Beasts and beauties and a new year around the bend

The recent dark moon has people acting screwy.  Folks who I know to be solid land mammals are suddenly flailing around the seashores and lakes, looking like they want to swim.  Bird people are digging dirt-- and not just for worms-- digging cause they've lost focus, cause they've forgotten to look up: those wings aren't just for show, folks. 

Time for a little wintertime introspection.  Remember our faculties.  Remember we are spirit people.

I've recently given a little sea lion to the son of a beaver.  These are both animals that can do well in those ecotone environments.  Survivors.  Playful hardworkers.  Beavers are builders.  They remind us to build up our dreams, not lose focus.  If a beaver has shown up in your life, chances are, you need to spend a little time repairing your balance.  Maybe your creative energy has been diffused-- you've forgotten that your work and your personal legend are intrinsically tied together.  Beavers tell us to act on our dreams, make them reality.

In the same vein, sea lions are creative, sensitive, souls.  These folks tend to swim around in their own heads a lot-- and the trick for them is to figure when and how to bring their gifts to the surface.  Folks with sea lion totems should pay particular attention to their ears and what they're hearing or what they're listening to.  Music and words can unlock doors for these folks.

I also tried to get a three-legged unicorn to a three-legged unicorn.  Not sure if it made it.  Unicorns are special, of course.  And over here at Wildbeings they're even more so because they always break.  Mostly the horns break off.  In this case, it was a leg.  So I was looking for somebody who still had their magic intact, but maybe had forgotten about it because they're concentrating too much on their limp.  The three legged unicorn is a reminder that you're very special-- but it's up to you to figure if you're a magician or a cripple-- depends on where your energy goes and flows.

This is a time to go within, reevaluate, refocus.  Time to remind ourselves that we have special talents and we need to remember to use them-- or they'll atrophy.  So wherever you are in this last week of the year-- land or sea or air-- be there.  And start from there.
 
We will see you in the new year, beasts!
   

automatic for the animal-people

We've been depositing spirit animals all over the downtown area in the past few weeks.  Wolves, bears, mountain lions, catfish, even a drunken turkey.  It's been a bit of a blur.   This happens on occasion: the giving away becomes a whirlwind and overshadows the documentation.  That's because finding homes for the animals is fun and games, but writing about it is work. 

Don't worry, some of us are worker bees.  And the fact is, we've been working on some other ceramic side projects: light pulls that look like hands, hanging baskets for succulents, ornaments, wind chimes, little keychain houses... but the animals are returning in full force soon enough. 


Because solstice is coming.  The idea that we are reaching a point where the light and darkness are perfectly balanced is a big deal.  We could use a little balance over here.  As the darkness grows, we are considering hibernation.  Or migration?  Something. Bottom line: If you found a spirit animal in the past few weeks, you're on your own.  Is it yours?  Does it belong to someone else?  Your call.  This is a community art project.  And you, good folks, are the community.

Back to it, Spirit People!

Beaver moon!

Okay spirit people.  We're back.  We didn't really go anywhere, just haven't been posting.  We've been distributing animals: beavers and foxes and bears and a snake at the midterm elections (turns out, plenty of snakes there already.)  Tonight, John Butler Trio, my kind of weather, and a bag of fall animals looking to find the right people.  Stay tuned!

daylight nightdark sunlight moonlight

Happy Autumn Equinox! Welcome back darkness!  So long, hot summer!  Cave-dwellers and freckular people rejoice!

It's been a great week over here at Wildbeings.  So glad to see summer on the way out.  We got the big fox to what I'm going to say was the stage manager at Trombone Shorty.  I got a small coyote to John Fullbright-- who opened for Shovels and Rope.  And I got a luna moth-girl on the stage during Shovels and Rope.  Well, not me, but somebody did.

I'm not here to do music reviews.  I'm not qualified.  I don't even play an instrument (5 chords on the ukulele...).  But Shovels and Rope... woah.  One of the best shows I've seen in a while.  I was so impressed by the musical love language that these two performers seemed to share and speak.  And it's not like either of them have super beautiful voices.  But they sound so... moving.  Amazing, really.

Moths are amazing, too.  Much like the butterfly, but from the flip side, the dark side.  Butterflies are beautiful, sunny and light, colorful, fluttery.  We all love butterflies.  And there is no doubt that moths are beautiful, too.  But entities that thrive in darkness always make people nervous.  It's our weird Christian/ Puritan sensibilities.  The forests are dangerous, dark, deep and filled with lurking creatures, danger, witches and whatnot.  But here's what I think: It's a perfect animal for the equinox.  They are a reminder that darkness is on it's way.  Moth people use shadow and darkness to confuse enemies, to dazzle and distract.  They know how and when to disappear.  They have the ability to use illusion.  But most importantly:  moths can always find their way to the light.  They remind us that there is hope.  Always.  Sometimes we have to look beyond our preconceptions.

Foxes and coyotes are playful trickster types.  I write about them a lot.  Or I mean to.  Clever.  Smart.  I mean, this whole project is kind of coyote-fox spirited.  These animals, both, tell us to look for balance between work and play.  And to love and make good use of the inbetween times: the foggy mornings and dusk times.  The waiting periods.  Foxes and coyotes teach us to follow our hearts, but to take our brains with us-- be playful, but stay on the light side.  Because mostly, these spirits are clever to a point of magically manipulative, which can go dark, man.

Happy Equinox, Mabon, Day of Balance!  Love to all the Spirit People!
 

   

Fox to be continued

Trombone Shorty was a really good time.  Tailgating out front I met somebody whose cousin was in the band.  We talked about who might be a fox-- I happened to have a pretty big fox with me.  I don't remember who she suggested might be the fox.  But getting it up on stage was pretty easy, as I remember it.  Which I really don't.  I'm pretty sure somebody else did it.  It's all so overwhelming right there by the speaker and all the excitement and beer.  But this is what happened: go to Wildbeings on facebook.  You'll see.  Shovels and Rope tonight.  And I'll get to the fox stuff later.

flamingo, flamingone

I spent at least a week carrying around the flamingo. It was kind of big and too heavy in my purse.  It had pointy legs.  It was cumbersome.  Everybody thinks they're a bear or a wolf or a hawk-- but flamingo spirits are harder to come by.

With a little detective work and maybe one too many beers, I think I found my flamingo spirit.  Luckily, this guy is a regular and predictable bar patron who had vocalized his flamingo-ness to other bar patrons-- so I was pointed in the right direction and it only took me two visits to find him.

Flamingos know how to stand out in a crowd.  Obviously.  Which is why, even though they're rare, they're not hard to find.  They are preening and emotional-- and they know the importance of color.  They get color from diet, so if the pink stuff isn't available they will fade to white.  The flamingo spirit should take in those things that nourish their heart and soul-- the stuff that intensifies their bright color-- and stay away from the things that make them fade.

Don't fade away, Flamingo guy!  

Fame and fences

Firstly, the Yonder Mountain String band was awesome.  And with the help of one feisty red head and her super-tall husband, we were able to get a blackbird/crow/woodpecker on the stage right in front of the new mandolin player-- despite efforts by The Man to keep us back.

Let me just say, I LOVE Greenfield Lake Amphitheatre.  And I get it.  People sit on the stage and screw with the wires and likely spill beer where it shouldn't be spilled.  I see how a fence might seem like a good idea.  But it was weird.  And the whole front row just collectively decided to push it forward-- so it was pretty useless, really. 

Earlier this summer, you may have noticed, they started fencing off the little area in the woods where folks used to be able to listen for free.  And man, I get that, too, even though I think it's dumb.  I can't help but think that the tailgating will be tackled, homogenized, patrolled, and ruined soon enough-- just another reason to enjoy this amazing venue before the creeping tentacles of security and capitalism choke it out.

Fortunately, birds pay fences no mind.  They sing and they fly without fear or inhibition. Blackbirds, in particular, sing to sooth themselves, to communicate, to warn, and seemingly just to make music.  They tell us to heed warnings and omens.  To pay attention to signs from the universe and from nature. To listen carefully. This one has a yin-yang symbol on it's back and a heart on it's chest.  If you are in balance, and paying attention, your heart will pull you down the right path.  Yonder Mountain certainly seemed on the right path.  They let go of the showy mandolin player and the new one seemed a much better fit-- and the fiddler!  The FIDDLER!  

In other news: we're famous!  Wilma magazine did a little spread about this project.  It makes the whole thing seem so legitimate, doesn't it? 

 

Thank you for the encouragement spirit people!  And for all the help-- for laughing with us AND at us!  For getting jazzed about giving AND getting-- this is a great community...goodness all around! 

 

We will be out this weekend with the last batch from the late summer firing: buffalo, bear, deer, chipmunk-- and then back to the mud-oven for those of us who are fall animals.  Love to all the beautiful beasts!  Happy Labor Day weekend!

 

 

Grifters and gifters

     One of my favorite things about this project is recruiting new mules.  I can't be the only one out there dropping spirit animals in purses and pockets-- heck, I'm already starting to get recognized as oddball spirit animal person--anonymity is golden and this is a community art project, after all.  

     The thing is, giving the animals away is just as much fun as receiving them.  Some people immediately get that and want to be a part of it.  Last night at the Duck and Dive a friendly bearded weirdo got in the groove.  This dude is a natural.

     If you read this blog, you likely know that I stick these things in all kinds of places: crevices, bathrooms, unattended coats, etc.  Well, the best and the most difficult maneuver, the holy grail, is to get an animal in an actual pocket without being noticed. 
     On his very first attempt, this very talented animal placing beardo got a little bear in the back pocket of a tall swarthy fellow on the front stoop.  His pocket was wide open and wagging, but still, the dude was standing up-- and didn't feel the little bear go in, nor did he feel all the eyes on him as we watched it almost fall out, then work it's way down.  All completely unnoticed. 

     This happened to be a little galaxy bear: half dark, half light.  The thing with bears is this: they are often misunderstood.  Bears are often pegged to be aggressive, intimidating, but in reality, they just want that carton of eggs from your garbage dumpster.  They're hungry.  And then they want to sleep.  They're just being bears!  People with bear medicine generally have a dark side, but it only shows up when they're poked or threatened.  These folks would do themselves a favor to learn from that dark side-- to hibernate/meditate about how they turn that darkness into something lighter: art, music, humor, something.

     I also left a little arch-backed cat.  I called it a pooping cat, but my new bearded animal gifter preferred to call it a racing cat.  Either which way, this is a cat in the middle of something.  Racing or pooping?  I guess it depends on who it went to. You be the judge.    

trouble in birdland

It's been an interesting week over here in the beast factory.

Firstly, we had an interview and photo shoot with a local magazine!  The article is set, we think, to come out in the September issue.  More on that if (when) it actually happens. 

Secondly, we had our first ever experience where somebody was downright angry about a spirit animal.  It was a hummingbird.  And she was angry because I apparently gave it to her attractive husband weeks ago.  (I had no idea-- couldn't remember the guy or the beast, which she found very hard to believe.  Shows how much she knows about this project and the people running it.)  She went so far as to introduce me to the hummingbird husband-- who I still did not remember-- but I think the hummingbird was right on-- playful, fiercely independent (I mean, the wife wouldn't be so worried otherwise, right?) fast moving, turns on a dime.  Hummingbirds are filled with energy.  Until they're not.  Folks with a hummingbird totem need to be careful to refuel and rest once in a while or they'll burn out.   
      I tried to explain that I am interested in the animal spirits, not the human ones; but it was evident that this woman was not digging my dirt.  She was maybe a wolf spider.  Or a praying mantis.  Either which way, it was weird.  From now on, I'm going to be careful about animal spirits and married men...ha!  NOPE!  Ridiculous!

Lastly, Sunday SUPER Moon.  Happy last days of summer!  Watch your pockets, friends!


       

nuts and bolts

World tour is over.  Beasts wound up all over North Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, even CostaRica.  They were left in trees, rocks, Volkswagen vans, bicycle baskets, and who knows where? 

A new batch is about to go in the fire.  An autumn batch.  Because the beginning of August always forgets to remind us that winter is right around the corner.  This is the part of the year when we tend to give up and forget what we're doing: Too hot to move.  Tomatoes and figs falling off the vines right into our sandwiches.  Nothing whatsoever to worry about.  And then the bugs eat the fruit.  And it keeps raining forever.  So we here at Wildbeings intend to enjoy the rest of this hot, muggy, wet summer, but store our nuts all the same.