In Times Like These

Sheltering in place does little to protect one from the news of a world spiraling out of control. In times like these, what’s a person to do? 

I thanked Lizard for the wisdom shared last week and moved on to see what would come next through the art oracle! 

With nothing in particular in mind, I pulled out my tower of unfinished mixed media starts looking for something that caught my eye, or rather, imagination. Some of the acrylic “skins” I’d saved brought to mind a swirling cosmos and archaic symbols. They were formed by pouring rivers of (leftover) paint (fluid acrylic paint mixed with pouring medium) onto plastic and letting them merge and dry. 

One of the skin pieces looked like a face, and when I moved it around and set it just so on another piece, it became a person! No more painting was necessary to complete the picture, just an underpainting of an ink wash and some more cut skins for feathers.

poured acrylic skins, dilute India ink, gold acrylic, white gel pen on w/c paper

And then the Indian spirit spoke, in these phrases:

In times like these . . .

I cannot shake the burden that weighs on my spirit.

My third eye opens to see across the abyss of ignorance before me and opens new pathways. . .

My feathers vibrate for peace.

I dance to the drum beats and reed flutes and chanting that vibrates with nature’s currents.  . .

. . .signaling an existence where people care for each other and live in harmony.

2 comments

  1. Spiraling out of control. Every day for over a week I have been hit with these words. I made a poem on the solstice about it; referred to WB Yeats’ “The Second Coming” “what rough beast slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?” (Yeats) When I led meditation group for my tchr I used my own poem but slashed it as I couldn’t put the part about losing control into their psychies so to speak. It was too dark. Tried to lighten it up but no; it is what it is.

    Unawares, Mom sent me the Economist Mag yesterday- have you seen the spiral on that cover?

    I thought today the run on gyres was over. Then your email.

    Marybeth

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