Terri Windling's Blog, page 96

Daily Myth

Fridays are my day for re-visiting posts from the Myth & Moor archves. This one comes from March, 2014....

Animal encounters often come in clusters -- one month there are deer bounding constantly through the woods, another month brings several badger sightings in a row or the frog population exploding in the pond or hedgehogs appearing under every hedge and bush. In naturalist terms, this is easily explained by the seasonal cycles of animal life -- but in folkloric terms, the meeting of animals has deep mythic significance, for in traditional stories and sacred texts the world over animals are both themselves and more-than-themselves: creatures who negotiate the Mysteries, the elders and the teachers of humankind, messengers from the gods, the fates, the faeries, the nonhuman realms and the lands of the dead, speaking in the language of symbolism, metaphor, riddle, taradiddle, and dream.

For Tilly and me (and indeed for many in Chagford), the month of March has been marked by encounters with wild ponies...for this is the season they come down to graze and give birth on the village Commons. We often see them sunning on the Commons, or climbing the slope of Nattadon Hill, walking the path in a single file as they come and go from the open moor.

Tilly is fascinated by them, though knows she musn't bark or get underfoot. They're gentle with her and allow her to pass close...though this will change when the foals are born.

Looking down on the valley from my studio windows, I can watch the herd as it drifts across the land -- stopping now in this field and now in that one, disappearing for days and then back again. As they roam across the moor and the lanes and fields nearby, Dartmoor's famous, much-loved ponies are iconic creatures of flux and flow, of duality and liminality -- not entirely wild, not entirely tamed.  They are spirits of edges, borders, interstices, and the faery paths betwixt and between. They are modern and archaic, common and uncanny, gentle and fierce. They are only ponies. They are so much more.

In mythic symbolism world-wide, both horses and ponies represent the following things:

Physical strength, inner strength, vitality, appetite for life, the driving force that carries you forward, the driving force that overcomes obstacles, passion, movement, flow, self-expression, and that which makes you thrive. They are also symbols of vital life forces held in perfect, exquisite balance: love and devotion paired with freedom and mobility; the wild and instinctive supported by the disciplined and domestic; strength balanced with vulnerability, mastery with modesty, power with compassion.

Movement. Flow. Vitality. That's just what I need -- what many of us need -- as winter slowly turns to spring. If winter was the time for staying still and dreaming deep, spring is when the sap rises and pushes us back up to the sun again; a time to open to new ideas, new possibilities, new creative directions. "May what I do flow from me like a river," said Rilke, "no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children." The way it is with wild ponies too, as they flow across the Devon landscape.

And here's the other gift the ponies bring, and it's one I value equally:

In an age when Beauty is so often defined by the tall, the slim, and the ethereal, the ponies show me that there is also Beauty to be found in what is small, shaggy, sturdy, and built for endurance. Like me. And like so many of us. We are ourselves and more-than-ourselves; ordinary and extraordinary. It's good to be reminded.

Photographs above: Dartmoor ponies grazing on the Commons. The pony in the 4th & 5th picture was carrying a foal in her belly at the time; it was born on the Commons just a few days later. You can see a picture of the wee newborn here. Another lovely foal is here.

If you'd like a few more ponies today, try John O'Donohue's beautiful "Philosophy of Compassion," or "Entering the Realm of Myth."

The poem in the picture captions is from Above the River by James Wright  (Wesleyan University Press, 1990); all rights reserved by the author.

And the horses rush in

Before the birth, she moved and pushed inside her mother.
Her heart pounded quickly and we recognized the sound of horses running:

                                                                                     the thundering of hooves on the desert floor.

Her mother clenched her fists and gasped.
She moans ageless pain and pushes: This is it!

Chamisa slips out, glistening wet and takes her first breath.
                                                                                     The wind outside swirls small leaves
                                                                                     and branches in the dark.

Her father's eyes are wet with gratitude.
He prays and watches both mother and baby -- stunned.

This baby arrived amid a herd of horses,
                                                                                      horses of different colors.

- Luci Tapahonso (from "Blue Horses Rush In"

I'm mixing the two lands that I love today: the ancient, mythic expanse of Dartmoor and the ancient, mythic expanse of the Arizona desert. The pictures here are by photographer Stu Jenks, who lives and works in Tucson, Arizona. He's best known for his gorgeous desert imagery -- but these pictures were taken when he visited us here on Dartmoor a few years ago. To my eye, he has captured the spiritual connection of these two vastly different landcapes.

The poem excerpt above comes from my book recommendation for the day: S��anii Dahataal/The Women Are Singing by Navajo writer Luci Tapahonso -- a long-time favorite.

"The combination of song, prayer, and poetry is a natural form of expression for many Navajo people," she writes. "A person who is able to 'talk beautifully' is well thought of and considered wealthy. To know stories, remember stories, and retell them well is to have been 'raised right'; the family of such an individually is also held in high esteem. The value of the spoken word is not diminished, even with the influences of television, radio, and video. Indeed, it seems to have enriched the verbal dexterity of colloquial language, as for instance, in names given to objects for which a Navajo word does not exist, such as b����sh nits��kees or 'thinking metal' for computers and chid�� bij���� or 'the car's heart' for a car battery.

"I feel fortunate to have access to two, sometimes three languages, to have been taught the 'correct' way to use these languages, and to have the support of my family and relatives. Like many Navajos, I was taught that the way one speaks and conducts oneself is a direct reflection of the people who raised him or her. People are known by their use of language."

 In this contentious political and social media age, this is concept worth thinking about, practicing, and spreading.

My online reading recommendation today also comes from the Arizona desert: "One Morning, a Stranger at Home" by Aleah Sato. It's one of my many book-marked pages from her beautifully ruminative blog, The Wild Muse -- but do have a look at some of the more recent posts too, if you're not already following Aleah's work.

And while I'm recommending treasures from the desert, Greta Ward's artwork is simply stunning, rich in the ineffable numinous spirit that the Sonoran Desert and Dartmoor share.

The photographs above are by Stu Jenks (the titles can be found in the picture captions); all rights reserved by the artist. The poem except above is from "Blue Horses Rush In" by Luci Tapahonso, which can be found in the collection of the same name, and in S��anii Dahataal/The Women Are Singing. Both books are published by The University of Arizona Press. All rights reserved by the author.

Mist, wild ponies, and the animate earth

"To our indigenous ancestors, and to the many aboriginal peoples who still hold fast to their oral traditions, language is less a human possession than it is a property of the animate earth itself, an expressive, telluric power in which we, along with the coyotes and the crickets, all participate. Each creature enacts this expressive magic in its own manner, the honeybee with its waggle dance no less than a bellicose, harrumphing sea lion.

"Nor is this power restricted solely to animals. The whispered hush of the uncut grasses at dawn, the plaintive moan of trunks rubbing against one another in the deep woods, or the laughter of birch leaves as the wind gusts through their branches all bear a thicket of many-layered meanings for those who listen carefully."  - David Abram (Becoming Animal)

Today's recommended reading comes from The Center for Humans & Nature:

"To Be Human" by David Abram, answering the question of what makes our species unique

"Recovery," a myth-infused, heart-rending tale about a rescued crow by Michael Engelhard

"The Artist Who Would Be Crow," an interview with Eleanor Spiess-Ferris

 

Today's book recommendations, for those who haven't read them already: Spell of the Sensuous: Perception & Language in a More-Than-Human World and Becoming Animal: An Earthly Cosmology by David Abram. Both have been strongly influential texts for me, and I recommend them highly.

Loving the wounded world

"Joanna Macy writes that until we can grieve for our planet we cannot love it -- grieving is a sign of spiritual health. But it is not enough to weep for our lost landscapes; we have to put our hands in the earth to make ourselves whole again. Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair."

  - Robin Wall Kimmerer (Braiding Sweetgrass)

I first read Dr. Kimmerer's fine book, Braiding Sweetgrass, two years ago. Since then, my copy has been passed around to friends, and only just returned to me last week. I took the book up to the studio, intending to slip it back onto the shelf (next to her previous book on moss), but I started to re-read it instead...and I'm finding it more insightful than ever now that the Windigo (as she describes the legend) stalks boldly through government halls on both sides of the Atlantic.

My reading recommendations today reach back to the Braiding Sweetgrass posts from two years ago. Here's Dr. Kimmerer on The Windigo: what it is and, importantly, how to defeat it.  You can also read her thoughts on knowing the world as a gift, on homemade ceremonies, and on the democracy of species -- and listen to her speak on "Intelligence in all Kinds of Life" on American public radio.

And, of course, I highly recommend the book itself to those who haven't read it yet: Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants. It's a beautiful read.

Tunes for a Monday Morning

There's so much turmoil in the world right now that I'm going to go against the grain of worry and fear to start the week with music that reminds us of the resilience of the human spirit, and the joy of being alive....

Above: "Head Rush" by Jiggy, an Alt Folk collective from Dublin, Ireland. The song begins with "mouth music" from Irish vocalist Eoghan �� Ceannabh��in and Indian vocalist Debojyoti Sanyal, with Mark Murphy on keyboard, Guy Rickarby and Robbie Harris on drums and percussion, and ��amonn Galldubh on Uilleann Pipes. In regards to video above they say: "All people smile in the same language." And indeed they do.

Below: "Happiness" from We Banjo Three, an Irish band consisting of two sets of brothers: Enda & Fergil Schahill, and Martin & David Howley. I love these guys.  Their exuberant video was filmed on the streets of Galway and Galway Market.

Above: "Sultanas de Merka��llo," an old favorite from the Barcelona band Ojos de Brujo.  Pass, sadness, pass, the lyrics tell us. Though our pockets are empty, our hearts are full - so pass, sadness, pass, in the heat and fire the rumba. Alas, Ojos de Brujo disbanded in 2012 after more than a decade of making great flamenco/gypsy-jazz/punk/hiphop music -- but lead singer Marina Abad is still going strong and doing interesting things.

Below: Let's end with a quieter piece from American singer/songwriter John Legend, reminding us to make the most of every moment in "Love Me Now."

The art above is by Jackie Morris, an artist/author based on the coast of Wales. Please visit her website to see more of her beautiful and always-uplifting work.

The hound's prayer

Please come, Lady Spring. Bring sun, soft rain, and mud gentle under paw and foot. Swell the streams and wake the Wild Ones from their sleep. Oh, please hurry and come.

I am dreamimg of grass river banks and bird song. Of bluebells, stitchwort, pink campion. Of tender young bunnies that I...umm, will not chase...

...and lambs that I, uh, won't go near.

I am dreaming of warmth. Doors standing open. Roaming from house to garden whenever I like. Lounging near our front gate and bar- ....umm, not barking at all who pass by.

Please come, Lady Spring, and bring Summertime with you. She came to us very late last year -- perhaps she's forgottten the way to our hill. So please bring her along, with her sweet peas and foxgloves, her salt sea winds and her cool woodland shade. But if Summer can't come yet, please come by yourself, and I'll keep you good company here.

Winter was fun, but he's outstayed his welcome, sitting soused by the fire and refusing to budge. Our wood stocks are low, our spirits need thawing, my thick winter coat has now started to shed. Please come roust him out, send him back to the northlands. Please come just as quick as you can.

I'll show you my hillside, my best spots, my secrets. You can sleep in my dog bed and share all my treats. Your favorite flowers are almost in bloom now, and the Bird Choir is practicing. My People have set you a place at the table. We're ready. I'm ready.

Please come.

Tilly's prayer first appeared in a post back in March 2013, re-published today with new photographs from a nearby beechwood.

The beauty of bogs

"As doors to the next world go, a bog ain't a bad choice. It's not quite water and it's not quite land -- it's an in-between place."   - Ransom Riggs (Miss Peregrine���s Home for Peculiar Children)

Today's recommended reading: "Love Letter to a Bog" by  Sharon Blackie (Caught by the River).

"A bog doesn���t give up its secrets easily," Sharon writes, "but it calls you to uncover them nevertheless. The lure of a bog-pool, which beckons you over to look down on its bright mirrored surface, the perfect blue of the sky an antidote to the relentless black of the peat. But when you stand over it (if you make it that far) all reflections disappear; there is only you, and the dark. Reach down with your fingers if you dare. Who knows what you might touch? Who knows what mysteries you might uncover? To love a bog is to love all that lies buried beneath the surface, buried in its rich, ripe flesh."

Further reading: The spring issue of EarthLines magazine is out, filled with wonderful writing, art, and photography once again. Edited by David Knowles & Sharon Blackie, who are based in Ireland, EarthLines is "an active and passionate project to transform the relationship between humans and the rest of the world."

Also, if you haven't yet found your way to If Women Rose Rooted (a study of the relationship between women, myth, and landscape), you have a treat in store.

The poem in the picture captions is from North by Seamus Heaney (Faber & Faber, 1975); all rights reserved by the author's estate.

Water and flow

"Be wild; that is how to clear the river. The river does not flow in polluted, we manage that. The river does not dry up, we block it. If we want to allow it its freedom, we have to allow our ideational lives to be let loose, to stream, letting anything come, initially censoring nothing. That is creative life. It is made up of divine paradox. To create one must be willing to be stone stupid, to sit upon a throne on top of a jackass and spill rubies from one���s mouth. Then the river will flow, then we can stand in the stream of it raining down."  - Clarissa Pinkola Est��s

Today's reading recommendation: "If Your House in On Fire," an interview with Kathleen Dean Moore by Mary DeMocker (Sun Magazine). The subject here is climate change, but it's not as despressing a read as you'd think -- and though the piece is from 2012, Moore's contemplation of political and environmental activism couldn't be more relevant now.

"I don���t pretend to know what a writer���s duty is in these times," says Moore. "And nobody wants to write something that breaks people���s hearts. But I did want to help others see one possible future, a world without owl calls and frog song. If we can���t imagine what probably lies ahead, how will we gather the courage to turn in a different direction? Maybe more writers should tell stories about possible futures, the beautiful ones and the ones that will break our hearts. It���s cowardly to shy away from sad stories. As songwriter Leonard Cohen says, even when our hearts are broken, we have to sing the 'broken hallelujah.' "

Today's book recommendation: Wild Ones: A Sometimes Dismaying, Weirdly Reassuring Story About Looking at People Looking at Animals in America  by Jon Mooallem (Penguin, 2013).

On a cold, cold day, the first signs of spring

As the final stretch of my Secret Project goes on and on, I'm worried that I've been neglecting readers of Myth & Moor. So here's my plan: While I'm finishing up the work at hand (which I truly hope won't be much longer now), I'll also post some photographs each day, taken on my usual rambles with the hound...but leave it to you to supply the words to go with them in your comments, discussions, and poems. (I know full well you are up to the challenge!)

For those of you who like to start the day with a good read, I'll include a recommendation with each post. Today, I recommend Kate Harloe's interview with George Saunders in The Rumpus. The piece is so terrific that I can't pull a single quote out for you -- it really ought to be read in full, for Saunders has wonderful things to say about writing, revision, respect for readers, and the value of "bold compassion" in the age of Social Media and alarming politics.

Also, a book recommendation. Today's is Selected Poems by Welsh poet Gillian Clarke (Picador, 2016), which is simply gorgeous. Go here for a taste.

Winter at Bumblehill

Well, creative projects have a way of taking longer than expected...or at least they do for me...so I'm still finishing the last bits of the Secret Something, which seem to be taking longer than all the rest of it combined. In the meantime, here are pictures of some of the other things going lately at Bumblehill....

After a long. sluggish stretch recovering from the flu that laid us low in December and part of January, Howard and I have both hit the ground running, trying to make up for lost time -- with Tilly, in her official capacity as Bumblehill Muse, cheering us on. The hound is always relieved when I'm out of bed, roaming the woods and hills with her again, which she considers an essential part of the creative process. And she's not wrong.

We've had a lot of frosty mornings this winter, but no proper snow again this year. Some days, mist rolls down from the moor...

....and other days are bright and clear, lulling us with the hope (probably illusory) that spring is near.

On the best days, when the sun comes out, it's almost warm enough to work outside-- and after weeks house-bound with flu, it's worth chilly toes and fingers to be back among the trees.

The hills, staturated with rain, look like a watercolor painting before it dries -- the colors bright yet delicately rendered, slightly blurred together. Water pools among the bracken, swells the streams, and turns pathways to mud. I have new wellies (William Morris wellies!), so my feet are warm and dry, but Tilly comes home bedraggled and then sits and grooms herself like a cat.

In the studio, Tilly naps as I quietly tap-tap-tap at the computer keys...

...but just beyond the hedge, in Howard's studio, there is a bustle of activity.

Howard and his partner (playright Peter Oswald) are launching a new company, Columbina Theatre, devoted to mask and verse drama. Their first piece, Egil, based on an old Icelandic saga, has already begun to tour -- and now they're at work on the second: a Commedia dell'Arte inspired romp called Sorry About the Poetry.

Jenny, my mother-in-law, pops by to do costume fittings (she's a theatrical costume designer by profession)...

...and then the space is turned into a photo set to shoot publicity images for the shows.

With the launch of the new company, plus Howard's on-going work with Hedgespoken Travelling Theatre, and teaching gigs, it's been a very busy winter (despite the flu) -- yet he's still pushing on with his solo project: the creation of a Punch & Judy show. Last summer I posted pictures when he began work on the puppet booth's frame: a complicated business, for the booth must be sturdy but also collapsible, and light to carry. Now the frame is built...

...the mechanics of it are working. The booth will be easy to put up and take down again.

The next step is to cover the frame with the traditional fabric of red-and-white candy stripes. This is where having a theatre seamstress in the family is invaluable, once again. Jenny sources the fabric, then comes over to drape and measure with Howard, working out the best way to constuct the tenting and attach it to the frame. In the photo below, we begin to see what the booth will look like when the striped covering is finished.

As all this goes on, I'm beavering away on my secret project (trying not to get distracted by the goings-on next door). I do apologize for the time it's taking, and very much hope you'll find it worth the wait!