this plant…along the top edge of the dye bed. a single one. i see it no where else. this is not a good photograph. It deserves better. the deep butter yellow, along a curved bloom stem.
Cloth talks about the planet Earth, being the MindBody, the Consciousness. We, the earthly beings, being ITS blooms.
Think about being a bloom. a bloom of the Planet.
this is everything!!!
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Acey…if i were the type, ie: able to, if i were that, i would cry small tears of gladness that you show up here and leave these words….means so much to me.
i watch my self all the time in what i say about cloth making. often i guess it sounds fanciful and not real.
That the Cloths make themselves. That the Cloths tell ME
the story.
But this one is a perfect example of that just being my TRUtH. The truest of Truths. and right when i need it.
the beginning, seeing the form of a human being in the old dress scrap…what the form is doing…as in Gesture. That was all. nothing beyond that.
ok, so where can this form be? and the piece with smudges, odd, not pretty…but so FULL of something. Ok.
and then what? Sky.
and today, the energetic and active colors of “her earth”, where she stands, what rises up INTO her
and here it all is….
the words above that tell me so much…how what is
necessary to life forms rising from the Consciousness of
the planet earth, energetically, and through substance then to Grow the Planet’s blooms, of which, we, human beings are one.
I didn’t “think up” these things, they CAME. they CAME
with the fragments appearing to be placed on the cloth.
This might be thought to be crazy. I don’t care. It’s
my Truth. it’s how it happened and how it happens. And
it Teaches me. Tells me what i’m FOR.
Thank you so much for coming about this. So much.
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and then.
i am sitting here, looking out the window, a towel wrapped around my head because i washed my hair so i can go to the Post Office tomorrow. I look out the Window and see the Goats go past on their way to the last of their wanderings for the day. I have read that there will be unusual Rain for the next ten days. Beginning tomorrow morning. I listen to late birds. Today i saw a CROw chase a Hawk, Chase it, both were speaking their language and engaging
i saw again that YELLOW flowered plant. i think how i am a person. a human being. an old one. a woman. an old woman. i think how i fit into the Big Picture if there is such a thing as such a small piece, but i know there is. Even the most infinitesimal thing fills it’s space
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I have always wondered why I happen upon a tiny bit of nature at just the right moment. Like Yellow blooms reaching out to you, so full of yellow! Why did it grow just right there for you!! Today I was hand mowing grass around a batch of daffodils and saw a mound of grass move, like a pulse.. and heard a tiny deep throated grunt.. thought a toad.. so went to help him on towards the lilac bushes where he would be safe from me tearing up his home.. but No.. it was a baby bunny nest… l left the area alone and wont let the cats out for weeks now. As for your cloth speaking its own language, I am glad of how you share its voice with us.. just so we can hear it too.
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Your consciousness speaks eloquently.
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I do not think you are crazy. You have a wonderful ability to SEE and HEAR and LISTEN. Not just cloth. Goats. Kids. People. Plants. Life. And lizards. I have known that about you since the first time I read any of your posts.
If I were to be a bloom of the earth it would be a thorn tonight. There is too much “I” to be a flower.
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A bloom of the planet … just blowing In the wind .. watered by the rain and nurtured by you and all who visit the hill. I see your posts as fertilizer .. the posts mixed with comments are my compost. It is because of here that I am able to come back season after season stronger and more BeautyFull..
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I sat forward attentively to re-consider your beautiful yellow plant. First time around I was mainly caught up in “YES! that’s exactly what YELLOW is and how it radiates.” But then I thought a different way through your words in these remarks and realize that for the last couple few days-during which I’ve had to FORCE myself to stay grounded and primarily focused on my life’s practice as it unfolds minute to minute-I’ve had consistent exposure to nature’s version of my own individualized eye’s”perfect”red.
This year we’ve been embraced by a lovely little season of Scarlet Tanagers. Such a happenstance is something I’ve actively wished for in earlier times especially as a young child. They arrived suddenly and with such vivid clarity it seemed more dreamworld than anything anchored to tangible Place.
Like you I spend a lot of time outside. Otherwise am generally working on a table pushed against an enormous window view of the trees’ canopy level. It seems that often when I find myself straying to vexation (or worse) concerning things that I in no way control about dominant culture, “governance”, etc. I am pulled away from it by the flashing sight of perfect red as the season’s three males swoop among the opening hardwood leaves. They are Other reminders to ground with a clear and vibrant/fully awake root chakra. Seems you are getting that bold burning Yellow message: i am. A very illuminated Solar chakra reminder. Gently quiet in its expression. Bold in the way of truth and thus in the impression it might leave.
Before I came here and read all comments I was in a very sunny bit of mulched garden space going through my usual morning routine of slowly allowing looking/proprietorship turn to seeing/being. First thing I really Saw within a sea of vibrancy radiating from all returning plants was a brilliantly chartreuse frog with hints of a very delicate rose overtone. About the size of my open palm and looking square at me waiting for the glance. I feel you and others reading with understand: I was overwhelmed by this creatures perfect appearance and demeanor. Literally stopped thought and movement in its tracks. We just gazed. We saw each other. After awhile I instinctively bowed slowly in silent acknowledgement.
All our normal everyday frogs are still muck colored beyond unpigmented belly flesh. The one sitting in mulch (playing a game of peekabo with me by watching thorough a piece of straw that had form a kind of little triangle (!) right level with its golden eye) could have been hand painted with spring’s very essence distilled as pigments (with sunlight itself serving as binder to make the paint) just hours earlier.
My heart and Eye frequently suggest it will be like this for next piece of where-ever we’re collectively going. Not just this spring but going forward as we may and can. These extraordinary moments of immutable connection(s) will stand out with increasing vividness. People will begin to feel each other joined in that particular soul-nourishing spirit-infusing pulse. Even people who don’t “normally” think/practice life this way – right in the heart of their personalized experiences they may feel sudden flares. What we have come to idealize (perhaps?) as the glow of cosmic union.
But maybe it’s really union with each other. Happening as it can and must. Maybe – especially for we eldered women – we don’t actually have to rise. Perhaps this is the time to persist just as we already Are.
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namaste
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oh…Tanagers, yes, how they would make their way on the migratory corridor through the middle Rio Grande valley and stop at That Acre, when the Salt Cedar bloomed, to hang, like those old fashioned hand painted christmas ornaments from the branches, upside down, like wisteria blooms too
but scarlet
ALL your words above, all that they convery and ending
with the thought…: “especially for we eldered women – we don’t actually have to rise. Perhaps this is the time to persist just as we already Are.” This brings so much
to consider.
I remember your pond, the frogs and i can so clearly see this one that came for you, to SEE together…to catch your EyeHeart, to bring you news of how it’s going. Yes.
again, thank you for being here.
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if we are OPEN to receiving…so much is just right there.
To share the days with us, to feed our souls
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am listening
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i have to think that thorns are part of it all…of
course they are.
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….”the posts mixed with comments are my compost”
so really great a thought, that we are compost for
our selves and in so, for Us….a beauty FULL thought, Tina…
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and back
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windthread 
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