Tree of Life

December, 1996
Oils on Paper
16” x 24”

This is the Universe XXI, the final Major Arcana in Lane's Greenwitch Tarot:

The Alpha and Omega. Beginning and End. Mystery beyond the veil. Titled the "Tree of Life" (mysterious concept itself). A tree with roots and a boat – impossible combination. Or is that a snake? Or the Moon? The rules of our culture are being left behind. By doing the “work” (healings, Tarot, the balancing dance with others), it all adds up, bit by bit, to an entirely new view of the world. Something basic gives way inside us. To perform miracles we must break scientific laws and social conventions. Dangerous, beautiful territory, the 9 of Water’s bog ["Boggy Path"]is still shifty yet we now know (on the good days) we can land on solid ground. Though it may not feel safe to one who still believes in the laws. A witch in flames got smudged out in the painting. She is still present to ground and remind but she doesn’t drive us anymore. Guides come through with help - a  fairy disguised as a flower and an antlered woman, the ancient who knows the mysteries. In the middle the shaft of wheat (light beams, starbursts, comets?) entangled in the tree. Sacrificial offerings. And on the right a mystery swirls with shadows, odd crisp shapes and scratches. Places to be explored. The top swirl is a galaxy but also a cervix, the place of our borning. Also the entry into the special labia-rinth where our ancient knowledge of being one with the Universe hides.

Drink this image in. Can you feel your antlers allowing you to reach into the Cosmos? Sense the galaxies to travel to but also to be reborn through. The stories are still there of the Burning Times, enslavement and so many other persecutions but they don’t need to obsess anymore or to be constantly told. Grist. Raw material for the alchemy that is taking place empowering the return to the next cycle and the new leap of the Fool.  

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Interesting that I wrote this in 2004:

It’s the place of The Fool – O card in the Tarot. The first painter. The first painting.

Journal 12/8/96

The rules, the laws are being left behind. If I am to perform miracles I must break scientific laws and social rules (especially my mother’s). This is dangerous territory but beautiful. The The Boggy Path is still shifty, yet I know now (unlike a year ago) that I will land on solid ground. Though it may not feel solid to someone who still believes in the laws or solid all the time to me. Something basic is giving way inside me. The healings, the Tarot, the bodywork with Dana Zia‍, the food stuff, the balancing dance with Tom, are all adding up, bit by bit, to an entirely new view of the world.

The stories are still there but they don’t need to obsess anymore – don’t need to be constantly told. They bore even me. They are grist. Raw material for the alchemy that must take place.

The blue in the painting swirled. The boat. The tree with roots – impossible combination. The woman in flames – a witch – was rubbed out. She is still there. She grounds and reminds me but she doesn’t drive me and she doesn’t need to be talked about much. The fairy is there too – disguised as a flower. A guide. Another reminder – but not often talked about either. And the antlered woman – the ancient who knows the mysteries. Artemis! She who is always trying to come through with wisdom and help for me. She is there to be drawn upon too. All there on the left side. In the middle is the shaft of wheat – shafts of light – starburst, comets – entangled in the tree. My special color. Harvest. Sacrificial offerings. My dirndl and connection with the Austrian Alps. And on the right a mystery – my favorite part of the painting – swirls, shadows, odd crisp shapes and scratches. Places to be explored. The boat could be a snake – a moon – the goddess – also the Vikings somehow. The top swirl can be galaxy swirling like Owen Stephens' paintings* – or some of Georgia O’Keefe’s. But it is also my cervix – blue and soft. The entry into the special place where my knowledge is hidden.

[Note 2024: Turns out I have an as yet unpublished past experience with Owen Stephens whose grandchildren were my growing up playmates.]