The Narcissus I planted on December 13 started blooming on the New Sun. The one in the chalice from The Alchemy of Love, I named Inanna with a prayer for Leesa and her crucial interspecies healing of the planet.

The other from the window I took to Suzanne Benton‘s house which I last visited under the Spring Equinox and she yelled out the door: “What Goddess do you want me to perform? Ariadne?”

And that is what gave me the idea of braving the masculine libido so vulnerable and alone — One Last Time!

What a surprise to find a new Goddess at the stairs to Suzanne’s deck!

With a New Year’s Duck Salad with Pomegranate Seeds in one hand, I placed the offering before the Goddess.

I counted the five seeds on her vest and knew that Suzanne had last created Inanna

The Aquarian Age Sky Goddess!

Yes, indeed. The back revealed the seeds as self-generating, self-contained…

WAVICLES!!!!

The Aquarian Sky Goddess has landed!!!

Entering the house, which is a temple to the Goddess, I discovered the Secret Box that Suzanne just opened. I couldn’t identity the woman in the portrait, but I imagined her as Margaret Fuller and Virginia Woolf combined: Sophia & Inanna integrated into a singular divine face of the feminine…

Suzanne Benton’s bookshelf

Standing before a bookshelf, I meditated on the geometry created between Jung’s Red Book and two “HE” boxes.

They were like two pillars to a portal, with the connecting link the Erotic Bible of the self-realized masculine . In the center of this physical Jungian bridge so recently gifted to the world was a book on India, Suzanne’s destination for a mask teaching workshop, a mythical journey she will track on her blog:

I cried: ‘You will do a Mask Tale on Inanna!”

Because she hadn’t before.

And she said: “I can’t promise that.”

And then I remembered Elinor Gadon telling me about the connection between the Indus Valley and the Fertile Crescent.

So, these magical moments in time, what Jung called synchronicites, are planned for us. As Suzanne once warned me: “You have to live the myths.”

Indeed, you do. As my readers know…

And what she told us tonight in her priestess robes, “When your time comes, you have to act.”

At this epiphany, I met a woman who did the deed: Meredith Gray, a beautiful and brilliant Taurus, who told me her tale of descent into the Underworld, and her rise with her ruler, Venus, this past fall.

And she gave me a DVD with a documentary film, Naked, And this, when I watched it later that night, revealed to me what it truly

Suzanne Benton and Meredith Gray with Benton’s painting in the background.

means to be naked in the world, but with the support of the Goddess through loving female friends.

And this is how I discovered, in the most unexpected and magical way, what I had been chasing all along: a real life story of rebirth through art. I had been foreseeing at Silvermine, the oldest guild in the country and the site of my very first art review. And here it was embodied, quite literally, in the form of Meredith Gray!

Suzanne with her latest Goddess, the pro-active self-generating Inanna, with the gift of Narcissus at her feet!

On Tuesday night, I read J. Karl Bogartte’s FB gift before going to sleep. His poetry had sent me into the alchemical Nigredo, and the Calcinatio, this time proceeding the Solutio — forming into the Coagulatio when I was swept to my knees before Dianne Bowen’s (R)evolution. On my Sublimatio passage (fueled by the ingestion of a vial of Gingko purchased in China Town) from Ground Zero to Grand Central, my feet barely touched the ground!

At last, I was experiencing the hieros gamos while firmly and irrevocably EMBODIED!

At 2:06 PM on December 4, precisely 12 hours after the New Sun solar eclipse, I saw J. Karl’s notes on my FB wall, an excerpt from “Book Three of a Curious Night For a Double Eclipse.” After absorbing his prose in the conjunctio between the Earth, the Sun and the Moon, I held my gaze on the very last line: “Sleep is the architecture of a rendezvous that forms the hunger of a triangle.”

Here, at last, was a poem that only my full unconscious could interpret!

Tuesday, 6:16 PM: “Sleep, yes, I will read this in full just before going to sleep. Bound to filter into my dreams…Thank you, J. Karl!!”

Tuesday, 7:07 PM: “Sweet dreams, Lisa!”

Tuesday, 10:35 PM: “I’m absorbing your words now, J. Karl, just before I go to sleep.”

Photograph by J. Karl Bogartte

“Bright calipers of the alloy-laden arch, light-birthing heaviness, a fire between the air and the water, the arc of the dive into disappearance. Desire is not beautiful, but an invisible flame, a knife thrust into the heart, a moment of oblivion. The figure is translated, disfigured and set spinning into the tall and languid codes of light, violent codes, aching darkness of codes deceiving stature, who is dismantled. Words pulled out of lead. Breath of crystal…

The rain of deer in the plateau of whispers… From Magyar to Pendulum, in the here and there, from Caribou to Penumbra, by the minutiæ of a graceful assassin asleep and sighting in the glass vessel of a desirable space, from Weapon to Dust, for the children swimming in their myths, for the dawn mist suspended in the eyes, seeing what cannot be seen when “It’s too bright to see…” from Abyssinian to Chiaroscuro, and the word absence brings a field of Lepidoptera into the desolate rose of a derailed elucidation. A descent into light.

A bright spirit made of wolves, a throat in the fountain of analogies.

Is it enough to carve out the block of darkness, what evolves through the clarity of the hard clay, the urge to shape, to heat through exhaustion? But, always: “I am the dancing thorn, the hook and crook of a magical piercing, the devouring embrace… the train that smashes the certainty of shadows. I am when reflection grows out of the body, the locomotion of unbelievable grasping, the root-sense of night-fires and unspoken weapons. There is only the theatre of consciousness in the blind, bright breath that is bleeding in the wings…” There is only the thrust of the wolf-cloth, the veil-tender’s act of absolute defiance, the tear of lightning.

The desirable scavengers, dancing with ghostly abandon, starlight exhaled, flowers buried under the skin, bleeding the forest, and the fire, a breathless window.

A glance that opens up like a cult of shivering initiates, in the house of crux, on the table of bodily shifting, nebulous clones, face to face for the window of sidereal corollas and cones, breeding and blending, sight unseen, rising up through an ultimate seduction. Across the bridge, beneath the trees and colliding objects of refusal, in a Portuguese dialect, where the buzzing begins to sound like words of contempt, beautiful appeals, spells…

The desirable scavengers, dancing with ghostly abandon, starlight exhaled, flowers buried under the skin, bleeding the forest, and the fire, a breathless window.

A glance that opens up like a cult of shivering initiates, in the house of crux, on the table of bodily shifting, nebulous clones, face to face for the window of sidereal corollas and cones, breeding and blending, sight unseen, rising up through an ultimate seduction. Across the bridge, beneath the trees and colliding objects of refusal, in a Portuguese dialect, where the buzzing begins to sound like words of contempt, beautiful appeals, spells…

Invisible writing is the sign of a matadora in love with a massacre. The rain that bewilders is the loupe that ignites the orgasm of the mirror, and surrenders to it.

Sleep is the architecture of a rendezvous that forms the hunger of a triangle.

— J. Karl Bogartte

And Sophia appeared and whispered in my ear not to worry, because she would be guiding the (R)evolution that will bring masculine and feminine into an authentic hieros gamos!

So, finally and irrevocably wrapped in the luxurious embrace of the “Curious Night For the Double Eclipse” —

I LET GO!

AND THEN, ONLY SILENCE.

Meredith sent me a message along with a poem today: “Embrace this time of silence, it is truly a luxury.”

Soon silence will have passed into legend. Man has turned his back on silence. Day after day he invents machines and devices that increase noise and distract humanity from the essence of life, contemplation, meditation… tooting, howling, screeching, booming, crashing, whistling, grinding, and trilling bolster his ego. His anxiety subsides. His inhuman void spreads monstrously like a gray vegetation.

— Jean Arp

During one cycle from the Winter Solstice 2009 to the Winter Solstice 2010, right up to the New Sun, through the week of a Solar Eclipse honoring the passage of Venus out of Scorpio, after passing through the Underworld and ascending into the final transformation in the Aquarian Age Love Goddess. It has been quite a journey of manifestation.

FROM DEATH, TO LIFE, TO DEATH, TO WINTER BLOOM!

A new blog has been initiated as the birth of the divine child with the sacred marriage under this lunar eclipse. When all is in darkness, the light of the soul shines brightly. This new blog will be run by Sophia, Goddess of Wisdom, or so She informs me!

(R)evolution

Venus in the sign of Freedom. Elevated in the sky just after sunrise, she enters Sagittarius, bringing her light to the world as Sophia, Goddess of Wisdom, propelled by Jupiter/Uranus descending.