To Shift. To Dance. A Postpartum Reflection.

As warned, and expected, the postpartum period has felt utterly chaotic and ravaging. But, its a very different kind of chaos than people caution about. I am an artist who has always flourished in the midnight hour. I am a woman who has always played many cards at once; be it student, bartender, artist, lover, curator, writer, healer, or at-work-to-heal. I’ve been this person, done these things and held down 3 jobs at the same time, and from this, I’ve learned many skills that seem to be of high value in early parenting- endurance, fortitude, and adaptability. (Yes, while working on finding balance and trying to not do everything at the same time, all the time.)

The “sleepless nights” and the constant small person in need, parents and books are always warning about hasn’t been that hard for me. (Gasp.) Not that its been easy. At all. It’s been the gargantuan shifts in identity, the paradigms exploding all over the place, and also a huge frustration I feel toward people (including my partner) asking me “So.. what are you doing now?” or “What else did you do today?”  I want to smack them all with the back of my hand and say “Keeping my fucking baby alive, stupid!” I am flooded with dissonance, unable to resolve my internalized voices of feminists, radical gender theorists,  driven career professionals, and dreamers in me, who however much are in love with the current circumstances, definitely did not plan it all out this way, and who definitely don’t agree with how we are handling these things.

One thing they all do agree on, is that I’m a queer femme, and have never done anything more stereotypically, gender typifying in.my.life. I have found myself positioned in relationship to a straight man, who is bringing home the bucks, who has all the savings, while I raise our baby and search for a career move that could somehow encompass my identity and dreams, and the needs of our family too. And sometimes I want to scream. It’s been thoroughly confusing to confront new thoughts and experiences found in motherhood, that tell me things I once considered to be aligned with conservatives of the Tea Party- “It’s OK to stay home right now. This IS valuable. This IS work.” Or, even “lets move outside this beautiful city.” Posed against the feminist in me who says I should not position myself to be dependent on a man for any reason whatsoever. Posed against the queer outlaw in me who so remembers growing up in a normative family structure and place and feeling like such an outcast and alien, who found refuge and chosen family at 17 years old in the city of San Francisco. Then steps in, the mother and the partner, who sees that more space and less distractions would be a healthy and healing move for us all.

I am situated between my loving and amazing partner, my breathtakingly beautiful son and my shifting identity, searching for a way to bring my relationship to all of these parts of life and self in line. Among all this internal chaos, I am finding refuge in dance. It has been the most accessible and healing art form I a: have time for, b: can do with or without my baby, c: doesn’t hold controversy due to inaccessibility or bourgeois presentation methods (at least not in the ways I choose to come to the experience), and d: has the capacity to express emotion, release thoughts, interact socially and facilitate exercise.
Besides being lucky enough to attend weekly Fusion Rhythms classes at ODC, last night I went to Ecstatic Dance in San Francisco. The Ecstatic Dance community, throws weekly and monthly alcohol and drug free parties, encouraging free form, expressive dance. The guidelines are as follows:

1.  Move however you wish

2.  No talking on the dance floor

3.  Respect yourself and one another

 I put River down to sleep, left him with dad, and went to dance my ass off. DJ Alxndr rocked the room with music that was deep with base and gypsy, electro, hip-hop and electronic rhythms.  The space was welcoming, diverse, playful, joyful and the most nonjudgmental social space I have felt a part of for a long while. There were people dancing all over the room, engaging in others for a split moment, before re-entering their own expressive and personal dance space. Because there is no talking allowed- the voices in my head, the quarreling identities and shifting pieces of attitude and self were forced into submission. For two hours, I was allowed to move freely and rhythmically with a group of people all doing the same, sharing only the space and the movement- free from verbal stories, substances or pressure of any kind. It was SO awesome. I felt catapulted into my ever present self, some kind of self that is consistent, and rhythmic as the music, ready for change, ready for bringing in the beats that come next, and ready to get quiet and just move for a while.

I believe these expressive movements and breaks from the busy stream-of-consciousness are vital to allowing all these great identity shifts to take place. When things get too busy in there to enable the possibility of sorting anything out- I will dance!

Movement, bike touring while pregnant and sweet missings of all the beautiful hills…

Movement: The mimic of a bird, fluttering of arms to flight. One foot in front of the other and then the other, and then the other to reach no particular destination. A reach across the table toward your lover whom you are deciding to trust, or not to trust. A pet of the neck, a purse of the lips- no matter. Slow, decisive transformation of the composition of your body, and thereby your mind from a state of meltdown, to stand-up, by a simple raising of the hips. A whisk away, a stark jaunt toward, a slow curl of your eyes, to or fro, lifting the ground upward to meet the eyes of another, the sky, the air, sometimes  filled with the essences of flowers, sometimes wrought with  filth and stains marked, unwashed by humanity- each filled with their own irreverent, inequitable beauty. The nose that rises to meet the smell of a memory- fresh basil in the garden, sweat from your lovers pits, the stank of  machines from which we are surrounded.

Movement: The act of swallowing- definitively ushering meaning to the word: palpable. The only, the sole- precursor to: Shifts of emotion, wellness of the body, alignment of self, aid to another, love, grace, recognition of beauty, acceptance of pain, the moments you can melt into and just feel, “I am so deeply taken.”

At times, I stubbornly resist the execution- however steady, reliable and measured the outcomes. I will fight what is trusted, inevitable and known- sitting in the muck of my emotion, curling my body inward, allowing the sometimes treacherous evolution of thought to wash over and command me- until by some great force I can override the inactivity and begin to slowly wiggle my way to feeling alive. I am brought back whole and well, with a stretch of the toes, arch of the back, opening of the jaw, expansion of the sternum. I can decide to move forward, to meet reality in all its crude delight and begin to shift into a grounded body, alive and in awe- in celebration of existence and the loves with whom I’m surrounded.

In my early 20’s, I discovered yoga. These strange acts of breath and posture- simple arms found to gather and direct all the energy I hold inside- or beautiful hands made to softy hold and sit with that which is important to feel at length.

I came to understand my emotional state of being, always so directly and clearly impacted by the ways in which I am or am not moving my body. I am overwhelmingly grateful for  the thoughts and internal dialogue that come to process with each meeting of a movement-from the quickening of my heart, to a muscle sprawled against its edges. The sweet accomplishment and sensations of grace that accompany an override of an “I can’t,” or an “I’m not,” when they become an “I do,” or an “I am.”

I come to these understandings again and again- both when the days are hard to face and as well, when they are bright and full of ease. I carried them on our bike adventure and was reminded of them intimately- in the early mornings, while my lover was trying to desperately organize us to get on the road and I was melting with exhaustion in the wet and cold; in the afternoons, as we confronted the rolling hills, the surging traffic, the approaching sundown and there was charm and warmth; and in the evenings when we were very close to our destinations, but maybe not that close and there were short fuses and feelings of accomplishment- or sometimes not.

And upon our return- having ridden some hundreds of miles, from Bellingham, Washington to just past the California/Oregon border- the days which I imagined would be so relaxing, so much more physically at ease… aren’t. They aren’t harder either.. or that much different, really- except that we are surrounded by different people and an array of different businesses, parks, restaurants, trees, flowers and all around visual landscapes. And except that we are living our days mostly inside- quietly sneaking time to spend with the sky. But the rest of it-  sometimes fighting through a morning to find movement, sometimes being so taken by the grace and love and smell of an afternoon- the differences are only marked by the effort taken or not taken- to move, or not to move.

If you move- you get up the hill.. however slowly. However many breaks you take and however many times you find, love, grace, pain or pleasure during the ride. If you don’t move- the day passes you by.. and the hill still lies before you.. and you will sooner or later, have to decide to face it.

This week, in the studio I am dedicating my practice to making pieces about movement. Stay tuned.

Protection

When I was a kid, I had an overwhelming fear of things, people, spirits and/or aliens that lurk in the dark. I would imagine invisible people wielding chain saws and cutting through walls, stealing me from my bed or the bathtub. Aliens, spirits or strangers, breaking in during anytime of the night or day and kidnapping me, before committing terrible and violent crimes to my body. I would lie awake at night in fits of frozen terror, sometimes going to sleep at the foot of my parent’s door, when they wouldn’t let me in. I could almost feel, smell and see strangers hiding in corners outside my window, demon like creatures waiting to clasp the edges of my feet from under the bed. Who knows exactly from where these fears could have been sourced? All I remember are the rituals I would go through to try to calm myself. After a certain point, my parents didn’t offer much sympathy- telling me to “get over it,” “go to bed,” “it’s all in your head,” yadda, yadda, yadda. Unsurprisingly, these words were less than calming. One day my sister and I were staying with my grandparents and I was having my usual relationship to the still of a night, and my grandma gave me a talisman, some sort of coin with a sculptural relief of a patron saint on it. I can’t remember which saint it was… I want to say St. Christopher- but I’d rather it have been St. Michael the Archangel.. just for symbolic purposes. My grandmother handed me the round, gold coin and told me that if I held it tightly in between my fingers whenever I felt really scared, and prayed to God and to the saint for protection- that I would always be watched over with love and grace and strength, and that I needn’t worry- for even if I wasn’t praying or holding the coin- God was already with me, watching me, protecting me.

We weren’t Catholic – but were raised with a loose relationship to the church. We would definitely show our faces round the holidays and occasionally more regular bouts of attendance would occur. Even though I already sensed some level of hypocrisy by way of which I witnessed people practicing their faith around me, and questioned what seemed like contradictions in stories and lessons that were taught in Sunday school- this offering from my grandmother resonated with so much power inside of me, that I kept it with me for years. I held onto this coin during the night, and even in the day when I would become filled with fear, and frozen with dark thoughts, I would rub the coin with my thumb and forefinger, and pray for protection. After I lost the coin, I soon replaced it with worry stones, and then with pieces of silk, and then with just the thoughts in my head.

As an adult who has found some other kind of relationship to whom I believe to know as God- A vital and pure source of inspiration, energy and love found and worshiped in ever-expanding and vast kinds of belief systems and practices- I see a deep legitimacy in most kinds of religious and spiritual practice, and personally tend to align the idea of prayer with a pagan kind of ideology. Prayer being this beautiful practice where we can focus our energy and direct it toward any given set of circumstances, desired outcomes, people or even things. The power of manifestation, centered within our own ability to focus a thought, and direct it to some divine source outside of ourselves.. even if that divine source is the center of ourselves. Without a doubt, we are by definition, creative beings and prayer is a powerful tool that lets us align with the forces of God, nature and ourselves, however you know those relationships to be in yourself and/or the world. At some point, my practice of prayer was conducting Wiccan spells, at some point, it was praying to Jesus, and at some point it was sincere meditation. And these days, it might be a combination of all of the previously stated methods, and seems to be ever-growing. I don’t actually feel that the path by which one gets to where they are going is that important… so long as the path feels aligned with the person. So as we change, so might our paths. I value my friends who practice prayer in their lives and that we can share in the practice of inner knowing, and absolute faith in the divine- whomever, whatever, however that might be.

And now, I will share a collection of objects, practices and prayers that are in the name of protection.

xoxo

Chrys

Pentacle. For protection from the earth and all of her elements.

The Eye of Horus is an ancient Egyptian symbol of protection, royal power and good health.

The hamsa (Arabic: خمسة‎ khamsah, also romanized khamsa, meaning lit. “five”) is a palm-shaped amulet popular throughout the Middle East and North Africa, and commonly used in jewellery and wall hangings.[1

Worry stones are smooth, polished gemstones usually in the shape of an oval with a thumb-sized indentation. They are also known as thumb stones or palm stones. They originated in Ancient Greece.Held between the index finger and thumb, rubbing them is believed to lessen one’s worries.

The legendary Griffin symbol is a fascinating creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle. Variations of ancient lore say the griffin builds a nest, like an eagle (female?) and lays sapphires instead of eggs, and protects the gold. The feather of a griffin and the talon both are supposed to have medicinal properties so powerful that it can even restore sight to the blind!

Grounding

Grounding roots.

All of the prepare-for-your-baby sites similarly suggest keeping a pregnancy journal during the 9 months of growth and change happening in your body, life and relationships. I meant for this blog to serve as a ritual space for gathering information relating to the jewelry I am and will be making, but I seemed to forget that my life’s process is always intimately linked with my creativity. What I make is always deepened and only feels full of integrity when I really get at the center of what I’m making from the center of what I’m experiencing in the world. And this, I suppose is the space by which I hope some other points of connection will inevitably flow, from the pieces I create, to the people who fall for them. That if I’m able to really distill my experience into a form, an object, a process that another person can hold in their own hands, maybe someone will find connection to it in a way they were really needing or seeking. Speaking from some grander vision that we all have these points of connectivity that we consistently and desperately seek to intersect and understand in relationship to each other, via the creative arts and forms of expression- music, poetry, art, fashion.

All of this, which brings me here, to contemplation of grounding. That I really want the metal objects I make to be held, to be worn, to earn their weight in the world and feel substantial in a person’s hand. I want them to feel full of some kind of power, which enables the holder to connect more deeply to the center of themselves. Lofty goals for a piece of jewelry? Maybe.. but I think these are the ways in which I personally really deeply connect to objects or pieces of art, why I really even want something on or with my body, and these are the ways I strive to create my own work- even if I’m not always going to be successful at doing so.

So, in a fury of a week, with emotions and hormones running high and higher, low and lower, I have been praying that I find stability, joy, and ease with everything, that I might pass joy, stability, love and ease onto my growing baby and to my loving partner. And through all of these tumbling and sometimes temulchuous lines of thought chaos, I realize I need desperately to do some grounding work. I realize that all of these fears and emotions are propelled by not really being fully inside of my body. So, here are some collected images and ideas relating to the practice of grounding, in ways that might serve the pursuit of wholeness, wellness and maybe make it into a wearable object to aid the whole process- for myself, my partner, my baby and maybe someday for whomever ends up wearing these pieces.

Bye for now,

Chrys

Quick List of Things to Do to Ground:

(as suggested here)

• Get ice or ice water
• Breathe – slow and deep, like blowing up a balloon.
• Take your shoes off and rub your feet on the ground.
• Open your eyes and look around. See you are in a different place than then.
• Move around. Feel your body. Stretch out your arms, hands, fingers.
• Peel an orange or a lemon. Notice the smell. Take a bite. Focus on the taste.
• Pet your cat, dog or rabbit.
• Spray yourself with favorite perfume.
• Eat ice cream! Or any favorite food. Pay attention to the taste.
• Hold a stuffie. Pay attention to the feel of it.
• Repeat “this is now, not then”
• Call a friend, or your T.
• Take a shower.
• Take a bath.
• Go for a walk. Feel the sunshine (or rain, or snow!)
• Count nice things.
• Dig in the dirt in your garden.
• Turn lights on.
• Play your favorite music.
• Hug a tree!
• Touch things around you.

You don’t really need anything except a personal sense of awareness. So what are things that one might carry to help gain back relationship to self?

Feeling feet on the floor. Carrying a ball to massage the foot.

Porcupine massage therapy ball

Breath. breath. breath. What kind of object reminds us to breathe or aids in breath work? An object to wear on the sternum, as a reminder to hold the “chest’s eyes” upward. Multiples of things that suggest movement. Words. Things that make sounds. Instruments.

Using crystals to aid in grounding.

Smoky Quartz for grounding

To ground with crystals all we need to do is have them around us.  They can be worn as jewelery, carried in a pocket or handbag, be placed around our home and office, in our cars and other places we frequent, and can be applied (or layered) upon the body during meditation.

Black Kyanite

• Black Obsidian
• Hematite
• Onyx
• Smoky Quartz
• Black Kyanite
• Bloodstone
• Garnet
• Red Jasper
• Ruby
• Yellow Flourite
• Tiger’s Eye
• Clear Quartz
• Citrine

Citrine, Open Geode

Yoga, meditation, biking, running, anything physical, squeezing the body, squeezing the thighs. Moving into your belly, back, chest, legs, feet.

More later- xox

Divination

Cheesy or not- I remember learning the ultimate metaphor for so many things I’ve experienced in life, during fishing trips with my dad. In some odd hour of the morning, after a midnight hunt for night-crawlers, pointing flashlights in the grass and muscling them out of the ground with pliers outside our home, we would bundle up, truck out onto the middle of a lake inside a tiny dingy sized boat- just big enough for the two of us. His end of the boat always ended up weighted dangerously close to the water, and we would sit with lively worms on the end of extended fishing poles, and wait. And wait. And wait. A cup of hot cocoa for me and a double mocha for him- we never talked too much during these trips.. just a bit about what was happening in the moment- and as a young woman in a house full of feminine imbalances, I craved these moments.

Just noting what was around us, what was happening before our eyes. I remember holding the fishing pole and trying to envision what was happening on the other end, plunged so deeply in the water. I would picture it swaying to and fro in the deep lake and little fish families traveling close to the delicious looking worm, but swimming quickly away, because they could surely sense the energy line that flowed through the line and the pole from my hands up above the surface.

I would wait and wait. The currents most often caused by a passing boat, or our own- swaying atop the water would tug on my line. I would be *sure* I got a bite. “Just wait for the tug, and rip your pull upward. Don’t let ’em get away!” My dad would say. “Like this,” and he’d show me how to pull the pole upward in a quick jerking motion and reel in the day’s catch, pretending to fight some kind of inhuman strength on the other end of the line. “How would I know it was really a bite?”I would always wonder outloud. Dad would always respond with, “Oh- you’ll know. You’ll know.” So I would feel these subtle tugs on my line and be so sure I had a bite and I would jerk the pole up and furiously reel in my line and sometimes there would be nothing- the worm intact and looking sad for being relentlessely dragged through the water for no apparent reason and sometimes there would be handfulls of seaweed or underwater plants caught up on the end, the worm having escaped in the underbrush. I would feel so dissapointed.. thinking “I really thought I had one, I really thought so this time.” And then usually at some point, I would get a real live fish bite. My pole would get yanked with a vibration that could only be caused by the mouth of an animal and I would jerk that pole up, reel in the fish and we would eat well and proud that night.

And I’m remembering this story today as I think about my lover. And how I have had so many dates and fallen in love with so many beautiful souls and how I always hoped and dreamed and would convince myself that maybe we would make something beautiful together. And how I would feel sideswiped when they fell apart, but knew deeply, they were never quite fit. When I met Dylan,  I really just knew. His bite was ferocious and gentle and hilarious and pure and trusting and the first open heart that I had ever met that seemed to meet me with openness despite its previous injury.  He seemed to be made of my same building blocks. I remember thinking, “I match this boy’s apartment. I match this boy.” And I remember spending days with him in the black rock desert just when we first met, and going to the temple and sitting down and being visited by my unborn children, (I was sober, I swear) and having them tell me, “you’ve found him, we are coming now- it’s time. And they were overjoyed and I was filled with love.  And I talked to them for a while and told them that I knew this was all true, and I asked them to hold off for a while.. I prayed that if indeed it was right and that he and I were to build a life together, that I would be given the tools to do it beautifully- to not run from him, to trust the body of us and to be able to find lightness and laughter in everything for ever.  7 months later- I am pregnant with his child. Neither one of us thought it would be now- and I think both of us wanted some pieces of it to be different- like for moving in together to be a romantic gesture and plan, rather than a logistical one- but we are finding the romance in it all, and the beauty and gift and rightness of it all.

At the end of the day, when things feel a little bit more crazier, out of control than I’m comfortable used to ( which I’m actually pretty used to..) I am remembering, that I knew. That I am in deep, deep love with a man who is made from the most beautiful materials, who is the most honest, dignified, fun, hilarious, creative, loving, sexy, supportive and present person I’ve ever been in relationship with, and we are having a baby. And we are both ready for it in our hearts, and we are both capable of moving through all of it together- for we found each other and be made a life together, and I don’t think either one of us are going to let each other get away. Really, awesome, catch.

And onward, to today’s topic. In relationship to a deep sense of “knowing,” I want to spend some time with divination. A purposeful attempt to gain insight into a situation or question by way of an occult process or ritual. Sometimes when you don’t know- a little guidance can clear up the currents in the water.

from Wikipedia: Divination (from Latin divinare “to foresee, to be inspired by a god”,^[2] related to divinus, divine) is the attempt to gain insight into a question or situation by way of an occultic standardized process or ritual.^[3] Used in various forms for thousands of years, diviners ascertain their interpretations of how a querent should proceed by reading signs, events, or omens, or through alleged contact with a supernatural agency.

Scrying.

Mirror scrying is an evolved form of water scrying. When it became possible to build mirrors they were regarded as being like water that was fixed into one place.

The early mirrors were made of polished copper, brass, marcasite, tin foil or mercury behind glass, polished silver and obsidian. All types of mirrors may be used for scrying and the size is not important.

Because mirrors are linked to the moon mirrors should be backed with silver. Try and use a round or oval mirror instead of a square mirror.

Scrying- illustration by Indigo Deep

Runes, Ogham Sets

The Ogham alphabet consists of twenty letters to which a further five were added at a late stage in its development, probably later than the 8th century. The original twenty letters each consist of from one to five straight lines or notches intersecting a stem line. There is clear evidence for the magickal and divinatory use of the Ogham alphabet from the literature of medieval Ireland. Historically the symbols were used for divination by the use of four Yew wands, although more recently, the ogham alphabet has been used for divination by inscribing it onto small wooden staves or onto discs of wood. One symbol is added to each piece and they are used in a similar way to the runes.

They are often stored in a bag and a person will randomly pick out a certain number of the ogham sticks or discs whilst focussing on an issue or question. Ogham symbols can also be used to magickally empower an object or spell, for example they can be added to talismans to draw particular energies to the carrier or engraved onto candles prior to spellworking. More information on the meanings of the ogham symbols can be found here.

Read more: http://www.spiritofold.co.uk/divination/ogham.htm#ixzz1qGGU7M5c

Pendulums:

Pendulums can be made of different materials, some people using a simple necklace with a crystal or charm at the end. Be sure the bob or bobber – or weight on the end – is not too light or too heavy. It should weigh less than half an ounce. The best shape for the weight – or point – is something that comes to a point. The best length for the pendulum is six inches. You can make your pendulum or buy one.

Pendulums are a simple way to communicate with the other side. I have seen people in stores use them to select products such as: books, food, clothing, just about anything.

The most common types of pendulums are:

– a crystal tied with wire then suspended on a chain or cord
– a chain necklace with some kind of charm suspended at the bottom
– a chain with metal pointer at the bottom – these are usual store bought
– the human body

Acutomancy is a form of divination by means of sharp or pointed objects, such as needles. The diviner allows a number of these sharp or pointed objects (usually seven) to fall onto a table or any other appropriate flat surface. He then reads from the patterns they make.

Another method, also known as Acutomanzia, uses thirteen pins, ten straight and three bent. They are shaken in the hand and dropped on a surface sprinkled with powder. The patterns in the powder as well as the positioning of the pins are then read.

The Tarot

Various contradicting suggestions have been given to explain the original meaning of the word Tarot. They range from old Egyptian origin to a cardmaker from the French village Taraux who may have produced the original Tarot cards. Tarot cards and playing cards are different, yet have certain similarities that one can easily observe.

The origins of Tarot are somewhat obscure, the most common theories go to ancient Egypt and Thoth and the connection to the ancient mystery school teachings. There is a common myth that Tarot was brought to Europe by the Gypsies.

Some believe that a form of Tarot goes back to ancient China. I believe that all ancient civilizations developed their own systems of divination based on the same symbolism and archetypes.

As early as 1540, a book entitled The Oracles of Francesco Marcolino da Forli shows a simple method of divining from the coin suit of a regular playing card deck.

Manuscripts from 1735 (The Square of Sevens) and 1750 (Pratesi Cartomancer) show rudimentary divinatory meanings for the cards of the tarot, as well as a system for laying out the cards.

A. E. Waite (1857-1942), the English Christian occult philosopher, broke from the Order of the Golden Dawn and founded his own school of mystical thought. Working with the artist Pamela Coleman Smith – who was also a member of The Order of the Golden Dawn – Waite created a “rectified” deck featuring images and scenery on all the cards, Minor as well as Major Arcana. They produced the 78 card deck that we use today.

The tarot has been studied by many adepts and has been shown to be directly relating to the Qabalah. The Order of the Golden Dawn in 1890 made a deck for its members, utilizing the knowledge of the Qabalah in its symbolism. This was not the first deck, but the research done by the golden dawn and its members helped shape the views of the Tarot and the western philosophies of the mysteries. Together, they produced the 78 card deck that we use today. The tarot has been studied by many adepts and has been shown to be directly relating to the Qabalah.

Aleister Crowley, too, founded his own occult school, the Ordo Templi Orientis, which had to do, among other things, sex magic. Working with Freida Harris, he created the colorful Book of Thoth Tarot. He considered identifying with each card more important than trying to guess about origins.

Paul Foster Case, who formed the Builders Adytum, thought the Tarot from Morocco. According to him, 11th century philosophers designed it to both to preserve knowledge after the Alexandrian libraries were burned down and to furnish a universal language. He, too, designed a deck, a black and white one. It strongly resembles Waite’s.

Other theories:

• the cards are allegories of Sufi masters;
• Grail legend depictions;
• the Indian game Chaturanga, a forerunner of chess;
• Indian holy texts;
• Gypsy imports;
• Hebrew lore;
• Greek philosophy;
• ancestors of Mesopotamian copper cylinders;
• symbols handed down from prehistoric oral stories;
• symbols from ancient Central American Indian cultures;
• wisdom of prehistoric matriarchal cultures;
• teaching aids of the Waldenses, a persecuted Christian sect;
• surviving lore of the Order of Knights Templar, founded in 1188 to protect pilgrims and guard the ways to the Holy Land;
• creation of the 13th century alchemists, the Tarot containing hidden alchemical imagery

Speculation aside, we don’t know, and perhaps will never know, what the original Tarot cards looked like. Nor do we know where they came from or who created them. We don’t even know how many were contained in a deck. It has frustrated Tarot experts and inspired countless origin theories. However they came to be, the images of Tarot, like all true symbols, resound spontaneous self-expressions from the psyche’s deepest springs; and for that reason they hold up magic mirrors to whatever reactions we bring them. Like all authentic artistic creations, Tarots are ultimately a mystery and will remain so.

 

I’ll keep adding to the list as I collect images and sources of inspiration. Bye for now,

xoxo

C

To Pray

We House Ourselves

Hanging coffins are an ancient funeral custom of some minority groups, especially the Bo people of southern China. Coffins of various shapes were mostly carved from one whole piece of wood. Hanging coffins either lie on beams projecting outward from vertical faces such as mountains, are placed in caves in the face of cliffs, or sit on natural rock projections on mountain faces. They can be found in various locations, including China, Indonesia, and the Philippines. It was said that the hanging coffins could prevent bodies from being taken by beasts and also bless the soul eternally. -Wikipedia

This got me thinking metaphorically about where we bury our dead. Where do we keep our spirits, go to pray, place and protect, remember that which we wish to preserve? Wishing for places to put thoughts, intentions, grievances a physical resting house made fit, armoured with a facade offering protection and built-in structure and beauty to honor what or whom might lay inside.

When I was camping in Alaska a few years ago, my friend Kelly and I stumbled upon an Eklutna Russian Orthodox Cemetary. At first I thought we had found a pet cemetery, as to me, the tiny little brightly colored houses resembled dog houses. Quickly, we gathered where we were. I love that these tiny houses can offer refuge and hospitality to visiting spirits in the resting world.

A place to pray and put all of the things…

Man praying at the wailing wall. Notice the small pieces of paper pressed into the cracks between the stones. These slips of paper typically contain prayers and are left by worshipers.

What are rituals? Collecting, compiling- making objects for ritual use.

I skim the surface and your rituals read as:

Your morning coffee, tea, shower and shit,

brushing your twice-three times daily if you’re well,

the bike ride, bus ride, walk or drive to and from you place of employment, your lover’s abode, your nearest place of supply or sanctuary outside your home.

The count of how many times a day you say things like, “thank you,” “how are you?” and “are you finished with that?”

Eye contact with strangers, a gaze held too long, the scrolling up-and-down eyes, blunted toward fellow persons of the species whom you find attractive but with whom you will never speak.

A paintbrush, a keyboard, a musical string, a repetitive thought pattern.

A meal you’ve had over and over and over again.

A person you’ve had the same, almost visceral, internal reaction to- a sort of swelling of the solar plexus, tiny explosions of the heart.

But I think of rituals as practices that serve undercurrents aiding wealth and wellness of all kinds for the self and/or for one’s community- which makes the above list of actions seem empty, or more like repetitive, normalized behaviors- than rituals centric to something that runs much more deeply.

Wikipedia describes rituals as:

A set of actions, performed mainly for their symbolic value. It may be prescribed by the traditions of a community, including by a religious community. The term usually refers to actions which are stylized, excluding actions which are arbitrarily chosen by the performers.

The field of ritual studies has seen a number of conflicting definitions of the term. One given by Kyriakidis (2007) is that Ritual is an outsider’s or “etic” category for a set activity (or set of actions) which to the outsider seems irrational, non-contiguous, or illogical. The term can be used also by the insider or “emic” performer as an acknowledgement that this activity can be seen as such by the uninitiated onlooker.

So, might this space serve as my collection of ideas, images, activities, actions, or performances to which I, or you, or we might deem illogical or irrational that are indeed practiced in the name(s) of growth, wellness, art, and love.

This is not an attempt to unpack, exoticize  speculate upon, or anthropologically mine information I claim to understand, from the practices and/or belief systems of any given person, community, or culture. 

This is intended to be a shared space, where I will:

Collect and compile images, ideas and inspirations that are insightful glimpses into the way different kinds of ritual enter different people’s lives.

Explore the similar visual and practical threads that surround ritual practices.

Consider the personal and community based needs rituals can attend to- the current and local experience of what might be served by old and/or new contemporary rituals and accompanying objects.

Organize my process, conceptualizing my newest creations of ritual objects and functional pieces of jewelry- finding something personal and culturally relative to where I am and to whom might love to wear my pieces.

This is a study to inform the undercurrents of what I am making- wearable, ritual objects that I hope to imbue with some kind of form(s), material(s), and energy that will serve the wearer in their fierce declarations of style and beauty, but also in ways that will run much more deeply in the human experience. Hope you might enjoy and chime in when you have thoughts on the matter!

Chrys