The Bundle

One accepts one’s dependency on God or a  Greater Power and one learns to revere life.

I made this rather hastily and carelessly, with the outbreak of the war in the Middle-East in 2003. In my mind was a piece of wood and the idea of carving a pattern. The name announced itself: The bundle, but also the bone of contention, related to the cradle of humankind.

I realized that the piece of wood has the shape of the mummy bundles found high in the Andes. At the same time it simulates a ritual mask: at center I discovered shadowy slits of two eyes, and beneath that a protruding tongue, reminiscent of the ancient Indian goddess, Kali, the Terrible, as the origin of all things. She is sitting on top of the face of a man in agony, symbolizing the suffering caused by the life without conscious meaning.

The top end of the wooden mask resembles an owl, Kali’s bird, which would fit in with the theme of this image: as a bird of the night, it is associated with death, but it also has a uterine shape for it contains and nurtures with its wisdom; one feels contained if one is able to find objectivity and meaning in this suffering.

The pattern, carved out in wood, is the meandering way one trots over the course of one’s life, seeking, making choices. My feet wrote this map of my life. It is connected to the DNA of my being, the seed of my future.

The blue background I found to shape the profile of a man, his brow, nose and chin, on the right-hand side, and on the left, the profile of a woman with a rather long nose and full lips can be seen. The heads of the man and woman, the opposites, are unified and they are looking downwards or bending their heads, as if revering the deity, keeping it in their thoughts.

In ancient times and all over the world, children were sacrificed to please the gods,  just as our own inner original innocent wholeness is sacrificed to life by the immature and unconscious cruel deeds of our parents and significant others, or as we do in our turn to our children. By finding meaning and purpose in the sacrifice, one is able to accept one’s life and one’s own place in the world, one’s dependency on a larger Power.

From The Old Woman and the Moon, p. 78

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