Antlered Drummer Woman at the Shamans Tree...

As I write.....

On my right side, hand on shoulder, stands Saskia, a woman who survives by and large from the offerings of her Reindeer herd. She lives in a circular hide structure, like a cross between a tipi and a yurt. At times, Reindeer come inside for warmth and company. Being wedged between two or three Reindeer is an experience of safety and cosyness, tribe. Sleeping this way is comforting and familiar, when you have known them since calves. The fire is small, wood is hard to find and scarce, wholy and to be respected, especially for the warm food it creates in this harsh climate. It is central to the home come temple, and is surrounded by both altars and semi formed amulets, small pouches of herbs, bones, such like magical works in progress. They lay on soft hides, lain over stones in places, which absorb and retain the heat for her small hearth....

On my left side, hand on shoulder, stands Moraig, a woman who lives through trading with the village she dwells upon the edges of, in her stone roundhouse. Herbal remedies, sained over in words spoken from a heart strong in the wildness of this land and a passion for conversing with her plants, dolls made with intention and whispers of life giving blessing ways. From her ceiling hang drying bunches of gathered green folks, flesh and smoking fish, depending on what she has managed to swap for the contents of her basket o wares, or whom has come bearing requests, and queries, to her door. Sometimes she gathers what she has been working upon, with, places it in her carrying vessel and walks, door to door, over water in lean times, to make ends meet, in a time of trade and bartering skills....

Both these women, are of the Deer totem. Bear the antlers that show the mark of her. Yes her. Mayhaps the Stag comes first to mind, but the matriachal medicine signified by their presence, intuitive and gentle, yet taking no shit, is also old as the hills. Leads the way back, for me, and others, through to a sense of belonging.

It is from this source this image of a drumming woman, ready to strike a beat, echoing the heart at core of human and earth beneath, emerges. Woven into her dress is the knotwork that is as a labyrinthine path, at her throat a hag stone allowing envisioning betwixt the worlds. Upon her drum the Barn Owl, traverser of night skies, silent huntress and bearer of wisdoms, face a heart.

In her hair is intwined Ivy. This is part of my own story organically weaving it's way into the drawing. Worn as protection against intoxification through alcohol by certain gods of ol, it came through as a vegative wreath, mayhaps as a pointed reminder for me as a soul with certain tendencies ;). To seek spirits that nourish. Like those who watch over me as I type. My spirit kin....

May we all be connected to those that watch over us from other realms, walking beside us. I give thanks for those who inspire my makings, and growth, stumbling though it be at times. Aint that the way of incarnation, medicine ways, healing ways....

Faeries, wildflowers and sewing booty....

  This cheeky faery n I recently went to a very big village, Sydney. To visit DianaMum for her birthday marking, and general hanging out. There's usually a relatively large amount of kilometres betwixt us (for a general ambler by foot such as myself), which means sharing a cup o tea, or glass o champagne, is a luxury indeed. Let alone the drive we took to 'The Wildflower Place' for, oddly enough, an Aussie bush flower festival! Twas an intergenerational thang, as my grandmother, GrandBea, used to order rarer native flowers and plants from the father of the current nursery woman and florist, Nola, who Mum has worked with. We ooohed and aaahed our way around the displays. Its hard to get the scale from the below pictures, but some o those gum blossoms are the size of a fist!

 Closer to home base, one o them at least, the Rozelle markets on a Sunday was a findings place indeed for Opalartifacts creations! Booty, as these pictures reveal. The colours! Although I shall admit the balls o silk crochet thread travelled there with me, to learn some furthur embroidery stitches. They came from a wee church garage sale before departure for a dollar a ball. Stoked. The word Earth is herein written, or embroidered rather in them, on the green linen which is to be either a pocket or a wee baggie not sure which yet.

Speaking of wee baggies, I have felted my first one! I wet felted a white prefelt, and then needle felted upon it spirals n dots. Using some of the Sydney threads for hand stitching the seams. Play is the birthplace of learnings, so I was happy to be experimenting!

 That continued with having a go at some simplesque embroidery, in a piece made with the intention to connect with the well ancestors in ones lineage. It will be filled with Rose petals, and to be placed on ones altar, or under pillow mayhaps.

                                                  Blessings upon your ways! ChloeOpal

An intentional 'keeper' doll, sharing a bit o a personal journey...

There had been a bit of a pause in my doll making, and I decided to break the drought with one made for myself, an intentional 'keeper'. She came about organically, and was a lil imperfect, like me ;)....

On a bush walk I connected with a dear scribbly gumtree friend who bears many wounds and scars, yet keeps growing. Even housing a native bee hive :) life! I placed my hand on her silvery bark, and instead of the usual stillness echoing, I received the words 'transform fear'. These words carried with me, and as I sat by a nearby lake meditating, aka gazing at the ripples on the waters surface, whilst connecting in with my spirit kin, the words came 'navigating madness'. I switched it round to 'bringing in curiosity and integration', that felt (pardon da pun) better. 

When I returned home, Elinor Peace Baileys book "Mother Plays with Dolls....and finds an important key to unlock creativity." was jumping out at me from the shelf. She has a pattern for a doll in the book. Thanks Elinor I ain't much chop at pattern making! I tried in linen first, but as I back stitched, felt roving wool kept sticking to my work, as if to say, come back to us! In the end, I did. Cutting a body from felt fabric for my 'green woman'. I began to needle felt a 3d face onto the flat felt, and I was off! In fact, I needle felted so intensely that I went right through the under fabric :( still I stitched a second backing on, and kept going. This doll was determined to come through!  

I decided to fill her with a mix of herbs and some unwashed wool I had, nice n earthy. Also a shed Snake skin and vertebrae, for transformation.The herbs were, in a nutshell, Calendula for wound healing, Cronewort for walking between the worlds and Nettle for green nourishment n protection.

In her womb is a 'shaman's stone' or 'moqui ball' formed in Navaho country, Utah, USA, from the stuff of the core of our Earth, Haematite. I have been working for some years with a mentor in contemporary shamanism, Odette, learning ways for me to navigate the voices I hear from this perspective. Yep, I hear stuff. So placing this stone inside my doll held a lot of meaning for me, it was an affirmation of connecting in to this process. It also felt like a message being sent to my spirit kin, 'I honor you, and will keep the lines open'.

A large part of the reason there has been a pause in the doll makings, is that here in the Southern hemisphere, as some of you will be experiencing, the wheel is turning slooowlly towards Spring. I have been spending more time tending the gardens around our nook cottage, and also reconnecting with my herbology. The crisp sunny days are so lovely, its hard to stay indoors.

A beantlered spirit kin, Moraig, a Scottish witch from times past when folk lived in blackhouses, affirmed this. Moraig, also practiced these two arts, indeed between the seasons in this way. Crafting intentional dolls more in the phase of Winter, then medicines in the growing season. Selling both, from her basket of wares as she walked between villages. She's a rather practical lass, and I am following in her footsteps in more ways then one. As within, without. This is partly what my doll is about ;). Hey that sounds like a bit o a nice chant!

Here she is, as intended by her maker (heh heh) abundantly sunning herself in our garden, as you do!

I so loved the softness of her felt body to hold, (she seemed to also rather enjoy her nudity!) that at first I didn't feel to make her clothes. However, then she informed me she wouldn't mind a few clothes, optional cold weather ware and for when making medicines. She's quite the shamanic herbalist! An aprons n feet in the dirt type, no lab coats here!

Antlered Deer Shamanka

Welcome to the home of enspirited dolls such as this sister to Elen of the Ways!

We are blessed to be living on Arakwal Bundjalung country, Australia. You may ask what does Elen have to do with the landscapes of coastal Australia? Isn't that more Dolphin and Whale medicine?
Well yes, yet she seems to be awakening in a growing number of peoples lives, including mine, as ancestral antlered goddess of the wilds. The Islands of Britain are her homelands, where she was 'Elen of the Hosts', but she is touching people in other parts of the world in these times.

After being drawn to make a be-antlered doll some months back, inspired by the gentle, sense-a-tive, medicine of Deer, I was then fascinated to come across a picture of an ancient bronze Romano Gallic figure of a seated woman with antlers, from France. I'd heard tales of fella's with horns before ;), but this was something! 'Elen of the Ways' was the title beneath. I had a name to begin tracking a gut feeling. She is somewhat elusive, like her totem or the leylines she is also named by. Elen of the Leys.

Elen of the Ways is a world crosser. In a tale written in the collection of lore the Mabinogion, she sends a visionary dream out to a potential love Macsen, to see if he can translate it and come find her. A testing, an Aisling. To possibly earn his place at her Sovereign side, and the lands, as guardian.

Deer occur in most countries of the world, but Reindeer are the only deer in which the females bear antlers. Those that still live with them, such as the Sami people, follow them in migration, rather than 'herding' them like cattle. The Reindeer are led by Grandmothers, or matriachs along their pathways.

There are images painted in caves of Reindeer from some 45 000 years ago, whilst 'domesticating' them is estimated to have occured some 3000 years ago, although some sources say 7000.

There was a time when Reindeer were indeed crossing the landscape of Europe in parts that now, due to climate shifts are either underwater, or populated by different species. For example in Scotland Roe deer and Red deer colonised some 10 000 years ago, it seems all layers doesn't it? Deer were introduced to Australia in the 19th century, six such species, Fallow, Red, Sambar, Rusa, Hog and Chital now inhabit our shores.  

Trance journeying in sacred space is part of my creative process. Recently, I have connected with an antlered spirit being who introduced herself as a Scottish heritage witch, Morag. Also a maker of dolls, amongst other skills. She came from a time when craft supplies were rather more down and dirty than what you get in Spotlight these days. Linens, flax, nettle fibres, roots, sticks, bone, hide, sinew, leather, wool, hag stones, herbs and plants. She has encouraged me using these types of materials and inspired the creation of the pictured doll. A muse, or guide, who affirmed previous suggestions to begin exploring needle felting. A making where unspun wool is repeatedly stabbed with a barbed needle, until it matts together and sculpting begins....

Resources and References:

'Elen of the Ways: Following the Deer Trods, the Ancient Shamanism of Britain' and 'Following the Deer Trods, a Practical Guide to Working With Elen of the Ways' by Elen Sentier.

'Elen of the Ways' an article by Caroline Wise
http://www.andrewcollins.com/page/articles/elen_1.htm

A tale whence Vasalisa and her Doll, meet Baba Yaga....

The Russian tale of Vasalisa, and Baba Yaga, the mortar and pestle flying in witch, is bursting at the seams with fertile ground for those seeking trails out of ordinary definitions of dolls, amongst a medicine pouch o other things. Here, first up is a ChloeOpal version...

Vasalisa loses her beloved mother, and not in a suburban cul de sac, or supermarket aisle way. Sadly, she dies, but not before weaving her wisdom, and love, into a doll, which she gifts Vasalisa from her deathbed. A blessing. Her only request is that she feed the wee poppet. A vessel, or container of guidance, from the nurturing feminine, who loves, and wants the best for us amidst life's unknowns. Couldn't we all do with some of that?
One could ask what rituals, or practices, do this sustaining, or feed this aspect, for self?

Of course on her mothers passing, Vasalisa's father remarries in poor judgement, 'tis the way o things in fairy tales. Resulting in a stepmother, and sisters, who treat her like their personal shit kicker. Do this, do that, clean this, and she does so, with pure heart (oh da polarities!), gaining consolation from the realm of the Doll's magic, imbued as it is with the energies of her maternal lineage. This eats at the (always) wicked step women.

Now, another version of the wicked woman, is the old witch in the woods. Enter Baba Yaga. Traced through from time immemorial, the Wise Woman of yore has increasingly become the scary one. Particularly with the advent of botox, consumerism, and a few other faintly dogmatic belief systems used to justify mass murder. So, Baba Yaga, who's now become the pop you in the oven n gobble you up version of the nature dwelling solitudinal Crone (I warned you this was my interpretation!). Damn it, she should settle down and behave in a more respectable manner. One that has less to do with her gut, more to do with bowing and scraping. Less eccentricity, more conformity. That's not to say, however, that some Crones (note the capital C) ain't scary, or tough as.

So, Vasalisa's inherited set of wicked women, hear that another one, the Yaga, is in town, or rather, clearing in the woods. That her chicken legged cottage, (eggs being fertility symbols of birth and beginnings tabootsky), which can move about, has landed nigh. They decide a fab way to get rid of Vasalisa goody two shoes boring shmoring ex-wife child, is to put out all the household fires, and send her off to Baba Yaga for replacement embers, sure she'll never return. Hence, that's exactly what they do....

HOWEVER, and don't you love HOWEVERS...

As Vasalisa sets out scared out of her wits, in distress at entering said dark scary forest, where dwell, trolls, ghosts, ghoulies etc, all those beings (slash aspects) that jump or creep up from behind. That threaten to knock us into places of no returning to sanity, or safety, ever again. You know the places. We all have them, simply a matter of degree. As Vasilisa sets out, she is, however, carrying her trusty Doll. That part of her inner life that Vasalisa's nourished, by paying attention to, and feeding it. Through the twists and turns of the woods, the Doll guides her. It leads her away from her well behaved life, straight to Baba Yaga's door. Bugger, we say at this point. Why did I feed you again? Past the skeletal fence with eyes a glow, and straight on into the witchs lair/ cosy home. Every half decent ol witch has an excellent lair / cosy home, which in some cultures ends up being her sleeping bag, in a bus shelter, where she has to watch the pneumonia...

I'm taking a time to tell this tale, but basically Baba Yaga sets a series of impossible and eeevvvil tasks like sorting wee Poppy seeds from a massive pile of black soil. Yet, the Doll (inner Shamanka) assists her in doing the impossible. Having a life! Ooops, I mean, doing the sortings, cleanings (more) and weavings of straw into gold and such. Think I may have just blended another story in there somewhat. So, in the end Baba Yaga hands her a skull and goes 'Oh alright girly I shan't eat you after all, bugger it, I'll give you fire, so your peoples wont freeze to death or starve (which they are currently doing cos' Russia and Siberia get pretty chilly. Something their wicked stepnesses didn't foresee in their planning, or lack thereof).

So preparing to thank this frightening being, she stops as her Doll has jumped up and down in her pocket, 'Just get outta here' says she. So Vasalisa the brave, fair or wise, depending on which aspect the teller likes best, gets outta there, and returns to the uncosy home. Making her ways through the woods led this time by the eerie lights of the skull, who's eyes are handily embers all a glowing. The stepnesses are pretty cold and hungry by now, and hence pleased to see Vasalisa, who lights the fire and places the skull in the corner of the room. From whence it watchs. Watchs, looking, looking, at the usual dynamics.

What I enjoyed about the versions we were told a few years back by Jenny Cargill-Strong, a local storyteller, was that there were multiple endings. One of which saw the stepnesses burnt to cinders by the skulls firey eyes, as is traditional. The endings I liked, were where the stepnesses behaviour was changed by the process, or wasn't, but Vasalisa no longer cared. For she has faced, with assistance from the Doll, the Crone, dark forest, trolls, ghosts, suchness (within and without) and lived.

My version is very different again, from that of the wonderfull Dr Clarissa Pinkola Estes', who has devoted a chapter in her book 'Women Who Run With the Wolves' to a more detailed version of this story, and breaking it down into the teachings contained there. Cantadora, poet, Jungian analyst, and all round Wise Woman, soul food lies within her writings. She emphasizes Vasalisa's growing connection to, and feeding of, her Doll, as a returning to her intuitive guidance, and instinctual nature (a process indeed, for all folks). That which allows her to engage with, and navigate increasingly with Wild Woman ways in the world, including upon her return to whence she came.

"Vasalisa's doll is from the provisions of the Old Wild Mother. Dolls are one of the treasures of the instinctual nature. In Vasalisa's case, the doll represents vidacita, the little instinctual life force that is both fierce and enduring. No matter what mess we are in, it lives out a life hidden within us."
                                        p88-89 'Nosing Out the Facts: The Retrieval of Intuition as Initiation'

Certainly the enspirited dolls I have made, channeling some of the creativity gifted by my mother (very alive!), seem to emerge organically. Indeed through, and perhaps because of layers of challenging emotions upon my soul. Finding a way to work with them, transforming, as they come to be, with rather cheeky smirks that hint they know something more than their maker.

  

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