Darkness and light, terror, rage, pain, and great beauty, a landscape at once unfamiliar and yet full of vaguely forgotten memories and signposts. To spend time in this place of darkness and unknowing was scary; how I lived my life in the “upper world” of spirit had not prepared me for my time in the dark unknowing of the cave. In a journal entry of February 1993 I had written:

“Being in the cave has always meant being closed down, defended, feeling very small, tight, no flow. It still has some of these feelings, but a new perspective is opening. In its positive aspect it is now a time of digestion, reflection, sometimes a mysterious unknowing, where I haven’t a clue what is going on in there, but I know that shifts are taking place. It is a time for trust. It is being in the dark, formless, where knowing comes from a different place, some place deep inside (my heart?). I need to listen differently, to respond differently. Time is even measured differently. There is a lot of waiting, small step, wait, another step, wait, a very intuitive place. It seems easier to define it by what it’s not than by what it is. I want to call it ‘the other’.”

This is the place from which this body of work has emerged. The pieces are “birthed” at their own time — not in a linear logical sequence. I have arranged the work in a way to tell the story of the descent to my cave; my heart; a journey from light to dark and back to light. The movement is inward, into a different kind of knowing, a different kingdom, even a different language — one that for me is often hard to hear. Direct experience or intuitive knowledge comes from this place. These pieces celebrate the physical, the actual sensual, as well as consensual reality of this world. They are also teaching me about the sacredness of the body.

1995

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