Interesting stuff, Kat. When I awaken at 4am each morning, the silent peace and calm, the start of my morning meditation, all is aligned for some unknown reason. After stilling my mind, I open a note book to a blank page and, the whiteness presents a whole new universe awaiting to be explored. We were born to create. We are meant to exercise our creative potential to its fullest extent. Sometimes I write, and I would swear the pen is moving all by itself, like Maude Gonne in her automatic writing stints, or perhaps a muse from some ancient Greek narrative has possessed my creative mind. Its as if the same energy that sustains the cosmos is moving through me all at once. I have walked away from these episodes with the fingers of my writing hand cramped in accomplished pain. Love your post!
I love this so much and thank you for taking the time to share even though my publication is primarily for mothers, I appreciate you feeling comfortable enough to show up and hold space here too
I have been called a feminist by many, some were complimentary. My father died when I was eight. My mother, a full blooded Irish whirlwind, took seven sons and six daughters (from the same parents) to maturity. My mother understood spiritual depth. She was the one who would have us write poetry, insisted we take piano lessons, and relished in the spirit of the dance. I always claimed that the Irish invented spirituality. Your words touch me deeply, taking me to places real, places I could never have imagined. Yahweh was sterile without the clay from Mother Earth's womb. Who will teach us about Gaia and the Divine Feminine? Peace always to you and those in your care.
Thank you for sharing that. I have Irish heritage and married an O’Connor - an Irish man but with a very Australian accent haha so I can appreciate this. I’m one of 7 and thought that was a lot. How did your mother do it
She was 42 when dad passed with her youngest child at 11 months old, 5 days before Christmas. She found herself a dethroned queen with the unlucky thirteen. Fourteen stockings hung from a hall bannister, as soft tears fell for the missing character. The hymns at midnight mass clung in out throats, our hearts struggled to carry the notes. Many came and witnessed her grief. "You will have to give up some of those children." one neighbor said, "You can't manage them all." She lined us all up in the hall in front of the neighbor, holding the youngest in her arms, "Which one?" she asked, "You tell me which one goes?" The neighbor's head nodded down in silence. "I'll face hell first," she said, "and you can leave now!" She cried every day for the next five years, like there was something in her that she couldn't let loose, unable to envision the joys that awaited her future.
Ok but you talking about creative tension and labour as if they are one and the same is my FAVOURITE thing right now because, woah. 🤯✨🕯️ so even though the creative tension is upon me right now as I rock. My baby to sleep (or try too, he had a late nap) whilst my mind races with all I need to get done for my work and my art, I can see it for what it is and in a new light as I read this🤎
Interesting stuff, Kat. When I awaken at 4am each morning, the silent peace and calm, the start of my morning meditation, all is aligned for some unknown reason. After stilling my mind, I open a note book to a blank page and, the whiteness presents a whole new universe awaiting to be explored. We were born to create. We are meant to exercise our creative potential to its fullest extent. Sometimes I write, and I would swear the pen is moving all by itself, like Maude Gonne in her automatic writing stints, or perhaps a muse from some ancient Greek narrative has possessed my creative mind. Its as if the same energy that sustains the cosmos is moving through me all at once. I have walked away from these episodes with the fingers of my writing hand cramped in accomplished pain. Love your post!
I love this so much and thank you for taking the time to share even though my publication is primarily for mothers, I appreciate you feeling comfortable enough to show up and hold space here too
I have been called a feminist by many, some were complimentary. My father died when I was eight. My mother, a full blooded Irish whirlwind, took seven sons and six daughters (from the same parents) to maturity. My mother understood spiritual depth. She was the one who would have us write poetry, insisted we take piano lessons, and relished in the spirit of the dance. I always claimed that the Irish invented spirituality. Your words touch me deeply, taking me to places real, places I could never have imagined. Yahweh was sterile without the clay from Mother Earth's womb. Who will teach us about Gaia and the Divine Feminine? Peace always to you and those in your care.
Thank you for sharing that. I have Irish heritage and married an O’Connor - an Irish man but with a very Australian accent haha so I can appreciate this. I’m one of 7 and thought that was a lot. How did your mother do it
She was 42 when dad passed with her youngest child at 11 months old, 5 days before Christmas. She found herself a dethroned queen with the unlucky thirteen. Fourteen stockings hung from a hall bannister, as soft tears fell for the missing character. The hymns at midnight mass clung in out throats, our hearts struggled to carry the notes. Many came and witnessed her grief. "You will have to give up some of those children." one neighbor said, "You can't manage them all." She lined us all up in the hall in front of the neighbor, holding the youngest in her arms, "Which one?" she asked, "You tell me which one goes?" The neighbor's head nodded down in silence. "I'll face hell first," she said, "and you can leave now!" She cried every day for the next five years, like there was something in her that she couldn't let loose, unable to envision the joys that awaited her future.
Ok but you talking about creative tension and labour as if they are one and the same is my FAVOURITE thing right now because, woah. 🤯✨🕯️ so even though the creative tension is upon me right now as I rock. My baby to sleep (or try too, he had a late nap) whilst my mind races with all I need to get done for my work and my art, I can see it for what it is and in a new light as I read this🤎
So glad! 😍😍