 Under the Sheets of Rain / 18" x 24" / acrylic paint on canvas / 11.25.2016 Change can come in an instant, forever changing the landscape that is familiar and known. Change can be subtle and unseen, moving under the surface undetected until it is ready to show its new form, its tender untouched skin. Prior to 2012 I lived in the same location for 15 years. I had come to know this place and I had come to know my place within it. In the five years that followed, I inhabited and/or established 12 different dwellings, 12 different homes, 11 of which I personally lived in for various moments or lengths of time. The cycle of the last 18 months, a year and a half as we currently mark the passage of time has been one in which unforeseeable changes, transitions, beginnings and endings have continually rolled over my internal and external landscapes with the unpredictable movement of a great and massive body of water, like the coming of a storm that lingers, shapeshifts and takes new and uncertain forms. I said goodbye to my father as I knew him in this world to be. Five months following his passing I would care for my mother as she too took her leave of this earthly plane. I have walked and lived on the desert sands of the southwest and I have stood at the shores of the Mother Ocean and tasted her salted memory. I have returned to the land that birthed and raised me: revisiting what had formed and began my construction as the being that I had come to know myself to be. I lived through the season which I have come to call My Winter in the House of Ashes; four containers of those who had passed grouped in passage in their respective urns. I welcomed a new love into my arms and I opened my arms to release a love that I no longer knew how to hold. I have watched as one of my four legged companions, a teacher and a friend diminished quickly from this world, leaving another void and space that echoed with what once was. I lost and found myself, unsure of what remained, forever changed by the movements of lives and the marching of time. I am inhabiting a new place, a new home once more. One previously unknown to me. I am in many ways unknown to myself. I am a creature who deeply inhabits, one whose foundation reaches out like the roots of a tree, connecting to the soil in which it has grown, from which it has come. What happens when the soil is scorched by the cleansing of a great fire? What happens when the forest burns and your roots, your foundation no longer stands as it once did? What happens during the period of time when the landscape lies dormant in appearance, cleared of what had once grown? Is it possible to become quiet and still while the life underneath connects to the nutrient rich ashes in order to begin to push up and live again? I have asked myself if I can be comfortable not knowing what that new form, that new life will take. Under the Sheets of Rain was the first painting that I completed after my Mother's Death. The paintings always come first. Until a feeling or experience has been moved through me by means of image, color, paint, I often struggle with "words" for they are not my first, best or preferred language. Under the Sheets of Rain was painted while I lived in the home my parents' had built a life in. A period of time which is included in a chapter of my life that I think of as the Interstice - an intervening space, or an interval between spaces and times. Under the Sheets of Rain I smelled the coming of the rains aroma of incense washing away flesh, bone, blood, remains I felt each raindrop as it fell becoming part, indistinguishable from the rising swell I heard the moisture fall around I am the voice of its collected flowing, the naming of its sound I tasted the salt of a torrent of tears collected waters of lives and rivers held in divine liquid spheres I saw the world mirrored in every drop merging into awareness, absence of separation; no start, no stop I am under the sheets of rain blanketed in waters of waking and sleeping I am under the sheets of rain sheathed in memories and weeping I am under the sheets of rain days and nights passing without number I am under the sheets of rain descending like a curtain of uncertain slumber obscuring what I believed to have known obscuring what I believed myself to be until the force of its falling was caressing my skin reminding me of what must wash away and what life chooses to begin I am under the sheets of rain it has soothed the burning pain, fire of rebirth I am under the sheets of rain a seed receiving nutrients deep within earth I am under the sheets of rain vision washed clean by elements hidden, revealed, seen I am under the sheets of rain re-membering how beauty can be transmuted by pain I smelled the coming of the rains aroma of incense washing away flesh, bone, blood, remains I felt each raindrop as it fell becoming part, indistinguishable from the rising swell I heard the moisture fall around I am the voice of its collected flowing, the naming of its sound I tasted the salt of a torrent of tears collected waters of lives and rivers held in divine liquid spheres I saw the world mirrored in every drop merging into awareness, absence of separation; no start, no stop As always, I thank you for the moments you choose to enter my world. My Hands, Your Hands, In beauty, love and art, ~Heather I invite you to leave a comment by clicking on the word comments below.
 "The Willow's Dance for the Ocean" Like waves that both crashed against my shore and gently lapped along my edges, I laid in a state of ecstasy, feeling the ripples and energy of the waves wash over me. I knew that I had been forever moved from where I once stood. As my rational mind slowly made its way back from the depths of the watery realm, I watched as the Willow gracefully collaborated with the Wind in the most exquisite of dances. For just a moment; the part of me which had not returned, the part of me which was still dancing on the edge of ecstasy could see the web that held it all together. The Willow and her roots always seeking water, always trying to find her way home to the Mother. Her dance was for the Mother of us all, the one she continually longs to be close to, the one that is home and the one that sustains life. For just a moment I could see her roots stretching like a network of fragile neurons, reaching for that which she loves, longs for, weeps for and always remembers. What had only moments before been ecstasy moved into the deepest waters of grief. I would later find myself on my knees weeping as I had watched the Willow do. I spoke words to the Mother of us all. As the tears flowed from my eyes I made an oath that I would do my part to assist in remembering Her... For the last year the water in my dreams has been steadily rising. Even when the dreams have been rooted in the sands and surroundings of this desert home, they have been messages speaking of the water's arrival. The rising of tides. The dry riverbeds of the arroyos flooding. In this nightly realm, even when the speech and messages have spoken to the absence of water, they have spoken about the events that will occur upon its arrival. What of the last five years of my inhabitance in this desert landscape has been or has served a purpose of "drying me out"? An evaporation or hollowing, a burning away of what is no longer needed or necessary for me to carry. Old ways of thinking like ancient aquifers that no longer reach to the places in need of irrigation, baking in the sun to dry and crumble and once again return to the earth. What if I have been training on how to survive and thrive in conditions such as these? As of late, the liquid landscape of the dreams has been increasing in intensity. Their message growing in strength, and speaking of a quickening. What if the magnificent Ocean Mother has been calling to me? Letting me know of our meeting or perhaps more appropriately of our reunion? When I made the journey to this arid land that has been my home for the past five years I thought then that I would root here for the remainder of my life. I had been called here in dreams by the voices of those whose legacies and lives have been seeped into this ground. This beautiful, rugged, wild and carved landscape has taught me much. She opened her arms and embraced me, and then, as she held me tight, she began her tempering. One lesson after another...parasitic infestations...the plummet of financial instability...near death by carbon monoxide poisoning...lessons on love and betrayal...a touch with bubonic plague...boulders falling from mesas and destroying my transportation...a swarm of locusts devouring the fruits of the garden...the list goes on and on... I wrapped my arms around her neck and held on tight, praying that she would change her embrace. I prayed that she would kiss me gently, whisper in my ear and speak to me of our love for one another. There were moments of such tenderness. Moments when she and I held hands and matched our footsteps to one another. But as a lover she would not marry her hand to mine. As is the case with lovers who sometimes magically enter our lives, the passion and the desire for union was intense, beautiful, epic - they teach us much. They hold a mirror of reflection up and we are blessed to see more clearly our own faces. She has done this for me. She has revealed pieces of my landscape that I had yet to know, that I could not see, that I refused to look at. As the marking of time passed and the events and happenings of the previous year drew to a close, an unexpected man entered my life. He arrived in this desert land with the whisper of the Ocean. The smell of her wind and body carried magically and embedded in his skin, being, words and way of existence. Recently I have found myself wondering if she had sent him to carry me in his arms to her. The cargo is being prepared. The route is being mapped and the sailing crew is almost assembled. The voyage from this land of sand and sun will set sail on August 20th, making a voyage that will lead to the waters. Mother, I am coming home to sit upon your shores and fulfill the promise that we spoke of in the watery realm of the dreams.  "Mother's Nature" What had only moments before been ecstasy moved into the deepest waters of grief. I would later find myself on my knees weeping as I had watched the Willow do. I spoke words to the Mother of us all. As the tears flowed from my eyes I made an oath that I would do my part to assist in remembering Her... That night as I slept I had the following dream… I am slowly meandering my way along a vast and expansive shoreline. There is only the shoreline, the Ocean, the edge created by their meeting and the sound and movement of the Wind. As I travel along the edge I glimpse a small hut a ways off in the distance. As I approach the hut I notice the absence of a door. I step through the opening and find myself inside with a Woman who is of substantial matter. She is sitting on the floor of the hut as if she has always been there, waiting. Her skin is the color of the deepest of sand and copper and her flesh is bountiful and gracefully drapes her bones in abundance and the wealth of her knowing. Her hair flows in thick and wild ropes around her shoulders, past her heaving breasts and touches the earthen floor of the hut. In front of the Woman is a low table made of driftwood that has swam in the waters of the Ocean since time began. On the table there is a row of necklaces each bearing an amulet. Each amulet has been made from pieces of the Ocean, pieces of Her. The Woman lifts her head and her eyes meet mine. She says the following; “My daughters are going to be in a play for the Ocean. Each daughter must pick an amulet to wear.” She finishes speaking and simply holds my gaze with her large eyes. It is as if she has always been here. Waiting. Less then a week after having this dream I was visited by a young woman. Upon arriving at my home she presented me with a present from her recent travels to the Ocean. She opened her hand to reveal a necklace with an amulet made from a white bursa center cut seashell. As she handed me the amulet she said, “I wanted to bring you an amulet from the Ocean.” As I turned to look at this young woman, for just one moment, in her eyes, I saw the eyes of that beautiful copper skinned Woman who has always been there. Waiting. If you would like to leave a comment or have thoughts to share please click on the word COMMENTS below.
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