During this Winter of Vortices I have been particularly drawn into the whorl (that warmer, interior one) and found some happy-making touchstones. A few of my recent visitations are included in the above links.
Maybe it has been my Winter of Women (I found myself revisiting Anais Nin, Patti Smith, Lorraine Hansberry and discovering Sondra Barrett’s, “Secrets of Your Cells”). Maybe my antipathy to the Michigan winter has me ‘retuning to the womb’: a creative, expressive, hope of spring? Maybe, when I don my hat as businesswoman or artist, I am at heart a sort of metaphysical archaeologist. I root around and then put things together.
The mutations of muse, as I am calling it, one being’s inspiration introduced to another’s, is a delicious feeling for me. One of the reasons that I came to dislike school, and couldn’t distance myself quickly enough from a classroom, was the absence of an organic experience of discovery.
Foraging has its bounties—as does a period of hibernation and transmutation.