My hands flip through candle lit pages, glossy photographs of ancient realms rebuilt to share their aged walls with generations who were once just dreams upon ancestors eyes.
Clay, earth, stone. Painstakingly, lovingly handled to original form. I waver in uneasy restriction of my own spirit, an age old calling, from the ones before me, being uprooted and dusted off, but not yet fully seen.
My draw to these old building of the Italian country side or cobble stone roads of french villages is an embodiment of the movement within my own life. To polish the original foundation, the truest form of beauty until it can stand on its own. My plant work is deepening, shifting. I feel its opening itself, revealing its purpose to my eyes more clearly. This looks like a lot of clearing, a lot of loss, a lot of stillness and silence while I observe the architecture of it all. Brick by brick, shattered pieces so tiny I must magnify them in order to correctly find their place.
In a world where it all is so fast, where everyone seems to have themselves figured out, their businesses perfect and thriving, their proverbial ducks are all in a row. While my ducks are often scattered over different continents and believing they may very well be toucans or mountain lions or redwood trees. Sometimes they flock together and I get a glimpse of order, but most days it is a kaleidoscope of chaos and how to find peace within it.
The natural life, death, rebirth cycle moves swift, its cultivation time. I do not know if I will ever have a consistent harvest. It seems with each season I cultivate, I become the seed, I grow, I bloom, I harvest and winter sets in again. My work, my life is as fluid as the seasons. My mind wanders while cold winds howl, how does this translate in a world where everything is figured out, everything is perfectly curated, never amiss.
Back to the buildings, back to the seed, back to restoration. So my work just keeps moving and changing and evolving, my love of plants,their medicine and the natural world unfurls new pieces I've never seen before. With each new vision, with each new breath taking inspiration, each and every morsel of deepened love, new dreams arise. Back to the dusting off ancient pieces, heirloom parts of my self passed down from generations I've never known. Back to honoring my ancestors, healing the wounds, breathing into the unknown. Back to the planting of the seed so a new blossom can break through the soil when spring shines her warmth upon it.
If you have followed this far, I commend and thank you with deepest gratitude. I am excited for what Svanur is becoming or unbecoming or moving into, I appreciate the support as I ebb and flow in and out of vision work. I love you for supporting my dreams so I can best serve this life in authenticity and honesty.
I would love to hear about your personal experiences with growth. Your own feelings in a fixed world of perfection when life is a long arc of change. To be good at something, I feel, is to admit you have more to learn, to be a lifelong student, humble and open. This work for me is never fixed, it is like a stream. Some seasons the water flows so quickly it is but a blur, some seasons it is dry, gurgling from wet earth waiting for a drink, some times the water pools and I wade in its thick nectar of life.
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