Deeply contemplating these thoughts with intention I drummed for guidance from the spirit world.
Grandmother comes disguised as an Ancient One. She is my wise council, lined and bent with years in nature and self sufficiency, her face worn, weathered to the elements. She is ragged and indigenous to the landscape and yet she gives a teaching, a virtue of the highest calling.
This is my experience………..
Grandmother and I journey on a steep mountain path, soon we come to a cairn it is holy with prayer flags draped about. A pile of stones had been placed, and over the years a high mound had been created. My wise spirit elder circles the mound and chants prayers, then curiously she picks up one of the stones, and carries it with us up the path, (a trail that led to a stone hut I could see in my inner vision.) Higher up the mountain path grandmother places this stone on a newer mound with the same prayer and deliberation. My awareness is that a new sacred spot was created as a marker for the next level of spiritual awareness. There are hundreds of stones now, but still a fraction of what the old mound was. Single file we walk the steep narrow mountain path, grandmother lingers over a scrawny bush and delicately with nimble fingers pick off sheep and goat wool caught in the thorns and then stuffs it in her sack. Other bushes she picks a few leaves for a tea, leaving most to the struggling plant.
I heard the goats and sheep before they came into sight. Soon a large flock surround us. The shepherd a young boy bows to the old woman, then kneels down and milks a goat, he offers the battered metal bowl to grandmother, I remember her slurping of appreciation. Hands in namaste the herder’s respect is with reverence. Grandmother touches the top of his head in a blessing.
We continue up the path over stones and packed dirt, grandmother in her countenance seems to honour.
A great black bird circles deliberately overhead as if to mark the way to a nest on a rock above us. Climbing the few feet to the nest I spy three turquoise eggs. Very gently grandmother picks up only one. I see her whispering a prayer of long and healthy life to the remaining two. Gently she wraps her meal in some of the sheep wadding. Continuing on, our steep and crumbly path is now at a dizzying height.
We arrive at the stone hut with its rickety wood door hung slightly open, a slow smoke lifts from the chimney. Inside an old man shuffles over to us in greeting. I feel sacredness in this humble home.
I am tired and achy from the journey, grandmother has me lie on a mattress platform bed of thick fleece. Tenderly she rubs a gooey fat on my sore knees, and then from an open kettle on the fire she scoops deep from the bottom, a sludge of plant muck, making a paste she binds it to my achy legs with sheep wool. All the while the old man in resonant voice chants softly. From my place on the bed I can see the egg resting on the planked table. A broth from the same caldron is offered to me. Gently grandmother cradles my head to drink. She had sprinkled in some of the collected tea leaves to nourish the brew.
My feeling is of pure gratitude for grandmother’s sacred caring.
I know this to be contentment.
I have many experiences with grandmother, she can shape shift to match a lesson. Grandmother’s teaching is always filled with grace flowing from energetic love. Each gifted experience I feel connected to a deep contentment and gratitude.
Sea Pears, my painting was reminded to me while witnessing the creamy Spring blossoms engulf this simple tree just a few weeks ago. Roots are deep into sea rock, that at high tide must be covered in salty brine and with the odd star fish clinging to a blackened slimy root.
For twenty years I have been awed by the abundance of Pears on this little fruit tree. Perhaps it is the dose of sea water each day it receives. In any event one day I noticed a pair of rowboats dancing on reflected water just below the boardwalk. The pear tree fully loaded seemed to almost be laughing in irony. Probably a
pear or two plunked on board!
Imagine a tossed half eaten pear that takes root here in this most unlikely ground by the sea, not in the perfect orchard garden. Hummm even nature can be content.
Bursting in glorious blues of sea and sky I felt a deep contentment breathing in the delightful spring day.
Here is a first wash layer to my painting “Walk in Wonder” watch for the completed painting on my website.