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Amy

@ondomesticity

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@nymph.prayer.school by @ondomesticity

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by @ondomesticity

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2 years ago

by @ondomesticity

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2 years ago

That’s my 4 yr old cowgirl. by @ondomesticity

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2 years ago

Stepping into another summer, tenderly gingerly and with utmost gratitude.

PS It was just organic cream soda I’m living clean y’all. by @ondomesticity

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2 years ago

*Homeland* by @ondomesticity

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2 years ago

Well-rested, well-nourished (by tears dark and hope as well as food movement and music), and trynta make friends with that 3:45 dusk light. For now… by @ondomesticity

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3 years ago

Happy shortest day, longest night.

God bless the sun and the moon, the stones and the plants and the beasts of the earth. God bless you and me and all of Her children.

“We had listened in silence.” -Jeanette Winterson

So be it. by @ondomesticity

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3 years ago

Late summer was a flurry of change, travel, myriad pressurizing forces. Now it’s time to settle in with our secrets and our lessons learned. Time to prepare for the dark half of the year. by @ondomesticity

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you can watch the time of the world go by… by @ondomesticity

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jackson browne 4eva by @ondomesticity

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3 years ago

I am no longer young. By that I mean, the circumstances of my life no longer reflect the privilege to make decisions immune to lasting consequence, as is the case for the uninitiated maiden.

But rather than abandoning my maiden self - her hopes, dreams, desires, and aspirations - I endeavor to integrate what was once amorphous, unbridled, and fragmented, so that she can act as my internal compass, my lighthouse. She is the one who Sees, the one who Remembers.

Usually, it goes like this: we cannot hold or harness or contain her rugged nature, (she makes life too hard for us), or she slowly dims in favor of a more predictable life full of buying and sorting and satisfying the domestic machine (superficial carework). Either way, she is often relinquished - shoved - into the dank cupboards of the past…until it’s time to glean, to kill, to cull, and to ultimately resurrect the one who Sees, who Remembers.

This is what people mean when they talk about Shadow Work, and no woman can avoid her own personal death and resurrection. However long it takes, how many times it takes.

All worthwhile art is born of honest limitation. The uninitiated maiden doesn’t believe this, but Women learn this until they know it to be true. We cannot make the mistake, as Ursula Le Guin warns, of seeing art as luxury, as privilege.

Especially, I’d add, if we are women, if we are mothers.

(Nathaniel Hawthorne may believe “perfect seclusion” and predictable solitude “essential” to his creative life, but women will be damned to believe our art so precious, so fragile.)

May we be brave enough to not only create a life wherein we can feel the Muse in everything, but to be willing to perceive, to understand, to remember: it isn’t what we think, it’s what we see.

“If the artist contemplates her difficulties instead of conquering them one by one, the work remains unachieved, production becomes impossible, and the artist assists the suicide of her own talent…true artists, true poets, generate and give birth today, tomorrow, ever. From this habit of labor results a ceaseless comprehension of difficulties which keep them in communion with the muse and her creative forces.” - Balzac by @ondomesticity

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