So the lovely and talented Ms. Took has reminded me, with her fabulous comment, that there are still figures from her amazing Dream Card images that I have yet to remark upon. Call it an online version of a Museum Tuesday…..
Ataxia would like to talk to us, but she can’t. She is out of time and out of place, and her resulting state of flux has left her unable to purse her lips and form the words with mouth, tongue, or larynx. Ataxia’s dress made of sky is impossible in the heavens where she lives, but for her it is simply another symptom. She cannot move herself correctly, and that is why she is held up by strings like a marionette.
Ataxia’s plight is this: she has no will of her own. She did, once. Eons ago, Ataxia was a facet of the Earth Mother herself, as the Spring Maiden. She had a different name, one long forgotten by us, and perhaps even by her; we may never know. As we progressed in our evolution, Ataxia withered in hers. All that is left of this child who was worshipped every planting season before May was called May is this shell, this remnant, this warning and reminder of what, if we aren’t careful, we may loose forever.
Ataxia has become subject to the rationalization of the world, to the worship of the external and control at the sake of the internal and communion. She is the deepest knowing that we so often shun and run from and ignore. Her mix-matched, half-this, half-that, all-nothing state is the result of the attempt to control the mind, to control the soul. This belief of control has seized up Ataxia’s limbs, rendering them spasmodic. She no longer works right; just like we no longer work within the whole of our potential.
But Ataxia is not catatonic yet, and every so often she struggles to push meaning through to her rebellious body. As long as she cares enough to try, it means that enough of us are trying, too.
Mirrored from Oasis Stories.