The Southern Oracle

In Alchemy, First Matter is the source of all things. It’s the very essence of changing all things light and dark, manifested and unmanifested in grand pattern of transformation. Essentially, I’m the first matter in the Southern Oracle. The oracle itself, is not only a great story being told through these series of paintings, but also a phenomenal transformation into something visual and tangible. In this way, I’m not only the First Matter but the Alchemist. Welcome to my laboratory.

The Southern Oracle is not only an exceptionally personal body of work but on a whole the entire embodiment of myself without all the identifying details. These paintings are equally composed with components of creation, the four seasons, the four elements and Quintessence. Which, in my head takes a complex entity and simplifies it. To further explain this concept, let me start with the focal point of my story.

There are many names for us, and as I have discussed this topic before, many times, I never put it in conjunction with my work. Throughout the ages we have been labeled, Divine feminine to Goddess and one my favorites, Pythoness as well another charming one, Witch. But, what we really should be called is, Creators. We were given the womb, the gift to create life and do it is that a woman is divine in nature naturally but then there are those of us who are further gifted with sight, touch and power. We, are the true Alchemists in nature. Meaning, we can take many things of different components and use a form of transmutation to yield into something far greater than it began. We have one hand inside the below and one in the above.

Essentially, we are all witches. We have celebrated our abilities by healing, governing our power through silent manipulation and creation. We use our hands to manifest a sacred energy from crown to root and whisper words that only the animals hear. We are not only chosen, but we are rare. What we don’t do is wear black pointed hats, ride broom sticks or pray to the devil. That, of course is all myth and has been highly disputed as nothing more than masculine propaganda in order to dethrone what it sacred, divine and holy.

THE WHITE PHASE.

THAT WHICH IS BELOW CORRESPONDS TO THAT WHICH IS ABOVE, AND THAT WHICH IS ABOVE CORRESPONDS TO THAT WHICH IS BELOW, TO ACCOMPLISH THE MIRACLE OF ONE THING, THROUGH THE MEDIATION OF ONE MIND, SO DO ALL CREATED THINGS ORIGINATE FROM THIS ONE THING THROUGH, TRANSFORMATION.

We understand that our “power” our “magic” comes from understanding the overlapping of two worlds. One in the ether and the other here, earth. We walk between the two, pull divine energy, hear the messages for translation and celebrate our sisterhood. We are not only unique, but yet also have a great purpose. In this world, we are the very last threads in the very special, and required, balance.

Perhaps you’re wondering how a series of paintings could be based on such a big concept? That’s because, as I stated before, the complexity is also and equally, simple. Very few minds are capable of understanding such knowledge through imagery, most of which is lost to the common person as nothing more than a “Pretty painting”. However, there are those special enough, in tune enough enough, to see the very obvious symbols, symbolism and placement of the images in such a way they instantly read the otherwise obscure message, clearly. The real question is, can you?

Once, or twice in history, we were sought out, hunted and murdered for being advocate of the devil. We were believed to be under demon influence or practice dark magic in which God and the mighty band of Archangels were our enemies. That, couldn’t be further from the truth. Hence, the white phase. Call us what you like, I prefer my first name, however, we have always walked along side the Angels in the light. We seek our wisdom, strength and healing from God as well as we silently play shepherd to the sheep filled world.

These paintings are the most truest representation of not only myself, but my sisters. We hold sanctuary in each other and almost instantly find one another like magnets drawn together by force. I honor them, myself and all those before us. I do so because for once, I am exactly as I was meant to be and I am so much more than just an painter or any linear label.

I welcome you to find enlightenment through a higher vibration. I encourage you to seek the things only slightly hidden for those are the things we must all take a moment for.

To know the secrets of the universe, first you must go to Source, the First Matter, God and… BE STILL AND SILENT WITH ME AND YOU SHALL KNOW.

Thank you for reading ♥️

With balance, I’m only whole because I have the greatest strength in my entire existence. I have been forever reunited with my twin flame. There is no greater love. In that way, the Universe has righted itself.

Birds behind iron, bite

I don’t always play nice when I am put on your iron perch. I don’t like the straight lines or running out of sunlight anymore than I like following the lines set forth.

Like cobalt ink on thick paper and one drop of water, I bleed. I was never meant to be in one form nor was I meant to carry the pinkish rings around my wrists from your shackled chains.

I was meant to be on a throne, instead of this cage of your own accord. You believe I am niave, blinded by my emotions, but I am neither. My vision is acute and my walk is steady.

To light a match doesn’t mean I am playing anymore than it means I’ll get burned. I can feel my way through the dark by nothing but my finger tips. I know as much as can feel because some things don’t change.

Fuck your iron perches and all the mounting weight of significant knowledge you think I don’t possess. Fuck your inability to hear me without believing you aren’t in control.

The more you control, the less I feel right and the more I don’t feel right the less control I have.

Fuck all of that, I will bite. It’s a simple price to pay for your lack of understanding compromise.

You didn’t let me perch freely on your shoulder or sit quietly next to you. The iron is cold beneath my feet and turns my blood to a warm shade of icy demise.

Take this blanket of yours a fly.

Thank you for reading ♥️

Poetry of static

Ticking clock, running water, someone talking from another room , TV belting out babble of news, yet I hear none of it.

Instead, I hear the maddening thoughts in my head spiraling into static. They distract me from the outside world, stirring my insides like a jar of sleeping butterflies shook by the dirty hands of a toddler.

I am here, atleast my body is, yet my mind is far from here in place called Not. There isn’t much there except the growing weeds of discontent, heartache and anxiousness. There are trees of growing fear that reach high into the depths of the endless sky and a river of right or wrong that flows as swift as it does after the spring thaw.

Where do I go and from what place is there words to fill the spaces and quiet the blaring static that sounds so loudly that I want to run. I could try to run, I could attempt to fill my ears with noise, but it only stops the sickness in my belly for a brief moment.

Everything around me familiar, suddenly feels foreign and strange. My footing seems to be that of a drunken chicken as I muddle through the thick muck.

I try to find a steady place to rest but just when the world seems to still, it all falls down.

There is no reprieve for what it seems is fate, yet I am unsure of it either way. I try to open my mouth and make my voice heard, but nothing comes out except for a million moths, silencing my mind and heart.

I am silent because I have been silenced by the unending turmoil that comes with the victory of sound, and so I sit in my head. I sit among the static as if it were a juice filled wine, drunken on the distorting affects and helplessly, hopeless.