Reactions from Poet Stephanie Pope:
Little tree nymph took my breath away when I saw her! My heart, who does not hold on, tends her with mode of eye; finds me slipping slippery with her in her world the way she has just now slipped herself sideways into mind. Thank you for the quiet sound she spirits me; generous, your gifted heart.
Nymphs live for innumerable years…and then they die. They are not immortal like the gods. They are not reflections of transcendent be-ing. They are reflections of immanent be-ing; numens in their soul-logical expressions within the luminositas sensus naturae
And, they are not expressions of mechanical soul either. The limits of our machines reside here. The rooting ground of the nymph is elsewhere. I believe Heraclitus said…a limitless psyche, so deep the law. Such creative expressions come to a man differently. Love, Stephanie
I did not hang it (up against a wall) I did not lay it either. She neither ‘hags’ nor ‘lies’. She rises. I have an altar. It is home to a rhyolite stone. Such stone formed about 19million year ago during an intense period of volcanic action here in AZ. Some one hollowed the center and I have re placed in the centerless rhyolite all kind of dried roses and feathers and other things people have given me during my 10years here. There is even a rose made from palm branches and a tootsie roll pop lollipop flower someone made, a peacock feather’s ‘eye’ and a blue-winged butterfly guarding the flight of monarch’s in migration. At the base and before the ‘vase’ of gifts is a pewter work and it is a Greek goddess; the hunter, Artemis. So the tree spirit rises from her root in the birth chamber of Artemis. Her nourishment grows from the womb of Artemis. Meanwhile she ‘ghosts’ in open air above the whole display.
She re minds me of my poem, Ghost Flowers.
Thank you again for such treasure and for re-membering me this way. stephanie
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