Art by Kai Whatley
Category Archives: Art
A Rock, A River, A Tree Hosts to species long since departed, Marked the mastodon. The dinosaur, who left dry tokens Of their sojourn here On our planet floor, Any broad alarm of their hastening doom Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages. But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully, Come, you may stand upon my Back and face your distant destiny, But seek no haven in my shadow. I will give you no more hiding place down here. You, created only a little lower than The angels, have crouched too long in The bruising darkness, Have lain too long Face down in ignorance. Your mouths spilling words Armed for slaughter. The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me, But do not hide your face. Across the wall of the world, A River sings a beautiful song, Come rest here by my side. Each of you a bordered country, Delicate and strangely made proud, Yet thrusting perpetually under siege. Your armed struggles for profit Have left collars of waste upon My shore, currents of debris upon my breast. Yet, today I call you to my riverside, If you will study war no more. Come, Clad in peace and I will sing the songs The Creator gave to me when I and the Tree and the stone were one. Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your Brow and when you yet knew you still Knew nothing. The River sings and sings on. There is a true yearning to respond to The singing River and the wise Rock. So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew The African and Native American, the Sioux, The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh, The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher, The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher. They hear. They all hear The speaking of the Tree. Today, the first and last of every Tree Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River. Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River. Each of you, descendant of some passed On traveller, has been paid for. You, who gave me my first name, you Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of Other seekers–desperate for gain, Starving for gold. You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot … You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare Praying for a dream. Here, root yourselves beside me. I am the Tree planted by the River, Which will not be moved. I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree I am yours–your Passages have been paid. Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need For this bright morning dawning for you. History, despite its wrenching pain, Cannot be unlived, and if faced With courage, need not be lived again. Lift up your eyes upon The day breaking for you. Give birth again To the dream. Women, children, men, Take it into the palms of your hands. Mold it into the shape of your most Private need. Sculpt it into The image of your most public self. Lift up your hearts Each new hour holds new chances For new beginnings. Do not be wedded forever To fear, yoked eternally To brutishness. The horizon leans forward, Offering you space to place new steps of change. Here, on the pulse of this fine day You may have the courage To look up and out upon me, the Rock, the River, the Tree, your country. No less to Midas than the mendicant. No less to you now than the mastodon then. Here on the pulse of this new day You may have the grace to look up and out And into your sister’s eyes, into Your brother’s face, your country And say simply, Very simply, With hope – Good morning. ~Maya Angelou
Art by Rollin Kocsis
“We are used to thinking of Friday the 13th as bad luck. In fact, Friday the 13th was the day the witches gathered. When the patriarchal system, headed by the early church, began to squelch the power of women, witches were deemed evil, and many great women were deemed witches. Their meeting time, then, was seen as bad luck rather than as what it truly was; a time for women to gather and share energy and pray together and heal.” ~Marianne Williamson, “A Woman’s Worth”
Art by Ama Busia
Happy Full Moon!
“I believe that Magic is Art and Art whether it be music, writing, sculpture or any other, is literally Magic. Art, like any magic, the science of manipulating symbols, words or images, to achieve changes in consciousness… Indeed to cast a spell is simply to manipulate words, to change people’s consciousness, and this is why I believe that an artist or a writer is the closest thing in the contemporary world to a Shaman.” ~Alan Moore
Art by John Jude Palencar
Source ~ Dreamwork with Toko-pa
“Strength, balance, self-mastery—all these qualities are depicted in Kuan Yin’s graceful bearing atop the dragon. She is unmoved by the fierceness of the creature or the swirling of the waves. She is in command of herself, her mode of travel and the forces of nature around her. Will we be equally unmoved?” ~ Marilyn C. Barrick
Art by Radhika Hersey
Thanks to SolPurpose for this post.
“The future exists only in our imagination it is a collective story waiting for our voices to express that can only happen when you and I are willing to enter the emptiness listening in the silence until we can begin to create a future we can befriend.” ~ Dawna Markova
Art by Xetobyte
“The human spirit needs places where nature has not been rearranged by the hand of man.” ~ Author unknown
Art by Zaza Wouters
“Sometimes we are on the verge of blossoming into a thousand flowers. But we don’t. We are waiting. We are thinking, ”Maybe tomorrow. I’m quite busy right now doing the same unsatisfying things I have been doing for years. Yep, pretty busy.” Or maybe we are afraid of what will happen if we open up. We are afraid to leave a bad situation because we’ve forgotten what a good one even looks like for us. We’ve gotten so used to a life surrounded by unhappiness that we’ve convinced ourselves it’s normal. After all, everyone else’s life looks like this, too. Somewhere along the way we stopped believing in our own strength and beauty. We think we’ve lost it, or maybe it was never really there. And worst of all, we’ve let someone else define who we are for us. We’ve lost who we are so we’ll believe whatever anyone else tells us, even if it makes us smaller…angrier. There are not enough voices telling us the truth. There are not enough voices to get through the mist that has gathered around our belief in ourselves. Right now, let me be that voice. Right now, let me tell you: You are Strong. You are Beautiful. You are Capable. You are Worthy. You have made mistakes. You have lashed out. You have hidden your dreams, your light, and your power. These things are true. These are things you have done. They are not you. You are your dreams. You are your light. You are your power. You are a miracle waiting to happen. You are a blessing waiting to be bestowed. You are an example of truth waiting to be spoken. You are a thousand blossoms waiting to explode into colour, fragrance, delight and joy. Don’t let anyone hold you back. Yes, you have been buried. Like all good seeds. It’s time to live. It’s time to open to the world, to the sun and to yourself. You are on the verge Of something Astounding ~ Bloom.” ~Aaron Paquette, First Nations Metis artist, author and speaker
Art by Duy Huynh
“When we serve nature, nature will serve us. When we protect animals and plants, they will protect us as well.” ~Amma
Art by Alisha Murray
“Do not cringe and make yourself small if you are called the black sheep, the maverick, the lone wolf. Those with slow seeing say a nonconformist is a blight on society. But it has been proven over the centuries, that being different means standing at the edge, means one is practically guaranteed to make an original contribution, a useful and stunning contribution to her culture. When seeking guidance, don’t ever listen to the tiny-hearted. Be kind to them, heap them with blessings, cajole them, but do not follow their advice. If you have ever been called defiant, incorrigible, forward, cunning, insurgent, unruly, rebellious, you’re on the right track. Wild Woman is close by. If you have never been called these things, there is yet time. Practice your Wild Woman.” ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Art by Andy Reed
Under The Blue Door 