My new circumstances make clear what I would have told you all along: My main purpose in life is to take care of my family and create. In the past, I have done these things via working full time like every other person who ever lived, but recently, my wife has decided to get a job, so she can get out, be social, allow me to spend more time with the children, giver her a break from being with the children, and show me how it’s done, as far as getting a good job that pays decently.
So now I’m spending time with the kids, but I haven’t had time to create. It’s difficult to do while they’re awake. Whatever daddy is doing, my son wants to do too. It’s awesome and humbling having someone look up to me so much. I honestly don’t remember ever feeling like that about my dad. I was a weird kid though. My mother said so.
Even though I would have told you my main purpose was to take care of my family, now that I’m home more, I feel weird about it. Not working full time makes me feel irresponsible. My kids are exhausting, and I don’t feel like I’m doing much more than being the adult in the room. I feel like I should be taking them to the park, but so far, it’s rained every day. I feel like I should be teaching him things, but he doesn’t pay attention in a teacher, student way; he picks things up. Sometimes he’ll mimick something I do in a way that is so uncanny, that it’s unnerving. I didn’t even realize I did that. (he likes to pretend he’s taking asprin when I do. Do I really take that much?) But he’s too young to make a turkey drawing by tracing his hand.
He loves to draw when I’m drawing, but he doesn’t want to try to actually draw anything, he’s two. I love him with all my heart like I never knew it was possible. He’s teaching me things, too, which is important. I’m learning to help him eat his meals, to make sure he has food to eat in between. I’ve learned I don’t have to have as much privacy when I’m peeing as I had previously believed. He’s learning to use a fork. So it’s a real give and take.
I’m looking forward to really learning how to be a good dad. I think I’m off to a good start. I’ve got a pretty good teacher.
I am the Blue Dragon. I serve the Blue Light; whose physical manifestation is the Universe: the One Voice, the Eternal Word, the Infinite Sound. All things are revealed by the Light. All shadows are created by the Light. Love is the Way of the Light. Either one serves Love or one opposes Love. One cannot claim to serve Love through hate. Anger and fear are the absence of Love. Love is omnipresent. There is nowhere it is not. It does not shirk; it does not hide. To be unable to feel its presence is delusion. It is we who turn away from the Light. It is constant and never abandons us. It is The Energy; The Force; The Power. The Source of all. Love is indiscriminate. Love is not concerned with what name it is called, or what rituals it is worshiped by. Love does not favor one over another. Love does not punish. Love wants you to be happy and healthy. For this to happen you must conform to Love. Love cannot be ruled by you. You are a manifestation of Love. There is no intermediary.
This painting is reminiscent of icons from medieval times. It evokes the symbolism used to convey information to a largely illiterate world. In those days, gold coins were beaten with hammers until they were paper thin and then glued to the surface as gold leaf. Gold immediately conveyed the importance of the subject and was used for halos of saints. The only thing more valuable than gold in these times was lapis lazuli, a stone that was a beautiful deep, rich blue in color. This stone was ground into powder and made into paint to clothe the Queen of Heaven; the mother of God: the Virgin Mary.
This holiday season, celebrate in style with a card made from this original painting.
card is 4×6 folded. blank inside. envelope included.
$5 each or 10 for $30 plus shipping
please fill out the form below with your name, email address, shipping address, and number of cards you would like.
When a man sets out to tell a tale, he wants to entertain with adventure, action and fun. He cares not of lofty goals or higher ends. Yet tales have a way of telling themselves; at least when they are told correctly. Unseen turns and hidden paths reveal themselves with each step. Shadows shift as our eyes adjust, and then there is a flash of light as confusing as the darkness before. In the end we may have told a different story than we set out to, but it is the one that wanted to be told. We care not, so long as there is adventure, action and fun.
The road was familiar even at night. The houses, the neighborhood, the shops and bars were all known. This was home. Wandering home from somewhere, he became lost. The streetlights cast a garish glow that did little to dispell the stark and encroaching shadows. Once again he was alone in the night in a strange place. The breeze chilled his skin as it stroked his face and moaned through the sycamores. Leaves rustled and unseen whispers could be heard. Without warning a horse seemed to bear down on him, rider unseen. It was too close, too sudden; he would be trampled by the mindless beast.
Rhyder sat bolt upright in bed. Another nightmare. His wife beside him, his son in his crib across the room. The feeling of fear and disorientation hung over him, but slowly faded. He drank the water from the table by the bed and drifted back to sleep. Moments later the baby, his son, woke screaming. Rhyder leapt up and picked up his son and held him to him. The crying was unconsolable. When at last he had calmed his boy and gotten him back to sleep, he found that sleep for himself was elusive. With a heavy heart he realised his son had inherited his nightmares.
I am a scatterbrain. Maybe I have a condition: ADD or ADHD. I don’t know. I flit from subject to subject. Lately I have been concentrating on Faeries. I am in the process of writing and illustrating a children’s book about faeries. It will be written in part if not wholly in some form of verse. I could conceivably write it in verse and prose and claim the whole thing was “free verse” which in part took a prose like form. I’ve read some modern poetry which seems to me to be prose. Incidental reminiscing of mundane events, beautifully rendered and proffered as poetry in the latest poetry journals which I leave on the shelf unbought because I don’t identify with it. It doesn’t touch me or move me. So, whose going to identify with faerie poetry written in some archaic style that people don’t even read anymore? I will I guess.
I’ve eluded to my process before; it’s rather backwards. I’m sketching faeries, writing whimsical verse with a fountain pen in a beautifully bound sketchbook. I’m approaching my subject elliptically, sneaking up on it, as it were. My son has nightmares, so I’ve decided that I am going to have the faeries chase out the nightmares. That’s basically the plot as of now.
I’ve also discovered that the faeries wear armor and live kind of like gypsies; in fancy wagons and stuff. So, it’s slowly taking shape in the fog. The nightmares themselves may be creatures of the otherworld too. My hope is reading this book, children will go to bed, feeling they have the power to drive away nightmares. Psychologically, if one feels they need not fear nightmares, then that is precisely the case. It’s all very FDRian.
So, now I have to come up with the dark creatures, which shouldn’t be a problem, given the genre; there’s probably more scary creatures in the otherworld than friendly ones. I’ll probably have a child for the fae to protect, and maybe Danu herself will make an appearance. That’s why I started this post with the bit about being scatterbrained. I wanted to abandon the faeries and court the Goddess for a time; but in the space of a few paragraphs I see the two aren’t mutually exclusive. The Goddess by the way is Love. whether she is Danu, Devi, Gaia, Demeter or Isis. Or Jesus, or Krishna for that matter. Whatever name you worship: #alwayschooselove.
I’ve been working on a new series of faerie sketches for a children’s book. Some are more finished than others. Most of them are in a little 5×7 sketchbook that my wife gave me as a gift, so the sketches are kind of small. These newer ones are being done with water soluble graphite, watercolor pencils and markers. They are helping me to flesh out the story. I’ve also been writing some poetry for the book, but again, more as sketches or ideas that may or may not end up in the book.
All I can really tell for sure is I probably won’t do the finished pieces in watercolor pencil and marker.
What mysteries lurk beneath the surface, looking outward, unseen; waiting to be discovered? My work methods are unorthodox. Try as I might to sit down and devise a tale of my own making, I find it’s a bit like hunting. Not that I have ever hunted anything except cats with my childhood dog; Heidi. Nevertheless. One has to pick up the scent, track one’s quarry. I have to lay in wait, sniff the wind. It’s a merry dance, the hunt. I do research, I conceive a subject; in this case faeries. I devise a format: a picture book. I want it to be in verse, but not the verse of picture books. They’re all so much the same.
My research takes me to medieval poetry. I skip Victorian because that’s where everyone hunts for fairies. But I’m not looking for the story. I’m looking for the voice. I’m looking for something antiquated. Something to give a flavor of a treasure long-lost and discovered anew. In medieval verse, there was a taste for alliteration as much as if not more than rhyme. I find I’m not ready to unravel sonnets and the tricks of language that make poets from Shakespeare to Shelly thought great. Wordsworth’s genius eludes me. I find I like Taliesin.
To lure my prey I paint some of my subject. I write endless babble without any plot or destination in mind.
Then, back in the real world, my one year old is having nightmares. I feel this is my legacy. He has his mother’s eyes, and his father’s untamable imagination. Perhaps the faeries can be called upon to drive them away. I’m generally unconcerned with whether fairies are mischievous as conceived in the Christian era or minor nature gods as seen previous to that. To me all things are manifestations of the Source: Love. In fact, along the way as I fill my sketch book with non sequiturs and rubbish, I hit upon a new mantra: Always choose love. It becomes my hashtag. It is to be a guiding principle in all I do and create, so that when I am done here, I won’t have left only rubbish behind. Looking back on my work, one could argue that it has always been my mantra, just latent, undiscovered. So my faeries will be bringers of light.
I may be getting closer, but still the hunt goes on.
Devi is the Sanskrit Goddess who manifests as all the goddesses in the pantheon. She is Parvati, the wife of Shiva, who is also Uma and Sati. As Shakti, she is the energy of the Cosmos and truly the counterpart to the Consciousness that is Shiva. She further manifests as Durga and Kali, warrior goddesses who destroy evil and delusion. Shakti is also known as Kundalini, the serpent goddess dwelling within us at the base of our spine, waiting to awaken us to eternity.
She is also Lakshmi, consort of Visnu. Lakshmi is the goddess of prosperity and wants us all to do well.
She is Saraswati, goddess of the arts, creator of Sanskrit. She is the infinite Aditi, the watery goddess Ganga.