Redhand eve free#
She would love for you to visit her at her website, where you can find some of her free e-books to download. Her essays, short stories, memoirs, reviews, and poetry have been published in, among others, Feminism and Religion, Return to Mago E-Magazine, Sagewoman, The Goddess Pages, Matrifocus, and The Beltane Papers, and various anthologies. Who stumble into this place of sanctuary, thatĬarolyn Lee Boyd is a writer, student drummer, and herb and native plant gardener who lives in New England. I leave my handprint to remind you, people from the future, Their rituals here last for days and are marvelous for those who experience them.īut now I see only what is in front of me. To tell of spirits and creation and life’s endless tasks. The celebrated ones who made the other hands have long stories and songs So I will sit here for a moment until the ochre is setĪnd play on my flute so magically made for meīy my grandchild from the wing of a vulture. In times of both despair and merrymaking. Our bones may crumble unburied and no one will call to me as their ancestor That will never answer with gentle, warm rain and The people may no longer revere She Who Created ThemĪnd instead cry out unheard to craven hollowness Who knows what the future will hold? One day the reindeer may leave the landĪnd not return. I have awakened at dawn and been unable to rise so many tears have covered my face and so much agony has my body suffered.īut still, these trials have only made the other mornings more precious. I have carefully arranged the still bodies of lovers, mother,įather, sons, daughters, friends, almost everyone I have ever loved. I have dug into the soil for roots in wrathful hunger. I want the people from the future who discover my hand to know that The land quaked with the stampede of reindeer herds. Hives of bees buzzed around my head but never stung. The meadow air made us drunk with the perfume of spring blossoms. You could not see the blue of the sky for the clouds of birds. When I walked out of my shelter in the morning I want the people from the future who discover my handprint to know that Though my lover tells me I am still pleasing.Īnd I know that I am reaching the moment of lifeĪnd one day soon I will lay down and never again rise with the sun.
I have only seen my face in the water, blurry and swiftly disappeared, So whoever sees its smeared outline will know that the person I will move my hand like my body as it breathes One finger will bend like a snake crawling among the grass. It will, in some lights, make you think of a bird. I will make my hand’s image a little different from the others. Whose handprints are here to be seen and touched with honor.īut I have tucked some ochre in my leather pouch and I press my hand to the wall and, with my mouth, spray Or the shape-shifters who travel between our realm and the spirits, I am not an artist who paints the beasts who fall in sacrifice that we may live, Today I am alone, inching towards my destination, my bodyĪching, knees bleeding, in silence. Relentless chants and drums, my village in trance. I was in awe of sacred sister animals running along the walls When I first crouched low, crawling into theĬave chamber, a young woman led to her first ceremony, Here is a poem in the voice of such a woman. I wonder if some of them might have been made by women who had transformations and thoughts similar to mine. Research has shown that about 75% of these were made by women, making them a very early form of feminist art. I feel as if I am contracting in towards the center of the spiral of my spiritual journey.Īll over the world, very ancient cave art includes hand prints made by painting or blowing ochre around a hand or putting ochre on a hand and pressing it to the wall. I think more about ways of being rather than ways of doing and more about the small messages I want to leave to generations to come instead of major accomplishments. Whereas before my spiritual practice involved more rituals and circles, unusually indoors, with others, now I more often engage in solo quiet contemplation, outside in the wild when I can. As I have gotten older, I find I am drawn more to non-anthropomorphic, inexpressable-in-words, nature, and everyday focused visions of the Divine.
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