Children of the stars

Children of the Stars, by Pamela Dunning; Sharpie Marker Pointillism on Canson XL Mix Media paper

The old woman carefully wiped the child’s tears with her calloused hands, “Now hush, never mind what those others tell you. You’re no different from them.” Her tone softened as the child climbed into her lap. She pointed to the sky, “Look! See those stars? That’s what we’re all made of; stardust and water.”

She settled back into the old rocking chair, child in her lap, “Shall I tell you our story, child?” The child nodded, calmed by the rhythmic lull of the rocker creaking out a faint little song on the loose boards of the porch. “Long ago, before you, before me, before any of this world existed there lived the giants.

Stars just like our Sun, they were some of the first things the Gods created and some, nearing the final stages of their life, were asked by those Gods if they would be catalyst for new life. So those giant old stars gave up their lives and the Angels on high blessed their sacrifice and wept. Everything we see, and a great deal that we can’t, came into being from those tears and stardust. All of us are made from that magical stuff. Don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise…or…at least don’t you believe a word they say if they do. Better yet; you feel sorry for those poor misguided souls because they can’t recognize how beautiful we all are.”

She looked at the child in her lap, “Yes child, we are all beautiful, how can we not be? Shine bright baby, always, for we are the children of the Stars.”


Transcendence, by Pamela Dunning; Sharpie Marker Pointillism on Canson Mixed Media paper

They sat under the light of the stars for the World had gone dark. He sighed mournfully and barely managed to whisper, “I fear the world is falling apart.”

“No!’ she exclaimed, a bit annoyed that he was missing the bigger picture. She composed herself and calmly continued, ‘ It is not the world that is falling apart but our belief in what it should have been. Our systems were never sustainable. Most of us were just to busy chasing distractions to notice the frayed edges and gaping holes in the fabric of our everyday lives. We are witnessing something extraordinary; the restoration of nature and the re-wiring of our consciousness working in tandem to build something transcendent.”

He looked over at her expecting to meet her gaze but her eyes were closed, her upturned face bathed in the light of a billion stars twinkling in the night sky.

Feeling Nebulous

It was one of those weeks in the world and feeling set adrift in a stormy sea, I turned my attention to the stars. The “Feeling Nebulous” pointillism Nebula.

Feeling Nebulous Nebula

FYI: Changes

I have been a little lost since Lily Chow passed away and honestly, I was lost before her death, her passing over the Rainbow Bridge just helped me to realize and accept it. I lost my focus or maybe I just never really had one. I guess it doesn’t matter.

I loved my old blog, I liked the potential of this current one and somehow the ghost of the other one lingers; keeping me from truly moving on. I am an artist, it is in my soul and my DNA and yet I try hard to convince myself that I should be something other than what I truly am at my core. I have some deep-seated childhood issues that are at work here and try as I might I can’t get past them. I need to…desperately!

The act of creating is cathartic and spiritual for me. I need it like I need oxygen. I need it to process those raw tumultuous emotions that overwhelm me. I need it to keep me anchored in a world that I often feel detached from. I need it to bridge the gap between lucidity and psychosis. I need it for connection to the world as a whole.

The late, great Terrence McKenna, in many of his lectures, talked about the role of the aboriginal Shaman as a sanctioned psychotic; an outlier, being in the tribe but not of it. Their use of hallucinogens allowed them to experience being other; other dimensions, other life forms, alternate realities. It made them useful to the tribe but also set them apart. It broke up the monotony of everyday tribal life, helped the tribe trend/future forecast weather, prey migration patterns, intratribal relations, etc.,. The Shaman saw things differently and embraced this. It wasn’t a hindrance, it was a superpower.

As someone with a mental illness this resonated with me. I am that sanctioned psychotic (without the hallucinogenic drug use). Art is what makes me useful to society. I see the world through a different lens, that alternate reality if shared breaks up a life mundane and hopefully builds connection. I have been fighting this and it’s time I stop.

I know I won’t be everyone’s cup of tea (I am used to that), but it is the lie I have been telling myself in order to abort this last frontier of self-mastery. I am miserable and I will continue to be so if I continue to censor that crazy, creative child that lives inside.

Going forward, there will be more visual art and less words (I am a word nerd but it isn’t how I communicate best). It is vital that I be true and honest with myself in order to be true and honest with all of you. Thank You!