Color of Woman

My journey into Intentional Creativity© began almost two years ago. It seems impossible that I will now become a Color of Woman certified teacher along with my certification as a Red Thread Guide.

Someone who never picked up a pencil to draw or a paintbrush to paint, I found a passion that combined with my new found self.

I liken my new self to sitting on a lovely, perfectly balanced little three legged stool. One leg grounding me in Passage Meditation. The second leg grounding me in shamanic practice. And now, the third leg opening portals on the canvas to move through intention, to weave a red thread to create, and connect.

Below are a few photos of my initiate book. Some friends expressed the wish to purchase it. So it is now set up to explore and purchase, if you are interested, from Blurb.

In the coming months you will see more of my poetry and painting. I will have the originals for sale as well as prints and a card line. I will be offering workshops to spread the beauty within through discernment and discovery using my three legged stool!

Many blessings and much gratitude,

Lexanne

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Misnomer

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Misnomer

I walk to hear birds

They are back
after winter break
building nests, returning
in sunrise I hear them
distant

Squeaky chatter
you tip your wing
a glimpse of orange golden glow
Sits atop

How can there be seagulls in Colorado?

sea….gulls

I am told there are no such things as
sea…gulls,
a misnomer

They are opportunistic
Make homes near reservoirs
Cold is no bother
as long as they are well fed

They also live in the Arctic

gulls

Simply
gulls


I wonder which they
prefer?

Sister Starwalker

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Sister Starwalker

Do not worry if you seem not to dream.
                                                  It is an ominous place in time.

I am with you
         and your dreams will unfold
              and you will be safe
                   and you will know.

Under Moon or dark sky               Star Nations cradle you.
                       They sing your story,
and you hear.

Together we walk
                   and Ancestors come.
They show you the way and you go.

And
if you still do not seem to dream,
rest in me anyway          sweet one rest.

I am your Sister Starwalker
                   and
I will always be.

 

Author’s Note:

I have begun my journey as a Color of Woman In Training 2019 under the guide of Shiloh Sophia and other graduates and wise women from the Intentional Creativity Foundation. A group of Cosmic Cowgirls who ride their paths honoring the feminine in all walks of life.  I am so very full of gratitude to be a part of this group, this circle woven together by the Red Thread.

One of our first assignments in our training is to create our personal Legend-Archetype.

Her name is Sister Starwalker.

Her incarnation is not only to paint her, but to write her Chronicles. The first steps are to write MY incarnation story and begin painting employing the 13 steps of Intentional Creativity.

She is at a resting place right now. Time to listen. Time to write.

She Who Is began her naming process. She speaks who she is and what she does.

She Who Is

She Who is Wildwoman in the Wilderness of Being

She Who Carries the Night

She Who Stands Guard

She Who Honors Ancestral Wisdom

She Who Listens

She Who Illuminates

She Who is Sister Starwalker

And now that she is named and resting in her image and colors, I begin her Chronicles.

Chronicles of Sister Starwalker

One – Incarnation

She stood on her tippy toes, barefoot at the upper point of the crescent Moon. After a deep breath in, she released it, and slid down. If it was a good full release, she would end at the tip of the other side of Moon. It was just for a moment of ecstasy until she slid back to rest in the middle of Moon’s crescent smile.

Moon wasn’t really a crescent, although that is how most people described it in each orbit, thinking the rest of the Moon was gone. Paying little attention to what was really there.

Oh, they missed the most important part. Moon is always there, full and luscious, knowing when to shine brightest and when to dim. Moon is wise in all her years knowing that it takes dark to see stars.

As there she sat in the middle of the crescent, her voice opened into gratitude.

She was young.

It’s not what one on Earth would think of as young. She was sixty-two, and that made her barely a baby among the Star Nations. She had just begun her journey with them.

She felt blessed by the Ancestors to be honored to share her gift, the one who could look at dreams without fear, find their owners, and stand guard as dreams unfolded. But that wasn’t always true when she was on Earth.

But here they named her Sister Starwalker, an honoring of tremendous responsibility she accepted with humility and joy.

Sister Starwalker had other gifts, too. When walking on Earth, the place she chose to be, she was known as the Wildwoman who tramped through the city and found the open spaces and talked to Mother Tree and left gifts of sparkly stones in cracks and crevices for others to find, if they stood in silence long enough to see.

She would sing her own songs as she walked her familiar. Out loud! Yes! And people crossed the street  away from her or paused at the pavilion seeking shade as an excuse not to make eye contact. They were not escaping from the heat of the sun, but from Sister Starwalker’s brilliance.

Silence was her place of being. She learned to settle anywhere to call it to her. And she listened and taught others to do the same. A few understood, but most others were frightened of what they thought was a void.  

Oh, Sister Starwalker wanted to share what she heard in the silence. The whisper of Spirit’s love songs to her. The crows who really did watch and wanted to converse. All the chatterings that can only be deciphered and nuanced when all was still. You see, it wasn’t really silent at all.

Her heartbeat. Yes. In the silence she could hear it beat and as the reverberation spread from her center Light out, she could feel it, hear it entwine with other heartbeats, and together it became one gigantic beat.

Oh, she wanted to tell others what a gift of silence is to calming fears and weaving that red thread to others to finally discover. But most preferred the noise. She understood since it took her a very long time to find her silent place within, to drown out the noise that demanded her attention.

“Silly, little Ego,” she would tell it when it called to her demanding she give her all. “Go take a nap, I have silence to listen to.”

Sister Starwalker had much to learn and, now, had eternity to do it. It was her consecration, something she had searched for and didn’t find until she came to silence.

She had other gifts, too, that helped her in her new quest.

She carried the night with her.

She so loved the dark. When she learned to paint, she discovered it had colors that you couldn’t see until you were quiet and listened for them. There were all shades of blue and grey and green and magenta and oranges and yellows, too. Really! It surprised her the first time she saw them, heard them. And then she could not ever not see them again.

Now that she was at here in silence, she could sit and wait for illumination and then she could hear Ancestors tell their stories to their beloveds. She could shine Moon’s light just where it was needed, like a prism coming through her to others.

On Earth, she was afraid to dream. When she did, her sleep was fitful and she awoke exhausted and sad and angry and scared and, worst of all, unworthy. So she decided to stop dreaming. And she did.

But here, now, she could be brave and stand guard when others were afraid to dream. Sister Starwalker knew the dangers of dreaming. Some, like her Earthly self, were not willing to set aside their fear to hear their stories. But now she learned what she could do.

She grew as a warrior to that which no longer served. She knew how to do that. Now. And even a little bit when she was on Earth.

When she was summoned home, she stepped through the veil and was named. They didn’t even have to tell her. She heard it from deep within and she knew what she was to do.

And she began her night, just like every night…being with Moon, hearing the colors tell their stories, Ancestor whispers, crows sleeping, and listening in the silence to the music of the Universe to discover where she would be needed this night…

Colorful Scars

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Mother Tree – Colorful Scars by Lexanne Leonard

 

Mother Tree

There is wisdom in her amaranthine years,
Mother Tree with knotted limbs upturned
to warmth of sun and blessed rain,
all that is needed, a reach to stars in grace.
Her first lesson.

She stands her ground atop a hill,
no other place to be, guardian to any, mother to all.
She provides without clause for we are all connected –
animal, tree, and me.
Lesson number two.

She is champion, her arms for climbers who will dare,
even when they crack her and tumble.
Scars of strength and boundless compassion.
A third lesson from Mother Tree.

Oh, she is far from smooth and frail.
Rough with weather, firm in her being.
In wind and snow she never falters. She bends.
Wisdom worn proudly around her belly,
striations of her years built one upon another.
No need to hide this cicatrix,
her detailed tale of wealth.
In gratitude I see.

She has an altar ascribed by me,
a shallow where an arm once connected.
An open wound where water now runs
like tears during summer warmth
and dried by winter’s chill.
Just enough room for spider’s blessed weave
and my oblation stone, my simple gift to palm unknown.
I’ve learned to relinquish in her joy.

Mother Tree’s scars do not defeat,
they color the universe with compassion.
May her wisdom fill my every day.
May her generous spirit walk with me.
May her chivalrous path inspire.
May her tenacity lead me in my time.
And may I stay the course of gratitude
all along my journey.

 

Author’s Note:

In today’s climate, through the pain of telling our stories and being dismissed, my mentor Shiloh Sophia created a workshop called Claiming Our Colorful Scars. As with all the work we do in Intentional Creativity, we become the cause in the matter moving us forward and healing ourselves along the way. We take our stories and re-imagine them into a new way. This is so with this class. There is no charge and you can access at the above link. It is a powerful way to reclaim your voice and move forward.

This piece will eventually become affirmation cards. The back will have the poem handwritten on it, then cut into cards. Then I will write a word that I want to remember as a reframing of my story through this process. I can also use it as a puzzle to piece back together to heal even more scars!

 

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In Simplicity…

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Under deep night sky
where Moon persists in her rhythm
shadowed by Earth’s indulgent round
I stand barefoot
a simple act of reclamation

In this candor I reclaim myself

To honor Earth and all her beings,
above, below, and upon

To restore my body
And allow what I need
Releasing that which does not serve

To restate my possessions
In care and release and
Bring in only what is cardinal

To retrieve my beauty
And give my hands to Creation

To rescue my joy
And dance and sing, drum and make love
And sit with others to know all stories

To restore stillness
For rest and truth
For bridsong and voice of the Divine
And cries of those who call for harmony

In simplicity
I reclaim my being
All that I was
All that I am
All that I will be
Collapsing into matter that is me

Marmalade Glisten

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I look deeply
an eye that sees out
leaning inward

Do I honor my colors
possibilities

I humbly ask to see more
that which, at first,
is not quite
discernable

now

peach
newly minted
coat to smooth away
wrinkles of fear
an unburdened interval

orange
remembrance of autumn orbs
not perfectly round
but character drawn
or bits of rind
suspended in time
marmalade glisten
sweet and lucious
treat to savor
part of me to leave
undone

hot pink and magenta
a surprise out of order
opposite
yet perfectly in-sync
no need of motive

at last

brilliant yellow glow of Light
shining through
Source of Life
warm and nourishing
something to trust

I step out and in
fold and unfold
into me

 

 

Author’s Note:

A special thank you to Bobbi Drish, a friend who so graciously allowed me to use her photo of her moss rose, a portulaca.

I remember as a child in my urban/industrial home, seeing this lovely little plant not only blooming in every crack and dry spot, but thriving in almost all the colors of the rainbow. I bet if I looked closer, I would have seen the entire rainbow.

I am taking a class called PRISM, hosted by Shiloh Sophia and Jonathan McCloud and the Intentional Creativity Foundation. We are delving into that which is not necessarily on our radar. Through beginning to understand some basics of physics, Einstein, quantum physics and unfolding into a new form through art, I begin to “see” more deeply.

Elemental Breath

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Suburban Urban Minstrel

I breathe between mountain and plain,
mesa and wide-angle field,
on city streets and urban walks,
where night’s video-blue glow veils sky.

Spirit alights here, too.

In depth of dark I hear ancestral call
Make space, make space, make space.
Under Moon I rest, release and sleep,
my breath will carry strong.

Dawn comes, burns away all
that which no longer serves.
Ash into compost, rich soft soil,
make space for new to grow.

From earth’s wise path,
coil wraps to sing her song,
we all belong, one in Genius,
quiet and stillness your way.

In simple stream to rushing river,
in ocean that cleanses our soul,
make space, says she, I’ll help
and refresh, drink deeply of me,
your fears cooled.

I rest between mountain
and sweetgrass plain,
under stars and ancestral Moon.
I feel your tug, a red thread woven
from before, until now, and eternal.

I am Lady of Mountain, Lady of Plain,
Suburban Urban Minstrel,
Elemental Voice who gives from within,
a conduit for Ha-Ruach.

I call to those with urban hopes,
suburban dreams, from peaks to mesa,
plain and water, in all Creator dwells.

Make space,
make space,
you are a blessing from Grace,
make space
for your untold shine.

 

Author’s Note:

This piece was created over the last three months using a process called Intentional Creativity. I am being certified as a Red Thread Guide and part of my training was to paint. I never painted before and never drew either. So this was a very good process for me to move through.

Using intention as I put down each layer, I learned about myself and transmuted my old stories into new ones. I learned to release ego and listen to Spirit within. This painting moved me through many transitions as itself moved. I loved many of the images and colors and patterns that appeared each week. But I learned to let them go and allow the new to arise and speak to me about what it wanted to be and its new story.

Shiloh Sophia and Mary McCrystal were our guides and mentors. Through the Intentional Creativity Foundation, I found my new self. Or, should I say, the self I never really allowed myself to know.

Below are a few of the levels from the first to the end that sit underneath the final image above.