The Honey Guides
“HAND”, 1985, 5′ x 44″, pigment on wool flannel
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THE HONEY GUIDES
Once upon a time there was a girl who had a secret place.
It was up on a hill covered in long grass.
Sometimes she would snuggle down and make a nest for herself
when her parents were bugging her or if she felt alone.
She never really fit well anywhere.
She was well liked though she belonged to no group.
Her best friends were Nature Spirits.
They would whisper and sing softly in her ear.
Her fledgling heart was always soothed.
As she grew older she returned again and again to her grassy hill
and the Spirits who tended her so long and so well.
One day she noticed that far away across the river, in a little cottage
Smoke was rising from the chimney.
In all these years from her secret spot she had never noticed this before.
She became curious and decided to pack a little bag
And make the long journey to the cottage.
She was cold. Perhaps she could find some warmth by the fire.
She walked for days, for years and a lifetime.
As she finally approached the cottage she heard laughter.
I sounded like a party.
She timidly knocked on the door and all the noise inside stopped.
The door creaked open and in a blaze of light and warmth she saw a table.
It was set with crystal and silvery things.
There were many places set at this table.
From each chair came a welcoming smile from the most radiant people
The girl had ever seen.
She felt warm and tingly inside as she noticed
There was a special place set just for her.
She sat and someone began to speak.
“We are the HONEY GUIDES. We are here to teach you about sweetness
And nurture and family and love.”
“We will hold your hand while you eat and your heart will grow
And you will always know where to go for food.”
And at that- a lovely woman with golden hair
Began to sing a heartbreakingly beautiful song,
A blessing was given and the feast began.
The girl understood that her whole life so far was in preparation for this-
Her seat at the tribal table.
She was no longer alone.
She felt her heart grow wide and wider still.
And she saw it was true what she had been told;
That part of The Journey must be made alone
But for the heart to become ripe and full
One needs a hand to hold.
————Cathy Aten
On The Wind
“MARKS”, 1999, 11″ x 11″, m/m
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I just spent an hour writing about the oil spill.
And I deleted the whole thing because I let myself start feeling into the weird dampness in the skies of Santa Fe the past couple days…
I was realizing there is much, much more on this wind from the South than we can perceive.
The stuff between the lines is always most potent and that vast territory is holding me hostage.
I am rendered wordless this morning.
I need a new language .
I’ll leave it at that until something makes it’s way to the surface and wants to be said.
On The Wind
“MARKS”, 1999, 11″ x 11″, m/m
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I just spent an hour writing about the oil spill.
And I deleted the whole thing because I let myself start feeling into the weird dampness in the skies of Santa Fe the past couple days and ‘what-ever-it-is’ is too big for me to negotiate at the moment and make any sense.
I was realizing there is much, much more on this wind from the South than we can perceive.
The stuff between the lines is always most potent and that vast territory is holding me hostage.
I am rendered wordless this morning.
And I’ll leave it at that until something makes enough sense to make it into form.
Salmon Swimming Upstream
“SALMON SWIMMING UPSTREAM”, 1985, 5′ x 5′, pigment on wool flannel
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I remember painting this textile so many years ago and giving it this title because I had no idea how I ever painted such a thing; complicated, otherworldly, beautiful, never-could-do-that-again-if-I-tried.
It made me think of how no painter I have ever experienced has been able to reproduce on canvas the light of the sun flicking off water.
Perhaps EVERY painter has tried this.
But there are just some things too much larger than us to think we could ever tie it down in 2 dimensions.
Salmon fighting to get back to their nesting grounds is another one of those ‘too much bigger than us’ events to try to comprehend.
I look at myself and all those dealing with a chronic health challenge in the same way I see the salmon; WE ARE DOING WHATEVER IT TAKES TO GO HOME TO GROUND FAMILIAR AND SAFE TO US.
No matter if we stop behind a rock where the eddy is softer and we are out of the ferocious current for a moment or a week or a few years.. we rest there.
And then we go out there and fight the fight once again.. on our way home.
For us, home may mean so many things.
We may run out of steam an the midst of the journey and just stop the fight and surrender to the wiles of the gods of the river.
Or the stamina needed to keep on keeping on may be ours and we make headway.
Or, if we are really fortunate, we sense that we are like the turtle and are ALWAYS at home and the journey is decidedly dependent on our point of view.
That right there has been the jewel in my crown so far in life..
I really am getting it that my existence is 100% dictated by my attitude.
Does this mean I don’t get pissy and frustrated and retreat to bed for days at a time sometimes?
Well, no… I am still here in the flesh with every cell of me calibrated toward finding home and a lot of the time I only have the strength to make it to the bed.
And that perceived passivity just kills me sometimes.
Until I get it that it is just an eddy behind a rock in the stream and I remember the last time I hung out in one I was better and stronger and ready to reenter the stream.
Rest, reenter, rest, reenter… smart moves.
Good Birthday
“BLACK MESA”, 1996, 3′ x 7′, m/m
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My birthday is actually way back in February but it was snowing then.
And I told my good friend that what I REALLY wanted as a gift was to go with her to Christ in the Desert Monastery.
Since yesterday was her real birthday, we made the journey together.
It is a LONG drive there over 13 miles of washboard road and I just don’t seem to have the stamina to make the whole trip alone these days.
Believe me, I have tried, but I get to the halfway point and have to turn around.
So, my friend driving was a fabulous gift.
The place is my top spiritual haunt.
If I have to find God in a hurry, this is where I go.
It has nothing to do with the fact it is a monastery.
It’s the place.
And the journey.
The last hour of the drive is along a rushing river with the road often one lane and curving round perched high on a cliff.
The sage is out now and the air was clear and bright yesterday.
You see stuff you’d never see in the city like where we stopped for lunch: a giant tree had fallen long ago and there happened to be a deer which unfortunately met it’s demise in that moment.
My dog found the remains of skeleton and fur and was ecstatic.
It was weird to see that moment marked like that.. what are the chances?
We had a perfect picnic off the tailgate and felt very blessed.
We saw hawks and wildflowers and red,yellow and green rock cliffs.
Not a human sound anywhere.
The chapel at the end is extraordinary.
It is a lovely form of communion to share a previously private experience with a friend.
Prayer alone is one thing. Prayer in good company is another.
I loved our day. It felt fun and full and tender and fulfilling.
I think the biggest healing part of the journey is the experience of leaving all the habitual static of my life behind for a day; all the drama and familiar worries and concerns about the future and unanswerable questions and other peoples’ ’stuff’ that seems to stichk to me like glue.
For the day, I am free.
My Wheelchair Is Fast (finally)
untitled, 1980, 24″ x 5′, pigment on wool
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Ok.. I know I was moaning about my wheelchair’s capacity to go faster than a crawl.
Number one: Did I ever in my wildest dreams imagine I would use the words ‘my’ and ‘wheelchair’ in a sentence in my lifetime?
NOT!!!!!!!!!
Number two: Is it really fun to have figured that out ? By gum… the damn thing really goes at a clip!
YES, Indeed………..
I figured out that there were different ‘modes’ one could set the chair to and I inadvertently had mine set to the aged and decrepit mode.
AND NOW!!!!!!!!!!! NOW I GO FAST!
I drag the dog behind me… (not really).
I went online and found a cool safety flag because, interestingly, I think I want to stick around for awhile.
I am taking my own advice and tuning my point-of-view towards adventure instead of some weird and ‘take-me-down’ kind of experience.
The best advice someone gave me when it was time for me to get a walker was this: “Cathy, just look at it as support, not a sentence.”
And I see now that I very much like the feeling of support after a lifetime of trying to do it (the life thing) alone.
Allowing support is a fine thing, actually.
I am looking at myself as part of a mangrove forest.
One small part of the whole with the knowledge that without me, the symphony and perfection of the root system would ring a sour tune.
Voice
“PERCEPTION”, 40″ x 60″, 1992,m/m
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THE COYOTE
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A coyote howled.
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My chihuahua growled in sleep.
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I want that rawness.
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CA 2010
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Alive
“BLUE”, 1998, 40″ x 6′, m/m
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I can’t remember who said this but it’s close to: ‘If something does not bring you alive then it’s too small for you.’
I watch what enlivens me.
Because if I don’t choose that path then the downward spiral’s got me.
When I woke this morning the world felt alien and dark.
I laid in bed until I felt the slightest invitation to once again rise and greet the day with my usual cricks and spasms and numb limbs.
My dog was curled at my back and she contained her frustration at my lethargy and deviation from her normal morning of early rooting around in her yard.
That compassion she afforded me brought me alive.
The wind chimes at my door break up the static of the outside world of chaos pressing in and allow a gentler threshold for me.
THAT brings me alive.
These things seem so small but I am being thrust into the present moment as I do my day as a disabled woman.
The word DISABLED is so weird…
I don’t FEEL disabled at my core but my physical self seems to fit that definition for the time being.
Disabled means that a thing loses the capacity to function in the way it used to.
I always thought that the feeling I got from adjusting myself to someone else’s needs and desires and thereby feeling some sort of CONNECTION was what feeling ALIVE was all about.
NOT.
And would I have learned this crucial key to thriving had I not been faced with this health challenge?
Would I still be the girl who was voted ‘most congenial’ in high school?
Or have people in my life with whom I feel safe and truly supported to be the best I can be?
I would never have known what was ‘too small for me’ had I not done the work to find my AUTHENTIC BASELINE and therefore have the clarity to FEEL CLEARLY WHAT DOES BRING ME ALIVE.
And that, right there, ladies and gentlemen, is the road to healing in my book.
Healing in the sense of taking FULL advantage of this precious gift of life; a truly MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL RELATIONSHIP with the essence of life.
Yes, the old patterns I held in me which kept overpowering the simple act of soaking in life without prodding or guiding or herding it onto a path trodden by the masses
ARE disabled now.
And I am glad. So very glad. And alive.
Expand and Contract
textile design, 1987, silk menswear
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I am in love with expansion.
I’m not really that fond of contraction.
That’s my ‘on-the-surface’ thinking.
The cultural overlay that says light is good and the shadows are bad.
Or: happiness is the goal and discontent is to be run from.
Maybe this: Ease is the sought for mode of existence and the bumpy road needs shock absorbers.
The very alive human in me, the concoction of flesh and bones and reason and desire agrees wholeheartedly with those ways of being.
But the ESSENCE of me runs on a different kind of gas.
What if every day I got up and there was the crimson flower I had dreamed of right there at my door blooming and throwing it’s scent my way?
Or we skipped winter altogether and lived inside a constant 75 degree bubble of reliable sunshine and no thunderstorms or flash floods or soft rain of any kind touched our happy but innocent skin?
There is something in me that thrives on the sudden CRACK! of that thunderstorm and the quest for that illusive bloom.
I love sun and thrive on it but wouldn’t give it a second thought if it were my constant companion.
These days, even though I still cower at the contracting part of my life, I know it’s worth.
Having lived within a contracted body for awhile now, I value the stretch and lean into life more than before.
I don’t take the miracles of true connection with people, creatures, the natural world, God for granted as I’ve lived without and I now know the difference.
If I enter challenging territory as I have in the past week, I know it will turn toward the expansive direction at some point (which it has) and I needn’t fear I am stuck inside that place forever.
Truth be told, I often need reminding that the shift WILL take place and the tribe I keep close will remind me when I forget.
I seem to be getting more comfortable with the whole tapestry and not just the even and tidy rows one finds in the very center, but the frayed edges and renegade threads are now elements I call friends.
A little wear and tear makes for an unexpectedly unique and lovely patina that tends to draw me as opposed to the stock item on the shelf.
SPRING!
“”GROUND SWELL”, 2000, 40″ x 30″, m/m
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NEW SEASON
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The window opened
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Tentatively to the night.
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I heard birds wake up!
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-CA 2010