Hellena Post - Creatrix

I've tried on so many uniforms and badges that now I'm just me - mother of 8 children and all that entails, flowmad, and human animal parent. Writer of this living book of a blog, philosopher, and creatrix of hand dyed and spun crocheted wearable art. I gave up polite conversation years ago, and now I dive into the big one's.....birth, sex, great wellness, life, passion, death and rebirth.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

The Law of Repulsion and more book

Back to Balthazar and Nimue.  I was going to continue the running commentary before each installment, but I've been loathe to write about our actual meeting.  It's such a great story, but so very different to the book, where I used lashings of poetic license to make it pretty.  Not that our actual meeting wasn't pretty mind you.....but I guess I'm realising that there's some stories I'd like to keep for telling in person.  To people that I've felt out and know will appreciate it.  Not that I'm saying you wont, but it's a very different story in it's details to the prose that poured out about it in this book.  And I think I'd like the book to be itself, without having my real story to compare it to, overshadow it, or confuse the plotlines.  Enough said.  If you want the real dirt on what went on when we met, you're just gonna have to come and visit me, bring some lovely Temple Bruer Desert Wine, have a meal, and a drink, and then sit back and let me lay it on you.

That being said, I'm just gonna do little posts about what's going on in my head at the moment, and then keep on adding chapters of my book at the end, so you can keep reading it.  A bit like a women's magazine.  With the serialised story that you buy it to continue reading. 

I reckon one of the most consistent laws of the universe that Currawong and I have bumped into, is the law of repulsion.   Yes you read me right, I'm talking about what is inherent in the Law of Attraction that nobody talks about.  When we learn something, realise a personal truth, shift long held patterns, have enlightening experiences, or change aspects of ourselves, we literally, physically, and spiritually change our vibration.  Our energy changes.  And it makes sense that like magnets, when we stop attracting, we start repulsing.  So when we change our energy, we can find that people, places and situations that were attractive before we changed......can become repulsive.  At the same time, people that we attracted with our energy before we changed, can become repulsed by us when they feel the shift in our energy.  Circles of friends with the same energetic frequency, can repel a person who changes that frequency to a different one.  Behaviours that were once acceptable, can become abhorrent.  All sorts of things can happen, simply because we started to vibrate at a different frequency.  Becoming out of tune with what, who, and where we were before the change. 

Now there doesn't have to be any judgement in this, and if we all had energy barometers, we could look at them and say "oh...I've changed my frequency and now it's repelling you where we used to attract.  That's okay, how about we just go our own ways till we attract each other again, if we do?"   But instead more often, we take it personally, wrack our brains for reasons why it happened, try and work out what we're doing 'wrong', and put ourselves through all sorts of internal gymnastics that aren't often comfortable. 

I almost feel like an expert on this subject, because it's happened so many times throughout my life.  And the most clear example I've got of it is when Spiral-Moon was born.  We'd had a rough time with Lilly's birth before her, as we gave ourselves an example of how NOT to do bonding, as in, we didn't really bond as a family at all after her birth.  She bonded with me, and wouldn't go to anyone else, not Currawong, or my mother, or ANYONE till she was a year old.  And the rest of the family were strangers to her.  So when it came time to birth Spiral, the main thing I was focused on was getting the bonding right.  Which we really really did.  We had a birthday party for her a couple of days after she was born, with a cake, and presents for the other kids, and we did lotus birthing for the first time, and we were in the desert and in a bizarre little town, so we were on our own, and we bonded beautifully.  Absolutely wonderfully in fact.  We cried a lot, and felt a lot, and healed a lot, and loved a lot, and as a result.......we totally changed our vibrations.  All of us.  And what was the result of this?

Well most of it was awesome, but after her birth and the most amazing part of our bonding, we went down south to the market that we'd created, and friends, family and community, and fell out with ALL OF THEM!!!  All at the same time.  We got kicked out of the market that we started, and fell out with our closest friends over the silliest little thing, and had a huge fight with my mum and eldest daughter who lived together down south, and had little fallings out with our extended community too.  We were absolutely devestated.  Our whole lives had just been flushed down the toilet with little reason it seemed!!  We went back to our isolated home to lick our wounds, and try to work out what the hell had happened.  We were really stressed with each other for a while, as we were internalising what had happened, and trying to work out what we'd done wrong, whether we were heinous humans or not, what to do next, why why why it had happened......  Then a good friend turned up and stayed for a few days, listened to our woes, gave us some Osho books, and headed off again.  I read some Osho, and started feeling better, and then we headed down south again, and made friends again with my mum and daughter, and in the process got given 'The Secret' to watch, and it changed our lives.  Gave us a whole new way to look at life, and affirmed a whole stack of things I'd worked out for myself, and after watching it, I realised that we'd changed our vibration, were no longer attracting the people we had, and it was time to consciously create the reality we wanted with our thoughts. 

Which we did.  Went on to meet a whole heap of new folks who were vibrating at the same frequency as us, and stopped taking the whole event so personally.  And around that time I developed my theory about the law of repulsion, and now I'm sharing it with you :)  So if you're ever wondering why that old friend is acting so wierd, or why you've just fallen out with a whole heap of people.....think about the law of repulsion and see if it fits.  It makes sense to me anyhow..... 

Now.  For the next installment of Balthazar and Nimue.  If you haven't read the rest of the book so far, go here http://spunoutpost.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/love-story.html for the first two chapters, and here http://spunoutpost.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/chapters-three-and-four.html for chapters three and four, and then here http://spunoutpost.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/last-installment.html for chapters 5 - 8.  And then read on........

Chapter 9 - She dreams

Friday, 4 September
I was in a cave, deep beneath the surface, with serpents, spider webs, and ancient lore.  Menstrual rituals and moon light dispersed amidst stories and dreams.  The goddess was my company, and I knew my power.  Then drumming came from beneath me, thundered through the walls around me, and I found myself enthroned in furs.  Sweet incense, ripe fruits, and oils were around me, and I could hear voices in the distance, like far off waves.  Then an antlered god stood before me, looking like Balthazar, muscled and hollowed, and glistened with sweat.  Wild eyed and soft skinned, with phallus erect, we created life together.  We flew beyond time to the place of all time, and saw our creation together.  I looked down below, and saw torture and murder of life and passion, with women seared by a cruel sword, and I knew them as me.   I saw the savaged and pillaged, defiled and lifeless, and knew them also as me.  Then I saw all of the characters in ceaseless succession, swapping gender for age for culture for death, and I knew them all as one.  And I knew all within me.  Then I came back to my body, and held my antlered lover as the glamour dimmed.

Hurled from her dream she felt otherworldly and disconnected from reality.  The images filtered together and shifted and sifted, to show her kaleidoscopic pictures of inner realms.  She needed to see him again, to see what it meant.

Chapter 10 - He wakes

Friday, 4 September

I was a pagan man, dressed in deer antlers astride a hill, drawing down the power of the horned god into my body.  Then I descended the hill, to a throng of people dancing round a blistering fire.  Drummers and dancers circled and spiralled, and I started the search for my mate.  I could almost smell her, sweet dewy earth, springs first flush, blood red petals, gaze of fire, and then I saw her, Nimue, stretched out on furs.  I went to her, and it was a joining of the goddess and god.  A creation of new life, stars in the heavens and deep broiling seas.  We soared overhead and examined the vastness of time and humanity, adrift in the cross currents of perspective.  We both truly knew our place more completely than before, thrilled at the knowing of all in one.  And then I saw way down, the clashing blades of armoured soldiers, blood dripping onto the grieving earth, and I knew them as me.  I saw the merchants and law makers, forest cutters and stone builders, inquisitors and diseased ones, fanatics and despoilers of earth, and I knew them also as me.  Then I saw all of the characters in ceaseless succession, swapping gender for age for culture for death, and I knew them all as one.  And I knew all within me.  Then I came back to my body and nestled beside her, and our glamours faded to sweet respite.

This dream thrilled and bewitched him.  Who would have known there lay a poets heart beneath his battered coat?  He could feel his new awareness stretching over his skin, he bathed in it’s silken touch and light caress.  He’d somehow seen above and beyond the role he’d had cut for him, as the male actor in this period piece.  He knew he could do things differently.  He knew he could start anew and fresh, with insight into what he could do with his character.  He had an appointment with the script writers to rewrite the world.

He suddenly saw his entrapment’s and tangling’s writhing at his feet, no longer bound to him, slithering off to nest far away from his knowledge.  He saw where he’d been pushing the wrong trolleys, and bragging the wrong stories.  He brought out some finer aspects of self, and wrapped some others away from sight.

He spoke to his girlfriend about his new outlooks on life, and was amazed when she told him she needed him gone.  She’d found a new lover, and she wanted to be with him instead.  They parted as friends and old colleagues, battered but bonded by their travails together.  He visited his other lives and found similar responses, doors closing gently on a suit outworn.  He found himself in a bound up time, a bound up pile of old clothes that he stored away and left for posterity.  His new hide was sleeker, wiser, softer, more comely to his inner eye.  He was ready to go with her to the hills and leave the street behind.

He wanted to see her again, needed to talk and see where she’d got to.  He drove down the street looking to no avail, and sat perched on a barstool at night in case she drop in.  He needed to remember more......

Thursday, March 8, 2012

Women's Day

I really love women.  And not just because I am one......I've been through many fluctuations in my feelings about us, and had many bitter things to say about young, middle aged and old women throughout all my different stages, but above and beyond everything..................women are just wonderful.  Full of wonder, to bleed without being injured, to create life within us, to nurture little humans for as long as we do.  And even the women who choose not to mother, nurture their own forms of children into the world.  We are such incredible reflections of the greater cycles around us of birth, life, and death or rebirth.  With our personal monthly cycles we reflect the seasonal cycles, and the lifetime cycles, and the cycles of ideas and relationships that can be born, live, die, and then be reborn again in a different guise.  From my learnings over the years, I see that most of our collective problems come from our resistance and fear of, or attempts to control these cycles, or to try and arrest them into eternal life, so no pain has to be felt, and this is often to the detriment of ourselves and the world around us. 

But us women in our fibre and cells are attuned to these cycles, and reminded of them every month when we bleed, that a part of us that we carried inside us in our mothers wombs........is dying.  And this occurs to us metaphysically, and also literally.  Our bleeding can be the death of a dream of concieving new life, or a painful process that reminds us that we're not always in control.  The letting go of relationships and ideas, or a monthly purge of pent up emotions as we erupt with hormones.  A brief hiatus in a busy schedule, even if our bodies have to bully us into it with pain, or a reminder about how much we have to supress our wild natures to be a truly domesticated human animal woman....... 

In my experience anyway, us women are just a touch more connected to the great mysteries of life, the learnings to be obtained from the underground, and the great beauty there can be in death.......  Conversant with the great and swallowing pain that is the echo of complete and unconditional love.

And I can say right here and now that I love deeply every woman in my life.  Even the ones who have jarringly hurt me are loved for the lessons they taught.  I can't speak for the famous women and the icons and the movie stars, for I have no personal experience of them.  But instead when I think of woman, I think of all the women who have touched my life, and each and every one of them is beautiful.  I've learnt harsh lessons about my own mothering, about my mother, about how I've mothered my oldest and first born daughter, and they all lead me to reflections of myself.  And I believe that if I can heal them in myself, I can heal with them, and help others to as well, and  ultimately the world is a better place.  And beyond my personal family relationships, women in my life have taught me how to love, to hug, to giggle, to feel safe, and so many other things.  I've always had a special woman in my life in particular, who was there for me as a friend, sister, and sometimes lover, as well as a larger circle of amazing, talented and passionate women around me, and we all reflect, mirror, and beam on each other our particular brands of light. 

Women smell good, and feel good, and I always feel wholesome when I think of how nice it must be for a baby to lounge on my curvaceous body built for comfort not speed.  To sleep on my big and generous breasts.  To sit on my soft and accomodating lap.  Women by the nature of our bodies have a spiritual recess, that leads into us.  A deep that can't always be dived into.  An intimate inner part of us that needs a respectful request to gain acceptance.  We have parts of us that have to be dug for.

On my journeys through the interconnected world wide web, I've met some incredible women, some on the other side of the world, who have shared stories and birthing journeys and inspirations and advice and love and learning.......and I'm greatful for you all, and I'm happy and sad all at the same time that you're too numerous to mention by name, and for me to tell you little stories about what you mean to me, and how I hold a flame for you in my heart.   

And as I write this taking moments to gaze into my bonny baby's face and smile with him........I've got to express that I'm profoundly greatful for being a woman, and for the spiritual path that my feet tread as a result of birthing all the babies I have.  The humbling lessons they've taught me, and the unique personalities with which they instruct.  And helping me to get to that amazing place where I know a lot from my life experience, and it all goes to show me how incredibly much more there is to learn. 

So as a gift to whoever wants it on this International Women's Day, I'd like to keep with the theme but break the sequence, by posting two chapters from far off in the future in my book that I've been serialising here....Balthazar and Nimue.   One is, I guess, my ideal of womaness, and the other is a song that I wrote many years ago.  I love women :)  Hope you enjoy these two gifts to the goddess......


Chapter 18 - Nimue writes.....
Once there was a woman who brought everything around her to life.  Not just the people she met, and the trees and plants around her she touched, but the cars which she drove, the dishes she washed at the sink, the tiles she walked on to the bath, the cloth she draped over her skin.

If you had the gift of sight, of being able to see the energies that move around a person or a plant or an object, and you had been able to watch her, to hang back to a point of observation in which you could view the reaction of energies to her passage through them, you would have noticed a visible hum of life at her approach in all of the atmosphere around her.  Which would build into a buzzing at her imminent presence, vivid greens and purples and reds and blues and yellows swirling round her, threading out to vibrate through the very air circling her, melting into everything in its wake, and then at her departure the rapture slowed, faded, and a miserable ache of loss at the realisation that all was as it had been before, no more freed of it's inanimate incarnation, then the slow numbness of forgetfulness..........

She hadn't been this way all of her life.  She'd spread out luscious amounts of her time and love onto everyone, animal or cause that grabbed her at that moment, and spent her earlier years like an ant, scrabbling out scraps and lessons, and storing them underground, letting it build up till she knew what she wanted to do with it all.  Till a curious phase hugged her to it, breathing in her ears a warm, fragrant, sea breeze tune, that lured her closer, till she forgot to remember she was dreaming, and let it become reality. 

Every single moment of her life felt sacred, her room became a temple, her existence became filled with ritual, clothing herself became dressing the goddess.  She bought herself sweet oils and incense, velvet and satin, sweet treats and dope, herbs and fruit juice.  She looked at the stars and bled into velvet, then rinsed them in water and spread the bloodied water on her plants.  She bought sea salt and rose bath salt, sandalwood oil and candles, and made her room into time warping peace.  Melodies lilting, scents wafting, timeless, buzzing, soft bright peace.......

At first she just bathed in her own reactions and senses, feelings and smells, touches and caresses, and languished in the waves of herself.  But a little further down the path, at the end of a living green tunnel, she found herself aware of every particle around her.  She ran herself a bath, walking over the cool tiles, spread rose petals and scented salt through the rising bubbles and burbles of water.  Lay outstretched at first, feeling her skin, then she felt a rose petal brush by her and found herself in moist soil, feeling her roots into the ground, and her sturdy thorned stalks, and the soft, velveteen roses of deep blood red petals.  Felt the sun beating a soft heart path to her leaves and the bright bright sky spread above her............back again to feeling her body.  Then a grain of sea salt nudged her soft thigh, and she was hurled in a spiral through the deep dark sea, brushing by fish and anemones and being drawn toward the surface, and the melting of dark sea into purples and sea greens and white blues.....back again to feeling her body.  Then she touched the bath and shocked into knowing the rock and stones, ore's and oxides, landscapes and caverns, and hands of many people that all of these particles went through to become a bath.  And the room became very crowded. 

She brushed her teeth and her gaze strayed out the window to the lurid patterns the grass was weaving, with sprinkles of white belled flowers and deep pink buds, then clothed herself, feeling the vista of sunswept paddocks of cotton plants, with their soft white balls of fluff waiting to be picked, and woven, and patterned, and shaped, into clothes.  Doing the dishes she felt all the particles in every plate and cup and container she washed, gently, and placed with reverence in the rainbow bubbled water and then dishrack.  Every journey made, every hand that touched, every paint drop pressed in it's surface.

And she knew herself part of a bigger circle, larger life.  Countlessly relaying and passing and feeling information, and conversation, and content, and life, onto others and through others, and round the spiral of life, to the great mass of creation and knowledge, that hangs round the circumference of everything that was and is and will be.......

Chapter 28 - Always out at sea

Well I’ve been always out at sea
Nobodies ever rescued me
Drag myself towards the shore
Every stroke is hurting more
Is this the price for liberty
Constant drowning out at sea
See the flags fly on the sand
Distant drumming from the land

Maiden Mother Crone your story unfolds
And to you my sisters call
Feel the power rise within
Break the binds of christian sin

Oh mother can’t you see me here
Does my crying reach your ears
Seen your face so many times
Bruised and worn believing lies
You face misogyny and fear
Been beaten down so many years
Kept from knowing your own worth
Sacred mother of the earth


Looking back on all my years
See the root of all my fears
Recognise the constant grind
To domesticate my mind
No amount of worldly gain
Can ever ease the pain
Separated from my birth
To the mother and the earth


But my mother never dies
She is there beneath the lies
Steady drumming from the ground
Can you hear the ancient sound
Till her children hear her call
Stop this dance with death’s thrall
I think I’d rather be
Always drowning out at sea

Friday, March 2, 2012

the last installment.......

For the uninitiated, you're about to read chapters 5 - 8 of a book that started two posts ago, so if you want to start from the beginning go here -  http://spunoutpost.blogspot.com.au/2012/02/love-story.html   And I'm not sure I'm going to continue with this concept, because I seem to have lost most of my readers along the way.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that this is the end.  If you were one of the five readers who really loved this, then email me and we'll work out how to get you a copy. 


CHAPTER 5 -  Tremble in your arms....... 

And that’s when it happened.  The folding of faces and layers to sex and dark and skin warmth.  All of their best was tangled with blessings and tranquillity.  All of their worst was loved and acknowledged, seen for it’s heartache and seamlessly healed.

They saw all within.  The maiden the youth, the mother the father, the crone the wizened, the rapist the victim, the phallus the cunt[1], the father the daughter, the mother the son, the despair the elation, the sacred the profane, all interchangeable, all connected, all within.

And the interchangeable bits became so distractingly quick in their flux that the spin was dizzying.  Then the flickering slowed to deep moving waters of connection and sanction.  Belying all with the rocking uterine waters of the mother, seared by the phallus of the consort in deepening thrusts.

They fucked and sucked, kissed and slid, giggled and moaned.  He travelled her soft skin and supped her sweet nipples.  She folded him into her warmth.  He filled her inside in every way possible, sexual and spiritual, slow and quick.  She dragged him with her to spiralling heights to see the terrain below.

And around and behind them sat hordes of ancestors, divided they died, and united to watch.  To see this marriage of death and life, polarities melded within.

[1] Cunt:  Contrary to popular belief, this is not a derogatory name to denigrate a woman and her genitalia.  It’s actually derived from the Oriental Great Goddess Cunti, or Kunda, the Yoni of the Universe.  Also the root of words such as cunning, ken, cunicle ( a hole or passage ), cunctipotent ( having cunt magic ), county, kind, and often synonymous with woman, though not in the insulting modern sense.  In pagan Europe there were many shrines dedicated to female genitalia which Medieval clergymen called cunnus diaboli, or ‘devilish cunt’.  For more information read the entry ‘Cunt’ in ‘The Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets’ by Barbara G. Walker.   

CHAPTER 6 -  Soft Tranquillity

“Who are you?” he asked.
 She looked at him with a gaze of intense curiosity, and that open warm feeling you get after engaging in an extremely fine fuck.

“I’m magenta flowing life, streaming through the gaps and silky touching the fibres of people around me.  Inspiration and magical interlude.  Ancient past and new born babe.  Wearer of many faces and lifetimes, stories and memories, smiles and tears.”

 He looked her deep in the eyes.  Tall, sanguine, shine dark hair with glints of blood, line traced face, full skin lips, tree green eyes, and fine smooth nose.  Full soft body of belly curve, and gentle breasts.  Long white limbs and soft white hide.  And the strength of fire in her gaze.

“Who are you?” she spoke back.

He kept up his gaze in her eyes.  Dark pool eyes.  Endless reaching eyes.  He looked into her and murmured...

“I’m the dancer the laugher, the raper the light bringer, the wounder the wounded, the husband the lover, the violated the desexed, the bull and the blade.....”

She watched him as he talked.  Long velvet, dark hair, curled down a shoulder hollow.  Lean frame draped on the bed.  Hard line of muscle smoothed by soft satin hollows.  Grey blue eyes, holding grief and wisdom.  Elegant line of lip, over a fine bone sculpted chin.

She caught her breath and gently closed her eyes.

“I think I’ve known you before.”

CHAPTER 7 - Clouds, all are clouds......

Aware their time was limited, they exchanged as many signposts of their lifescapes as they could. 

Not that long ago, she’d sat on Sunset Rock, curved in a hollow of craggy ore, feeling herself drawn into the valleys and cliffs and vista’s before her.  She’d stared at a cloud and made it dissolve.  Stared at it so long and intensely, and imagined it melting till it did indeed start to disappear.  It wisped away before her eyes, and left no trace of it’s visit.  She moved her gaze to a larger cloud, and it happened also the same.  Then a larger cloud still, and it melted away to pre-existence.  It was only when she’d thought to herself...
“How can I do this?” that she found she couldn’t melt clouds anymore.

He’d spent a time at a night club on peyote, and become so involved in new views perceived, that he changed his form to become life force.  He’d moved his life force into a stranger’s body, speeding through veins and blocks, knot muscle and grief, till that body, as he watched from the outside, became looser and taller and cleaner.  Amazed by the outcome he’d moved into others, to melt through and unblock, feeling awesomely charged by his pursuits.

And inbetween all these stories shared and pictures drawn they kept up their loving.  Trying new poses and angles, movements and moist.  They entered the realm of an infinite world where past becomes present and futures diverse.

CHAPTER 8 - Back to the outside

It was time to part.  Dawn struggled it’s way through the steely clouds to warm the currents.  He wasn’t as free as her.  There were other lives he was dancing in, that weren’t quite ready to loose hold.  And he still had warfare’s, and bloodshed, to try and repair.  He was still God in some circles, that he had to remain in, till a gentle extraction was hailed.  But he knew he had found his sign.  He knew now where to aim his bow.

She on her part, had already travelled the masculine lands of destruction and blood, had driven deep down in it, and tasted the air there, sucked it in deep, and let it form itself in her words and tongue.  She’d cowered under the harsh rule, and licked her anger down.  As she’d been slave in that world, she understood him intimately.  Far more than he ever knew.  Being slave made it easier for her to drop that role, and step into another.  Far easier than forgoing the role of God.  And now she’d lost the skins she’d used to view him, he stood out beyond them, resplendent and new.

So they found it hard to part.  They held swift to mere distractions and whimsy’s, to cling to their time in the room.  The ancestors watching began to leave.  The main course was over, they were off for desert.

“When will I see you again?” he asked her.

“When you can I’ll be ready.  I’ve been waiting so long for you to see me truly, that any time now is timeless.  When you’re free come to me, but you must surely be free, for I’m not keen to feel pain again.”

They held onto each other as long as they dared, and even outside, in the cool morning light, they clung to what moments were left.  No promises, no treaties, just a silent agreement that what had been shared was sacred.