Monthly Archives: August 2013

The River


Trinity 2012 by Drea Jensen
The space that lies between objects is often just as interesting as the objects themselves, just like the journey can be better than the destination.

At the River Clarion, by Mary Oliver

I don’t know who God is exactly.
But I’ll tell you this.
I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone
and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.
Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say,
and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water.
And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying.
Said the river I am part of holiness.
And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.

I’d been to the river before, a few times.
Don’t blame the river that nothing happened quickly.
You don’t hear such voices in an hour or a day.
You don’t hear them at all if selfhood has stuffed your ears.
And it’s difficult to hear anything anyway, through all the traffic, the ambition.


If God exists he isn’t just butter and good luck.
He’s also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke.
Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.

Imagine how the lily (who may also be a part of God) would sing to you if it could sing,
if you would pause to hear it.
And how are you so certain anyway that it doesn’t sing?

If God exists he isn’t just churches and mathematics.
He’s the forest, He’s the desert.
He’s the ice caps, that are dying.
He’s the ghetto and the Museum of Fine Arts.

He’s van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and Robert Motherwell.
He’s the many desperate hands, cleaning and preparing their weapons.
He’s every one of us, potentially.
The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician, the poet.
And if this is true, isn’t it something very important?

Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of God, and each of you too, or at least
of his intention and his hope.
Which is a delight beyond measure.
I don’t know how you get to suspect such an idea.
I only know that the river kept singing.
It wasn’t a persuasion, it was all the river’s own constant joy
which was better by far than a lecture, which was comfortable, exciting, unforgettable.


Of course for each of us, there is the daily life.
Let us live it, gesture by gesture.
When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks?
And should we not thank the knife also?
We do not live in a simple world.


There was someone I loved who grew old and ill
One by one I watched the fires go out.
There was nothing I could do

except to remember
that we receive
then we give back.


My dog Luke lies in a grave in the forest, she is given back.
But the river Clarion still flows from wherever it comes from
to where it has been told to go.
I pray for the desperate earth.
I pray for the desperate world.
I do the little each person can do, it isn’t much.
Sometimes the river murmurs, sometimes it raves.


Along its shores were, may I say, very intense cardinal flowers.
And trees, and birds that have wings to uphold them, for heaven’s sakes–
the lucky ones: they have such deep natures,
they are so happily obedient.
While I sit here in a house filled with books,
ideas, doubts, hesitations.


And still, pressed deep into my mind, the river
keeps coming, touching me, passing by on its
long journey, its pale, infallible voice

Phenomenal Woman

Marvel 2012 by Drea Jensen Step back to see the sensational differences in life's situations.

Marvel 2012 by Drea Jensen
Step back to see the sensational differences in life’s situations.

Phenomenal Woman


Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.


Falcon Flies Brightly


Eye of Horus 2013 by Drea Jensen
A person’s words can only say so much, look to their eyes to see them for who they truly are.

The Eye of Horus

The Falcon flies brightly, soaring before us,

High above blue of the Nile- the old way dies…

Enter the power of the new God Child Horus!


Eager his crown from above watching the skies…

Youthful the child of Isis grows ever strong.

Enshrined in ties of the past –  a bloodline of lies.


Osiris long slain – blood calls for vengeance!

Father your true son succeeds you – Hear my cries!


His missing eye gazes, coldly disguising

Over the truth of Thoth’s Ibis domain.

Rightful the temple that cleanses desolation

Under the strength of the missing eye rising,

Set slinks impotent back to his wastes – there to remain.



Song for Autumn

Autumn 2012 by Drea Jensen Everything around us is ever changing, sometimes for the best, and sometimes for the worst. Because of the change, we must slow down and find what it is we want to stay the same.

Autumn 2012 by Drea Jensen
Everything around us is ever changing, sometimes for the best, and sometimes for the worst. Because of the change, we must slow down and find what it is we want to stay the same.

 Song for Autumn

In the deep fall
don’t you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don’t you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don’t you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.

~ Mary Oliver

Life Doesn’t Frighten Me

~Daydream 2012~ ~Money Honey 2011~ ~Ventral 2012~

Daydream 2012
Money Honey 2011
Ventral 2012

By: Maya Angelou

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hail
Life doesn’t frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn’t frighten me at all.

Mean old Mother Goose
Lions on the loose
They don’t frighten me at all
Dragons breathing flame
On my counterpane
That doesn’t frighten me at all.

I go boo
Make them shoo
I make fun
Way they run
I won’t cry
So they fly
I just smile
They go wild
Life doesn’t frighten me at all.

Tough guys in a fight
All alone at night
Life doesn’t frighten me at all.
Panthers in the park
Strangers in the dark
No, they don’t frighten me at all.

That new classroom where
Boys pull all my hair
(Kissy little girls
With their hair in curls)
They don’t frighten me at all.

Don’t show me frogs and snakes
And listen for my scream,
If I’m afraid at all
It’s only in my dreams.

I’ve got a magic charm
That I keep up my sleeve,
I can walk the ocean floor
And never have to breathe.

Life doesn’t frighten me at all
Not at all
Not at all
Life doesn’t frighten me at all.


Wild and Precious

Garden 2012 by Drea Jensen The most beautiful art can be found flourishing in nature...or your very own garden.

Garden 2012 by Drea Jensen
The most beautiful art can be found flourishing in nature…or your very own garden.

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Love the Questions

Diversion 2012 by Drea  Jensen Confusion can often divert our original paths. Keeping a level head is a must to stay as close on course as you can.

Diversion 2012 by Drea Jensen
Confusion can often divert our original paths.
Keeping a level head is a must to stay as close on course as you can.

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue.  Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them.  And the point is, to live everything.  Live the questions now.  Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

Rainer Maria Rilke

Everything Lost

Painting Honey

Painting Honey by Drea Jensen
May the divine feminine bless us all with her honey bees!

Honey At The Table

It fills you with the soft
essence of vanished flowers, it becomes
a trickle sharp as a hair that you follow
from the honey pot over the table

and out the door and over the ground,
and all the while it thickens,

grows deeper and wilder, edged
with pine boughs and wet boulders,
pawprints of bobcat and bear, until

deep in the forest you
shuffle up some tree, you rip the bark,

you float into and swallow the dripping combs,
bits of the tree, crushed bees – – – a taste
composed of everything lost, in which everything lost is found.

Mary Oliver

Work of Women

Money Honey 2011

Money Honey 2011 by Drea Jensen
Good fortune is all around us. All we have to do is embrace it.

This work of women!

Yes. It is time for a revolution of women and path,

women and money,

women and business,

women and art,

women and marketplace.

We do not choose to give our works away for nothing.

We are not starving artists. We are not frivolous.

We are creators whose creations 
save lives, mend wounds, change the world.

This work of priestesses and practitioners of every kind is VISIONARY WORK.

Our work is vital. Essential. Needed.

This work of women must include creating livelihood.

This is not easy, quick, fun, or likely.

This may not be accepted or encouraged.

But this is what we must do.

Create an abundance revolution!

We are creating our own path.

We are creating our own marketplace.

We are creating our own money.

We create art.
 We work from the heart.

We deserve to be compensated.

We are creating our own

mystical cosmic luminous overflowing BANK.

A bank that does not cause, contribute to or condone

the suffering of others for profit.

A Women’s Bank. Believe it. Create it.
Deposit into it.

Draw from it. 
Invite other women into it.

Enter the income stream in your little golden boat

and dream and work and pray and play and prosper.

Do not stop. Keep going. 
It will almost always seem impossible.

But we make miracles. Believe in you. In us.

Miracles are organizing themselves right now.

Around our dreams, our work, our visions.

Let us go out, armed with what matters

And with the prayers of our Grandmothers, shining!

©2009 Shiloh Sophia McCloud