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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Circles

Mother Tree

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Circle One
Mother Tree whose roots wind below
next to stream and under playground,
tall with branches lifting sky,
rough bark protection against all that is harmful.
And her eye, where branch once connected,
now sit stones placed by me,
an eye that sees and from which drips
water of her being, tears of joy,
of pain, of love as needed.

In all seasons standing tall and strong
bending in wind, there for me always,
soft padded ground as in great redwood forests,
a playground for innocence.

I am welcomed, at home, at peace, I am enough.

Circle Two
I want to learn to speak the language of Mother Tree,
the one who stands strong and bold,
yet allows season storms to pass.
She bears the burden but doesn’t break.
She abides to show me movement round her,
but she, she listens. She shades.
She grows deep roots to hold to Earth.
She feeds the world with herself without noise,
without moving, without having, without collecting,
just being. She speaks the language of ancestors past
and those who will come, without saying a word,
just being who she is and how she has been created.

Her language has no words, I listen and learn from her.
I learn from her just being – her bark, her leaves,
her roots, her eye, her branches,
her compost made from what falls away to nourish new growth.
She is stalwart, yet flexible. She comes from the past and
will live in the future, not as this one tree,
but growing new from her wisdom.

Circle 3
Mother Tree in me knows that I am whole.
I come from the past and I will be eternal.
Her branches grow through my trunk and into my arms,
in all of me…me, and I touch the sky.
Her roots go down my legs and through my feet
and I am grounded not just to topsoil,
but deep below and far and wide my roots will grow.

I, too, am strong, no need to prove.
I can be rough to protect, yet soft inside to cradle.
I can see with compassion and wait,
listen and be there for the innocents
who come to me, including myself.
I can welcome and give rest.
I can be the maypole dance of celebration.
This is Mother Tree inside of me.

This I notice…
I am connected to all and all to me.
I am perfect and have no need to prove myself.
What I am and what I do, is all that I need.

 

Author’s Note:
I am taking a wonderful course this Solstice hosted by Amber Kuileimailani Bonnici called Woman Un-Leashed. It is a free on-line retreat featuring some of the most wonderful goddesses to bless this earth. The above poem came from work with Mary Reynolds Thompson who took us through three circles of self.

What a joy to be able to move through this season in a deeply creative way that speaks to my soul.

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Mother Tree

Mother tree sings, not in Indigo Girls’ descant,
but Her hymn beneath rich loam reaches out
through roots, searches for fungi,
a give and take of carbon and nitrogen,
back and forth, fuels a network to ease one
another’s survival, feeds a diverse union so some
will be left standing when others cease.
A complex union of tree and decay, fertile
earth and music, this is Her root command.

He commanded us to love, not in law above,
commandments to bow down to,
but twined roots holding one another so close
breath unites us into Being, so close
we cannot be parted. And yet, if we
release, push through deep moist earth,
ken to others, share inspiration, reveal
our true selves, we become One.
Love is the root command.