Ceramics + Writing, Earthly voids & Spiritual quest

Blue Tara’s Violet Flames

The burning beacon of our blue mother star.
Her secret mantra like smoke rises in our wounded hearts; to cleanse all contempt and fears away.
She pulls us out of the deep sea’s sorrow and brings us back to shore.
She is the brazen warrior of radical acceptance towards transformative joyous love.
Her blue- violet blaze, is our guide and protector, for our spiritual arrival home.

These are photos of the progess and the finished shrine. This art piece was a real joy to make, and I’m inspired to do a Tara series now. It keeps me connected to what I would want to be one day. For we all can be like Tara/Bodhisattvas if our hearts are open to first self-compassion and then compassion for others that seek the path of self-surrender. Being comfortable in falling apart, to be held, and mended back into something beautiful.

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Ceramics + Writing, dreams

Sleeping With Malachite (Part 2)

His mind softly touches my,
Exuberant ladder of dreams.

He is wrapped in a blanket
Of my layered terra.

Like a destined sleepwalker
He came right through.
But with care,
For my scared
Velvety ivory dog.
He even brushes
My bronzy beauties.

He gathers all
My thought patterns around.
Even one of my owl friends
Joins the funeral circle.

Who died?
Wait. What?
That’s me, wrapped
Like an egyptian mummy,
With malachite.

How could I have died?
A woeful projection
Hears me and explains,
“Drown in a lake of cadmium red.”

He shakes me awake
“Just another nightmare.”, I say
“But you were laughing
Not crying.”
He says.

I reply,
“Oh my unconscious lost my life.”
But with a more serious tone,
“I was under my fate.”

 

img_6503Poem & Art: Naomi Ruth W. Photograph : Erwin Blumefeld

 

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Ceramics + Writing, dreams

Sleeping with Malachite (part 1)

The owls are perching
On the ladders of my dreams again.
Heavy oppression,
Vacuuming the brilliance out of me.

My flint feeted girl grasping
Her inner world.
Where bells rung,
To set the horses galloping
Through green dust infinity.

What incubus?
Has dropped in my belly of layered terra;
With picks to pluck out
My dream felt exuberance.

To be awaken at 3:00 a.m.
With vacant swan girl stare.
Swathed in ivory guilt.
Did I forget?
The owls are my friends.
Above, with watchful hearts,
They strung up stripes of malachite.

Poem & Ceramic Art: Naomi Ruth W.

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Ceramics + Writing, Earthly voids & Spiritual quest

The Releasing and Rescripting Station to Sink a Stone

 

Smokey Quartz and Sodalities,
nestles around the eyes of my heart.
They set up base in this vertigo vessel.
Building an inner peace,
for the quakes of my solar plexus.
Ventilate, the darkest clinging fragments — lies of soot
and take root to truths.

My immersion, in calming undulations
of crystal ship and parting blues.
Pouring out, my black blocks of code.
Creating a new composition,
on a petrichor cellular wall of streams…I’m alive, I’m alive,
I’m alive…

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