Friday Features ~ Rock Art ~ Inuksuk

ruby-beach-rock-art

I didn’t know they had a fancy name or an ancient history. They simply called to me from the water’s edge and I found myself stacking them, one upon the other. I’ve done it for as long as I can remember. I called it rock art.

When we go camping along a river or at the ocean I go hunting for rocks so I can make rock art. I don’t just make one or two stone stacks – I make them by the dozens, creating stone villages. It’s a meditative process for me – a connection to nature.

A few years ago at a party I learned my rock art had ancient roots. I shared a picture of all the stones I’d stacked by the river and my friend commented, “fabulous inuksuit”.

Sue's River Rock Art

Sue’s River Rock Art

“Huh?” I replied with a raised eyebrow.

And so he went on to explain that the stacking of stones has ancient roots with the native Inuit tribe in northern Alaska. The ancient people used the stones as guideposts in the arctic landscape and to mark their hunting grounds and food cache. Inuksuit (plural) have been found dating back as far as 2400 BCE. 

Last year, on a camping trip to Ruby Beach on the rugged Pacific Northwest coast, I found my tribe  – rock artists. I was in awe when I hiked down to the beach and found Inuksuit for as far as the eye could see!

Ruby Beach Rock Stack

Ruby Beach Rock Stack

Every horizontal surface had inuksuit. Every log and piece of driftwood had stones stacked one upon the other. I joined in and stacked rocks with the others. No words were spoken, none were needed. We were all of like mind – the artist’s mind, connecting with and creating from nature.

Ruby Beach Rock Art

Ruby Beach Rock Art

Once you start stacking stones you’ll never look at rocks the same way….just sayin’. Give it a try. Create some art and connect with your ancient ancestors. It’s good for you – mind, body, and soul.

Namaste.

Voices in the Fan

white-noise

Have you heard them – the voices in the fan? Seriously, entire conversations ensue while you’re trying to fall asleep?

I thought it was my imagination until one night my husband sprung from the bed shouting, “Turn that darn thing off! I can’t sleep for all the voices coming from the fan!

He had heard them too! And so we went about comparing note: Yes, more than one voice, clearly humans, not sure of the language. How perfectly intriguing it was! I love a good mystery!

But I can’t sleep without white noise, so we compromised. I turned off the window fan in exchange for the bathroom exhaust fan. No voices in the bathroom, at least not yet. So maybe it was our house – could it be haunted? Nah, we purchased it new at the turn of the century, surely there were no spirits lingering about. Maybe hubby and I were both going mad. And then, a few weeks later …

… while chatting with my friends over coffee, one of them exclaimed that her fan was at it again. “Oh?” I inquired.

“Yeppers, the voices are back. Drives me batty,” she muttered. I was overjoyed to find another who hears the voices, but before I could chime in yet another friend at the table said she has the same problem with her fan! Holy smokes! Maybe the fans are haunted, or the spirits get wrapped up in them, or something to do with electromagnetic waves….my imagination was all a stir with possibilities.

“Auditory hallucinations,” came a voice from the other end of the table. “Our mind wants to make sense of the white noise rushing past our ears, hence the voices.”

“Oh drats! How sensible and mundane logic is! I rather like the idea of voices in my fan,” I said, pouting. And there the conversation shifted to sensible and mundane things one could wrap their head around. Phooey!

Pssst, just between us, I don’t believe it’s auditory hallucinations. Life is far too mysterious for such a simple answer. And I rather love the mysterious and unexplained – so voices it shall be!

Now if I can just figure out what they’re talking about……

 

Poetry ~ The Path

I wrote this poem in an 18th-century British voice because, honestly, that’s how it came to me. It’s the story of a young girl’s spiritual journey.  She seeks answers from the moon goddess. The moon goddess encourages her to trust the path; trust that life unfolds as intended.
The Path

nary, nary, I dare not tarry to find my own way home
through the wood and bramble berry, I walk this path alone

upon the stars, my eyes do linger
and to the moon, I stretch a finger

and call upon the goddess above
to light a path of truth and love

high aloft a zephyr blows
and the goddess speaks of all she knows

oh darling, darling, daring girl
who dares to step beyond her world

to truth and love each path does lead
each path a lesson in which to heed

walk in the knowing as life unfolds
each truth revealed, avows your soul

your mortal life, confined to seasons
live it fully, search not for reasons

march on dear girl, through wood and berry
trust the way, lest you tarry

Poetry By Sue

Poetry ~ Reversal of Rehearsal

This is the second poem inspired by the life of Elie Wiesel, and his renowned book, Night. You can find my first post and poem on Elie Wiesel here.

Wiesel was a teenager in 1944 when he and  his family were taken to Auschwitz. He was the only member of his family to survive the  holocaust. Wiesel was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986 for his lifelong work for human rights and serving as a “messenger to mankind.” His message –  “let us never forget.

In this poem, “Reversal of Rehearsal”, the term rehearsal is a metaphor for our collective history. The message: unless we study and learn from history we are destined to act out the same scenes over and over.  If the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior, I fear for humanity.

This poem is dedicated to Elie Wiesel that we may all “wake up”, learn from history, and never forget.

Reversal Poem
’twas a reversal of rehearsal
from the end, we’ve begun
working backward to the beginning
of the history we have spun

we’re dazed and confused
as the play hits rewind
our minds falling backward
spinning deeper into time

history is unraveling
as the years are reviewed
war and injustice
coming clearly into view

what’s the point of this journey
to where it all began
we look to the heavens
to hear the master plan

listen up dear mortals
history can be replayed
but it must be understood
or mistakes will be remade

the past is your portal
to a future you could save
pay attention to the lessons
history teaches from the grave

fast-forward to the present
where true power is displayed
with each and every moment
you make history upon the stage

choose wisely my dear mortals
as you act out your play
or the show will soon be over
with no rehearsal of doomsday

Poetry By Sue