My totem, medicine and shield
the mantis knows how I feel…
My totem, medicine and shield
the mantis knows how I feel…
August is slow and not one praying mantis have come to visit me; every August I wait for Big Ma Ma golden Mantis to come visit me after laying her egg sack. (This is in case you don’t already know this… dear reader).
“Goodbye until we meet again in Spring…sweet autumn is near.” Is what she always seems to tell me.
Today the outside sewer drainage pipe ran over and the bowels of hell came forth. I rolled up my pants and got to work cleaning. The rubber pipe outside is under the Praying Mantis tree with purple flowers. I called Mr. Faucetman to drill the sewer line. I don’t think Lance is going to fit under this tree. So after shoveling, digging and cleaning, I trimmed the tree back. I was very careful to look for any praying mantis. I also went to Home Depot to get some tree truck mulch to put around the pipe and two trees close by; covering anything left and to also cover some tree roots. I like how it gives my front yard a manicured, earthy and fresh look.
I then looked down and my heart skipped a beat because I saw her on a small ash tree weed. I showed her my hand and she slowly approached and walked up on it. Then I put her up on a solid branch from her tree….she was so close to her place that I had recently disturbed.
All around me I feel the invisible walls. Maybe a cell membrane that holds me in. It is a cocoon. The darkness melts my body and whispers stories of weeping, hate and betrayal. As the full moon ascends on the horizon I feel the depth and heat of her breath as she addresses me. She is dark and hides the light. This is the process of metamorphosis. Living in the patriarchal world this process is out-right ignored. Yet, women throughout history know it well, for those of us who pass through it. I am not talking about the happy, good, rise-above women who act as if in a dysfunctional relationship to men. I am talking about the women who hold owls, serpents and insects. The mermaids and sirens that men can not violate or listen to. Women bear up children, and mysteries, that are not meant for the souls of men. Women hold within them those freaky looking, metamorphosis looking, creatures in their wombs. Tadpoles, tails and big heads swim in the hot environment.
Asleep she was drawn to the being-0f-light outside the open window; upon the wall of the old garage converted into a boy’s room.
“Come with me there has been an airplane crash.”
She flew and followed the being-of-light over the valley. They both whipped through the air. They were swimming through the air. Her belly felt as if riding on a swing.
“That does not look like an airplane crash,” she said.
The fire and flames turned into a spacecraft. There was a large door. It opened and there before her and the-being-of-light was a small little grey-being with elaborate clothing. Not a word was spoken but a beam of light, as a razor beam, focused from the little grey-being to her.
“What is this? All these images are pouring into my brain. Symbols, numbers on and on they go… I cannot handle this…I think I will implode.”
She then noticed the beam of light stop. It was over.
The being-of- light flew her back to where she was sleeping.
I listen to a diversity of songs all the time. What I like best about songs are when they talk to me. I talk with them so why not them with me. I use them in my posting as highlighters to accentuate the theme of my postings. If you trip through my musical posting they will tell you a story… oh my I revealed myself again. I think you can do this with most writers. When songs talk to you it is important. I call it synchronicity listening. At the appropriate time a song comes forth and you know it’s talking to you. Why, you must think about it to find the answer: not take it lightly, it has meaning. One song that did this recently is Can You Hear My Love Buzz. It was years ago when I first heard it. Nirvana brought it back from the dead. A band named Shocking Blue created the original recording of this song. I like both but prefer the original. I like the depth of Mariska Veres vocal style. It sounds like the dark Goddess graphing me by the heart into the underworld. I feel this song is about the power and even imperfection of love and the overwhelming seduction and abuse of it, but It can hale true!
I posted the song on my Facebook a few days back. Then I went out to the local pub and a friendly DJ played the song as soon as I drank my first pint. Stunned, I felt the hairs on my back go up. I realize that stepping out for the night was a good thing. We were meant to be where we were at that time and place in history. With so many opportunities available at the time, so much going on with old and new friends it was the place to be. Life in general was being shady. I realized when the song played that life is a real bitch sometimes, but I am loved and being taken care of gracefully.
I love songs!!! This is my Praying Mantis theme song.
Outside of our french windows is a trellis over the patio. Across from this we have a pool fence. We put it up when the children were small for their protection. It is now a place for Praying Mantis. When the spring comes and the baby mantis break their egg sack, hundreds of babies run along the claw proof dark plastic mesh.
The first days of autumn brings me a great visitor; a big mama mantis on the pool fence. This is very odd in the middle of the day with the sun overhead. We watched her wobble about. Her back-end is quite large. She shock many times as she moved using her long legs to balance her weight. I then decided to move her. I usual do not interfere with nature. She is big and it took five months for her to get this size. I am sure she can take care of herself…but I love her so, and did not want to see her devoured by a cat. Some would see this as equal punishment for the many creatures she sucked the life force from. I do not judge nature.
I put my hand and arm out to her. She looked round at me with her large yellow-green eyes. The end of her spider legs reached out grasping the hairs on my arm like cactus hairs, pulling her towards me. She was aboard me. Quickly she ran to my right shoulder than the left shoulder. Then she was on my head. I felt her weight on my neck and she tickled me. I laughed out loud. Walking slowly towards the trellis I rest my head on the vines and flowers. It did not take long for her to skip jump up to a branch. Now, she was almost camouflaged from my gazing green eyes. Later in the day she was gone from this spot. In my heart I knew she was nearby.
The real focus is on the sacrifice of the male. One male one female then impregnation…then comes the egg sack. Glory be because then comes the next generation of thousands of perfect little baby Praying Mantis.
Why is it that no one talks about the Big Mama Praying Mantis dying after laying her egg sack? Statistically males that do not mate continue to go on to have a much longer lifespan then the female. The reproductive cycle of the Praying Mantis is what it is, but it is not just the male that sacrifices his life… so does the female!! In fact they both do!!
In general we do what we must to continue the life cycle. Luckily for human beings it is not as dramatic as in the life cycle of the Praying Mantis. I find it is best described from a Jungian perspective.
The Praying Mantis is a wondrous creature of nature and like nature is primal in understanding… if we choose to!
Welcome to The Seminary Of Praying Mantis. Praying mantis shows me her story of life, death, and rebirth. For me she is an image or symbol of the divine in all things. I watch the praying mantis in my garden and have taken her image as my logo. She is an amazing little creature, and I relate to her connection to nature. We are both wild and part of this strange world. She is a part of my mythology as I am part of hers. I am a living Maenad and practice spiritual capitalism. While also being a liberal socialist. I think when you see my products you will conclude that I share great joy in selling my books. I love writing, water coloring and beyond. I have an underground publishing punk rock history that still pumps in my heart. I believe in the common good.
Stop thinking about art works as objects, and start thinking about them as triggers for experiences. (Roy Ascott’s phrase.) That solves a lot of problems: we don’t have to argue whether photographs are art, or whether performances are art, or whether Carl Andre’s bricks or Andrew Serranos’s piss or Little Richard’s ‘Long Tall Sally’ are art, because we say, ‘Art is something that happens, a process, not a quality, and all sorts of things can make it happen.’ … [W]hat makes a work of art ‘good’ for you is not something that is already ‘inside’ it, but something that happens inside you — so the value of the work lies in the degree to which it can help you have the kind of experience that you call art.
~ Brian Eno
Agathos Daimon, the Good or Rich Spirit”. His numinous presence could be represented in art as a serpent or more concretely as a young man bearing a cornucopia and a bowl in one hand, and a poppy and an ear of grain in the other. The agathodaemon was later adapted into a general daemon of fortuna, particularly of the continued abundance of a family’s good food and drink.
“Scientists know that electromagnetic waves carry information. Radio waves are a common example of how information is sent out via electromagnetic waves. The waves that your heart and brain generate carry information that is sent through your body and out into the space around you, just like a radio transmitter. Yet the heart’s signals have much more power.” – The HeartMath Story, as Told by Founder Doc Childre
I’ve heard it said that the soul doesn’t live inside our body but that it is more like a womb in which we are contained.
Turner, Toko-pa. Belonging: Remembering Ourselves home (Kindle Locations 2739-2740). Her Own Room Press. Kindle Edition.
“This disco guy wanted funk in our sound with 10,000 backing vocals, the guy laughed at Tony when he tried to sing, they treated us like shit. Casey wanted to hit that engineer dick…Posh Boy told us not to play games with him, he’d play games with us. That engineer was a real dick.”
~ Steve Soto ADOLESCENTS
In our over psychological culture, psychological testing substitutes for this seasoned eye and prevents its development. Instead of looking, we test; instead of imaginative insight, we read write-ups; instead of interviews, inventories; instead of stories, scores. Psychology assumes it can get at character by probing motivations, reaction responses, choices, and projections. It uses concepts and numbers to access the soul, rather than relying on the anomalous eye of a practiced observer.
Hillman, James. The Force of Character: And the Lasting Life (Kindle Locations 844-847). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
It is the prime task of a truly modern mind to endure both the spiritual and the practical as the framework for her life.
Johnson, Robert A.. She: Understanding Feminine Psychology (p. 80). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition. __________________________________
Mysterious in day’s broad light,
Nature retains her veil, despite our imprecations,
and what she won’t reveal to human mind or sight
levers, screws or hammers
cannot wrench from her. ~ Goethe
Faust part 1
Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music. If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself.
“And just as the soul that is inside your dust.”
~ Pg 8 The Divine Comedy ~ Dante
“I always liked the intensity of the recording.”
~ Chris Bailey from the band The Saints
“Sometimes people try and tell me what is and isn’t punk, or that GBH do or don’t fit in, but they’re generally no older than my socks, and they know about as much. I’ve lived my life doing what I want the way I want to ever since I got expelled from school. Ever since 1977….That’s punk rock”
~ Ross Lomas: From his Book City Baby.
“As I was walking among the fires of Hell,
delighted with the enjoyments of Genius;
which to Angels look like torment and insanity.
I collected some of their Proverbs. ”
~ William Blake, “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell”, 1790
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