My life in Provincetown, a mile wide spiral of land that juts out into the Atlantic, was eclectic, significant and mostly solo. It was a place that gave space to a profound and deep spiritual development. I arrived in town after an intriguing, but often harrowing 15 years in metro Boston, two and a half hours away.
The acres of sand dunes, mix of low pines, winds, fungi, herbs, creatures of land and sea and the mighty sky and ocean are ever present, reminders of the overarching power and divinity of nature. Given the vulnerability and intimacy felt surrounded by ocean, air and sand, I indeed felt wee, and included. Most welcomed when I came into a space quietly exuberant.
The winter seas of Cape Cod are humbling and invigorating. Early October, the ocean is ready for time to herself, and the swimming humans are firmly ushered out. The water grows cold, even stranger seaweeds arrive, the sands get rough and constantly wet. I’d take a final swim and wait until the next late spring. But all winter, I’d participate from the sidelines, watching the massive waves light-ish blue crash back into turbulent waters of peridot, gray to midnight blues. A few seals would follow my brisk walks on the beach, I knew never to temp the tide...a misstep would sweep me away in no time.
Many artists and beach wanderers turn their attention to what washes up onto the shore. The wildest were the enormous, giant kelp, succulent and strung together, colors dark blood, or twisty branches from underwater trees flung everywhere. It was likely all would be taken back the next storm, days later.
For a time I was creating sacred boxes from found shore wood and metals after taking a class with local artist Paul Bowen. Ever useful were the random wood planks, bits of boats, packing crates, storm remnants that were thrown to shore. I only created about 12 boxes, selling a few, giving most away, but I saved the first I’d made. It holds a bell I use for my metaphysical sessions and clearing my house.
I did create one instrument, a lute for a mermaid. I collected the woods on the backshore of Race Point Beach, piling materials on a plastic sled, my breath steaming in as I walked the miles. One winter, exquisite aqua wood planks washed up among the seagrasses. I was warned it was coated with leaded marine paint, so with little sawing and sanding I added it for detail on my projects. One piece became the lute bridge.
I worked with simple tools, and when skills needed were out of my range, called in Saint Joseph, the carpenter father of Jesus to help. He always responded. Curved wood became the lute body, gears from a bike the sound hole. The strings were fishing wire, attached by hooks to the bridge. It was a pleasure to hunt thru the random gifts the sea provided to create the Mermaid's Lute.
I sold the Mermaids Lute to a friend of a friend, in 1997. I still wonder about it, if it held together, how it was displayed. Was it cherished? Played by spirits perhaps? We create so much over the course of our lives.
A significant part of my work on the planet now is to bring assistance through the Divine spirits and ancestors, through intuitive conversation, the crystal light table work and Family Systemic Constellation work.
I invite you to book a session, email email@example.com or text 512.439.9542.
If you’re a new client and curious, let’s schedule a free 30-minute conversation.
Coming the morning of Saturday, June 18, 2022, he next Austin Family Systemic group meets for a workshop. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or text 512.439.9542 to sign up. Fee will be about $10 for a three hour collective workshop.
We create wonderful things when inspired. And fortunate to do so. Let's get to it.
The Mermaids Lute, found materials. Candyce Lucien Rusk, 1997