From the stars, on a mountain, with the bears, my beads…and paint.

It’s been a long time coming. Being a seeker my entire life, I am gathering my courage to step out, report what I hear and stay connected. All the terminology to describe this is lacking in my opinion. I’m doing my best but it still has me feeling uncertain. I learned something called Deep Soul Writing from my teacher, Janet Conner. This is a method to tap into the mystical realm by letting my brain go into a theta brainwave state so I can LISTEN. I learned to journey from my shamanic sound healer teacher Melinda Kinsey. These two modes create the perfect environment for me to settle after my day, listen to guidance, messages and wisdom from my dead, the ancestors, celestial beings, plants, animals and rocks. Crazy, right? No, I’m not crazy, in fact I feel more sane now than ever. If you want to learn how, write to me at azro@madriver.com. Anyone can do this. You can do it too!

My entire life I’ve been a collector of talismans. I declare ordinary objects have significance just by saying so. Maybe that’s why my home is full of special rocks branches beads ribbons jewelry art the list goes on. Is everyone like this? Picking up an acorn because it’s the MOST special acorn on all the earth? Let me know because I am curious.

The acorn really is special. First of all, what a cute little seed. It’s wearing a hat to keep it warm in the chipmunk’s den, or lying under the snow, in the wind, in the blaring sunshine. My mom always told me to wear a hat. Clearly the acorn is a good kid.

Acorns can’t move so it proudly sits where placed by happenstance. The little acorn is certain the spot where it lays is the best spot. You’d never find it thinking hey, I wish I was over there.

And patient. What could be more patient than a seed? And a mighty seed at that. When I think about the potential in that one acorn, it’s astounding. Have you ever watched an oak tree grow? I have. We moved onto our land in 2001. I live in a region that doesn’t have many oak trees. There are more just on the other side of the valley in the south facing sun. Our colder darker north facing slope must not be what choosey oaks prefer. But we do have a few and I’ve had my eye on them. I adore their leaves. So whimsical and graceful and swoopy, no hard edges, just curves. Kind of like the warm body of a mother.

If you google it, the mighty oak takes 20 years to mature. Now that’s patient. But, I beg to differ. The ones I’ve been watching since 2001 are no more than the radius of my wrist and about twice my height, which isn’t much. I wouldn’t call these particular oaks full grown. Our land used to have no wind. Zero wind. Now, we get storms that break and bend trees often. The little oaks are just fine.

My artist’s eye enjoys the oaks. The leaves in the fall turn a serene brown and look like they’ve been waxed or varnished. They shine. They’re not show-offs like the red maple leaves or the yellow birch. Did you know the oak is one of the last trees in the spring to put on leaves and one of the last in the fall to lose them? When most of the other trees are bare in autumn the oak still has some curvy decoration and I like that.

When I admire our oaks I think of Joan of Arc. Did you know she gathered in an oak grove to pray? Joan and her friends settled around what I imagine to be an impressive grandmother oak with their beads, to talk to Her. That’s a story for another day. Anything related to dear Joan is mighty in my opinion.

Maybe my son will see our few oaks turn mighty. I’ll keep cheering them on and watching them grow and watching him grow. I’ll think of Joan and admire their moderate size and mighty potential.

This painting (top) reminds me of a river and what the river takes with it, downstream. Did you know there are 39 million miles of rivers on this planet? That’s a lot of moving water, the vascular system of this earth. I feel tiny.