU1fol5co5aOZ9jAtKejRHLu3Sj3nYG8KUdQ_Rh_EQ_t3UJQPufIwu6KIirAPIQhDWTBbO1Dp8fOlKUnBE9VThL-Ileu1ASADc_LJASOfwxCGm7cwpyQOSYTCcOqTvC9UqyzPQYhyzSRE_d1NJOX2f5CtLPp6w4eUbAjKED2r/w480-h640/IMG-0809.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />The full moon phase, which lasts at most a few days, is represented by third major Arcana card, the symbol of The Empress, and the number 3. The astrological time period astrologically is marked by the autumn equinox and the astrological sign of Libra (air). Growth has reached its peak and the waning period begins. It is a time for letting go, for completion, for gratitude of the harvest. It’s also a time for knowing, defining and acceptance of limits.<br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj74r0ZWV5MIX9ugmOpvIo4XwzxUKoMxXQy-Hdh2LqmW9zzCCJBKVga3GhGvHQpwBiZtcKNrikJvMO2HKCzjnCj6wJ-4jXRLWgs0efe6V6l6x0TE5wEq_cCXjE1fYnAwN-Nc5Fgd5Y1i_U70syyeDzLSsATb-6w9D6Tbw2pA8lsWJOUsTw3Aj5lOulL/s4032/IMG-0806.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj74r0ZWV5MIX9ugmOpvIo4XwzxUKoMxXQy-Hdh2LqmW9zzCCJBKVga3GhGvHQpwBiZtcKNrikJvMO2HKCzjnCj6wJ-4jXRLWgs0efe6V6l6x0TE5wEq_cCXjE1fYnAwN-Nc5Fgd5Y1i_U70syyeDzLSsATb-6w9D6Tbw2pA8lsWJOUsTw3Aj5lOulL/w480-h640/IMG-0806.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>The third quarter (waning) moon is represented by growing darkness and receding outward expression. The accumulated wisdom of the cycle is stored in an inner embodied awareness. The astrological time period is represented by the winter solstice and the astrological sign of Capricorn (earth). The fourth major arcana card, the symbol of The Emperor, and the number 4. It begins with the awareness of fallow times to come. There is a need to protect and remember the family, the home and the hearth. It’s a time for cutting away everything unable to respond to the endurance of darker, colder, drier times.<br /><br />Each of the first four major arcana transcend and include the previous symbols and create the stable foundation of nature. The High Priestess contains both the symbol of the number 1 and the Magician, as well as the awareness of the number 2, the duality of separation, of past and present. The Empress contains the symbol of The Magician’s fire, newness, and uniqueness or oneness, the High Priestess’s awareness of duality, and the fecund fullness of connection all of nature, it’s oneness, it’s duality, and it’s regenerative capacity in both inner and outer realms. The Emperor, contains all the symbols of the previous 3, as well as having the capacity to transcend and include the full understanding of death as part of the regenerative cycle.</p>The tarot deck images are from the <b>Druidcraft Tarot</b> deck by <i>Philip and Stephanie Carr-Gomm</i> with illustrations by <i>Will Worthington</i>.<br /><br />S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-33808244738967963262023-02-07T09:52:00.004-04:002023-02-07T09:52:58.611-04:00Alan Watts - The Shadow “Carl Jung” <iframe width="480" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/zcZcxBxM9xo" frameborder="0"></iframe>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-77868737014220114692023-02-05T22:29:00.004-04:002023-02-05T22:29:30.095-04:00The Moon in Druidry<iframe width="480" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/YxxQ-o1JyFc" frameborder="0"></iframe>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-28189521278463000182022-11-12T16:11:00.004-04:002023-02-15T13:26:55.481-04:00The Wild Hunt<p> </p><div class="entry-header" style="text-align: left;">from the JoMA Archives, an article by Ari Berk and Willliam Spytma referencing the folklore of the phenomena of the wild hunt in the Dartmoor area titled <a href="https://endicottstudio.typepad.com/articleslist/penance-power-and-pursuit-on-the-trail-of-the-wild-hunt-by-ari-berk-and-willliam-spytma.html" target="_blank">Penance, Power, and Pursuit: On the Trail of the Wild Hun</a>t, (thank you Terri Windling for the link!) states:<br /></div><div class="entry-header" style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="entry-header" style="text-align: left;">
<p></p><blockquote>Even in Winter, you are not safe. Stay indoors, attend your hearths.
Try to keep the night at bay by the telling of your tongue. Remember
your kin, honor your ancestors. For at this time the dead begin to stir,
riding upon hallowed and familiar roads, galloping through villages and
wastes, flying through the forests of the mind. Such raids are
reminders that the past is not a dead thing, but may return, like a
hunter, to follow us for a time.</blockquote><p></p> Being in Canada, there is little mention, or memory of the Wild Hunt in the local folklore. In fact there is hardly any folklore. But I miss thinking about it. So this is a reminder for me. <i>The past may visit while the nights are long, don't let these riders take you far from home or come spring you'll wake up miles from home.</i><br /></div>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-22444638718524176282022-03-18T11:31:00.001-03:002022-03-18T11:31:28.093-03:00Othering & Belonging w/ Joanna Macy and john a. powell<iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/RZBnI4k0xD8" width="480"></iframe>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-5710409762499041402022-03-18T11:24:00.014-03:002022-03-18T11:29:14.004-03:00Tom Wessels on Self Organization<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="349" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ctn0zK_W1IE" width="524" youtube-src-id="ctn0zK_W1IE"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-29117604059511110482022-01-19T16:01:00.002-04:002022-01-19T16:01:25.696-04:00Krishnamurti<p>This passage from J. Krishnamurti has moved me deeply. <br /></p><p></p><blockquote> I maintain that truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by
any path whatsoever, by any religion, by any sect. That is my point of
view, and I adhere to that absolutely and unconditionally. Truth, being
limitless, unconditioned, unapproachable by any path whatsoever, cannot
be organized; nor should any organization be formed to lead or coerce
people along a particular path. ... This is no magnificent deed, because
I do not want followers, and I mean this. The moment you follow someone
you cease to follow Truth. I am not concerned whether you pay attention
to what I say or not. I want to do a certain thing in the world and I
am going to do it with unwavering concentration. I am concerning myself
with only one essential thing: to set man free. I desire to free him
from all cages, from all fears, and not to found religions, new sects,
nor to establish new theories and new philosophies.</blockquote><p> I have questions and feel there are answers here, in me.<br /></p><p></p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-51081966003947751862021-09-19T11:00:00.001-03:002021-09-19T11:00:18.932-03:00Being Seen by the Future<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jQMM2Dof-Zc" width="320" youtube-src-id="jQMM2Dof-Zc"></iframe></div><br />S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-28087739470633369252021-03-22T11:54:00.004-03:002021-03-22T11:54:55.750-03:00The Skeleton Woman<p>Visual storytelling by Benjamin Dennis. A needed balm for my sorrowful bones.</p><p><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/faQLfA467Cg" width="480"></iframe></p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-54157872768371884692021-03-15T13:20:00.000-03:002021-03-15T13:20:06.407-03:00Logic's Child is not Real<p>These are just some thoughts I had about becoming a death doula, which coincidentally fit really well here!</p><p></p><blockquote><i>There is a whole cult of logic worshipers out there, destined to meet their end. I'll be there waiting for them.</i><br />~death doula</blockquote><p></p><p>A Death Doula for the living, in the process of letting go, or dying to an outmoded model of reality that we have shared for a long long time. A new story emerges here. The story of the end of the purely rational, of logic alone in the world, as it meets its expansion and inclusion into oneness, again.</p><p>_____________<br /></p><p><br />The basis of all life is thought to be a triangle. This is the irrationality of nature. Logic is linear. Logic resides within life and defines life, but is not life itself. It is a part of life.</p><p><br />The basis of life, however, is a circle. There is no beginning and no end. But! in the triangle, there are three basic points to reference what life is for thought to process, or cycle through. Getting out of linearity helps to make sense.</p><p><br />I am reinventing the wheel here. The categories of life that we often play roles in, such as work and leadership, or vocation, love and relationships, spirituality, finances et, are of little concern in the new paradigm. Creativity requires a new pattern to emerge that may or may not include these roles. I'm sure that family and relationships will be a major part of the new and emerging patterns, but domestic bubbles, and nuclear families may not.</p><p><br />Finances, money and work will all change or morph into various types of self expression fulfilling needs on some new level which is still relational, but not isolated from those relationships.</p><p><br />Spirituality and science will stop chasing each other's tails, but will inform each other in ever new ways.</p><p><br />Value will no longer be defined by universal consensus, but be self determined as well as be a part of a sorting process that generates and regenerates cycles and groupings into and out of formation in a more fluid manner.</p><p><br />Life will be seen in a broader three dimensional space rather than in fixed and static points. There will cease to be a point. To anything. Instead there will be a perspective on a broader whole. At least three points of reference will define every view, micro and macro, self and other. People will reference two of those points from within themselves; the past and the present. The third will be in a direction that is neither of the others.</p><p><br />How we determine value will be based on quality rather than quantity, which will be a method of propulsion that does not require force. All the qualities in nature are necessary.</p><p><br />We've already been in a period of broadening diversity. Units of measurement are unnecessary for our survival and fulfillment and to sustain ecosystems. Ecosystems will sustain themselves, as they have always done. We will learn how to not interfere, face our fears and not only survive, but thrive, along with everything else. We won't need to monitor or manipulate this process. We dance with it.</p><p>Much more liberty and freedom will be available to all sovereign forms, including plant, mineral, animal.</p><p>What we don't know we ask. And then we listen.</p><p>Value judgements on qualities will cease to exist, or be of any importance in a central way, except to those units who choose them, or deem them necessary to their function. ie child development.</p><p>________________</p><p><br />It's a good day to die! (which means live as if every moment may be your last)</p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-32690067638796513122021-02-23T15:43:00.001-04:002021-02-23T15:46:06.849-04:00Owlman of Mawnan Smith<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://cornishbirdblog.com/2018/12/06/the-owlman-of-mawnan-smith/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="handrawn images from 1976" border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X5_zEsrMvnLkUo4Rx-h0udviJGwTie9qeZx26pDm6cK9nunF49NR8ybiVCBCRgXFwdOFmxZVTQVm0JIx_B3r6B9gdLtNmg8UMz3isvlWClHOdKU__yJzV-JWPbeAuTQI4r0EC8hMyjk/w424-h640/OwlmanofMawnanSmith.jpg" title="Owlman of Mawnan Smith" width="424" /></a></div><p></p><p>
I love hearing tales from <a href="https://cornishbirdblog.com/" target="_blank">The Cornish Bird Blog</a>(man)!</p><p>In this one <a href="https://cornishbirdblog.com/2018/12/06/the-owlman-of-mawnan-smith/" target="_blank">The Owlman of Mawnan Smith</a> a tale that has been repeated several times tells of a large greyish silver bird resembling an owl, with red eyes and huge claws, half bird / half man has been spotted over the years! </p><p>In one telling a scared eyewitness says </p><p></p><blockquote>The time was 15 minutes after 9, more or less. And I was walking along a narrow track through the trees. I was halted in my tracks when about 30m ahead I saw a monstrous ‘Birdman’ thing. It was the size of a man with a ghastly face, a wide mouth, glowing eyes and pointed ears. It had huge clawed wings and was covered in feathers of silver grey colour. The thing had long bird legs which terminated in large black claws. It saw me and rose, floating towards me. I just screamed then turn and ran for my life. The whole experience was totally irrational and dreamlike. </blockquote><p></p><p>I think I must somehow go to Cornwall and see for myself. I believe this is my nemesis!
</p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-76070018255963664942020-11-14T15:33:00.000-04:002020-11-14T15:33:00.755-04:00Danelys Valcarcel: Intuitive Living as a Spiritual Path<p>Danelys Valcarcel, an incredibly articulate woman, describes, through a theosophical lens, the usefulness of intuition towards living an artful life full of meaning. </p><p><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TPYKhIgQ6kM" width="480"></iframe></p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-81873279540405459372020-11-11T15:36:00.004-04:002020-11-14T15:40:59.264-04:00The Ancestors Are UsRemembering those, on November 11, 2020, this image came to mind, as I went deeper into remembering those who gave their lives, not only in the last two world wars, but all those who came before us.
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiysEytoePOCeR7SQDxqmjCjc_R8c7kw4EWPbWN_zYk6IFWNWEMR7f3slhHF2WyYfVZateY6GAH4u-_SZUfXfvF2AV5WlxPJh_T0lDyNNMN7YK7-HiSvQXsCx6wK9X7OPvn9EobfeKXU_o/s640/640px-Gundestrupkarret2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiysEytoePOCeR7SQDxqmjCjc_R8c7kw4EWPbWN_zYk6IFWNWEMR7f3slhHF2WyYfVZateY6GAH4u-_SZUfXfvF2AV5WlxPJh_T0lDyNNMN7YK7-HiSvQXsCx6wK9X7OPvn9EobfeKXU_o/s16000/640px-Gundestrupkarret2.jpg" /></a></div><br />Of course they knew, the ancestors, they knew very well who they were. They knew they were both the foundation and the frontier of conscious awareness. I believe they set this up, like Bonnita Roy says in her ‘The Hollow’ series of talks at the Stoa, via dispatches to the future.<br />I see the figure on the Gundestrup cauldron sitting with a torc and a snake in his hand, horns coming from his head. That is a message. A message that says something, not in words, but in mythic imagery, the meaning behind the symbols. He is saying something along the lines of growing minds - the antlers, emotion, movement - the snake, and a gold torc which generally is worn around the neck made of twisted metal. The fact that he is holding it, as well as wearing it, points to its significance. He wants us to pay attention to it. On the cauldron the gold colour is not apparent, but as artifacts they were often made of twisted gold. Gold is not just valuable, its long lasting, its endurance reminiscent of the nourishing radiance of the sun, of warmth and expansion. It’s like they wore it around their necks as a talisman, an indication of their intention to grow their minds. That is their message to the future, to their future selves. Us.<br />I’ve said this before, but perhaps never written it down. I feel like I’ve been underground for three thousand years and I’m now being recalled to the surface because I’m needed. Because the ancestors are calling to me from long ago through the images on the cauldron and through my DNA, the historic memory I carry in my architecture. I put my past together with the present using my imagination, both sides of my brain articulating together in thought and word, in language, the depiction of flowing form, something like the snake.<br />The cauldron itself is the container, the body. The intentions of it are depicted in the images on the surface. The whole thing is a metaphor for ourselves. <br /><p></p>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-4785815024143223312020-07-28T14:44:00.003-03:002020-07-28T14:51:11.198-03:00The Tribe VS The Algorithm<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PDpCML6UWwE" width="480"></iframe>S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-19845117287743274252019-12-12T14:10:00.001-04:002019-12-12T15:20:56.086-04:00Burial GroundI woke up this morning to my brain telling me it was Clyde. I'm assuming it was my left brain, since my right brain doesn't talk to me in words, only images and sensations, but it was definitely referring to my right brain.<br />
So I started thinking about Clyde as a brain and that led me to horses; the Clydesdale.<br />
Then I thought, what in Hel is a Clyde? And what on earth is a dale?<br />
<br />
So I 'googled' those terms.<br />
<br />
The River Clyde flows past the Isle of Arran into the Firth of Clyde towards Loch Lomand & The Trossacks National Park in Scotland. It flows from the southwest towards the northeast. This is a northwest flow. This is often the direction of the prevailing winds here at the edge of the world. Perhaps my thoughts, as they travel down into my body, then flow northwest through my song towards Scotland. The song of my body as it sings to the world.<br />
<br />
There is a long cove there, called Loch Long. I too live in a long cove, here in the west. Hmmm... food for my soul.<br />
<br />
So this led me to look for similarities in my own physical surroundings of the Mi'kma'ki and that brought me to looking at the small island off the west coast of the larger island of Bute, of which the Sound of Bute flows between. Hmmm... a song reference, perhaps?<br />
<br />
There are ruins there from medieval times. The outline of an old monastary in a place that is only named on the google sky view map only named Midpark.<br />
<br />
Turns out it is named Marnock after St. Ernán. Earnán, is of Irish origin and many saints are named after him. The name itself means 'knowing.' There are many saints named for the those ruins. An archealogical project has revealed stone slabs bearing early Christian and Norse runic markings.<br />
<br />
To cut this story short because my brain needs to go elsewhere for a while. All this led me to Fingals' Cave in the Isle of Staffa. The Isle of Staffa is a series of hexagonal rock columns formed by volcanic eruption millions of years ago.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbd6QR95NByHaO5vffTEOBV3thgePVyOPv_5UWjkeNBHRcnNk-VlNe9uOvg-mxkzks-2wfkkMJM1HXVcf2s_C9P4jE0w1sxL1kTXetB6pSP9ecT9HDjAGVhMa-iQcxZUHoyM97rZ13as4/s1600/Fingals-Cave-Staffa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbd6QR95NByHaO5vffTEOBV3thgePVyOPv_5UWjkeNBHRcnNk-VlNe9uOvg-mxkzks-2wfkkMJM1HXVcf2s_C9P4jE0w1sxL1kTXetB6pSP9ecT9HDjAGVhMa-iQcxZUHoyM97rZ13as4/s640/Fingals-Cave-Staffa.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I will wish to sea myself there, while I ponder dale, which means the plains in a river valley.S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-14041148615304323272019-12-04T20:20:00.002-04:002019-12-04T20:22:41.654-04:00They Hold No QuarterListening to one of my all time favourite bands from childhood Led Zepplin. All through the 70's & 80's I listened to this and had no idea what the lyrics meant, nor why I loved them so much. No I do. They hold a piece of my heart.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/kW3xDZrlBQs" width="459"></iframe><br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Led Zeppelin - No Quarter (Live at Madison Square Garden 1973)</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[Verse 1]</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Close the door, put out the light</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You know they won't be home tonight</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The snow falls hard and don't you know?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The winds of Thor are blowing cold</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They're wearing steel that's bright and true</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They carry news that must get through</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
[Chorus]</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They choose the path where no-one goes</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They hold no quarter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They hold no quarter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
[Guitar Solo]</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
[Verse 2]</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Walking side by side with death</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The devil mocks their every step</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The snow drives back the foot that's slow</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The dogs of doom are howling more</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They carry news that must get through</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To build a dream for me and you</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
[Chorus]</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They choose the path where no-one goes</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They hold no quarter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They ask no quarter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They hold no quarter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They ask no quarter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The pain, the pain without quarter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They ask no quarter</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The dogs of doom are howling more!</div>
S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-84686449928938023182019-11-30T13:15:00.001-04:002019-12-12T15:22:28.028-04:00Ritual and Law in 17th Century Britain - Wife SwappingHow absurd a thought, yet here it is <a href="https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Devonshire_Characters_and_Strange_Events" target="_blank">Devonshire Characters and Strange Events</a>.by S. Baring-Gould.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
‘There is no myth relative to the manners and customs of the English that in my experience is more tenaciously held by the ordinary Frenchman than that the sale of a wife in the market place is an habitual and an accepted fact in English Life.’ SBG, 1908</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWm4MHWCW33knPLKnKYCwU8D_CdD2-u484YXa9f8RryNyJcOqXQPpPILFi_UEzKetxsb66yhLtG2zNBAjgP3v3T63dYyY6J5I3wdBJukibG7wqSy4qNDeNvbpw6vnzZZ6-7b8SM7w3SDI/s1600/WifeSwapping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="750" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWm4MHWCW33knPLKnKYCwU8D_CdD2-u484YXa9f8RryNyJcOqXQPpPILFi_UEzKetxsb66yhLtG2zNBAjgP3v3T63dYyY6J5I3wdBJukibG7wqSy4qNDeNvbpw6vnzZZ6-7b8SM7w3SDI/s400/WifeSwapping.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
If you'll notice in the image, she looks like a pink piggy with a rope around her neck being eyed by three gentleman at the Smithfield Market by Laurie & Whittle 1796.<br />
<br />
A more sinister image of the practice depicts women being sold as actual property in the following less colorful image from Harper's magazine, 1876.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4BWvZCOnjiykiCTxNkMv6en32h1TRwSOJwH0Tl5lyN5K67Ti5y6S4WGc8BE_n0yDbPsD1wMbzCcBfaXxFWW40gOn2uXzMTmzf4KFWZOu3aq1AxptquaOaXtJEmolvAQqjIvGPkYZ6mA/s1600/Harpers-magazine-1876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4BWvZCOnjiykiCTxNkMv6en32h1TRwSOJwH0Tl5lyN5K67Ti5y6S4WGc8BE_n0yDbPsD1wMbzCcBfaXxFWW40gOn2uXzMTmzf4KFWZOu3aq1AxptquaOaXtJEmolvAQqjIvGPkYZ6mA/s400/Harpers-magazine-1876.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
The misogyny of women has progressed from comedy to property in under 100 years; and this, more than 100 years ago.<br />
<br />
Read more about this origins and direction of this darkly tragic story written deep in the bones of who we are at <a href="https://cornishbirdblog.com/2019/10/08/wife-selling-in-cornwall/" target="_blank">The Cornish Bird Blog</a>.<br />
<br />
~SCC<br />
<br />
<br />S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-69401752574341728402019-11-22T22:23:00.000-04:002019-11-22T22:23:00.317-04:00Her Story<i>Herstory</i> - a beginning; in words and images.<br />
<br />
"<i>She has arrived</i>" writes Cathy Newman, author of a National Geographic article <a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.com/history/2019/11/through-eyes-of-women-century-national-geographic-photography/?cmpid=org=ngp::mc=crm-email::src=ngp::cmp=editorial::add=Photography_20191122&rid=32B58B4E18A1A542ABB5D0C188FFAA10" target="_blank">The World Through The Eyes of Women</a> published on November 15, 2019. She is citing photographer <i>Sisse Brimberg's</i> response to being mistaken for a photographer's <i>pack mule</i>, instead of <i>the</i> <i>photographer</i>, when arriving to a 1980's photo-shoot. Out of respect to National Geographic's copyright protection policy, I will not post any of those amazing photographs here, but you can look at them via the link above, which tells the story of women photographers in a '<i>that was then, this is now</i>' motif. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“the universal language of the photograph upon which this publication (and others) depended was solely a contribution of the male eye and mind.”</blockquote>
Those are the words of <i>Naomi Rosenblum,</i> a photograpy historian. More important words there have never been Naomi, thank you. And these by the author of that article.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"We are beyond the days of women depicted as
decorative objects dressed in waterfalls of silk (the predictable
debutante ball shot) and the assumption that the creator of the image
was a man."</blockquote>
It's such a difficult story to tell, <i>her story</i>.
But it is happening all around us, in fact its gushing out. It started
out as a squeak, then became a hoarse whisper, and is now quite audible,
even for those who can barely hear it. <br />
There are many many more stories, images, and songs, of women, their children, their hardships, their neglect, abuse,
shame, loneliness and mystery. There are so many stories poring out now that soon it will be hard not to hear them.<br />
<br />
I myself have just been re-born <i>into my own image</i>, not his. Don't get me wrong, I'm not angry at <i>him</i>, or <i>Him</i>, or <i>Her</i>, or any of <i>them</i>. But some will be. And that's okay too. My story includes all the stories of women, men, and children of any colour, shape or form, of varying gender, or no gender at all, as well as of the multiplex creatures and cultures that remain intact, and of the many that have been buried, destroyed, or lost throughout history. Most importantly, I wish to tell the general story of the earth, of which I am embodying. If you have a mother, this is your story too. <br />
<br />
I may be arriving late in the game of feminism, but I believe there is a reason for this. It is the way of the mother. And in the way of the mother, I will tell the story slowly, in small digestible increments.<br />
<br />
Mind over matter may be the way it appears to you now, but <i>understanding</i> is to know that it is you. I may be only one pair of eyes in a body, with one voice, but I am not alone. Together, <i>we</i> are the story. It's a tangled story, but our aim is to undo that mess, and clear the way to becoming <i>more</i> than the mess we are in.<br />
<br />
And <i>thank you Cathy</i>, for a wonderful beginning to this story, my story, <i>herstory</i>. S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-61893931195503230252019-11-10T18:54:00.002-04:002019-11-10T18:55:15.755-04:00I Am In Pieces<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am in pieces...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">construction is underway</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">unfolding is ongoing</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am going through</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">processing</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">undergoing</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am through with</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">going around</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">gathering the pieces</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am lost and found</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">stopping and starting</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">putting my selves</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">on the shelf for later use</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am in pieces</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">remembering how</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I came to be</span></div>
S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5575874316801383586.post-30294130278940789632019-11-05T18:39:00.000-04:002019-11-05T18:39:25.122-04:00The Life of Lines<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25523150-the-life-of-lines" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Life of Lines" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1431382542l/25523150._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25523150-the-life-of-lines">The Life of Lines</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/253164.Tim_Ingold">Tim Ingold</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3031055746">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
Wow, this book really helped me understand what is going on out there, really. It's about the nature of reality. We are growing up out of the earth, mingling with the atmosphere and connected to everything in ways the author describes quite clearly.
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/95315459-stephanie-crawford">View all my reviews</a>
S. Camillehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12677965869844341756noreply@blogger.com0