… the sound of crickets chirping on calm summer nights…
Art by Gaia
The Wild Woman
Is the One Who Knows.
She is the River beneath the river,
She is instinctual Nature
Dispenser of Medicine
Guardianne of Wisdom.
She is from Whom we spring forward in Life
and to whom we go in Death.
She is the Great Wild Mother.
Her kingdom is this great underground forest,
the misty world of the unconscious;
into which the light of consciousness filters down through stories, feelings, and dreams.
Yoga-mat psychologist and Crohn's disease warrior, Nina-Lois Turtledove is deeply interested in philosophy, analytic and somatic psychology, peace studies, nutrition, tradition, and progress. This is her public journal where she spills her thoughts, and records her dreams, rants, and reflections.
She can be contacted at nlturtledove[at]gmail[dot]com
www.thingsthatmakelifebetter.com
Steam from the coffee
Permeated our nostrils
An oboe carried a raw melody
in through the open window
As lace curtains waved
in an afternoon breeze
Drawing attention away
From paintings dotting shadowed walls
to an unfocused point
suspended somewhere in the air
The perfect scene of a film,
My cousin and I agreed.
So, Do you have a man?
My momma's mom asked me
Bent from the weight of her years
As I sat and she stood,
She looked up at me
Gazing through my momma's eyes.
I answered as though speaking from my momma's soul
She could never stand still in all her life
Nor did her eyes ever look so worried.
Yes.
And what do you want to do?
Write books, enjoy films
from the hearts of beautiful foreign places
That would make it hard to raise a family.
It would.
But I could only be faithful
To the lover that is fits my very soul.
One must find the quiet of the soul
Hear the tiny voice of the Calling
Which gets louder
when the exclamation is
Love!
Money is cold
and lifeless.
A barbed wire barrier
to that which is most meaningful.
Those who lust after money
and claw after power
Stuff a rag into the mouth of that
tiny voice
Which offered purpose for their life.
Living is an Art.
The job of the artist is
to show us what humanity is.
Essence of expression
From the interior of the Soul
Convey the abstractions of the realm
Flitter out of the cuccoon
Transmute metal into gold.
As the conquistadors
Explored the world
They exploited the Indians for earthly treasures.
Burned, destroyed, and slaughtered.
But the ruler philosopher whispers
Explore your Selves
it is not a voice
which is the calling
Turn your ears inward...
