Revisiting the littlest birds / Variation on recurring dream / And Addendum (-:

 

Lyrics

Well, I feel like an old hobo, I'm sad, lonesome and blue
I was fair as a summer's day, now the summer days are through
You pass through places and places pass through you
But you carry them with you on the soles of your travellin' shoes

Well, I love you so dearly, I love you so clearly
I wake you up in the morning, so early just to tell you
I got the wandering blues, I got the wandering blues
And I'm going to quit these rambling ways one of these days soon

And I sing, the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs

Well, it's times like these I feel so small
And wild like the rambling footsteps of a wandering child
And I'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill
Singing these blues with a warble and a trill
But I'm not too blue to fly, no I'm not too blue to fly

'Cause the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs

But I love you so dearly, I love you so fearlessly
I wake you up in the morning so early, just to tell you
I've got the wandering blues, I've got the wandering blues
And I don't want to leave you, I love you through and through

Well, I left my baby on a pretty blue train
And I sang my songs to the cold and the rain
And I had the wandering blues, and I sang those wandering blues
And I'm gonna quit these rambling ways one of these days soon

And I sing, the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs

*

Another left-handed mandala near completion, after waking up from a new variation on a recurring dream where it is getting late in the day and I am alone and not at home.  

This time I was in an airport in a time of war.  People were booking flights out of the country.  There were very few flights left.  I realized that I didn't have any money with me, not even a credit card.  I wandered around the airport, wondering what to do about my situation.  I was not feeling desperation but was concerned.  At one far end of the airport was an unfamiliar man I sensed I could not trust.  When I wouldn't go with him where he wanted me to go, he became threatening.  I ran.  He chased me.  I ran past a man I didn't know and asked for help as I ran by.  The man stopped the threatening man and told him to leave me alone.  I felt immense gratitude.  Even though I knew that the threatening man wouldn't follow me, I kept running until I got to the other end of the airport.  There I saw a man who died, at peace with life and death, last January.  He is an artist.  I trust him and began to talk with him.  He had decided to stay in this country where he is accepted for who he is as an artist.  He said that he knew he wouldn't fit in anywhere but in this country.  As we were talking, his beloved wife approached.  She was wearing a deep yellow dress.  She was frowning at me.  She thought I was trying to take him away from her.  She was wrong but I couldn't convince her otherwise.  I continued walking to the very end of the airport and stopped to talk to an airport employee, a young woman whose job was to keep the airport clean.  She had a calm and peaceful presence.  She wasn't going to leave the country.  It was not an option for her or any of the other airport employees.  I continued walking at the end of the airport where I felt safe and began to suspect that I was dreaming.  I wasn't ready to wake up just then.  I was curious to see what would happen next.  Still, I was relieved to realize that I was dreaming.  I don't remember anything happening next.  

When I woke up, I checked the time.  It was about an hour before I usually wake up.  I wrote down the dream to make sure that I wouldn't forget it.  It is occurring to me that in this dream, I knew that I had a home in this country.  The recurring dream focus had shifted from its traditional focus on getting home before dark.  At the end of the dream, I felt at peace, not alone, in the company of other people who would stay in this country, those for whom this country is home.  My focus was no longer that of trying to get home before dark.  When I asked for help, help was available.  I was misunderstood but it wasn't the end of the world.  I was curious to see what else would happen in the dream and relieved to know I would wake up.

The girl in this mandala is 12-year-old Regina, one of the characters in Rosemary Sutcliff's book, Dawn Wind, which I read when I was 11 years old, identifying closely with Regina.  She was wandering alone in a time of war in Britain in the sixth century.  This illustration shows her at the moment she met Owain, a 14-year-old boy who was also wandering alone.  They became traveling companions.  I'm in the process of copying illustrations from that book, featuring them in my mandalas.  I don't remember how the story of Regina and Owain ends but will find out soon.  

There is a newspaper article on the wall next to my drawing table.  It celebrates the life of the artist who was at the airport in my dream.  He died last January and has been an inspiration for all of my art work this year.  I didn't know he had died or even that he had been ill until I saw his obituary, but it was in those days after he died without my knowledge that I felt a sense of despair, wondering if I would ever do any art work again and sat down at my drawing table and was moved to pick up my 6B pencil with my left hand and start drawing.  

Addendum:

Finished Mandala #72 just now:

These mandalas inspired by the Charles Keeping's illustrations in Dawn Wind are certainly edgy, dealing with old feelings from my childhood, giving my 11-year-old self a place to speak her truth that was silenced.  I've come a long way since I was 11 years old and want to honor my 11-year-old self for the ways she learned to survive what she couldn't understand.