full moon meditation | Dare Boldly

It is early morning. Beaumont the Sheepadoodle and I are indulging in our first saunter of the day. Night has slipped into the envelope of eternity that waits at the edge of the far horizon. The sky is pale blue streaked with rose.

The Wolf Moon is high, still visible in night’s lingering caress.

As I walk and Beau sniffs, my mind drifts full of images and thoughts floating. They feel light and buoyant, like the chunks of ice that clog the slow-moving waters of the river below the bridge where I stand to gaze at the moon.

When I come home, I sit down at my computer to write and the words and images that lingered in my mind pour out.

Wolf moon dancing in day's light streaking naked across the sky
Darkness slips silently away, its caress as soft as a lover kissing her beloved adieu.
Love sighs a glorious prayer of gratitude as earth turns her cheek to welcome the sun's passionate kiss.

A dear friend asked me the other day how creativity seemingly just keeps flowing out of me.

I laughed and replied, “I have no idea…” And then after a moment’s reflection replied, “I just accept its presence. I listen to its flow. I don’t question it or criticize its outpourings. I allow them.”

Which is how yesterday’s #ShePersisted painting happened. By allowing it to appear.

I didn’t know what I was going to paint when I began to create a background in my art journal yesterday. I thought I might paint some botanicals and write about the longing for spring that seems to have arrived early in my heart this year. It’s only the end of January and I’m already dreaming of frost-free mornings and buds popping up under the warmth of the sun’s encouragement.

And that ain’t happenin’ yet!

I live at the edge of Rockies, in the land where the plains meet the undulating foothills. Where sky soars forever, and sometimes, so does winter.

We still have 3 months of indeterminate weather. Cold snaps. Polar Vortices. Arctic chills. They’re all in the wind. All a possibility between now and the May 24th weekend when ‘they’ say it’s safe to once again plant gardens.

Painting botanicals seemed like an antidote to the grey on brown world outside.

The muse has other ideas. My creative flow has its own rhythm.

When the inspiration for the #ShePersisted Series of quotes and images began, I thought it would last… just a little while. 1. 2. Maybe 3 paintings. 12 at the most.

Yesterday’s was No. 65. Somewhere between creating the background and writing out what was on my heart, letting myself fall into the flow of creativity rising up from deep within my belly.

No. 65 – #ShePersisted

They said, why must you keep fighting for more. This is all we can give you right now.

She said, I will never stop fighting for my rights until you stop holding onto the rights that are rightfully mind.

This morning, the quote for No. 66 appeared. I wasn’t expecting it or looking for it, but there it was, streaming out of the thoughts that appeared from the words I felt rising up while I stood on the bridge. I almost did a happy dance when the quote wrote itself out.

And…. here’s a ‘teaser’ – “They said, stop shining so bright. She said, I am made of stardust. I am Star Woman shining bright so you can see in the dark.“

I can already envision the imagery and energy of the piece. I feel the essence of the Star Woman shining.

And that’s the thing about the muse. When we listen, she flows freely. When we allow the force of her flow to draw us out of our comfort zones, we fall with abandon into the waters of creative expression flowing wild and free.

Namaste

There is something inexplicably provocative about a Chinook darkened sky stretched across the western horizon pushing up against the sun rising in a clear blue sky to the east.

There is something beguiling about trees standing naked, limbs exposed, their branches bare of autumn splendour. Their sun-cast bodies create a filigree of negative space that fills the gap between the sky above and the earth below.

The forest floor is covered in dry and brittle leaves now. Slowly, they are turning back into themselves in a never-ending cycle of life flowing into death only to be reborn again in distant days yet to come. Once summer’s shade, they lay quietly fading from gold and rust to dank brown and black. Nature’s compost in the making. Their dying bodies will protect the roots from winter’s harsh breath. Their decay will nurture the soil in anticipation of a future spring.

I walked in the woods this morning.

I listened to the wind and the trees and the birds. The hum of traffic not far in the distance. The sound of the leaves rustling. The grasses hissing as I passed through their expansive nature.

And beauty wrapped me up in all its glorious sights and sounds, textures and smells.

And Nature whispered, “Come dance with me.”

And I danced.

Namaste

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Flight of Autumn Fancy

By Louise Gallagher

And the wind blew
and the leaves flew
and the trees stood tall,
naked limbs stretched out wide
to touch the sky.
And Nature whispered,
“Come dance with me.”
And the trees swayed
and the wind blew
and the sky soared
and autumn’s golden light
wrapped the world in beauty.