Ode to Creatures, Spring, Makers, Making … and Elbert.

Hello Holy Mischievians, late winter greetings to you. The snowdrops, daffodils and crocuses are all blooming despite the strangest seesaw of cold, warm, icy, melty, snowy, rainy, sunny weather. Filiz and I were pondering how to inaugurate our first monthly Mystery Week post … the we-have-no-idea-what-we-want-to-do week until we get there. We are devotees of creative spontaneous combustion. We wandered off into our corners, scratched our heads, put our ears to the ground … and I came face to face with a rabbit. And in particular, a doodle-become-a-one-eared-rabbit named Elbert who had jumped into my life a few years ago. Sometimes you just have to stop what you are doing and recognize when a fellow creature is wholly deserving of an ode.¹ A celebration. And really, all this is Filiz’s fault because across this last month, she has been sending me the most luscious photos and videos of the riotous courtship between honeybees and almond blossoms happening in her village. Spring, fertility and new life are in the air … and of course, rabbits are right in the thick of it. Off I hopped after Elbert on behalf of this Mystery Week’s journey … as Filiz waved and blessed us on our mysterious way.

The sacred art of doodling is one of the ways I stay connected with The Everything that was very alive for me as a child. My DebraVerse has always been inhabited by hundreds of creatures. They are a different but very real tributary of family. And I have never felt alone. A favorite poet, Wendell Berry, once said, It is easy for me to imagine that the next great division of the world will be between people who wish to live as creatures and people who wish to live as machines.² I am of the creature persuasion (though I don’t want to feed any divide, especially in these times.) Elbert wanted some more attention (after all these years) … so down the rabbit hole we went.

Elbert, back in the day.

My Mystery Week challenge to myself was to celebrate my rabbit friend and:

1. To use materials I have to hand, like cardboard from a FedEx box, recycled junk mail envelopes, origami paper I haven’t touched in over a decade, colored pens, scissors, glue, a hole punch and tape.
2. To create something from my small office (not waiting for a Special Art Space) and to do it in one day.
3. To learn how to do one new thing.
4. To not get caught up in perfection; to focus on making more than what is made.
5. To be willing to show you what I made and stand by it, no matter what it looked like once Saturday rolled around.
6. To be willing to make a mess. (And I did.)

Evidence of a Real Mess.

I am a floor person. The carpet in my study looked like a toddler went on the rampage. I haven’t made such a complete and utter shambles in a space in years. One of my earliest life memories is in the kitchen in our apartment in Chicago. I am sitting in my high chair and finger painting; primary colors are all over my hands, the paper, the tray, my bib and the floor. It was exhilarating. Bless my maker mother who encouraged this and didn’t mind cleaning up afterwards. It is that toddler that staggered into my house this week.

Here is my visual ode, celebrating my love of creatures in the DebraVerse, of makers and making, of the emerging spring and of rabbits:

It was striking how I felt afterwards. I decompressed and was more spacious; my nervous system hummed and the hours flew by on hummingbird wings. I rediscovered the freedom that comes from being totally consumed by wooing something out of my head into the physical world … while getting ink on my fingers, strewing little bits of paper all over the carpet, getting glue on my skin, finding tape that has hitched a ride on my leggings, and rekindling a friendship with pens, brushes, a paper cutter and other tools I have long loved.

And when two friends shared some devastating news later that day, I was fully present. Absolutely. Fully. Present. My creative excursion was not in vain (at all).

I am experiencing one of the busiest years in decades. My personal Year of the Fire Horse started galloping in December. But this week I had one whole day of blissful immersion that refreshed, restored and re-reminded me what a blessing it is to be in this exact life with all its particular heartbreaks and joys. It is curious how making time to make (anything) … makes more time. There is some kind of profound quantum physics at play here that is the opposite of what my mind swears is true. For this I give thanks.

Rabbits purr when they are relaxed and contented. In a world full of raw edges and chaos, I purred this week. May you leap into something that has been calling you … even for a few minutes. We need all the blessings creativity can bring to help us show up with love when so much tries to throw us off our stride right now. Happy coming-along spring. May peace find you wherever you, your inner child and your Fire Horse are headed.

May all toddlers everywhere be free.
May all toddlers be safe.
May all toddlers be happy.
May all toddlers be cherished.

Blessed be, blessed love, blessed life.

❤️ Debra

Elbert and friends.

A FEW REMINDERS …

This first once-a-month MYSTERY WEEK offering is free to all our subscribers and then will be available to our paid subscribers only for the rest of the year.

Please continue to send us your burning questions about anything close to your heart which we will explore in our monthly DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE offering. Email them to debra@holybeepress.com and we will pick one to turn inside out with our curiosity, contemplation and conversation.

And lastly but not leastly, our two monthly SATURDAY NEWSLETTERS will continue to be FREE for everyone, everywhere in the galaxy, forever. ❤️

1. An ode is a poem that celebrates something – celebrates or extols or ceremonializes, or even blesses or revels in, or glorifies, or just simply digs into whatever a poem is talking about, be it a person, a place, a thing, an event, an idea. In the case of this Holy Mischief post, my ode is visual.

2. Wendell Berry from Life is a Miracle: An Essay Against Modern Superstition.