The first small stand of Tree Women has been bisque fired and is on their way home to the ranch for sager firing. Gods willing next week there will be photos of finished Trees.
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Frozen In My Tracks
Shivering his tail end at me
I am compelled by some inner, instinctual knowing:
frozen in my tracks.
Only my eyeballs allowed to move:
indicating to Mommy that the incarnation of death
is there, behind the potted palm…
between us.
Shivering his tail end, loud…
He lets me know where we both stand:
He, fierce and free; king of the jungle
and I, dumb struck; frozen in my tracks.
Never before have I seen this devil with my own eyes…
but his presence, his authority over me, is absolute.
I make my silent supplications to Grandfather Coyote and Shar Shk Buk:
Patron Saint of those who find themselves eyeball to fang with this devil.
I silently invoke Shar Shk Buk:
that funny little bird who brazenly dances with this devil
and actually wins.
Finally after what seems like a life time: and could very well have been!
Shar Shk Buk opens the pearly gate to my home and heaven on earth,
and I run
not too proud to tuck my own tail between my legs
in deference to his majesty!
By Moon Doggie Buhlert, Sept. 9th, 2012
P.S. Mommy channeled this poem for me because I don’t have opposable thumbs,
and Grandfather Coyote says,” That’s what people are for.”
The Formless Nature of Form
Spirit whisks me away…From my studio in the center of Tucson, within days, I am relocated back to a brand new Quietude. Not a log cabin in the woods, but a casita in the desert: it is small but spacious; simple, with all of the comfort I desire. I work, not in the designated studio end of the casita but in the kitchen where the natural light streams in from a north facing window of the kind of privacy glass one cannot actually see through. Air conditioner off, humidifier on: my studio is my sweat lodge. It feels right. I sweat profusely. This sensitive process just cannot bear the forced, cold, unnatural air blowing over the clay. It is quiet work; sometimes undertaken with loud music.
The problem that arises is the formless nature of the form the Elephant Spirit takes. Once I realize that these pots are not intended to be bowls in the form of elephant ears but are to be in the form of clouds…I feel the liberation of knowing that I am right on course. (For the elephant has long associations with the clouds and Her trumpet calls in the rains.) In that moment the issue becomes the formless nature of clouds. Someone please tell me, is a cloud more round or more oval? Is the form of a cloud more fluff or more mist? Are the edges of a cloud more raggedy or more smooth?
Ganesh smiles gently, “I am asking you, as my hands, to surrender into my spirit: that I might show you the nature of my formless form. It is my essence I wish for you to bring into form. I have made you very happy and comfortable here in your new Quietude at the base of Elephant Head Butte, have I not? Now I need you to work on this special challenge: to give my formless nature form.”
“I will do my best, my Beloved, but normally I am given a form to bring into form: like the five petaled flower of the Badger Spirit or the four toed track of the Spirit of Dog. Your formlessness is something I understand and accept in my heart. Your formless form is not a hindrance in our personal communion…but is it possible for me to give form to that which has no form?”
“My child, you have been doing it all along! It is my essence I am asking you to breath into the clay. Thirty years of practice does not mean you will not be required to challenge yourself and continue to practice! You have always said that this work is your practice…allow yourself to dissolve. Merge with me, dance with me, surrender. There is no place for worry or expectation in this situation. Merge with me my child and let us explore together the formless nature of form.”
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