By Rebekah Nemethy
The podcast currently has 30 episodes available.
[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit https://rebekahnemethy.com/artink28 to check it out.
Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]
Links from the Show at a Glance:
Artist and Haiku Poet: Ania Archer
Title of Art: There is no planet B
Ania’s Instagram: @ania_archer
Sunshine Inspired Fauna Challenge on Instagram: @sunshine_inspired_fauna
Find out more about whale and porpoise conservation at us.whales.org
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]
Hey there! Thanks for joining me for what is truly a mixed bag of magick that I’ve got lined up for you right now. Today I’m so grateful to be introducing our first poetry-inspired show. That’s right, the story I’m going to share with you today, which is family-friendly, I might add, was inspired by six ocean-themed haikus written by my artsy friend Ania Archer.
She’s an animal lover, an advocate for conservation, and the creator of the Sunshine Inspired Fauna Challenge on Instagram, which brings awareness to endangered species of animals by collaborating with artists. If you’re interested in participating, you can find out more @sunshine_inspired_fauna.
Not only is Ania a poet and a change-maker, but she’s also the artist behind today’s cover art, which completes the magick trifecta I was eluding to just a minute ago.
So let’s dive in to look at that before we get this story started!
[Art Description:]
An illustration of Mother Earth, centered on the Atlantic Ocean, is adorned with some of the largest and smallest of her creations. We can see much of North and South America to the left and most of Africa to the right.
The northeastern region of the blue and green globe is covered by a bouquet of flowers; an orange tea rose, a pink peony, and a yellow poppy. A large green monstera leaf, intricately carved by natural design, rests behind them. Seemingly swimming across the bottom quarter of the planet is a larger than life humpback whale, curving around the Earth like a crescent moon.
Across the center of the digital design are the words, in white, “There is no planet B.”
Ania has always held a special place in her heart for the creatures inhabiting our oceans. That’s why it’s no surprise that when she shared her book of haikus with me they were filled with glimpses of the sea and its magnificent creatures.
As I read each poem a story started to grow, and that’s how Ahjah, the young blue whale swam into this stream of consciousness and now into your ears. I give you:
A Whale’s Tale - Inspired Ania Archer’s Haiku Poems
[Story:]
Part 1
#4
Ocean breeze around
touches clouds in the blue sky
mirrored in the waves
#21
Diving into deep
blue whale dreams of clean waters
filled with abundance
“Why did Gramma have to go?”
“Human season is a bit tough for her, Ahjee, your grandmother isn’t exactly fond of the creatures.” Balou paused to open his mouth as they swam through a particularly dense cloud of plankton.
“What’s she got against humans?” Ahjah was genuinely perplexed. Human season was her favorite time of year. She was especially fond of the chubby-cheeked small ones, and she usually only saw those when they migrated closer to the equator where the days were longer and warmer. Ahjah liked to swim with the humans. They were kind, docile animals, and the small ones were endlessly entertaining. Once, she even touched one, and when she looked into its eyes she saw a depth in them that was hard to describe.
“Well, she had quite the scare when she was just a calf, got herself stuck in human net, she did… but luckily she managed to break free or else neither of us would be here swimming as we are.”
“A net? What’s that papa?”
“Ah, that’s right, little one…” Balou said, and Ahjah could sense the proudness within the vibrations he was sending her way. “I’m glad you’ve never had a need to know.”
They swam for a bit longer in silence until Ahjah could no longer contain her curiosity. “So what is it?”
“Oh, well… it’s a bit scary, Ahjee… are you sure you want to know?”
Ahjah tipped herself upwards and then quickly back down in a full body nod.
“When your grandmother was your age the sea was riddled with far more dangers then there are now. The nets were used to drag fish from the sea, and those who got caught, well… they were rarely ever seen again.”
“And the humans did that?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Ahjah couldn’t eat after that, she felt sick thinking about those poor fish, and her poor Gramma; no wonder she’d swum out of there like an octopus out of an ink cloud at the first sign of humans.
They swam upwards, breeching the surface for a big breath of air. Once they dipped back beneath the waves, Balou finally broke the silence. “Did I ever tell you the story of how I met Tuttle?”
Ahjah looked at her father expectantly and he went on. “It wasn’t just the nets we had to avoid back then, there were also the island traps…”
Part 2
#25
Plastic filled ocean
floating in the deep waters
tricks the living critters
#37
Deeply in love
mother whale swims with her calf
Ocean is her world
Balou swam ahead of his mother as far as she would allow. He knew he’d heard… something… but the static was loud today. The extra humans on the surface always made the white noise get louder, but the floating mass of human debris that stretched endlessly above added to the noise in a big way. A rustling, clacking, clattering cacophony that increased steadily the further beneath the island they swam.
“That’s enough Balou, we must go back now.”
“But I know I heard something… just let me go a little further.”
“I don’t know how you can hear anything beneath all this racket. I haven’t heard a thing.”
Balou had slowed considerably, looking out into the dark waters ahead for any sign of movement. The dense island above blocked out most of the sunlight though, so it was difficult to see much of anything. He wanted to go on, but he knew his mother’s limits.
“Help!”
“You heard it that time, didn’t you?” Balou asked as he scanned the hulking shadow above. “It’s coming from up there.” He said, already moving to swim upwards.
“Don’t you dare go up there, Balou. You’ll be trapped!”
“But someone up there needs help mother!” And he shot toward the surface.
“Balou, no!” Her fear froze her for just a split second before motherly instinct took over and she followed quickly after her son.
At almost that same moment, a deep rumble added to the deafening drone that was always more apparent the closer they got to the surface.
Balou’s mother felt a wave of panic as she saw what it was, and despite knowing that Balou was already too far ahead to pick up on her vibrations she still yelled out a warning with as much force as she could muster. “Boat!!!”
***
Ahjah gasped, eyes wide.
“Don’t worry, Ahjee,” Balou said when he saw the fear in his daughter’s eyes, “you know Tuttle’s just fine.”
Ahjah relaxed, letting her breath back out in a grateful sigh at the reminder. “Was there a human in the boat? Was it a bad one?”
“Yes there was, and I’ll admit, I thought that sea turtle was done for when I saw that man in the boat reaching for him. Your grandmother had always warned me about the creatures, my whole life she did.”
“So what happened? Was that why Tuttle had been yelling for help?”
“No, no… well perhaps maybe he was yelling a bit more frantically as the human approached…” Balou let out a chuckle before he continued. “But he was originally yelling because the island had grabbed ahold of his flipper when he’d gone up for a breath of air and he was stuck. But that human, you know what he did?”
Ahjah swam in closer to her father as she looked at him expectantly.
“He used some kind of tool to free Tuttle’s flipper, and he swam out of there faster than I’ve ever seen any sea turtle move before, so fast in fact that he crashed right into my chin in his attempt to escape. He nearly knocked himself out!” Balou chuckled some more. “Tuttle and I have been friends ever since.”
“But if Gramma was with you when that happened, then why is she still afraid of humans?”
“That experience, my dear, is the only reason she doesn’t insist I completely forbid you from swimming anywhere near the creatures… but she’d still rather keep her own distance I suppose. It’s a bit sad, but sometimes old stories die hard.” Balou sighed.
“Ah but you haven’t even heard what else happened that day…” He paused for suspense. “More humans showed up in their boats, and the sound was deafening. We wouldn’t have heard a school of barracuda behind us if they were only a fin away, but by the time they’d come and gone a few times they’d taken the entire island trap with them. It was quieter in that ocean than I’d ever heard after they left, and they’d gone just in time for sunset too. It was the most beautiful day in my memory.”
Ahjah and Balou swam in silence for some time after that. Balou as he remembered, and Ahjah as she imagined, what a beautiful day that had been indeed.
Part 3
#45
In the vast ocean
a little pod of dolphins
plays in the wild waves
#46
Black and white creature
in the boundless blue ocean
leaps in happiness
[Conclusion:]
And that’s the world I want to leave you with. Although this was a fictional story, it doesn’t have to be.
We can each stand to make more sustainable choices in our everyday lives. If we buy more plant-based foods there will be less fishing nets out there to do harm. By recycling and reusing all that we can, there will be less plastic making its way into the ocean. If we shop as local as possible, there will be less need for shipments across oceans, which is one of the several causes of noise pollution that hinder many sea creature’s ability to communicate and navigate.
The Earth can actually heal herself, but it’d be a lot easier for her to get better if we were working with her rather than against her. Let’s each do our part.
Visit us.whales.org if you want to learn more about the multitude of mammals we share our oceans with and how you can contribute to creating a cleaner, healthier habitat for them.
And if you’re interested in using your art for good, you can always join Ania’s Sunshine Inspired Fauna Challenge over @sunshine_inspired_fauna on Instagram to help bring awareness to endangered species around the world and the organizations that are working to conserve them.
[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit https://rebekahnemethy.com/artink27 to check it out.
Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]
Links from the Show at a Glance:
Artist: Rebekah Nemethy
Title of Art: String Light Bokeh at twilight
Instagram: @rebekahnemethy
The article on the Least Stormy Cities in the US (https://www.currentresults.com/Weather-Extremes/US/calmest-cities.php)
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]
While talking to a friend about the documentary I mentioned in a previous episode called The Secret she pointed something out to me. The Secret features rich and famous interviewees like Jim Carey showing off their big-time-dreams-come-true, and these are people that it may be hard to relate to because their stories don’t reflect the majority experience. They certainly didn’t reflect my experience of the world.
And I want to say from the get-go that I’m not trying to judge The Secret in any way, because I’m incredibly grateful for it. I think it’s amazing! But I feel strongly compelled to empower more people to embrace this mindset of conscious creation and what my friend helped me to realize is the power of the little bits of magick, that we might be able to actually relate to, to give us that initial proof we sometimes need to fully believe in our own power.
So today I’m going to share tiny, but undisputable, tales of real life magick. I’m excited to have a few of my own tales to tell, but I’m beyond thrilled to be able to share the experiences a couple of my closest friends have shared with me too.
But, before we get started, let’s talk about our cover art for this episode.
[Art Description:]
Today I grabbed a photo from my own art library, because one of my favorite subjects to photograph are out of focus lights also known as bokeh to us photo nerds. This photo in particular was made in mid-winter, right at twilight. Photographers often talk about the esteemed golden hour when the sunlight casts beautiful light across the Earth just as it’s going down, but on a thickly overcast day, golden hour is transformed into blue hour and that twilight hue in a winter sky is what fills the background of this image.
Christmas lights are strung up across a railing in a wavelike pattern across the frame. Though, they are more like big yellow orbs, swollen from my intentional lack of focus.
There’s nothing that looks so magickal to me as soft orbs of light. Little lights, big magick… which is a perfect way to introduce you to today’s story:
Little Bits of Magick… enjoy.
[Story:]
It was Lauren’s birthday, and she was headed to work when she realized she had just enough time to hit her favorite drive through coffee shop on the way. The café’s app had alerted her that she had a birthday freebie coming her way, and she was happy to take them up on the offer. The universe seemed in perfect alignment, too, as there were only two cars in line, and Lauren pulled in and placed her order.
The first car quickly got their order and left, but the next one, the one that was just ahead of her… well… it was taking a bit longer for their order to come out. And as. the. minutes. ticked. by… Lauren started to get anxious. She was going to be late to work. Then, as the clock confirmed that she would indeed be late for sure now, she started to get frustrated.
“WTF did you order?” She muttered angrily to the car in front of her.
Finally, the car pulled away, and Lauren hastily pulled up to the window to get her coffee. But all her anger melted away when the girl at the window told her that she was all set, because the guy in front of her had already paid for her coffee.
When Lauren was telling me this story, late one night, on my birthday actually, she was expressing it with a lot of laughter but also with a splash of shame.
“I mean, I felt like such an ass… was he just being nice? Or did he see how angry I was getting and felt bad for holding me up with his massive order?” I mean, I’m paraphrasing, but she said something like that. And she felt some regret about not being able to say thank you, because he was already long gone.
But because we were talking about manifestation and how we create our reality earlier in our conversation, I tuned in right away to what happened. Did you catch it?
Lauren drove into that line already in the frequency of free coffee. It wasn’t just a hopeful expectation, she knew, full stop, that she was getting a free coffee. So the universe matched that frequency with another free coffee.
And what Lauren told me next totally confirmed it, because later on, at work that very same day, she got another free coffee from a coworker. And was able to use that birthday freebie on her app later on that month.
So really, it doesn’t matter if the guy bought her an apology coffee or a pay it forward kinda coffee, what counted, in this example at least, is that she knew she already had it.
This is why the rich seem to get richer and the poor seem to get poorer. Sometimes it’s a challenge to change our frequency, because it’s easier to stay stuck in old patterns. But if you start to pay attention, you may begin to see more and more what things, what energies, what frequencies are magnetized to you.
I was chatting with my friend Ania recently too and she told me another story that was pure magick.
She lives in dry, hot California, and has for the past decade or so, but originally she’s from Poland, where there’s a lot more rainfall and more frequent fluctuations in the weather. So naturally, when she was reminiscing with some friends one day, it came up in conversation how much Ania missed thunderstorms, which, by comparison, are a super rare occurrence where she lives now. In fact, according to this article on the Least Stormy Cities in the US, the top four cities with the fewest thunderstorms per year were San Francisco, San Diego, Sacramento, and Los Angeles all of which experience less than 5 days of storms per year.
Ania said something along the lines of, “I wish we’d get a thunderstorm soon.” But even though she said that, she wasn’t holding her breath, because it was right smack in the middle of the dry season… maybe a few months from now she’d get her wish. Fat chance of it happening now though!
So Ania shrugged it off, and the conversation flowed onward.
Only a few hours later, out of nowhere… well can you guess what rolled on in? That’s right, an earth shaking, grumbling, wind-thrashing thunderstorm that brought heavy rains and beautiful veins of lightning across the sky.
And Ania watched, front and center, as her wish from earlier literally came true before her eyes. The thunderstorm danced above her and she was exactly in the middle of it. A few lightning bolts hit so close that her house shook with thunder almost instantly. This was what made this experience so powerful to her; how close the storm got.
It was a most magickal moment, at least that’s how it felt to me when she told me this story. I was grinning from ear to ear.
Ania was reminding me that nature is where we can witness those first, and sometimes most striking, manifestations come to life.
As a kid and in my teens I used to just sit outside in the woods; talk to nature. I’d literally ask questions aloud about my most pressing life issues… and the wind would answer me. It’d make noise up in the trees by rustling leaves, move my hair, brush my face. This still happens now, when I take the time to actually go out into nature.
But the other thing that stood out to me about Ania’s story was her total and complete letting go of her wish. It wasn’t like she was on her knees praying for rain and fearing her garden would suffer if she didn’t get her prayers answered immediately. There was no desperation or expectations – she simply set her intention (even if unintentionally in this case haha) and she let it go.
But I want to get a little bit deeper about the letting go. The very nature of wanting something, to have a desire at all, emphasizes to the universe that we are in a state of lack, that we are lacking that thing we want. And so the universe gives us more of that lacking we’re always feeling. This is why our manifestations pleasantly surprise us more often than not, because the magick that is most potent, the kind that creates quickly and powerfully, comes from a place of passionate curiosity.
And curiosity doesn’t have attachments. Curiosity is more like, asking the universe: “What if?”
What if we could have a thunderstorm soon? Wouldn’t that be amazing? Ah well, we’ll see.
Rather than:
OMG, if it doesn’t rain soon my yard will suffer or fires will do more damage than ever or (insert any other fear-driven thought/energy/emotion here).
Most of the time when we’re trying to consciously manifest a desired result, we are holding on too tightly. And like a needy ex that keeps popping up on your phone, holding on like herpes just creates more resistance to actually receiving that thing.
So how do we create more consciously? How do we flip the switch so that we are magnetizing the energy we want more of instead of repelling it from us?
Be curious and playful and have fun.
Here’s another example of some magick that happened in my own life recently that shows this playful curiosity at work.
I had been practicing pirouettes almost daily in my kitchen for a long time, probably a year or two, until I hurt myself, in an unrelated accident, and was forced to take a break from them. And then, by the time I was healed enough to try again, I kind of forgot about them for awhile. So when I finally realized hey, I should get back to those pirouettes, over a year had passed.
Yet, miraculously on my first attempt, I not only nailed it but I did a double! And then when I switched to my other foot, I did it again! It literally felt like someone else had taken control of my body and twirled me around perfectly like a ballerina in a music box. But then when I tried again after those two perfect double pirouettes, dozens of times between each foot, I was all over the place; teetering and stumbling. I couldn’t even come close to those first two, flawless, attempts.
So the moment I got serious, and started focusing on the end result in the future instead of the curious playfulness of the present moment, well then all flow left my body and my desire, need, want for more perfect pirouettes started repelling my ability to do so. At the time those first two twirls felt like pure magick… but as I’m writing this I’m realizing that perhaps it’s just pure presence that allows us to tap into that magick-like flow. Presence with a splash of curiosity and a sprinkling of playfulness. That is one powerful recipe for magick.
Ok because I promised you a more negative manifestation story, as in, how I unconsciously and inadvertently created my reality, I’ve got one more to share with you today. I think you’ll get a kick out of it.
Nick bought an Amish Fireplace, it’s an oxymoron of a thing, but we love it. It’s basically an electric heater, that simulates a fire on front, and it’s housed inside a beautifully carved, Amish-crafted mahogany wood case that we roll around our house as the seasons change. In the warmer months it’s my night stand in the bedroom, and in winter we move it into the living room which is the coldest room in the house, with its big bay window and drafty front door.
Well when we decided to roll it on out into the living room a couple of winters ago, we knew that we had to use an extension cord to avoid tripping the breaker when both watching TV and using the fireplace at the same time. The year previous we kept tripping over the cable and eventually taped it down. So I reminded Nick to grab the Gaffer’s tape as he was setting it all up.
Now you should know that I’m the perfectionist in our relationship, although I have been doing a lot of work to be more laid back, like Nick, and learn to let things go. But when I walked out into that living room I couldn’t stop myself.
“Really?” I said. I remember it being an incredulous mixture of laughter and anger.
Instead of running the wires underneath the TV stand and along the wall, like I would have, taping it down across the entryway into the kitchen, he sloppily taped it in a long ugly line straight from the heater to the outlet. But even though I was prepared to let go of the messiness of it, I couldn’t let go of the worst offense. We have one of those extension cords that has a thick end with room for three plugs, and Nick had taped that huge, outlet section of wire right in the middle of the path we walk the most.
“Come on Nick… are you serious? If I knew you were gonna do it like that I would have just done it myself.”
“What?” He asked as he came into the room.
“I’m gonna break my fucking toe on that thing! Why would you do it that way?!” But like I said, I really was working on my perfectionism and trying to lessen my nagginess factor, so after venting about it and laughing, I was like whatever, maybe I just need to let this go.
I don’t remember if it was that day or the day after, but it wasn’t long before I went strolling through the living room and kicked that thing so hard it was like I was in the world cup trying to score the winning goal. Instead of “Goal!” however I screamed out in pain and limped into the kitchen, tears involuntarily starting to form in the corners of my eyes.
Nick came running, and when he saw the look on my face he felt so bad he immediately started pulling up the tape to reroute the bulky mass to another location.
But I’d realized what had happened, and I couldn’t be mad at him about it. “I totally manifested that,” I said with a bitter laugh.
[Conclusion:]
Hey there magick makers, I hope you enjoyed this episode as much as I enjoyed creating it, because the truth is I have a whole lot more where these came from. So many, in fact, I’m already planning a Little Bits of Magick Part 2 episode. What about you, though? Do you have any of your own bits of magick you’d like to share with us?
If so… you’re about to get the deets on how you can submit your story.
Virtual hugs to Lauren and Ania for letting me share your stories, and of course a great big hug to you too dear listeners. Ta ta for now!
Hey ya’ll. I just wanted to pop in to give you a bit of a belated introduction to the new series of episodes I’ve been creating…
Transcript:
Hey ya’ll. I just wanted to pop in to give you a bit of a belated introduction to the new series of episodes I’ve been creating.
They’re a bit different from the art inspired shows that you may have come to expect from this podcast. The original Art Ink episodes have more of a get-lost-in-a-story type of vibe while some of the newer shows encourage deep thinking, reflection, and aim to inspire you to take action creating the masterpiece that is your life (and your life’s work).
To give you a heads up about what to expect from each show, I’ve decided to give this new stream of podcast episodes its own name: Life Art.
In many ways Life Art is the lovechild of my photo blog and this podcast, as it can be deeply personal and spiritual. It’s also full of ah-ha moments and the kind of experiences that can only be described as pure magick. But although the tone of this new content may feel vastly different from the short stories previously published here, Life Art has more in common with Art Ink than you may recognize at first.
Life is, after all, an exploration.
Life is a canvas on which to create.
Life is art and living life is an art.
Every thought a brushstroke. Every step a dance.
And by sharing my personal experiences consciously (and sometimes unconsciously) creating my life, I hope that you’ll start to recognize the power, the magick, that you’ve already been wielding all along.
So from here on out you’ll see Life Art in the title of new episodes that fall under this category. They may challenge your view of the world, or they may help you to create more art, joy, and abundance in your life… maybe it’ll all make perfect sense. Like you were meant to come here and hear this message at exactly this time. That’s happened to me more times than I can count. Guess you’ll never know ‘til you take a listen, though, huh?
So just to recap, if you’re looking for entertainment stick with the original Art Ink episodes, if you’re looking for inspiration or motivation to be a more conscious creator in your life, well then you’re going to love Life Art. No matter which kind of Art Ink episode you prefer to listen to, however, you’ll still get the chance to discover new art, and new artists with your ears.
So on that note, my friends, happy listening!!!
Ania is an awe-inspiring designer whose Instagram feed is filled with drawings and photographs of gorgeous flowers and animals. She’s the illustrator of the children’s book Calvin the Claustrophobic Caterpillar and she’s also the creator of @sunshine_inspired_fauna, which brings awareness to endangered animals and the non-profits that help them with beautiful works of art by a variety of uber talented artists. So naturally…
[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit https://rebekahnemethy.com/artink26 to check it out.
Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]
Links from the Show at a Glance:
Artist: Ania Archer
Ania’s Instagram: @ania_archer
The children’s book Ania illustrated: Calvin the Claustrophobic Caterpillar
Sunshine Inspired Fauna on Instagram: @sunshine_inspired_fauna
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]/[Art Description:]
The way today’s cover art found it’s way to me is similar to how its artist found me. Ania Archer is without a doubt my soul sister, we have so much in common it’s kinda scary. She’s an adventurous, animal-loving creative who’s always amazing me with the talent that shines through in whatever project she puts her heart into. But if I hadn’t stepped out of my comfort zone a few years ago, I never would have met Ania. And I might be wrong, but I’d venture to guess she had to step out of her own comfort zone back then too.
I was creating a podcast about animal rescue at that time and one of my guests offered to reciprocate the interview and put me on her show too. At first I was like, uhhh, no... that sounds way too scary. The host of the show was such a well-spoken, intelligent vegan activist, and I was like groupie watching from afar.
Needless to say I didn’t feel I was in her league, and I was sure she was just being kind. And honestly, even though I ended up taking advantage of that kindness and going on her show, I’m sure my insecurities are all very clear in that episode.
But guess what?
Ania ended up hearing that podcast! And she really connected with my story about wanting to escape the work force and pursue a life of passion. She started listening to my podcast and eventually she reached out to me to let me know all about it.
We connected on Instagram and before I even read her message her name so looked familiar to me. I soon discovered that not only did we both subscribe to the same podcast she found me on, but we also followed one of my other superheroes at the time, maybe even liking and commenting on the same posts. And these two women are completely unrelated. One is not even on social media at all.
This synchronicity clearly told me Ania was a person I could relate to, and so I was able to trust that meeting her in person was a step outside my comfort zone that might be worth taking.
And I was so right.
Fast forward a few years later and I’m trying very hard to make an effort to keep this podcast going. So I decide to dig into my old short story archive to give me some breathing room.
The first short story I ever wrote would be perfect for Halloween, but what art could I use?
Ania is an awe-inspiring designer whose Instagram feed is filled with drawings and photographs of gorgeous flowers and animals. She’s the illustrator of the children’s book Calvin the Claustrophobic Caterpillar and she’s also the creator of @sunshine_inspired_fauna, which brings awareness to endangered animals and the non-profits that help them with beautiful works of art by a variety of uber talented artists. So naturally she’s the first person I think of that might already have horse art in her archive. But I’d already scrolled through her feed and didn’t see anything.
I ask on Instagram if any artists have horse art they want to share. I get crickets. So I decide maybe it’s just not meant to be right now.
It later comes up in conversation, however, and she tells me she might have some horse photos I could use.
I feel resistant asking, because I know how I feel when I sign up for extra projects that I didn’t plan for, but she insists that she could use the motivation.
Ok, here’s where the magick bit lies. I’ve been having a lot of resistance to changing my art-inspired episodes to an art-pairing model. I’ve told myself that I created this to empower artists and I should be putting them first. So that I was asking for art for my pre-existing story felt wrong with this narrative running through my head.
So I decide, in order to make myself feel better, that I will see what photos Ania pulls up and I will adapt the story by making the horse look like the photo. Why not, right?
I feel much better after that decision and I go on with my life for a few days.
Later on, Ania gets in touch with me to give me a teaser and she sends a screenshot of all these beautiful horses she’s photographed. And right smack in the middle is the gray dappled horse I’d written about when I was 14 years old.
All this time, I had this idea in my head that the perfectly paired art can only be perfect if the story was written with its influence in mind first and foremost. But really that was just a huge block in my trusting the universe in its ability to give me exactly what I need when I let go of how it’s supposed to happen.
Not to take away credit from you Ania! Because I know that you’re the one who did all the physical 3D work for me on the universe’s behalf! And I sincerely thank you for that!
Friends, please be sure to check out the cover art when you can, to see the handsome horse who stars in today’s story, and take a look at what Ania’s working on right now @ania_archer on Instagram. Link in the shownotes.
And now, I want to share with you the first short story I ever wrote.
[Story:]
The Midnight Rider
“Hello?” Joshua Milton left a trail of puddles as he ran to the phone with only a towel wrapped around his waist.
“I have great news!” Jack Milton said.
“What’s that?” Josh asked without interest. He had rushed to the phone expecting to hear a female voice. Lisa was supposed to call him today.
“I bought a house!” Jack said, “we can move in next week!”
“Whoa, Dad, slow down,” His father had spent the weekend in the country to take a look at some property, but Josh assumed he was only looking. “You bought a house?”
“Yup,” Jack said, “it has four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and it’s sitting on twenty-five acres of property. Everything’s in fine condition, and it’s only about two hours from the city.”
“But how are we going to afford a place like that?” asked Josh, still a bit stunned. They were moving into an actual house? Quite a change from the usual cramped apartments he and his father had been used to.
“Oh, don’t you worry about it,” Jack said, “I got a great deal on the place and the taxes out here are nothing compared to the city’s.”
“Well that’s great dad,” urban life was tiring, “when are we leaving?”
“Wait a minute,” Josh heard his father laugh, “you haven’t even heard the best part yet; Mr. Turner, the original owner of the house, gave us his horse.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Oh, I dunno, I guess he’s just too old to take care of it, but I thought you might like him.” Josh’s father replied, “you loved working at the stables when you lived with your mother!”
“Yeah, I had a great time,” Josh said, he remembered all the dirty work he did in exchange for riding lessons, “but you don’t know anything about this horse. Are you sure he’s sound?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be just fine, and he sure is a beauty. He’s a dapple-gray thoroughbred. I bet you can’t wait to see him, huh?”
“Yeah, dad, it all seems great,” Josh lied. Even though he was becoming increasingly excited about moving, something seemed too good to be true about this horse.
“Well, I’ll be home in a few hours and we can start packing first thing in the morning.”
“Okay, see ya later dad.”
“Bye.”
A week later, after the endless packing, planning, and the heartbreaking ‘goodbye’s’ and ‘I’ll write you’s,’ Josh and his father were finally on their way to their new home. As they were nearing their destination the surroundings began to change from rows of buildings, stores, and bumper to bumper traffic to trees, fields, and long, straight roads stretching on forever without a car in sight. The sun was just beginning to set and the orangey-pink clouds seemed to stretch on forever in all directions of the vast sky.
“Here we are,” Jack said as he turned the moving truck into the long, unpaved driveway. The house was big; probably too big for just two people. It was a slightly off-white color with charcoal gray shutters. Behind the house was a small white barn adjacent to a rectangular riding ring. Most of the property’s twenty-five acres were fenced in, green pastures with hardly any trees aside from the few that surrounded the house.
“So where’s this horse?” Josh asked, as he spun around, glancing at each pasture.
“He’s in his stall over there,” Jack pointed to the barn, “you wanna see him?”
“Sure,” Josh was already walking toward the barn. Jack followed his son and looked on as Josh slid the door open. There were six stalls, three on each side and a tack room at the far end of the building.
As soon as the horse heard the door open he threw his head up, startled, with his blue eyes wide open. As the boy approached the horse, he stuck his nose between the bars of the stall, sniffing Josh’s hand. “Wow dad, you were right,” Josh said, “he is beautiful.”
“You like him?” Jack sounded pleased.
“He’s great dad, thanks! I think I’ll name him Smoke.”
“Sounds good to me, now I’m going to get started unpacking. Why don’t you put Smoke out for the night and then come help me?”
“Okay,” Josh said. He spotted a halter hanging on a hook beneath a brass plate with the name “Mystic” engraved into it. Josh grabbed the halter and cautiously opened the stall door, not knowing exactly what to expect.
“Easy boy,” Josh whispered. To his surprise, he had no reason to be nervous. Smoke walked up to Josh, smelt the halter, and placed his nose right into it himself. All Josh had to do was buckle it in place and lead the horse to the pasture.
“It’s too late now Smoke,” Josh said as he opened the metal gate, “but maybe tomorrow we could go for a ride, huh boy?” Josh took off his halter and watched as the horse put his head down to graze.
“See ya tomorrow, Smoke.”
Later that night Josh awoke to a horse’s whinny. At first the sound had made its way into Josh’s dreams: he saw images of horses, an entire herd of them, galloping across a stream. He opened his eyes with a start, realizing the crying horse was real.
Josh tripped over empty boxes on his way to the open window. Peeking outside, squinting, he tried to distinguish one shadow from another while his eyes were adjusting to the bright moonlight. Another whinny sounded and Josh caught sight of Smoke pacing in front of the gate, haphazardly snorting and rearing like he was trying to run up an invisible wall to the sky.
Josh was contemplating whether or not he should go take a closer look, when a cold breeze swept through the window and he took cover against the wall. When he looked outside once more the horse was calm again. If Josh hadn’t seen him prancing around only moments before he wouldn’t have suspected a bit of excitement.
Smoke stood with his head over the fence and his ears directed forward. He seemed to be focusing on something in front of him, but what? There was nothing but an empty field ahead. Deciding to investigate, he grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and pulled them over his boxers. He slipped on a pair of sneakers and hurried outside.
A thick fog had formed during Josh’s short trip from the window to the front door. When he got to the fence, Josh could just barely make out Smoke’s vague outline through the mist. That was when he noticed that he was not alone. On the other side of the fence, petting Smoke along his snout was a pretty, smiling, young girl. She had long, wavy, blonde hair that sparkled in the silver light. The girl wore tan riding pants, with black boots that rose to her knees and her untucked, white blouse billowed in the breeze.
Josh approached her, in a daze, while she still seemed unaware of his presence. When he was halfway to her he tried to speak, but a stuttering “h-hey,” was all that he could get out.
The girl gasped at seeing him, spun around, and sprinted toward the woods. “Wait!” Josh called, “it’s okay, come back!” He started to chase after her, but she had already disappeared between the tree trunks by the time he made it halfway across the field.
Wow, Josh thought, she’s fast! He bent down for a moment, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “Oh well,” he muttered and, as he began to walk back to the house, he noticed the fog had lifted and the breeze had vanished.
“Come on kiddo,” Josh’s dad yelled with only his head poking in the bedroom doorway, “it’s after eight. Get up!”
“Too early,” Josh said, pulling the covers over his head.
“Oh no you don’t,” Jack said, as he entered Josh’s room. He grabbed the comforter and pulled it off of Josh completely. “Breakfast’s on the table. I wanna celebrate the first day in our new home together before I start working.”
“Alright, alright,” Josh said, but the only movement he made was to shield his eyes from the bright rays of sunshine that were pouring through the window. After a while he rose from his bed.
A few minutes later, Josh was downstairs sitting down to a tofu scramble breakfast wrap with his father. “So, how’s the book going?”
“Oh, just a few more revisions and I can send it out,” Jack said. “It should be done in a week or so.”
“Great,” Josh said through a mouthful of tofu. He never understood what his father found so wonderful about writing, but it always made him happy to talk about it.
“So, you gonna ride Smoke today?”
“Yup,” Josh said, remembering the previous night’s experience. He decided against informing his father about the strange girl he had seen, although he couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever see her again. “I wonder if she lives around here,” Josh said aloud.
“Huh?”
“Um, nothing,” Josh said, “I was just talking to myself.”
“Oh,” Jack said, “well I’m going to get to work, see ya later.” He rose from his seat, bringing his plate to the sink and leaving the room.
“I didn’t even get her name,” now that Josh’s father had gone he could continue speaking his thoughts aloud. “Oh well,” he sighed, “let’s see how Smoke’s doing.”
“What’s the matter boy?” he asked. Smoke had become calm since last night. “You miss her too, huh?” Josh patted down his long, muscular neck.
He found Smoke’s halter and brought the horse back to the barn. “I’m just gonna clean you up a little,” he said as he secured Smoke to the crossties, “and then we’re gonna get you tacked up so we can go for a ride.” Josh grabbed a few brushes and a hoof pick. “Now how does that sound?”
Smoke replied only by looking intently at Josh with his ears forward, listening to his young new companion. “Sounds good to me too,” Josh said as if he’d gotten an answer from the horse.
He brushed the majestic creature thoroughly, covering every part of his body in order to examine him. When he finished, Smoke’s coat shone like a show horse’s. His thick tail almost reached the floor and was trimmed evenly as was his mane. It was obvious that Smoke’s previous owners had taken care of him. And not for the first time, Josh wondered why they’d abandon him.
Smoke stood still as Josh went to the tack room to find a saddle. When Josh returned with it he could have sworn he saw the horse widen his eyes, but he didn’t move. After saddling him, Josh retrieved the horse’s bridle and was surprised when Smoke opened his mouth for the bit without command.
“So far, so good,” Josh said as he walked the horse out to the ring. After adjusting his stirrups, he stepped up onto the side of a nearby fence and climbed onto the tall horse. In one rough motion Smoke reared up and then bucked his rider high into the air. Josh went flying over the horse’s head and landed on his back.
***
Josh rolled his eyes and pounded the ground. “I spoke too soon.”
At dinner that night Josh let his father in on how he felt about Smoke, “What a great horse you picked!”
“Yeah?” Jack asked, “you really like him?”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Oh?” Jack looked up from his plate, “what’s wrong with him?”
“I dunno, he was fine in the beginning, but as soon as I got on him I was thrown off,” Josh said, “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Well did you try to get back on him? Maybe he just got spooked, or maybe his saddle was bothering him.”
“Yeah, he just threw me off again,” Josh lied. “There was nothing there to scare him, and I checked his saddle. He’s just not a good horse!”
“Well I’m going to call Mr. Turner in the morning,” Jack said, “I’ll find out if Smoke has ever behaved this way before.”
“Whatever you want,” Josh said, and headed to his bedroom. He left an empty plate on the table for his father to clean up. Smoke seemed so great at first. Josh had had his doubts, of course, but after he’d met him Josh had let a sense of hope infiltrate his fears.
Josh sat in his room, flipping through channels for hours while his mind remained on Smoke and the strange girl he’d probably never see again. It was past twelve when he decided to go to bed.
Josh closed his eyes knowing he would never fall asleep. There was a nice breeze coming in from the window, sending the white curtains flying inwards as if they were ghosts reaching out for him. Josh just watched as they flew, longing to get up and peer past them and wishing that, when he did, he would see the nameless girl he had seen the night before. Just then Josh heard a soft, rhythmic pounding coming from outside. Hoof beats? Still wide awake, he jumped from his bed and ran to the window and, as if it were a dream, there she was. This time, though, the girl was atop the gray creature and, together, they sped through the ring.
Josh didn’t even have time to think before he was on his way to the girl on his horse. He didn’t want to miss his chance this time. He made his way outside and watched her from afar, not wanting to scare her away again. She rode with the horse’s every stride as if she’d been born on his back. The young girl was so involved in her riding that Josh figured even if he did walk right up to the ring she wouldn’t have noticed anyways. Still, Josh waited until after Smoke and his gorgeous rider had slowed from a canter to a walk. The girl’s hair, which was once flowing far behind her head, now rested on her shoulders as she gave him a pleased pat on the neck. Only then did Josh venture to approach her. “He must really like you,” Josh said.
At once the girl turned Smoke around, preparing to run away again. “Please don’t leave,” Josh said, not worried this time because he knew she couldn’t get very far in the enclosed ring.
She seemed to notice this herself and turned Smoke back to face Josh. “Why do you keep running away from me?” Josh asked as he began to walk toward the two of them. The girl just stared at him with her green eyes. “Well you got a name?”
“Elizabeth,” she said, looking down at the nearing boy.
Josh smiled, he was thinking of what a perfect voice Elizabeth had to complement her other perfect features. “I’m Josh,” he said extending his hand. She took his hand as she swung one leg over the horse and jumped down. Still clutching her hand, Josh moved behind her, caught her with his free arm and lowered her to the ground.
“You’re great with him,” Josh said as she spun around in his embrace and then broke free from it. She grabbed Smoke’s reins and brought them over his head. “Would you like to help me with him tomorrow?” he asked, “I don’t think he likes me very much.”
Elizabeth started to lead Smoke out of the ring with Josh close behind them, “you mean you’re not mad at me?” she asked.
“Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said, “I don’t think I can help you, sorry.”
“Oh,” Josh hoped he hid his disappointment, “it’s ok.” They were outside the ring and heading toward the barn. “Have you ridden Smoke before? You’re just so good with him.”
“You could say that,” Elizabeth said as she unbridled and untacked the horse, “and his name is Mystic,” she added.
“Have you been coming here every night?”
“Some nights.”
“Oh,” Josh watched in silence as Elizabeth finished with the horse and led him to his stall. He couldn’t help thinking about how much he wanted to touch her again, to wrap his arms around her tiny waist and pull her close to him. He had never seen a girl so beautiful before. Her skin was flawless, it even seemed to glow a little, and her emerald eyes struck him like lightning when they met his own.
“Well, it’s getting late,” Elizabeth said, “I’m going to get out of here.”
“Where do you live? Do you need a ride?”
“No,” she said. She was already exiting the barn into the darkness, “I live just up the road. I can walk.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she walked past Josh through the pasture where she had run away from him the first time they met.
“Okay,” Josh said, “will I see you again?”
Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and continued walking. Josh watched her as she disappeared into the night, noticing that she didn’t go anywhere near the road. Instead, she was lost in the darkness of the woods ahead. Maybe it’s a shortcut Josh thought and returned to the barn to shut off all the lights and close up.
When he finally returned to bed he saw that it was about one-thirty and, this time, he had no trouble falling asleep.
Josh woke up early the next morning. On his way down to breakfast he heard someone speaking and wondered if his father had company. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw him replacing the phone on its receiver. “Who was that?”
“Mr. Turner,” Jack said, “I was calling to ask about Smoke.”
“And?”
“And he said that ‘Mystic,’” he drew the quotation marks in the air, “hasn’t been the same since his last owner…” Jack hesitated, “Mr. Turner’s daughter just recently died. Smoke was her horse and, apparently, she was the only one who could ride him. Mr. Turner said he was sorry for giving him to us when he knew all along he would behave that way, but he also told me it was his only choice. No one would take the horse and it was too heartbreaking to keep him around.”
“Oh.” Josh was, once again, tempted to tell his father about Elizabeth. Elizabeth could ride Smoke, I saw her, he wanted to say, she could help us with him, but no such words came out. Josh’s father would ask too many questions, questions Josh didn’t have any answers to. Even he didn’t know much of the girl who could save this horse.
“I guess we’ll have to get rid of him,” Jack said the words Josh was expecting, but didn’t want to hear.
“No, just give me a little more time,” Josh said, knowing that he could convince Elizabeth to help once he told her what would happen to Smoke if she didn’t. “I’m sure I can work with him.”
“Whatever you want,” his father said, turning to retreat to his office. He began to walk away but then he spun around. “Josh, could you go pick some things up for me at the store?” He tossed his keys to his son assuming he would agree. “Get some computer paper, and whatever else we need around here,” he said, handing Josh two twenties. Then he resumed his trail to the office.
“No prob,” Josh said, gladly taking the money and the keys to his father’s ’89 Mustang. It was old, but the car had muscle and Josh took every opportunity he was given to drive it.
Soon, Josh was speeding down the straight, country road. Being used to driving in the city, he rarely had the chance to reach speeds over thirty but here he was going eighty without another car in sight. The wind whipped at his overgrown hair through both open windows. He neared town and his racecar fantasy diminished as he turned into a small plaza.
After Josh finished gathering up his father’s paper in the general store, he grabbed a few bags of chips and some salsa. There was only one checkout counter and behind the register stood a boy around Josh’s age, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He had short, black hair and dark, blue eyes.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the cashier said as he rang up the few items Josh had presented to him, “just passing through?”
“No, actually, I just moved here.”
“Ok, Ok. So you’re the one who moved into the old Turner house, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a small town,” he said, seeing Josh’s surprise, “I’m Chad.” He placed the bagged purchases on the counter and then offered Josh his hand.
“Josh.”
“Hey, I’m not doing anything tomorrow, you need someone to show you around?” Chad asked.
Josh felt relieved, “sure, I’m not busy.” It would be a good idea, he thought, to get to know whoever he could before school started.
Chad handed Josh his bag, “How about twelve? I’ll meet you at your house?”
“Sounds good,” Josh said.
At a little past eleven-thirty that night, Josh crept around the barn and scanned the surrounding fields, looking especially close in the direction Elizabeth was heading last night. Finding no trace of her, he sat down with his back against the side of the barn facing where Elizabeth would be coming from.
The nighttime sounds of the country relaxed Josh, and after a few minutes he was allowing the crickets’ songs to rock him to sleep with their rhythm. Hearing a familiar whinny, he awoke with a start. He stood up and peered in the direction in which his horse was looking. At the edge of the woods Elizabeth was departing from a settling layer of fog. Josh began to walk toward her and they met in the middle where Smoke stood. Together, the two reached out to stroke the side of his long gray neck. Elizabeth grasped the horse’s head with her free hand and pulled his face to hers, gently kissing him on the nose.
“I need your help Elizabeth.” He stared at her, searching for an expression that would reveal her answer before her words did. He found nothing, “My dad’s going to get rid of him if you don’t help me.”
“Okay,” she said, “but I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for him.” She still hadn’t taken her glowing, green eyes away from the horse.
“So when do we start?” Josh was glad she had agreed. Not only would he get to keep Smoke, but he would also be able to spend more time with Elizabeth.
“Tomorrow at midnight.”
“Okay,” perfect, Josh thought. He didn’t want his father to find out about Elizabeth just yet, and he wanted to be alone with her. “I’m glad I met you.”
Elizabeth smiled as she looked up at him and, for an instant, Josh saw the same sparkling emeralds he saw when she was adoring the horse. For what seemed like a lifetime, a moment frozen, they just stood there, searching each other’s eyes until, as if a jealous gesture, Smoke suddenly snorted loudly and threw his head between them.
The two of them laughed at the horse and Josh grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her toward him. Only after he was sure she wouldn’t try to escape his embrace did he let go of her hand and reach out to caress her pale cheek. “You’re so cold,” Josh remarked as he leaned down to kiss her, “lemme warm you up,” he whispered.
“Josh!” A far away voice interrupted him. “Josh are you out here?”
“I think I should go,” Elizabeth pulled away from him and started for the woods.
Great timing dad, he thought. “Yeah, I’m right here,” he called, rolling his eyes.
As the sun crawled across Josh’s bed and began to shine into his eyes he rolled over, glancing at his clock. Twelve o’clock! Josh realized that Chad was going to show up any minute. He was ready to go in under five and flew downstairs only to find that Chad still hadn’t arrived. Josh wandered into the kitchen and fixed a bowl of cereal. By the time he was done eating there was a knock at the door.
Chad spent nearly all day giving Josh the grand tour. It was a small town, yes, but a small town with a long history and Chad seemed to know it all. Josh saw where’d he’d be going to school, a tiny school with only about eighty students. He was introduced to the town hall, where almost all activities took place; dances were held there, as well as bingo tournaments for the older citizens, and occasionally parties were held for the entire town, though not many people attended them. To Josh, this place seemed more and more like a really big family than it was a town.
As the sun was beginning to go down the boys were cruising up and down the streets while Chad pointed out houses. He knew every family in every home and was able to include an amusing anecdote in each introduction. Chad continued on and Josh’s mind began to wander to Elizabeth.
“And that’s old man Grady’s house, don’t even think about setting foot on his property. Last time someone ‘trespassed,’ as he would call it—”
“Where does Elizabeth live?”
“Elizabeth?” Chad said, “Elizabeth who?”
“I didn’t catch her last name.”
“Well there are no Elizabeths around here that I know of,” he paused, “not anymore anyway.”
“What do you mean ‘not anymore?’”
“There used to be an Elizabeth in your house, Elizabeth Turner,” said Chad.
“But she died,” Josh pronounced each word slowly, coming to an outrageous conclusion. Elizabeth was… dead? Simultaneously everything and nothing made sense. It all seemed to fit together now, puzzle pieces now clasped in a bear hug with Elizabeth’s death as the glue. But it was all so real though, Josh thought. He’d touched her. She had to be real, real and alive.
“Yeah,” Chad said sighing, oblivious to Josh’s shock, “and she was cute too, a little weird, but cute.” He paused only for a second, “anyways, there’s a dance tonight at the hall. It’s the last dance of the summer and you could meet some people. You wanna go?” But Josh wasn’t listening. “Josh?… Josh?”
“Huh?”
“You wanna go?” Chad repeated.
“Go?” Josh asked, “Where?”
“The dance.”
“No thanks, I have to meet someone tonight.”
Josh waited up for Elizabeth all night. He didn’t know what to think. They’d planned to meet at twelve, and here it was, three in the morning and no sign of her. Josh knew she’d be there soon and she’d laugh at him and assure him that she was one hundred percent alive. He would touch her and she’d be warm… unlike the night before.
By four Josh had lost all hope. He couldn’t keep reassuring himself, Elizabeth was gone and he was going crazy; seeing ghosts. Josh had just decided to go to bed when a familiar breeze stopped him in his tracks. He didn’t turn around, “Elizabeth?” He stood stiff, suddenly afraid of what he might see. He’d never even considered the thought that she might be dead any other time he’d seen her, but now every shadow that loomed ahead of him in the moonlight made him shudder.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered back, “I should have let him go, but I didn’t.”
Josh spun around, searching for the girl with the emerald eyes he longed to see. All he could find, though, was the familiar mist that had formed while he was turned away.
“He’s yours now,” her voice faded and the fog seemed to be sucked back into the woods until it completely disappeared. The wind blew and Smoke snorted as he reared up, hooves thrashing through the air.
***
“Get back on him Josh, c’mon get up!”
Josh opened his eyes and it was day again. Josh lay on the ground with a close-up of Smoke’s nose.
“Wow, he really threw you, Josh,” Jack was cracking up, “I saw him buck you from the office window. I figured I was missing the rodeo.”
Josh rose from his former position on his back on the hard ground.
“Now you get back on him, you know the saying,” Jack continued to laugh at himself, “when you fall off a horse you gotta get back on again.”
What just happened? Where was Elizabeth and what about Chad? Were they real, were they alive? Josh remembered now, he had just fallen off Smoke. Everything was going fine until he got on him. Was I knocked out? Josh wondered.
“So are you gonna try again?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Josh finally understood. He walked over to Smoke, stood on the adjacent fence and hopped on once again. This time, though, Smoke didn’t budge. A light tap of Josh’s heels and the horse was off. He cantered once around the ring and came to a stop as Josh slowed him down. Josh threw himself forward and gave Smoke’s neck a hug. “She was right,” he whispered to the horse, “she just had to let you go.
“How do you like the sound of Mystic Smoke?”
[Conclusion:]
This story is close to my heart. Not just because it’s the first story I ever finished, but also because of the vivid memory I have of writing it all in one sitting in this zone of focus I’ve rarely been able to replicate since.
It’s been edited a few times over the past 20 years, and to be honest there are some things in here as a more aware animal activist that I’m a bit conflicted about.
But this was what the teenager version of me knew as normal, the girl who had a horse named Baby Starbuck and was thrown from him while riding bareback in the snow one day in much the same manner as Josh was thrown from Smoke, and so I’ve left these things in as a memory of who I used to be. And to help me gauge how far I’ve come in my relationship to animals; trying to be more of a companion to them than their keeper.
With that said, I’m still in awe of how perfect Ania’s photograph is for this story. There was no way for me to explain this little bit of magic before you heard it, but the horse in today’s cover art has his ears facing in completely opposite directions, which to anyone who knows horses means his attention is divided. To me it’s as if there’s an invisible person in the background whispering in his ear. Almost as if… well maybe he’s still deciding between Elizabeth and Josh.
A huge and heart felt thank you, to Ania for sharing your art with us today. Please go and check out Ania’s latest photography, color palettes, illustrations, and designs over @ania_archer on Instagram.
And you know what, I think art-pairings are going to be a thing now, so stay tuned. I’ll be talking more about how you can submit your art for consideration on Art Ink without having to write a thing.
Thank you all so much for listening, I hope you all have a magickally spooky Halloween!
Today we’re going to start with the art, because what’s interesting is that I made the photo that appears on this episode’s cover before I really knew how ubiquitous frequency is in our reality. Everything is made of energy and therefore, everything has a frequency… literally everything… but before I hop into that bunny pit…
[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit https://rebekahnemethy.com/artink25 to check it out.
Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]
Links from the Show at a Glance:
Artist: Yours Truly
Title of Art: Rolling Rs with Wine
The Sacred Geometry Movie by Spirit Science (The bit that inspired this essay can be found between 01:16:05 to 01:20:20 – 4 minutes well worth it!)
The double slit experiment – If you have Hulu, the best explanation I’ve seen is in season 3, episode 9 (titled Magic without Lies) of Cosmos: Possible Worlds with Neil DeGrasse Tyson.
In case that’s not available anymore, here’s another explanation with Joe Scott on YouTube: Down the Rabbit Hole of the Double Slit Experiment
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]/[Art Description:]
Today we’re going to start with the art, because what’s interesting is that I made the photo that appears on this episode’s cover before I really knew how ubiquitous frequency is in our reality. Everything is made of energy and therefore, everything has a frequency… literally everything… but before I hop into that bunny pit, I want to describe the cover photo, for those of you who are operating heavy machinery and can’t see it right now, and give you a behind the scenes look at how I made it.
On a black background, a jagged, diamond-shaped waveform made of thin, teal green lines stands out in sharp focus on the left side of the image. And in case you don’t know what a waveform is, because I didn’t before I started editing audio, it’s that squiggly line often used to represent music and voiceover brands – think of what a heart rate monitor looks like. On the right side is a similarly shaped waveform, except this one looks smudged and blurry – and around this teal blur is a circular swoosh of red, like someone painted around it with light.
I created this image in a couple of steps. First I downloaded an app that made real-time waveforms of my voice appear full screen on my phone as I was talking. Then I proceeded to make a bunch of silly sounds. Off the top of my head I ohhhmmmed, and rolled my Rs, and probably face farted into my phone too if I know myself like I totally do. I took screen shots of the most interesting looking sounds and transferred them to my laptop.
With the now larger, full screen images displayed on the computer, I turned off all the other lights in my studio except for one bare LED bulb; which is actually a Halloween prop designed to look like a flickering flame. (Nick won it during a pumpkin-carving party his friends throw every year.) On a tripod, I pointed my camera towards the laptop and filled the frame with the glowing wave on the screen, then made sure the red light wasn’t spilling onto it. Between the camera and the computer screen I used a wine glass to distort parts of the screen, while also catching the ghostly glow of red light.
As usual, this photo, and a few others from this series can be seen either on today’s cover, in the show notes, or on my website which will be linked in the show notes, but, for now, let’s back to the significance of frequency, shall we?
Riding the Wave – An Exploration of Why Suffering Exists
[Story:]
I wish I could tell you who said this, because it hit me like a train would were I daydreaming along a track. “When you stand in the light, you still cast a shadow.”
In other words, it is impossible, in the 3d world we exist in, to have all light and no dark. And that fact seemed like an epiphany before I knew all that I know now… and I’m still learning my friends… I’m still learning.
So, frequency. We see examples of how frequency is measured in modern day life all the time. We already talked about heart rate monitors and audio files, but what about radio waves, earthquake measurement tools or polygraph tests? I mean a spoken lie is scientifically proven to have a different frequency pattern than a spoken truth. That’s kind of mind blowing, don’t you think?
While I was observing what sounds made what shapes when I was in the screenshoting phase of my photo project, I discovered another surprise. You know the ohhhmmm sound you’ll hear and perhaps chant yourself in a yoga or meditation class? Ohhhmmm. Well this sound was actually the most symmetrical waveform I could make in the time I spent experimenting.
I was in shock.
It was kind of an, aha shock, though, more like, OMG that makes complete sense, why do we not teach THIS kinda shit in school. Of course we ohhhmmm to get more in sync with the universe. Duh. And then I sat back on the little black love seat in my baby blue studio and I smiled, because life made a little more sense in that moment.
Months later I came across an amazing YouTube video by a channel called Spirit Science. It’s 104 minute animated film called The Sacred Geometry Movie, that basically breaks down the geometry of our reality. It was so fascinating that I’ve watched it 3 times already, and if you want to jump to the bit that had a hand in inspiring this essay specifically, I’ll have the time stamp along with a link so you can watch it for yourself. Which means, by the time you hear this, I’ll most likely have already watched it a 4th time, ya know for research. But seriously, I’m sure this won’t be the last time I mention this video, because I have another episode planned on what I continue to discover about an ancient symbol called the flower of life… but anyway highly recommend that video for anyone interested in the cross sections between art, science, and spirituality.
So, after watching The Sacred Geometry video I started to see more connections in my own life. I started to see waves, valleys and mountains, in everything. In my own cycles, whether we’re talking mood or menstrual, in how history repeats itself, in the weather, the seasons, in the way a tree bursts into life in the spring and goes dormant after the fall, in the way hibernating animals eat for months, and then sleep for months, and in the way migrating animals go to and fro in the air and across oceans. The way the sun feels and looks in summer and how the light is just so different in winter. And all of these cycles are connected.
Like how the moon affects the tides. Like how an ocean wave is both an individual and part of the whole; ebbing and flowing, coming and going, flickering into and out of existence.
Which reminds me: ever hear of the double slit experiment? I’ll link to a more detailed explanation of this scientific study, but to quickly sum up the experiment: photons, the smallest possible bits of light, are sent through two slits. And the pattern of light cast on the other side would vary between two results: either the light would act as particles and shine straight through, casting light that mirrored the two slits, or the light would act wavelike and create an interference pattern on the other side.
But here’s the groundbreaking part: this study, repeated many, many times, found that the photons only acted as particles while they were being observed by someone, otherwise the resulting light reverted back to the interference pattern created by waves. The conclusion: consciousness literally warps reality on a physical level. So basically light particles don’t even exist unless someone is looking at them. By the simple act of observation, we are actually willing matter into existence. I hope that makes sense, but I know for me it’s taken many different rounds of explaining, from various sources, for me to fully comprehend this. So please check out the links in the show notes to get a more in depth scientific explanation with visual aides, which is essential for me to understand anything lol. Must be an artist thing huh? “Light is both a wave and a particle, and neither. Until we make an observation, the photon exists in a state of uncertainty, governed by laws of probability. And when we do observe it, it becomes something completely different.” – Neil DeGrasse Tyson on that show referenced above.
Here’s another interesting connection I’ve found between frequency and matter. In high school chemistry, I remember being fascinated when I learned how scientists have determined what distant planets and stars are made of. Do you remember how? Well it turns out that every element on the periodic table has its own unique light signature, a unique frequency pattern. The technical term for this method of identifying the chemical makeup of distant celestial bodies is called spectroscopy. This is just more scientific proof that solidifies the idea that everything is frequency for me.
Now let’s dig deeper into what frequency, what a wave, has to do with how we experience our every day lives.
Imagine a gently sloping roller coaster, let’s say it’s a kid’s coaster with perfectly balanced hills and valleys oscillating between one another. Let’s say that when we’re at the peak of each little hill we’re experiencing a euphoric kind of joy, and when we’re in the dip of the valley we’re deeply depressed. Now imagine I go up to the roller coaster operator and say, I want to take a ride, but can you make sure I only coast along the top, I would rather not suffer through the pits. Most likely the moody teenager behind the joystick would give me a confused, if not weirded out look, and if she determined I was serious she’d probably snap her gum and be like, “umm no, you gotta ride the whole ride or not ride it at all.”
Our reality is dualistic in nature. Light and dark. Up and down. Cold and hot. Joy and pain. One extreme cannot be experienced without the contrast of the other, and one extreme cannot be fully appreciated without the contrast of the other either, for that matter.
For some reason there is a stigma against suffering in our society. And I did not escape this belief system. Not at first. When I started meditating, in fact, my intention was to find happiness and block pain. Had I known what I was asking of the universe back then I would have laughed at myself. Because I know now that happiness can only be found inside of me, and the same goes for all of my pain and suffering too. Up is only a direction until we give it meaning, until our cultural programming teaches us that feeling up is good, that having more is better. Those same nurtured ideas kick into gear when we think of what it is to feel down, when we automatically assume that having less is bad.
What I’m learning more and more each day is that my suffering is most often just a story I’m telling myself. And though I’m also learning that I am responsible for it all… all the good and all the bad in my life, at the same time I’ve even begun to get comfortable with the suffering that seems like it’s out of my control. Suffering is what has pushed me to create some of my best work, pushed me to be the best version of me I could possibly be… in any given moment that I’m able to actually pull my head out of my ass and realize this.
It’s a learning process, and I’m not saying I’m awesome at dealing with pain and suffering, but I’m getting better at letting it be rather than trying to block it.
If we could just ride the tracks of our lives like a roller coaster, full speed ahead down the steepest slopes, the momentum would take us right through the dip and rocket us back in an upward trajectory, onto the next mountaintop. But instead, we see that we’re at the top of a scary hill and we put the brakes on, causing so much friction and resistance that by the time we inevitably come to the low point, we’re forced to wallow there until we can find the energy to start crawling back up.
If you’re anything like me, maybe you might ask: Well why the highs and lows? You might say, as I did: Why can’t I just coast through life? I don’t have to be deliriously happy, I just don’t want to feel so much pain anymore.
And that’s when it hit me, I saw the wave in my mind’s eye, I mentally marked where I wanted to be on the slope of my life, placing an X right smack in the middle, between the highest highs and lowest lows, a neutral zone where I could be… content. I quickly pulled my notebook toward me and drew a wave across the page. I Xed each neutral position across the waveform. Connecting all the dots I drew a flat line. A flat line. All this time, I thought I had simply been asking the universe for a safe space to live, but by creating a permanent comfort zone for myself, what I was really doing, was flat-lining. And come to think of it, any constant state of being is flat-lining, even trying to stay in the comfort zone of “happy” as so many of us are trying to do.
One of the only truths I’ve been able to find in my life, that hasn’t somehow evolved into some other truth, is this: nothing ever stays the same. I can confirm this as a photographer who has spent far too much time trying to reshoot the almost perfect photo – the wind blows the flower around, I can’t get back in the same spot, the light changes every second, I look up and see two pigs kissing in the clouds, but by the time I decide to give up on the flower and I raise my camera to focus, it’s become a dragon soaring across the sky.
What is right now, is constantly changing, and to not accept all of what is right now, no matter where you are on the wave is what causes the most suffering. When you let go of trying to steer, well that’s when the ride starts to get fun.
If we’re too afraid to dive into the next dip, we’ll never discover what’s at the top of the next hill… and the more momentum we have going down, the higher we can rise on the other side. Fall, and fail, fast. It’s not just good business advice. It’s life advice. Learn from your suffering, power through it and move on. The key isn’t to avoid suffering, it’s to take all that inevitable pain and transmute it, turn it into art.
When you stand in the light you still cast a shadow. And when you’re deep in the shadows, know that inside you there still burns a light. There’s a whole spectrum of possibilities between the two, and a whole lotta wave left to ride.
Now the frequency of any given wave, is another thing I’d like to touch upon, because there seems to be a lot of bias out there about how humans are supposed to vibrate. There are many spiritual teachers who try to teach us the difference between right and wrong, good and bad… and for so long it has felt like I’ve been running along the fence line that divides the moral and immoral, hopping it whenever the landscape looked prettier on the other side. That’s all any of us do really; the best that we can do, in any given moment.
I’ve heard the terms high vibe and low vibe thrown around a lot in spiritual circles. And while I’m not opposed to seeking self “betterment” in any way, I’m starting to realize that to label the vibration we’re in, the wave we’re riding, to proverbially stamp it on the forehead with a good or bad is to limit the potential of what it could be. It’s basically like cockblocking the universe by labeling it.
It’s early August as I’ve been writing this essay, and we have a bush we’ve let go wild for the past couple of years. Just outside the sliding glass doors into our backyard, I can find at least a dozen pollinators buzzing and fluttering around this magickal bush. Orange and black monarchs are always around, did you know that Monarch butterflies migrate from Canada all the way to Mexico?! Flying along with them are a couple of different black and yellow beauties, some white moths, and one black butterfly with blue undertones I’d never seen before. There are always bumble bees clinging to the gnome-hat-shaped bunches of flowers, and even an occasional humming bird comes along if you can catch them before they dart off again.
Fun fact about hummingbirds, their metabolism is so high that they have to consume 50 percent of their body weight every day just to maintain themselves. In North America hummingbirds wings flap at an average rate of 53 beats per second, and one species, the Amethyst Woodstar has a wing flap rate that clocks in at 80 beats per second! Compared to the butterfly’s flutter, which has a wing flap rate I could probably count by sight, the humming bird is flying and literally living in a much faster (or higher) frequency. That doesn’t make the humming bird any better than the butterfly, it might make them seem a bit more ethereal, their wings like a ghost the human eye can barely perceive. But how can we compare them to a metamorphic creature like a butterfly? A caterpillar that disintegrates into a cocoon full of goo, and somehow reforms itself into a being with wings. There is no comparison, only a different kind of beauty.
Riding the wave is similar. The only reason we struggle is because of the story we tell ourselves, the labels we put on events in our lives, the boxes we walk around in. Come out of the box with wings, and beat them to your own frequency. You set the pace. It’s your wave.
[Conclusion:]
Thank you all so much for listening.
I used what I think is the coolest looking photograph out of the batch I shot as our cover for today, but I actually have four more photos posted on my website, including the ohhhmmm photo, link in the show notes if you want to check them out. I’m sure I have notes somewhere as to which photos were created from what sounds I was making, so I’ll include that info in the captions if I can too.
Well that’s a wrap, friends, I’ll let you get back to your wave now. I hope you all are having a fun ride!
Today I have a special treat for you... I’m sure it’s no surprise if you read the title before you hit play, but this is a bonus episode I felt compelled to share with you. Today we’re coloring outside the usual Art Ink lines. Some of you might know that I’ve been working on a massive list of creative writing prompts specifically geared towards artists…
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Links from the Show at a Glance:
Get your free copy of 100 Creative Writing Prompts for Artists Who Blog by subscribing to my newsletter.
OR
Support me on Patreon to get instant access to the 100 prompts AND a whole library of digital goodies available exclusively to Patrons!
You’ll also get instant access to:
Random number generator
Random word generator
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]
Welcome back to a brand new episode of Art Ink, my friends. Today I have a special treat for you... I’m sure it’s no surprise if you read the title before you hit play, but this is a bonus episode I felt compelled to share with you. Today we’re coloring outside the usual Art Ink lines.
Some of you might know that I’ve been working on a massive list of creative writing prompts specifically geared towards artists. Well, honestly the list writing has been over for a while now, but a couple of weekends ago, I got the overwhelming impulse to put together a pretty PDF for you to download.
I spent hours embellishing this ebook on Canva, but that was because I was having so much fun, I ended up spending the entire weekend on it.
I know that many of you listening to this show are artists yourselves… and lemme tell you, finding artists who want to write about their own work has been like trying to pull a 20-year-old tree out of the ground with my bare hands. Now that could be more of a me problem, I admit, but I think there’s also an overarching fear surrounding writing that invokes flashbacks of high school horrors best forgotten.
But I want to change that. And if you’re listening to this episode you can be that change! I want to empower you to share your story, to share your art’s story, because I know that telling your story will help you to make life long connections with the people who get to experience it.
If you’ve ever said “but I don’t know what to write about,” you are not alone. I used to say that all the time. And I just know that today’s episode is going give you plenty of ideas to get started on.
And with that, I think it’s time to dig into a big, juicy sampling to get your writing taste buds tingling.
Shall we?
20 Creative Writing Prompts for Artists
[Conclusion:]
So that was just a randomly chosen sampling of the first 20 prompts that called to me as I was putting this episode together, but there’s a shit-ton more inspiration where that came from! Just visit rebekahnemethy.com/100-creative-writing-prompts-for-artists to download the whole eBook for free. You’ll get 80 more prompts, a quick tips guide on how to get the most out of your experience with them, AND I’ve also included a bonus template to give your story ideas some structure.
If, however, you found this valuable and you would like to make a contribution to support Art Ink on Patreon, you can also access those 100 prompts over there, as well as countless other digital goodies I’ve put out over the years.
Off the top of my head, all Patrons get instant access to:
Patron only Art Library – 600+ photos strong of abstract photography, floral photography, and nature photography that you can use for whatever you want – plus new photos added semi-regularly
The Artsy Reflections audiobook – a recording of the 1st 100 tiny 100-word stories, plus my uncensored, and sometimes super-weird, retrospective commentary
Outtakes reel – a hilarious compilation of the flubs I made on my first few audiobooks
First dibbs on select free audiobooks I narrate as soon as they’re released
Oh yeah, and duh, you, as an Art Ink listener might be interested in this: Patrons get new episodes of Art Ink 2 days before everyone else!
Visit rebekahnemethy.com/patreon to show your support and get the goods.
So, yeah, there’s lots of exclusive content on Patreon starting at as little as $1 per month. And yeah, you get ALL digital goodies for that low price and that’s actually brand new. It used to be that what you got as a reward depended upon how much money you donated. Now, as far as the content that’s in the library, it started to seem silly for me to withhold it from anyone. After all, it’s completed. It doesn’t take me any more of an effort to give it to you.
And I should probably mention that the mega prompt book I created is just the beginning of what I have planned. I’m working on a batch of story templates to put out next – and those will only be available on Patreon.
Anyway, whether you decide to download the free 100 Prompts PDF or have some extra change to spread around, what matters most is that you get your creative juices flowing and start writing about your creations.
And then, drop me a line, you all know I’m always looking for more submissions. Hint, hint.
Make sure to dig into the show notes if you’re looking for links for all that! Ok, with that my friends, I’m out. I’ll catch ya on the next one!
I am the epitome of a believer – I was born believing in aliens. And the more I’ve learned about space, the more I’ve realized that the probability that we could ever possibly be alone in this universe is practically nonexistent it’s so slim. After having some strange experiences in 2019…
[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit https://rebekahnemethy.com/artink23 to check it out.
Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]
Links from the Show at a Glance:
Artist: Joshua Fox
Title of Art: TM (3 of 4)
Instagram: @jfox720
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]
I am the epitome of a believer – I was born believing in aliens. And the more I’ve learned about space, the more I’ve realized that the probability that we could ever possibly be alone in this universe is practically nonexistent it’s so slim.
After having some strange experiences in 2019, I took a deeper dive into all things extraterrestrial, I listened to abductees tell their stories, I watched chilling UFO documentaries, I sat enraptured as several whistleblowers spoke of their experiences in top secret government programs. All I can say is that either this shit is real, or I have some serious imagination envy because you gotta be real creative to tell those kinds of stories… and I also realize that, in many instances, truth is stranger than fiction. So for me, the weirder it sounds, the more likely I am to believe it.
So while the following story is a fictional account, it is the amalgamation of many seeds of truth, all planted together just to see what could grow. I guess that’s what all fiction really is at its core, though, huh?
But before we dig into today’s story, let’s set the scene with our featured cover art!
[Art Description:]
Joshua Fox is our artist of the hour. His black and white Sharpie art often features UFO and alien themes, along with the most soothingly geometric shapes and patterns. The piece I chose for today’s cover art is no different.
A saucer shaped craft hovers in the night sky among the stars, a few gaseous-looking planets, and wispy, swirling clouds. Also present in the pitch black sky are a couple of mandalas. The smaller mandala is half cut off at the top of the page, and it features a daisy-like flower at its center, with hourglass shapes stretching out past its dyad shaped petals, which is all resting atop a base of concentric circles rippling beneath them. The other larger and more prominent mandala takes up the top right quadrant of the page and much of the sky. Five concentric circles ripple out from the center, and these are surrounded by four overlapping triangles that create a 12-pointed star all together. Inside each of the twelve triangular-shaped points is a circle, and in between each of the points are two more overlapping circles, one much larger than the other.
Below the spacecraft is a beam of light made up of three separate lines of progressively larger white circles. The light is beaming down upon what looks like the surface of a mountain. But from our perspective it’s as if we’re seeing the cross-section of that mountain, and within it seems to be what I interpret as an underground base of sorts. There are five, mostly horizontal, levels all filled with patterns made up of unique combinations of black lines and circles. The patterns are reminiscent of mazes, computer chips and mother boards. In the center-most hallway of this underground base is an alien face, with no other feature other than its prominent black eyes, and stretching behind its floating head is a strand of DNA.
While much of the piece is a high contrast solid black and solid white, Joshua uses pointillism to shade some areas, like in the whimsical clouds and in the planets.
You have to check this one out when you get a chance, my friends, and most of you should be able to view the cover art of this episode right in your podcast app of choice. If not make sure to look at the show description to see a link to where you can see the art I’m describing. You can also check out more of Josh’s work on Instagram @jfox720.
And now, onto the story that has haunted me for far too long now… I hope it doesn’t haunt you… too much… which reminds me, listener beware, this episode contains allusions to sexual abuse and self harm. I did my best to avoid being overly graphic, but if these are triggering topics for you, you might want to skip this one.
If not, well then, enjoy the show my friends. I call this one Milked.
[Story:]
The sickening sound of suction woke Thea from blissful sleep. The pump was about 12 feet away, 3 cells down the line, and 60 minutes from latching onto her– from sucking some more of her life away from her... at least that’s what it felt like.
It was the worst part of her day, 12 times a day… every. day. But it was hardly the worst thing about her stay here.
Thea snorted at the thought: her stay. Like it was some kind of vacation home or resort. The square cell was a 4-foot wide prison— a torture chamber. And Thea was nothing but a captive slave. But the daily torture was nothing compared to what happened at least once per year. The insemination was when she came face to face with them. Those things that had taken her. That was when she was violated… humiliated… by more than just machines.
How long had it been, again? Thea answered her own question with a glance down at the crescent-shaped markings on her forearm, carved in rows and rows– grouped by fives. “5, 10, 15, 20…” Thea started.
The counting had become a kind of morning routine for her. Something to do to keep a firm grasp on her sanity as it was being tugged away from her, day by day; as firm a grasp as she could keep anyway. “350,” Thea said as she counted the last bundle. Only a couple of weeks away from the one-year mark. One year from when she’d had her newborn baby boy ripped from her body. She’d never even gotten to hold him. And now he was nearly a year old.
Where was he? Were they taking good care of him? Was he walking yet? Talking? What would his first word be? Who was taking care of him? Would he call them mama… papa?
They weren’t new questions. He was the only reason she was still alive, still clinging to life… to the hope that maybe one day she’d get out of there… escape with him.
She breathed in deeply, imagined the joy she’d feel when she had his warm little body in her arms again. What it would feel like when they were finally safe and free.
The last time she’d seen him he’d been blue; so blue that Thea had at first feared he’d been stillborn. But then he’d opened that miniscule mouth of his and let out the strongest cry a baby could possibly belt out. Surely.
She didn’t name this one. He was simply baby 6; the strong one. And despite the hope her heart wouldn’t let go of, Thea knew he was gone and it was very unlikely that she’d ever see him again. Or any of the others for that matter. Ashley, her firstborn, would be almost 5. Thea tried to imagine her… the details were fuzzy, but she could practically hear her giggling as she ran around with her younger brothers. The ones who could run, anyway. She imagined the younger two would still be crawling.
The sucking stopped and a mechanical whirring signaled the pump’s movement another cell closer, breaking Thea out of her reverie. A few seconds later a sickening slurp sounded out alongside a resigned sigh.
In the beginning it’d been hard to account for time. It wasn’t like there was a clock in her cage. And back in the early days she was more focused on escape than in entertaining herself. It wasn’t that Thea had given up on her escape… she was just… temporarily out of ideas.
And in the interim she’d gotten good at counting. It’d become a mathematical meditation: counting seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months… years. It had been years since she’d been a free woman. Since she’d lived in a space large enough to accommodate her outstretched arms, which she could just barely do here if she twisted to reach from corner to corner instead of wall to wall.
Thea had always been aware of the days passing, the bluish light came on before the first pumping each day, and disappeared into the blackest night imaginable just after the last pump moved on, but the days had blended together into an infinite loop of torture. And Thea wasn’t sure which kind of torture was worse, what the machines and those little gray bastards did to her, or what she did to herself within her very own mind.
The only thing she knew for sure was that she was a slave, though why she was a slave was what kept Thea’s imagination churning out the most horrifying answers to her endless list of questions.
What happened to the babies? What did they do with the milk?
Why me? Why me? Why me? on repeat. And sometimes a why us? When someone new broke the silence, reminding Thea that though she felt alone, she was not– a fresh strong voice would be spewing out the same old insults, demanding desperately to be told the answers to the same old questions… Thea counted the time it took for each of them to stop trying, waiting for the next record breaker to arrive, giving her another brief spark of hope to cling too. The question was never if, though, it was only when. They all gave into silence eventually. Crying out only interrupted the one pastime they all had in common: dreaming.
It was only when Thea was asleep that she could escape the endless loop of her brain’s fabrications. If allowed to wander around awake, her brain came up with stories like:
Baby brains as a delicacy on an alien menu. Or mudslides made with breast milk.
It was a ridiculous thought, those stoic, wide-eyed creatures kicking back and having a good time. They wouldn’t know a good time if it ran them over 3 times and backslapped them into yesterday. Seeing them at a bar was such a stretch that the thought looked distinctly like a cartoon in Thea’s mind; she’d never seen even one of them stretch their tiny, lipless mouths into anything close to resembling a smile.
But the hybrid children were what she imagined most, they were the most unwelcome visitors, interrupting her fleeting good dreams, and haunting her well past waking. Children genetically engineered to be amphibious, or to fly, or worst of all to be some strange combination of humans and grays; children with big bulbous heads and enormous, glossy black eyes, blinking slowly at her, tilting their heads at her as if they were dogs hearing a strange, unknown sound.
Thea wondered if all of those dreams were just dreams. Some of the children she’d seen behind her closed eyelids bore a striking resemblance to photos she’d seen of herself as a young girl.
The memories of life before were so faded now. She’d outplayed them. But when she was dreaming? That’s when Thea could feel the memories again. When she could almost convince herself she was actually there. The other night, Thea had felt the sunshine on her skin. She’d bitten into a plum and could taste the decadent pairing of sweet and tangy on her tongue. She could feel the juice dripping from both corners of her mouth. As she’d chewed she’d swiped at her face with a finger and pressed the purple droplets against her tongue, the saltiness of her skin biting into the other flavors. God, she missed real food. The beige oval pellets they fed her here were dry and bland. They did nothing but keep her alive.
The mechanical pumping sounds halted and the whirring and clanking that signaled its movement to the next cell began. Now the pump was only one cell over from Thea. She was next.
“Thea.” It seemed to be coming from the cell next door, opposite the approaching pump. Thea squatted down, pressing her face as close to the foul-smelling grate in the floor as she could, forcing herself to breathe through her mouth when she caught a whiff.
“Jamie, is that you?” Thea whisper-yelled at the floor. Luckily the machine next door would cover up most of what she said.
“No. But there’s no need to yell. Try answering me in your mind.”
“What in the world?” Thea thought, but she didn’t realize she’d thought anything until the words were repeated back to her, in someone else’s voice!?
“What in the world indeed.” The voice that infiltrated Thea’s mind was feminine and flourished with an English accent. She sounded young.
“Who are you?”
“I am… someone you can trust, but unfortunately we don’t have time for introductions. The Rotolactor is on its way to you, and I need you to follow my instructions very carefully if this is to work.”
“If what’s going to work?”
“Your escape.”
Escape? Was it possible? Could this really be the day after five long years of hell? But the excitement Thea felt at the prospect was suddenly overshadowed by a dark realization: what about her babies?
“I can’t leave without finding my babies first.”
“Your daughter will be with us, I assure you.”
A spark of hope lit up Thea’s heart with warmth. “What about my boys?”
“I’m afraid all males are immediately rejected at birth… your sons were lost long ago… I’m so sorry.”
Bittersweet was a euphemism for the rapid twist she felt wrenching her heart at that moment. “All five of them?”
“I’m afraid so m-Thea.”
Thea let out a feral sob as she slid down the wall and onto the cold stone floor. She hugged her knees to her chest, feeling as helpless as a fetus herself.
The girl in her head gave her a moment of silence until the life-sucking contraption unlatched from its latest victim and whirred into action again.
“We must act quickly lest we miss this opportunity.”
Thea sprung up from the floor, ready for action. She may have failed to protect her boys, but she still had one child left to protect. Though her face was still drenched in tears she pushed her self-pity and guilt back behind her instinct to survive. “What do I have to do?”
“Get into position as usual…”
Thea moved to place her feet on the well-worn markers and pressed her back into the wall to steady herself. Her body was buzzing with adrenaline.
“When the Rotolactor latches onto you, you must disconnect a very specific tube. It’s programmed to self repair most problems, so this will only work if you cause it to malfunction in a way that won’t allow it to self correct. I’ll describe exactly how to do this once you’re hooked up.”
“Ok,” Thea thought resolutely as the machine approached the front of her cell.
Everything was happening so fast, and part of Thea wondered if she was finally losing her shit. And though the hopeful part of her wanted to believe what this strange voice in her head was telling her, she’d already attempted to disable this machine dozens of times without success, she was sure every woman in this wing had.
“Ok, it’s latched,” Thea thought urgently, and in the brief silence that followed she began to think she really had imagined the voice up.
But not a second later the posh voice filled her head again, and Thea let out a sigh of relief. The girl instructed her to pull at several strategic tubes and wires, and when the self-repair arm was extended she detached one more wire before she felt the suction finally release her breasts. The machine went still and silenced, and Thea pressed her back against the wall to slide herself out of the machine’s imposing reach.
She squeezed around the life-sucking behemoth through the small gap between it and the open door. Her heart thudded with excitement and fear as peeked through the doorway. Seeing the infinitely long hallway was clear in both directions, Thea darted outside her room for the first time in 5 years. Even that one step into freedom felt exhilarating.
“You have only minutes to do exactly as I say or else you will be caught.”
But Thea was already on her own mission, though, her hands running up and down the smooth surface of the doorway next to hers. She was looking for the proverbial doorknob and she wasn’t having any luck. “How do I open these doors?”
“Your door should already be open,” there was a hint of panic in the voice.
“Not my door, I’m out, but I have to let the others out.”
“Did you not hear wh—”
“Jamie! I’m here,” Thea whisper shouted, “I’m gonna get you outta there.”
“We don’t have the time for—”
“I’m not leaving without Jamie, so if we’re short on time, maybe you should tell me how to open these fucking doors instead of arguing with me.”
“Look at your door…” the voice gave in, “there should be a half-sphere there…”
Thea was already on it, tugging and twisting to remove it to no avail. “How. The fuck. do I—” Thea grunted out as she struggled.
“Push on it and hold until it releases.”
It finally came free, and Thea juggled it, caught it and rushed back over to the next cell, pushing the circular key onto what she hoped was Jaime’s door. As soon as it was attached the door automatically opened. A girl looked up from her seat on the floor with wide, strikingly blue eyes that were in sharp contrast to her dark chocolate skin.
“Jamie?” Thea whispered, for she’d only ever heard the girl’s voice in their late night conversations through the grates.
The girl shook her head rapidly with a furrowed brow and clutched her naked knees closer to her body.
“Well what’s your name then?”
“Ashana.” she rasped.
“Well Ashana,” Thea reached her hand through the open doorway, but only because she couldn’t bring herself to step in, too afraid of getting trapped inside again herself, “what do you say we get the hell outta here?”
Ashana was shaking in fear, and when she stood Thea could now see the baby bump she’d been hiding. Their captors didn’t allow them the decency of clothing, and Thea suddenly became aware of her own nakedness as Ashana crossed her arms over her bountiful chest. Thea dropped her arm awkwardly and turned away to remove the round key from the door.
Then she rushed over to the cell on the other side of her own, thinking Jamie must surely be in there. But the pale looking girl on the other side of that door wasn’t Jaime either. Her stringy black hair barely moved as she shook her head.
“I’ve created a diversion,” the voice was back, sounding breathless, “but really you need to make your way out of that corridor or I will no longer be able to help you.”
“And you’re sure you have my baby? My daughter?” Thea thought. She was already silently asking Jamie for forgiveness in her heart, but if this woman was telling the truth, Thea chose her baby. It wasn’t a choice so much as an instinct; a driving need.
“I’m positive.”
“Which way?”
“Go right.”
“Come on,” Thea called aloud to the two women behind her, and as she made her way past Ashana’s open doorway, she slammed the key onto the next cell door and sprinted away as it opened.
She ran as fast as she could for what felt like several minutes until she finally came to the end of the long, metallic hallway. “Now where? Left or right?” She looked back over her shoulder as she waited for an answer, and was shocked to see a mob of naked women in the distance behind her. It looked like Ashana had stayed behind to open more doors. Thea had lost the stringy haired girl too. She was alone.
Should she go back for them? But she didn’t have time to contemplate that decision. Not if she wanted the best shot to make an escape with her one remaining child.
“Left, quickly.”
Thea took off at a run.
“Go down the next corridor that opens up on the left, then take a quick right.”
“This is a dead end,” Thea panted aloud out of habit, forgetting for a moment that speaking was dangerous and unnecessary right now. She was in a small, square room about double the size of her cage. Only a single light illuminated the center of the room in a cone-shaped beam that reminded her of movie depictions of inquisition-style trials and pleas of innocence.
“Step into the light.”
“What? Why?” Was this lady for real?
“Yes, I am, in fact, for real… now please, if you would?”
Thea stepped into the light tentatively.
“Now I recommend you close your eyes.”
Thea squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She felt her body start to buzz, as if a luke-warm jolt of electricity had overcome her from the inside out. Then it was suddenly as if her entire body had fallen asleep and was now coming alive with pins and needles.
“You can open them now.” The voice sounded different, though… as if it was no longer in her head anymore, but coming from right in front of her.
Thea opened her eyes to her own reflection. That’s strange, she hadn’t seen any mirrors when she’d first walked in here… but… wait… is that what she looked like now, somehow… younger? And with… bigger eyes? But then the eyes in the mirror blinked when Thea hadn’t. And as Thea’s gaze traveled downwards it was the clothing that finally solidified it; this was her bittersweet nightmare come true.
“Hello,” the girl said, and it was the voice that’d led Thea to freedom that came out of the girl’s mouth.
“Who… are you?” But before Thea even finished the sentence, she already knew, and without waiting for an answer she embraced the young woman in front of her, which wasn’t a reflection at all, but somehow her full-grown daughter.
“Mother,” she whispered on a sigh.
Thea pulled back to explore her face. “Ashley, is it really you?”
“Ashley?” she repeated.
“That’s what I called you before… before they took you away.”
“I like that.” Ashley’s double-sized hazel eyes grew shiny, full of heartfelt tears she managed to hold back.
“How are you so big?” Thea asked, looking the girl up and down again. “You’re only five.”
Ashely blinked the wetness away and seriousness swept over the sentiment on her face. “Your body has been in cryo for the past 21 years. We must leave. Now.”
“Wait, cryo? As in I’ve been frozen? I don’t remember being frozen. And… what about the others?” Thea looked behind her towards the door she’d entered just a moment ago, but it wasn’t there. And as she quickly scanned the room around her she realized it had somehow grown much bigger, and was full of unfamiliar equipment, like a lab or a hospital might have back home. “Where are we? I could’ve sworn this room was smaller, and empty.”
“I’ve brought you here via the telebeam,” she pointed up towards the source of the bright light Thea was standing in, which was the only familiar thing that had remained from before she’d closed her eyes. “You are in a different room.”
Obviously done explaining things, Ashley grabbed Thea’s hand and tugged her between an aisle of small, glowing tables.
Thea followed her in a speed walking daze, trying to take all of this in, but stopped abruptly when she realized Ashley hadn’t answered her. “Where are we going? What about the others?” she insisted.
“I’m afraid this rescue plan only has room for you and me, mother.” She didn’t look very sorry though as she grabbed Thea’s hand again, urging her to move. “Your setting the other humans free, though, that will most likely aid us in our escape. They, however, will have to make due with their own efforts to get away.”
“No, Ashley.” Thea tugged her hand out of her daughter’s grasp as she stopped short again. Instead of turning around this time, however, Ashley kept on charging forward, disappearing around a corner.
“There are literally hundreds of human women aboard this vessel,” Ashley said, her voice growing louder as she reappeared again, holding a bundle of fabric, “we simply don’t have the means necessary to rescue them all.”
“But what about the girls I let out, they’re already halfway to freedom, we can’t let those bastards capture them again, we just can’t.”
“Put these on,” she said as she held the bundle out.
The soft fabric unfolded into a white tunic as Thea lifted it in the air. She pulled it over her head quickly, and watched Ashley frown in concentration as she picked up the matching pants that’d fallen to the floor.
“I don’t know who any of the other women are, I’d have no way to contact them.”
“Can’t you just talk into their heads like you did with me?” Thea asked as she slipped on the exquisitely silky pants.
“Not without a name or some oth—”
“Ashana.” Thea said in a rush. “The first girl I let out told me her name was Ashana.”
“Ok, I’ll try.” In a blink it was as if Ashley’s body went vacant as she stilled. The life, the soul, was gone from her eyes and she stared straight ahead for several seconds. When she finally blinked again, the recognition returned to her eyes as she found Thea’s gaze. “There are 6 of them, we’ll need more clothing.”
Thea nodded in understanding and hurried over to where she’d seen her daughter disappear before. When she returned, clutching a stack of clothing to her chest, Ashley was blinking herself out of another trance.
“We’ve got to return to the telebeam, quickly.” She said, and took off, Thea following closely at her heels.
In front of the beam of light, Ashley stood still, her eyes vacant again. And this time when her body came back to life, Thea watched as the cone of light rippled into, first shadows, then a pixelated mass of flesh tones, and then into actual people. A bundle of six women clutching each other materialized before her eyes, as if they were a hologram someone just turned on.
The women stood straight and separated, taking in a collective breath of fresh air as they looked around in confusion and sheepishness.
“You’re safe now,” Thea said as she passed out the clothing, though she really had no idea how true that was considering Ashley had been so worried about time and Thea had continued to delay her. But she told the girls what she wanted so desperately to hear herself, and she didn’t feel the least bit sorry or regretful for that. If they were going to go down now, she’d go down with pride; she’d go down knowing she’d given it her all.
But all of that fluffy, floaty confidence quickly lost its feathers when she saw the black-eyed monster that was staring them down in silence from a couple dozen feet away, and suddenly a bowling ball of fear was crashing into the pit of Thea’s stomach. “Ashley!” She thought instinctively, and her daughter’s head twisted, without hesitation, toward the child-sized gray being, who only blinked in response.
“Back in the light, now!” Ashley thought, and she must have sent the message to all of them, because like a flock of birds the women moved together at once.
Thea watched as the light above them began to intensify and the huddling women in front of her began to disappear. No, they weren’t disappearing, they were disintegrating! Thea looked at her own arm in horror as it brightened into an almost blinding light, and then, like a bad digital photo, the pixelated pieces of her faded to black, until there seemed to be nothing left of her.
“Wha—who are all of these people, Ashley?” A deep voice called out, but it was like Thea had just come inside after spending hours in sunshine, and everything was black. Slowly the darkness began to lighten up into shapes as her eyes adjusted and the familiar wave of pins and needles began to subside. “And what were you thinking?” The voice asked incredulously, and Thea saw that the hulking shadow it was coming from was towering over the hugging mass of women, off to their right.
“Reprimand me later Rayou,” Ashley said as she pulled herself from her mother’s grasp, “I had no choice, and we have more pressing concerns now.” Ashley’s form marched over to, and then past, the towering Rayou, and Thea could now make out more of his features as his eyebrows rose in realization.
“You were seen.”
Ashley didn’t look at him, but nodded curtly as she tapped at a keyboard along the far wall. But Thea was too far away to see what she was typing. Despite this, a cold wave of fear washed over her body as her eyes, almost fully adjusted to the warm, dim light now, began to dart around, assessing the women coming alive around her. It sounded like they weren’t done running yet, they still weren’t safe.
The stringy-haired girl was closest to her, and she had her arms wrapped around herself, eyes open but unfocused, her body swaying gently. Ashana was looking at her hands in awe and confusion, as if her fingers had turned into snakes, and she twisted her palms towards and away from her face. A couple of women were doubled over and heaving, and one girl was comforting them, rubbing one’s back and holding the other’s hair. Another girl had collapsed onto the floor and was sobbing into her hands.
Seeing this brought attention to Thea’s own queasiness and she swallowed down a bit of bile. The first time she’d gone through the light she’d been fine; and she suspected keeping her eyes open through this latest trip might have something to do with her amped up disorientation. In the chaos of their escape, Ashley hadn’t reminded them to shut their eyes.
The contrast of where they now stood compared to where they were just a few seconds ago was vast. This room was warm, dingy, and cluttered with unsteady looking shelves filled with books and papers and things… marvelous little knick knacks crammed into every possible space. Compared to the blue, shiny, sterile place they’d just come from, it felt good… comfortable even; despite the fact that it was obviously an unorganized mess.
A few short, sinister notes sounded from the computer, and then a rhythmic beeping followed. The screen was awash in blue light, and a digital clock counted down from 2 minutes.
“Holy shit, is this place about to blow up?” Thea thought frantically.
“No, mum, it’s not,” Ashley thought back. “But we do have to get out of here. Now.”
“Mum?” Thea was taken aback – the sudden sweetness of that one, strange word resonating from her daughter’s telepathic voice… it overpowered even the fear of being blown to pieces. And Thea froze.
She was frozen in love, but she was simultaneously frozen in anger. There was so much tenderness in that one word. But Thea was also overcome with frustration at the implications of it. She was so angry that she’d missed 26 years of her daughter’s life – she wasn’t a mum, she was a mom, and if she’d had the chance to raise her own daughter, she’d have heard that sweet word on the lips of a toddler saying it for the first time. That was something she’d imagined countless times coming from each of her lost children. Who was Ashley’s ‘mum’? – who had raised her to speak like that?
“No need for any jealousy,” Ashley said wryly as she clutched Thea’s arm and led her, gently but quickly, up a rickety flight of stairs.
Oh, shit, had she thought that aloud? Ashley smiled slightly in answer.
Ahead of them, the rest of the women were already heading upwards. Rayou was just behind them, carrying the sobbing woman who’d refused to get off the floor herself.
“I actually taught myself English…” Ashley continued, “I didn’t speak a word until I escaped the base. I knew you were American, but I just liked the sound of British English better… it sounds so much more proper, don’t you think?”
The beeping grew distant as they climbed away, and once they shut the door to the basement behind them, it disappeared completely. Ashley tapped at control panel and the door sucked at the air, seeming to snuggle deeper into the wall with a few clicks.
Rayou and Ashley watched the window to the basement in silence as the seconds ticked by. The warm orange light suddenly went blue as veins of ice grew across it. Rayou nodded and they both turned to face the flock of lost women. They were like ghosts in their white, flowy clothes; and their haunted faces just added to the effect.
“We’ve bought some time.” Rayou said as he gently placed the woman he was holding onto her feet. She still had tears running down her face, but she’d stopped sobbing for now. “But we still have some getting lost to do.”
He grabbed a pile of keys that jingled all the way out of the happy yellow kitchen, into the lush green of summer, and towards a detached two-car garage. Two matching SUVs were revealed as the doors rolled open; one silver and one a shimmery dark gray. He spun one of the keys off the ring and tossed it to Ashley.
Thea followed her daughter to the darker vehicle, “What did you do back there? What will happen if someone transports into that room?”
“Just a little karmic justice.” Ashley replied.
“Karmic justice?”
“That entire basement is now a cryo chamber. Whomever telebeams in will be put on pause for the next hundred years… or until someone finds them. Maybe we can send an anonymous tip to some scientists… give them the same kind of respect they gave you.”
Thea didn’t like the elation her body felt in hearing those words. She didn’t like it one bit. Regardless, her lips still spread into an involuntary smile.
The rest of the women divided themselves among the two vehicles, and soon, they were driving down a highway. Their sensory starved bodies were still and silent. A tear of gratitude here, a sigh of freedom there. Thea was hopeful there would be plenty of time for talking later, but for now, she just wanted to bask in the glory of this moment. If she allowed herself to think too much, to blink too much, she feared she’d wake herself right up and out of this dream.
[Conclusion:]
I feel like there are still so many places I could go with this story, but for now I’ve purged another nightmare… and I’d like to think I’ve healed myself a bit with this imaginary rescue.
If you were disturbed at all by Thea’s enslavement, I’d like to level with you: there are creatures on our planet who are living strikingly similar stories right now… dairy cows cry, and cry out, when their babies are taken away from them, and pigs are escape artists who are well known to actually let out their fellow prisoners after they’ve freed themselves. True stories my friends.
By writing this story I was doing my best to empathize with the various species we ourselves are enslaving. To know what that might feel like as a human being helps me to see more clearly what I want support with my money and energy and what, more importantly, I do not want to support.
While I really, really hate to identify myself as a consumer, that is actually where much of my power lies. So I do my best to make every dime count, especially at the grocery store. Whatever that means for you, I hope you will do the same.
Once again I’d like to thank Joshua Fox, our featured cover artist for this story, for sharing his work with us today. Take a peek at the cover of today’s episode to see the very art that inspired me throughout writing Thea’s story, and I hope you’ll take a minute to check out his work @jfox720 on Instagram. So much fun stuff over there!
Ok, my friends, that’s a wrap! Ciao for now, mwah!
I was in a dimly lit cream and pink-tinged studio apartment with Nick and our two cats, George and Callie, when I first watched The Secret. I popped the DVD into Nick’s Xbox with certain expectations… and little did I know that what I was about to learn would completely alter the way I looked at the world forever; that it would fuel a creative fire in me that still burns brightly today…
[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit https://rebekahnemethy.com/artink22 to check it out.
Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]
Links from the Show at a Glance:
Artist: Yours Truly
Title of Art: Yahnkas Dawg aka Smokey
The Secret (At the time of recording it was streaming on Netflix or available to rent on Amazon)
Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now
Eckhart Tolle’s YouTube channel
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]
I was in a dimly lit cream and pink-tinged studio apartment with Nick and our two cats, George and Callie, when I first watched The Secret. I popped the DVD into Nick’s Xbox with certain expectations… and little did I know that what I was about to learn would completely alter the way I looked at the world forever; that it would fuel a creative fire in me that still burns brightly today.
If you’re unfamiliar, The Secret is a documentary; a compilation of interviews of some rich and famous types who share stories about how they, essentially, wished their lives into existence with visualization and vision boards.
At the time I was only just out of college, in a couple of tons of debt and I’d decided I wanted to pursue a career that had little to do with the degree I’d graduated with. I’d recently gotten a part-time job working as a photo assistant at a magazine that shot primarily product photography, but I knew that I wanted to transition into working for myself and in that moment I wanted to focus my work on animals.
And so I committed to a brief visualization exercise, which I stacked alongside my daily meditation practice. For a minute or two I imagined what it would be like to wake up as a ‘real’ full time pet photographer: I visualized packing my gear into the trunk of my silver Mazda3, which may or may not have already had a photo of my cousin’s pink-bowed yorkie, Abbey, smiling across the rear windshield, along with my website and phone number. I saw myself drive to a beautiful park with grassy hills and a cluster of trees. Then as I got out of my car I greeted a puppy, a rottie puppy, I’d decided as the image sharpened in my mind’s eye.
After my visualization exercise, I got up, essentially stepping back into reality, and made coffee. And then I went on with my day.
It was within a day or two, scrolling through facebook, that I came across the most adorable black & brown puppy – someone had just adopted him and I jumped at the chance to photograph him. I had zero doubt in my mind that the Universe had arranged this for me. He wasn’t 100 percent rottweiler, but his coloring and face sure made him look like the dog I’d envisioned in my little daydream. And this was a sure sign that, for the first time in my life, I’d consciously created something or at least I’d consciously drawn to me, that which already existed… but like the existential chicken-egg conundrum… who really cares what came first? The magick lies in the fact that it happened.
Now full disclosure, I never was able to support myself fully with animal portraiture alone, but I got plenty of opportunities to photograph dogs, cats, and birds and I did later on become a full time photographer shooting the most boring photos imaginable… so although it never happened exactly the way I’d visualized it happening, some semblance of professional photographer and animal photographer did manifest itself in my life. Again, I have no doubts… but there were also some other things going on that I didn’t recognize back then, and I’ve learned that that these 3 things are essential keys to the manifestation process that The Secret forgot to mention. Let’s dig in shall we?
[Art Description:]
Oh and that cute little doggie on the cover of this episode? That’s a rescue pup named Smokey and, yes, he is the very pup that helped me to believe that the universe is magick.
[Story:]
1) Be that ish! Be it!
Ghandi said to be the change you wish to see in the world. And you can only be anything in the present moment. He didn’t say, daydream about the change you wish to see in the world… and so while I agree that meditation and visualization are powerful tools that are always available in your manifestation shed, what you are being and doing right now has an equally large impact on what kind of life you’re creating. To manifest any change you want to see in your life you have to be that change. Fake it ‘til you make it. Be it until you believe it. And once you believe it, the Universe will naturally send you reflections of that belief without you even trying.
So, while I was using creative visualization to aid me in my journey, it wasn’t like I was sitting in meditation and waiting for someone with a puppy to knock on my door. I was already very much taking action into seeking out clients with animal companions. So it wasn’t like I didn’t already walk the walk, but I was trying to tip the scales into a full time lifestyle. That’s why I think this particular visualization manifested itself so quickly. I was already being a pet photographer, I was already meeting the universe halfway by taking action.
We have to find a way to be the thing we want to be in this moment. Because the past and the future don’t actually exist. Everything we experience is always happening right now. It’s a simple concept, but sometimes it’s hard to wrap our heads around it, because modern society lends itself to overthinking. Many of us have been trained to live in the future or in the past, almost totally unconscious of what’s possible right now.
I could go on for ages about how important presence has been in my spiritual journey, but if you want to learn more about how to be present, I highly recommend learning from the master: Eckhart Tolle, who literally wrote the book on The Power of Now. He has a lot of free info on YouTube too, so I’ll put links to all that in the show notes for your reference.
2) Feel that ish! Feel it!!
Our emotions are made of some potent-ass energy. If you’re surrounded by screaming children, or in my case squawking and barking animals, it doesn’t matter how crisply you can see the swaying palm trees on the beachfront property you’re trying to manifest, because most likely, your emotions are more in line with stress than relaxation.
You not only have to put your thoughts in alignment with what to create, you have to also create an environment for your body to feel that deep sense of relaxation (or whatever emotion is conducive to what it is you’re trying to create). Sticking with relaxation as an example, I’d recommend getting outside in nature to feel a real breeze, but if it takes locking yourself in a tanning booth and simulating the breeze with a fan while simultaneously sniffing from a tube of sunblock… hey, I’m not judging you. Sometimes you gotta get creative to create!
You might have to channel a memory to invoke that feeling, like that time you were in Jamaica walking along the beach at sunrise, smelling the ocean air. Or maybe you can go get a massage while you visualize island life.
I will never forget the feeling I had right before my audiobook career manifested. I had just quit my 3rd job in a year with no backup plan and I’d suddenly remembered that the audiobook hobby I’d picked up over the past year was something that some people actually made a living at. I was so excited to dive into auditioning again that my body was practically buzzing. A confidence of a sort I don’t often feel had overcome me, as I sat in Nick’s gaming room and rattled off my sudden plans. I knew that this was something I was good at and I knew, somehow, that it was the answer to my money problem.
I honestly cannot tell you where that confidence came from, where I was getting that energy, because I wasn’t consciously doing it. But now, 50 audiobooks later, I recognize that moment as the moment I became an audiobook narrator. I’m buzzing right now just thinking of it. And so now I have that memory to bring me back to confidence and excitement; an emotion, a feeling in my body I can channel to help push my visualizations and meditations to the next level of aligning myself with who and what I want to be. By becoming who and what I am in this moment.
3) Let that ish go! Let it go!!
So I understand that this seems like the exact opposite of the go-take-action message from number 1, but hear me out. There’s difference between micro-managing your manifestations and pointing a compass in the general direction of your dreams. And the truth is: most of us have a lot of letting go to do.
The number one reason people struggle with conscious creation in their lives is because they have an opposing belief system that’s getting in the way. Like two magnets that refuse to kiss, sometimes our manifestation goals are not in alignment with our life goals or values, and when that happens, it can seem like our efforts are fruitless.
Let’s use my pet photographer daydream as an example. Ten years ago, I thought I wanted to be a pet photographer, and I took a ton of action to make that happen to the best of my ability. I did the work, but I was never able to make it a full time gig, try though I did. I went to events, I volunteered my services at several different shelters and rescues, I advertised, I was on social media nonstop. And I got some jobs out of all that effort… but it did not pay me much in money, as I so desperately desired it to. In contrast, when I practically skydived into audiobooks a few years ago with zero backup plan for money, it somehow worked with minimal effort, and now, more work comes to me organically than ever in my life, despite the fact that I do probably less than 10% of the work I did to find jobs as a pet photographer.
So, what’s the difference? Well, I’ve come to discover my top values over the years, and numero uno on my list is Freedom. My desire to be free from traditional jobs, bosses, money, time, and I’m sure an infinitely long list of other things, is and has always been persistently pervasive in my life. Number two is being able to work alone, at my own pace, and on my own schedule… which I guess still falls under the freedom umbrella, but is clearly in contrast with having to book X-amount of clients on their time at their locations, and all weather-permitting of course.
I can also see, in retrospect, that I had a hard time accepting money for my work back then. So that could have been yet another magnetic block pushing against my manifestation goals. Another common stumbling block belief is the infamous imposter-syndrome, which I dealt a lot with while launching both of my podcasts, and most likely in my photography career as well.
Whenever I’m struggling to create something in my life, it’s never because I can’t create it, and it’s almost always because there is an opposing narrative going on in my head. And sometimes these stories I tell myself can be nearly invisible, they’re so ingrained in my day-to-day life that I don’t even notice them. Like the sound of the fridge endlessly humming away.
So this last tip, letting go, is a more of a lifelong practice kinda tip than a quick-and-dirty-fix-it-all-now kinda tip.
Sit with your thoughts. Listen to your thoughts. What do you tell yourself on a daily basis? I’ve recently been going through the past decade’s worth of journals I’ve written in. I’m recognizing so many patterns I’ve been stuck in, and recognizing them is the first step to healing them. So I definitely recommend free writing your stream of consciousness into a daily journal, or recording it into your phone if that’s easier. Do this for a few days, weeks, a month, and then go back and review what you’ve created. Look for patterns in your narrative, and when you discover them, ask yourself if those stories are in line with what you’re trying to create with your life. If they’re not you’ll either have to tell yourself a new story or endeavor to change the plans to vibe with what you want to create. Or, I guess you could do nothing… but that’s still a choice.
It seems letting go should be an episode in and of itself, but to sum up here are two things to let go of in order to help strengthen your manifestation powers:
This goes back to the whole micromanaging the universe thing. Let’s use my rottie story for an example. If I had been so hell bent on making my visualization come true exactly as I’d imagined it, I never would have gotten the adorable photo you see on the cover of today’s episode. I’d seen a park and green grass in my imagination, after all, and there was not a splash of green to be had nearby the Yonker’s apartment where this lucky pup found his new home. Or if I’d found out before I met him that he was actually a mutt instead of a full blooded rottweiler, perhaps I’d have turned my nose up to that facebook post and kept scrolling for the ‘real’ rottie I’d envisioned.
That might seem like a silly example, but people disregard obvious signs from the universe all the time because what they see doesn’t always line up perfectly with their ideas of what should be. Sadly, we tend to follow the egoic thoughts in our heads rather than the infinite knowing that’s totally accessible through our hearts. Follow your heart is a cliché for a reason, my friends.
So that’s why letting go is the last, and most important step to consciously creating the life you want to live. It implies you put a certain amount of trust in the universe after you send your intentions out into the ether. Trust that you have been heard and trust that, if you can let go of the details, the universe will be able send you things beyond your wildest visualizations. Your idea of perfect is nothing in comparison to what the universe can send you when you let go of any all preconceived notions you might be holding onto.
Because the truth is, all of the most magickal things happen in the unknown, outside of our comfort zone!
So to sum up, my friends, because woah, I feel like I covered a lot here and though I could’ve dug in even deeper, I want to stop here and let this all sink in. So here’s a quick recap of those 3 things The Secret forgot to tell us.
1) Be that ish! Be present. It’s the difference between knowing I am something versus wanting to be something in the future I think I’m not capable of right now. Always choose to be here and now. I am a writer versus I want to be a writer. I have plenty of money now versus I want to have plenty of money in the future. Take action to get yourself aligned with who you want to be right now.
2) Feel that ish! Feel the feels you want to feel! Make sure you are getting your physical body and your emotions in alignment with what you want. It’s impossible to manifest a healthy, energy efficient body while sitting comatose on the couch for days on end eating junk food. There’s no surer way to feel less sad than to force yourself to smile until you mean it. It might feel like you’re faking it at first… but eventually the feeling will always flow in the direction of your reality.
3) Let that ish go! Dig deep into your story to find patterns in your thoughts. Ask yourself if these thought patterns, this autobiography you’ve written in your head, is helping you move forward with your dreams or pushing back against them. Common belief blockers are imposter syndrome, self-love and worthiness mindsets, or lack thereof, and fear in all of its innumerable forms. Let go of any stories that are blocking your success by rewriting the script. That includes any stories that attempt to micromanage the universe. Let go of how you think it’s supposed to happen and let the universe delightfully surprise you!
[Conclusion:]
Thank you all so much for listening today. I’m really excited to finally be sharing some of the magick that’s touched my life over the past decade. I do realize however that this episode might seem a bit abrupt if you don’t know me personally. Then again, I had the realization recently that I may have been hiding behind fiction for a while now. Because many of the magickal concepts I inject into my short stories are things that I actually believe in and have just been too afraid to admit publicly.
There was a turning point, however, when I realized that hiding magick in a make believe world is a little bit selfish. Because the truth is, we are all constantly creating our lives with the thoughts, actions, and beliefs we surround ourselves in. Whether we create consciously or unconsciously we are the creators of our own lives. And I’m actually excited to share with you some of my own unwanted manifestations in a future episode to give you some examples of my own unconscious creations. But anyway, in my opinion, there isn’t a person in my life, including myself, who couldn’t benefit from some more conscious creation in their lives. And who I am to hoard that information.
So please let me know if you have any questions or comments for me. I have a list that’s 3 or 4 pages long, full of magickal stories and concepts that I plan to share with you in the future, but I’d be happy to dig in deeper or better explain anything else I mentioned in this episode if anything was unclear. So please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’d love to hear from you!
Alright, that’s a wrap, my friends! TTFN!
Captured in the Albanian Mountains, awash in golden hour light, this magickal photograph was made where the heavens meet the earth. The foreground is filled with hourglass-shaped cobblestones, painted with long curling shadows that span the bottom third of the frame. An ornately designed wrought iron railing with an infinite pattern of circles containing eye-shaped ovals stretches alongside the cobblestones and a sheer drop off…
[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit https://rebekahnemethy.com/artink21 to check it out.
Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]
Links from the Show at a Glance:
Artist: Mia Dovolani
Title of Art: Stairway to Heaven
Artist’s Website: miadovolani.com
Instagram: @miadovolani
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]
Hello you magnificent human you. Yes, I’m talkin’ tuh you! I’ve been sitting on this story and this art for quite awhile… as a bartender in my previous life I was trained to avoid certain topics… oh who am I kidding? I’m a trained people pleaser so I’m always afraid of what people will think of me.
I feel like I’ve been living my whole life in a shadow. For most of my life the shadows have been plentiful and long, like those cast by an early morning sun; easy to hide in. Now, though, my mid-life crisis is that it’s noon and there isn’t enough shadow left to stand in let alone live in… if my life goes according to metaphor the shadows will lengthen once again, eventually, but right now the urge I have to share new kinds of stories with you is strong and it seems impossible not to at least inch a toe into the sunshine… and so that’s what I’m doing here.
But first, let’s talk about the art that pushed me out of my writing comfort zone and into, yup—I’m saying it, writing heaven. My dear friend Mia Dovolani is our featured artist for today, and she’s my millennial role model. She’s not just an artist through her photography, her life is art, photography is just the medium she uses to capture it.
I had the pleasure of working with Mia for a couple of years in my photographer days, and there was an energy she brought to the studio that charged me. I don’t know if it was just the bubbliness of youth, but Mia seemed to savor life experiences in a way that allowed me to vicariously bubble over like a shook champagne bottle right along with her.
Whether she was talking about food or family or travel or dogs, this girl could even get me more amped up than I’ve ever been about weddings – only Albanian ones though (and anyone who knows me knows just how miraculous this actually is). Mia drinks in life like a fine cup of espresso, and a sip of life seems to charge her every photograph with authenticity.
Whether I’m looking at a cobblestone street in Macedonia, or one of Mia’s serenely seductive self-portraits, I love how she sees the world and I love how she sees herself.
As I write this, I honestly can’t say what’s on Mia’s Instagram feed these days, as I’ve been absent from social media for awhile… but even a couple of years ago when I asked her if I could feature this photo, she shrugged and might have even grimaced a bit, saying “you really like my old work huh.” And, I don’t doubt her work has further evolved… so make sure you check Mia’s Instagram @miadovolani to see what her camera’s been clicking around lately.
For now though, let’s dig into Mia’s photo, Stairway to Heaven:
[Art Description:]
Captured in the Albanian Mountains, awash in golden hour light, this magickal photograph was made where the heavens meet the earth.
The foreground is filled with hourglass-shaped cobblestones, painted with long curling shadows that span the bottom third of the frame. An ornately designed wrought iron railing with an infinite pattern of circles containing eye-shaped ovals stretches alongside the cobblestones and a sheer drop off on the left side of the frame.
Five black lampposts are staggered along the fence line, leading to a black archway that’s decorated with curling heart shapes across the top. Through the archway is an implied, but invisible, stairway on the other side that seems to head back down to earth. Beyond the cobblestones and the railing a fog-like layer of clouds span the horizon, and above them nothing but beautiful blue sky stretches upwards.
It captured my heart and sent me spiraling back into the start of my spiritual journey and all of a sudden I was, as my off-the-boat-Italian grandfather used to say: in the toilet.
This is a true story, I’m calling it: Prayers in the Toilet
[Story:]
The first time I can really remember praying with all of my might, I was a pre-teen kid, sitting constipated on the toilet. I shit you not, pun totally intended, ‘cause that’s a fucking good one!
This is one of the only memories I have of really trying to believe in god. I made a deal with him: If I could just get this turd out without splitting my skinny little body in two, I would pray every day.
Since I’m here telling you this story, obviously I lived to shit another day. But pray every day, I do not. I mean, I stuck with it for a few days, ever grateful to have made it out of the bathroom alive, but so many things about the religion I was raised in just didn’t resonate with me, and it was hard to pretend.
Plus, the baby-forearm-sized poops were a semi-regular occurrence, and I was afraid to tell anyone because of a traumatizing experience I had with my grandmother (she once saved one of my massive turds to show my mother) and so I turned to god to save my hole. OMG, it’s like the Universe is just begging me to be punny today.
But the truth was, the only time I ever did any more than pray, was when I was around my Gramma Dottie. And that’s because she always cried to me about all the people she wouldn’t see after armageddon, because sinners wouldn’t be allowed on the paradise Earth he’d reserved for only his most devout followers, and she feared I wouldn’t make it.
Most kids looked forward to their summer vacations, and I did too, except for those couple of weeks I was sent to Gramma’s house. I mean, I had friends that had “religious” families, but none of their religious practices seemed to intrude so fully on day to day life as it did at Gramma’s. It’d start right at breakfast, when I was tasked with reading the “daily text” aloud, while Gramma and Nana cooked breakfast. The thick pamphlet would open to the right page automatically, a brightly colored rubber band serving as a makeshift bookmark.
Then, before we ate any meal, we’d pray. It wasn’t so bad on the days that Gramma did the praying, but it was a drag when I had to perform the shoddily memorized words I only ever used at her house.
On a good day that was all there was to it. But those days were rare. Most of the time there was a meeting to prepare for, or a bible study Gramma wanted to drag me to, or worst of all, a day of door-to-door preaching. As a cute little girl all foofed up, I was a marketing tactic… a way to soften hard expressions and limit the number of doors that were slammed in our faces.
But even when we just had a 1-hour meeting ahead of us, it was a whole production that filled me with dread. There was homework; reading followed by questions to answer. Then my least favorite part, I had to get all dressed up in the most ridiculous clothes. It was like getting ready for school but worse, because I had to wear tights and a dress and fugly ass shoes.
Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all bad at Gramma’s house… in fact I have fond memories of library visits, board game nights, and crunching on fresh green beans picked straight from Nana’s garden. But even all that goodness couldn’t balance out the bad for me. And Gramma was always pushing me for more. “Why don’t you read some bible stories?” she’d ask me when I picked up an R.L. Stein book that I actually wanted to read.
Guilt trips were her super power, and though they worked on me, they also pushed me away so I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty all of the time.
I was a teenager before I finally told her the truth. My one saving grace was that Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t get baptized until they agree to it. “When are you going to get baptized, Becky?” Gramma asked me as we watched dozens of people get dunked at one of the assemblies. “I don’t think I want to get baptized.” I told her.
I wish I could say that she backed off after that, but I’m sure it was more of my own distancing than by any choice of her own. Then, after she told me it’d been so long since she’d seen me that she’d forgotten what I looked like, I stopped calling her too.
This was around the time I’d begun exploring my own path through spirituality. I have my Mom to thank for that. As far as I knew, Dad was still a Jehovah’s Witness, and while I looked forward to seeing him on the weekends, I did not look forward to Sunday meetings, which he continued to attend, with me in tow, until I was about 12 or 13. I didn’t ask him why we stopped going at the time, too afraid my reminder might start the cycle back up again, but weekends got a lot more fun after that.
My Mom, on the other hand, was more like me. Though she didn’t break free from the Jehovah’s Witness life until after she’d been baptized, so that gave her an unsavory title. My Mom was Disfellowshipped… and if you ever want to get a Jehovah’s Witness off your doorstep in record time, just tell them that you’re Disfellowshipped and they’ll disappear quick as a flash mob disperses. Maybe they’ll even blacklist your address for awhile – there’s a modern-day prayer I can stand behind.
Anyway, my Mom and Dad separated when I was five… and that was when the pagan party began. Well at least at Mom’s house. Translation for all my non-Jehovah’s Witness listeners: that was the first year I was introduced to mainstream holidays. Because when you’re a J.W. you can’t spread your arms out with out hitting a “pagan” practice. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter… basically anything with candy, presents, and fun… totally off limits. Most kids don’t remember their first Halloween, but I do, and vividly. Mom dressed me up in a glow-in-the-dark skeleton costume, and she painted a creepy skull on my face with lots of bloody veins.
I never really got into Christmas, but that was probably because I had a bad experience before my parents split up. I can’t say for sure, but I think my Mom was on the way out already when she’d taken me to my Aunt and Uncle’s house, where I unwrapped my very first Christmas gift at 4 years old. It was definitely a dollar store gift, some brightly colored cardboard with holes punched out of it and dotted lines connecting those holes. It came with a ginormous kid-safe needle and yarn to pretend sew with. And I absolutely loved it; played with it all night until it was time to go home. But when I got home and showed my Dad my gift, he asked me where I’d gotten it, and the angry look on his face immediately turned me into a puddle of guilt as I blubbered out something about Christmas. Then Mom and Dad started screaming at each other, though I don’t remember what exactly was said. And honestly, although I suspect my parents fought a lot when they were together, that’s the only fight I actually remember.
But I’m getting off track… the point is that with my toe dipped into the forbidden fun stream mixed with all the unsatisfactory feelings of blatant manipulation I got from my given religion, I started to question reality more and more.
I became obsessed with the new age shelf at our bookstore. I read about ghosts, near death experiences, alien abductions and UFO sightings. I began to dabble in psychic development exercises, spellcasting and many different forms of divination. I don’t know what I thought I was searching for back then… but in retrospect I can see it: I was looking for power, for a way to take control of the chaos I felt inside.
Then I started adulting, and most of the magick left my life. And for a good decade I tried to be like other people. I went to school, worked shitty jobs to pay for said school, got a dream job whose dreaminess quickly faded, and realized that money and job titles could only get me about 2 rungs up the happiness ladder before I started itching for a better ladder to climb.
It wasn’t until I started meditating, sitting in the midst of so much unhappiness, that I finally started consciously creating my life.
Up until that point, during my magickal dry spell, I’d decided I was an atheist. Jokingly, I’d tell my friends that I was god. I reveled in my religious rebelliousness. I dared god, if he existed, to strike me down for such blasphemous thoughts, and I thought these thoughts often… but no lightning ever came.
Then one day I heard someone else say the same thing, except, they weren’t joking. They said that we are all the gods of our own universe; we are creators. It’s funny, I can’t remember who first tickled my ears with that concept, because it’s something I hear often now that I tune into that channel, but I vividly remember the resonance I felt when the words washed over me and I realized: I am a motherfucking god. And yes, so are you!
The stairway to heaven is inside of you. That’s it. It’s that simple.
But, since it took me 30+ years to learn this myself, I know first hand how easy it is to overcomplicate and therefore overlook that simplicity.
You might have noticed that I went silent on this podcast for quite awhile. I’m not gonna lie. I’ve spent many of the past several months in the fetal position sobbing intermittently. I mean, I’ve always felt like a rainbow colored sheep in a wooly sea of beige, but when the worldwide hysteria, division and fear started seeping into me… it was like I grew 3 extra heads and started levitating too. At least that’s how I felt to stand in my truth outside of the flock… so I just stopped standing, and I crawled for a bit; it felt safer that way. Sad but safe…
I could blame 2020, but the hard truth I’m coming to realize is that, as a god, I need to accept responsibility for my own creations or, in this case, the lack thereof. What can I say? I’m a god in training. I’m still learning. But what I’m learning has been so fascinating and life-changing, that I’ve had a suddenly strong desire to share it all with you.
Because, if the whole calling-yourself-a-god thing feels icky, let me put it another way: life is art, and we are ALL artists. I don’t know about you, but I want my life to be my greatest masterpiece.
[Conclusion:]
That’s why I’m planning to stray a bit more out of my comfort zone from here on out. You can expect many of the upcoming podcast episodes to feature some of the most profound experiences and discoveries I’ve had on my spiritual journey. These will be personal narrative style stories, the only difference being that the art and writing ‘inspiration roles’ will be reversed from a typical Art Ink story. Meaning the writing comes first and isn’t necessarily a reaction or response to the art. Let’s call it an art pairing! And, obviously, the subject matter will be a bit more focused on all things magickal and metaphysical.
And, full disclosure, this is also my attempt to balance the energy I’m sending your way. Another reason I haven’t released a show in awhile was because I was working on a few dark stories that felt too hard to share at the time. Those stories will be released soon, and let me tell you, while I’m not lying when I say that I believe the stairway to heaven is inside of each of us, you bet your ass I know that the stairway to hell is in there too. So I think it’s important that I share my shadows as well, for context, however scary that may seem.
I’m still accepting submissions for art and stories, on any topic, but until I’m able to commit to an outreach plan, I’m going to be focusing mostly on content creation and marketing, which means you’ll be seeing a bit more art from my own stash until I’m mentally able to start scouting on social media again. Or… and to be honest, this is what I’m hoping, until the Universe taps you on the shoulder and you feel the same urgency I do to share your work with us here.
I’m not sure how that’ll work just yet because you are experiencing the inspiration as it comes out of me right now… but this makes it even easier to get your art featured on Art Ink – you don’t even have to write a story now!
Thanks so much to Mia for sharing her gorgeous Stairway to Heaven photograph with us today. I really encourage you to check out her work on Instagram @MiaDovolani to see what she’s working on now. That’s @MiaDovolani on Instagram.
Well, that’s all I have for you today! Thank you all, so much for listening!
“It was under a slightly different, though no less mesmerizing, canopy of constellations that Hannah discovered the transformative power of a paintbrush. Hours of stargazing with her father at home in New Zealand inspired a deep respect for the conversation between control and chaos and, in turn, art became…
[If your podcast app isn’t showing the featured art for this episode above visit https://rebekahnemethy.com/artink20 to check it out.
Castbox and Podcast Addict are both apps I recommend that do show episode specific art.]
Links from the Show at a Glance:
Artist: Hannah Pearman
Title of Art: Castor, Pollux
Instagram: @hannahandthecosmos
Art Ink Submission Guidelines: rebekahnemethy.com/artinksubs
Art Ink Podcast Transcript:
[Intro:]
Welcome back, my friends, to a brand new episode of Art Ink! I feel like this is a repeating theme in this podcast lately, but the idea for this story was first scribbled into my notebook almost exactly a year ago.
I know I often describe my inspirations for stories as if they are that typical instantaneous cliché when I see art; like a lightning strike or the proverbial apple upon Isaac Newton’s head. But the truth is, many more stories are more like a long hike into the pathless woods.
I love abstract art so much, but sometimes it’s harder for me to find a true connection to the artist’s intention. Or at least that’s the story I tell myself when I’m feeling insecure.
But some artists make it a little bit easier for me when they do one simple thing: when they title their work! I won’t lie; using an artwork’s title is my go-to reference point to help me decide which direction to take my stories. So my advice today for you artists out there, even if you’re uncomfortable writing about your art at this time, at the very least, give your art titles – you’d be surprised how that small thing can help people form a connection with your work!
I want to thank today’s artist, for giving me those breadcrumbs to follow in today’s featured art.
Hannah Pearman, the artist behind @HannahandtheCosmos on Instagram, creates gorgeously galactic art that blows me out of this world every time I look at any of it. And because her own artist statement so succinctly expresses the why behind Hannah’s work, I wanted to share it with you:
“It was under a slightly different, though no less mesmerizing, canopy of constellations that Hannah discovered the transformative power of a paintbrush. Hours of stargazing with her father at home in New Zealand inspired a deep respect for the conversation between control and chaos and, in turn, art became the phrasebook for translating it.
Her work is one part longing for the glow-in-the-dark star-covered bedroom ceiling of her childhood, and three parts surrender to the miraculous confluence of choice and chance that makes the human experience so beautiful.
Through creative exploration of spectral peculiarities, Hannah is working her grasp around the enormity of the universe in which we’re suspended. Each piece is a whisper of gratitude, a way back home, and a wink to the cosmos.”
I don’t know about you, but I connect so much to these 3 simple paragraphs. I too had those glow in the dark stars in my childhood bedroom. And I’m in awe of the idea that such beautiful paintings are the result of control AND chaos… though as an artist myself I’ve experienced the magical balance of that formula in my own work too.
Anyway, my friends, please make sure you check out the cover art of today’s episode to get a glimpse of Hannah’s work. But as usual, before we take off into the story segment of this show, I will attempt to give those of you unable to look right now, a glimpse of Hannah’s art crudely re-painted with my words.
[Art Description:]
There are two paintings featured on today’s cover. Both are square and painted on 6x6 inch birch panels, and both were created from a similar color palette: covered in multiple shades of blue, aqua, purple, pink, and white.
The painting on the left, titled Castor, is a bit darker, and uses a bit more navy and deep violet. The center left area in the piece looks like a black hole, and wispy cloudlike tendrils lighten to a medium purple around its edges where they reach out into the brighter areas of the painting in the top third and right half of the panel. This is where more wispy cloudlike shapes of white and pink and aqua swirl into one another. Some dollops of white are clustered around the edge of the black hole, like stars just about to be sucked in.
Pollux, the painting on the right, is bit more vibrant than Castor. There is a thick band of navy blue depth in the bottom quarter of the piece, but it quickly transitions upwards into a cerulean blue and then into a galactic cloud of aqua in the right middle area. To the left the blue cloud bleeds into a pink area that’s swirled with white. And above that same blue cloud its wisps seep into the bright white top right corner. A lake of pink in the white branches out into thin, river-like veins. The top left corner of the panel holds a purple galactic cloud that merges with the pink and white below and to the right of it.
So there you have Castor and Pollux, and if you thought they sounded like ear candy, be sure to check them out with your eyes, as they are much more beautiful than I could ever describe.
And with that my friends, I’ll lead you into my imagination for a little while.
This is the story of How Castor Found Pollux
[Story:]
Castor couldn’t believe what he was hearing; it was him… yet not him at all. Though the voice was lispy, and soft, it was unmistakably his own… just nicer somehow. Like a super nice caricature of himself. Castor imagined himself in an ugly sweater and glasses, then shook his head to unsee that image. It wasn’t pretty.
“Nobody loves Castor more than I do,” said the disembodied voice that was simultaneously him and not him.
Now shit was starting to get weird, Castor thought. He looked up from the handheld recorder on the desk and locked gazes with his shrink, Dr. Shelly. His eyes were wide with surprise, but hers were deadpanning him in an I-told-you-so kind of way.
“And, why do you think that Carl?” past Shelly asked through the speakers.
“Well because I’m the only one who forgives him for everything.”
“What do you forgive him for?” And then there was click, and the white noise hissing through the air suddenly went dead.
“Wait, what did he say?” Castor was at the edge of his seat, ready to spring up from the anticipation. Only seconds ago he’d barely believed Dr. Shelly’s claims, but the proof was undisputable. Someone lived inside of him… a stranger… but the scariest part was that he had absolutely no recollection of the conversation that had apparently happened just minutes ago.
“Nothing, that was when you came back.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Castor realized his jaw was hanging open. He closed his mouth and swallowed. His impulse to deny the diagnosis didn’t go away, but his faith in that belief was rapidly diminishing with the evidence still echoing in his ears.
“I recommend you start recording yourself,” Dr. Shelly said, “I suspect there are more—”
“More?!?” Castor’s eyes were bulging again, and his mouth hung open wide, as if he was a toddler waiting for a spoonful of applesauce.
“Well, I don’t know for sure but in most recorded cases of dissociative identity disorder there are usually more than one alter.
The gaping hole in Castor’s face transformed as his lips pulled into a tight, thin line. “Ok,” he forced through gritted teeth, “but why do I have to record them? Isn’t that your job?”
“I will continue to do so, yes, but the truth is that some of them may not be willing to come out in front of a stranger. What you’re able to discover on your own may help us to save all the time it would take for me to build up trust with these parts of yourself that have been repressed.
“Once we determine your triggers we’ll be able to work through the trauma that’s causing them, which will eventually help you to stay present and prevent future instances of memory loss.”
Castor nodded. Looked down.
“You’ve been through a lot of trauma Castor, your mind is just doing its best to protect you.”
When he looked back up again, Dr. Shelly was pushing a slip of paper across her desk. “Here, that’s my recommendation for a mic. It’s wireless and you can record right to your phone.”
Castor nodded again and reached for the paper.
“The next time you have one of your memory blips, listen back, and maybe you’ll get an answer to what happened.”
Castor left Dr. Shelly’s office without another word. He drove to the electronics store in silence, but in his head that strange lispy version of his own voice was playing on repeat. Could it be possible that there were more “alters” trapped inside of him? How many of him—them were there? Would he really be able to capture them with this plan?
It felt so ridiculous to Castor. He may as well have been purchasing equipment for a ghost hunt… why didn’t he get a night vision camera too so he could start a reality show and entertain people while he was at it.
He found the tiny microphone that Dr.Shelly had recommended, and as he brought it up to the counter, Castor felt suddenly embarrassed as if the cashier could hear the slew of secrets circling through his head. But luckily, the teenager who checked him out was more interested in her own phone than in anything Castor was buying, and she only glanced at the packaging long enough to find the bar code.
Castor couldn’t get out of his own head, though, despite the momentary relief of not being judged by anyone, because he was too busy judging himself. Was this what life had come to for him? On his way to hunt his own inner demons armed with nothing but a Bluetooth microphone?
Suddenly, another thought occurred to Castor, one that worried him far more than the humiliation of playing ghost hunter. Did this mean that he was crazy? Would they commit him if he couldn’t find and extinguish the people trapped inside him?
When he got home a few minutes later, Castor had already decided that he couldn’t let that happen. He dumped the plastic shopping bag onto the couch, and when the receipt swayed down through the air like a falling feather, a realization clicked into place. It wasn’t just his memory loss that now made sense, but all of those random charges to his credit card could be explained away by this diagnosis too. Castor ripped open the packaging and connected the mic to his phone, then clipped it to his shirt.
When he hit record all of his remaining energy drained out of him.
He considered going to sleep but knew that he’d just end up restlessly awake before the sun was up if he went to bed now. So instead he dropped onto the couch, turning on some mindless entertainment he’d already seen dozens of times. And that was the problem, because there was nothing to occupy his mind on the screen, and so he kept ruminating on Carl’s and Dr. Shelly’s conversation – before his mind ran off in worse case scenario tangents (like what if there was an evil, murderous sociopath that’d been regularly taking over his body) before circling back to the elephant-sized fact that there were more people he didn’t know hiding inside of him, just waiting to use him and abuse him just beyond his awareness.
Castor grew uncomfortable and turned away from the TV. It was growing dark outside and the multi-colored lights from the screen flickered around on the ceiling. His eyes blinked slowly… until they fell closed a final time.
***
Castor is racing down the winding mountain road, stirring up freshly fallen leaves as he passes. Both windows are down and the cool dry air is dancing his shaggy hair into a frenzy. The whooshing air competes with the pounding music that’s blasting through the Mustang’s souped up speakers.
He looks over to the seat beside him, and the expression on PJ’s face is like a zap of lightning to his memory. Looking at PJ, his twin, is like a looking into a carnival mirror. They’re identical, but PJ’s personality twists his face into a goofy mask. PJ is the smiley mask to Castor’s frowny one. But this isn’t real, and Castor knows that. He knows he’s dreaming, so he let’s go of the wheel and leans back as he stares at his brother long and hard. Right now PJ is sticking his tongue out like he’s at a Kiss concert, one hand out the window letting the wind fly through his fingers.
Castor examines every inch of Pollux James’s face: the dimple between his cheek and chin, the lines being laughed around his eyes, the way the dappled, rapidly changing orbs of sunshine dance through the trees and onto his face. PJ will bob his head once… twice… three more times in slow motion before Castor has to close his eyes for impact.
Shutting his eyes used to wake him up, but now it just dulls the one sense. Soon the impact will explode into his ears: the squealing, the crunching of car… and bone. After two agonizing seconds of very real pain he’ll wake up. And though his eyelids curtain the scene, Castor’s memory replays it, only a bit more dully, in time with the orchestra of senses he can’t turn off.
Finally, the pain comes, sharpening to unbearable, before fizzling out into the now comforting pins and needles that vibrate across every bit of his skin. He stays still until it passes. A few minutes later he finally turns to look at the clock; it’s 4:44 a.m.
***
Castor came to and the bright light was jarring. He was doing dishes? The last thing he had remembered was waking up from his night terror, and now it was well after noon, judging by the angle of sunlight being reflected off of his stainless steel sink. He dropped the sponge and the silverware he’d been scrubbing back into the sink and turned off the faucet.
He looked down to see that he was still in his clothes from yesterday and he was relieved to see the tiny mic still clipped to the front of his shirt. Then Castor swept his gaze over the countertop in search of his phone… and there it was. He grabbed it and sat down as he navigated to the recording app.
The oven clock confirmed what Castor had suspected, it was 2:32. He quickly did the math to figure out where he should start listening. He’d been out for nearly 10 hours. The app was set by default to start recording a new mp3 file every hour on long recordings; it was a failsafe to protect against the occasional glitch. But it also made it easy for Castor to count back to the file he wanted to start at.
He took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. Then he leaned over his phone and hit play.
All of Castor’s anticipation seemed to be for nothing, though. Listening to his recording was like listening to one long butt-dial. He heard rustling fabric against the microphone, a random thump here and there, and lot of him just breathing.
After the first half hour Castor got up to brew a pot of coffee. By two hours in he’d drunk the whole pot and had to put his hands flat on the counter to stop them from shaking.
He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but sitting around intently listening to absolutely nothing was not how he’d envisioned this day going. But it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.
Castor worked from home, though to say he worked at all since the accident was an absolute joke. It’d been six months. Six months since his best friend died. Since he’d killed his other half. Castor shook his head at that, Dr. Shelly wouldn’t be happy to hear him say that. But he hadn’t said those words aloud since the first time she’d chastised him. Thankfully she couldn’t hear his thoughts, because he couldn’t think about PJ without feeling the inevitable guilt that was now attached to their last moment together. There was no doubt in Castor’s head that his brother would still be alive if it wasn’t for his own negligence, and no amount of therapy would ever change that.
Suddenly a voice pulled Castor from his thoughts, “So you think you’re better than us, is that it Carl?”
“That’s not what I said, Ralph.”
“Then what were you trying to say? Because it sounded a lot like you were glorifying yourself—and putting the rest of us down.”
Another voice came through, “Or maybe he was just trying to get Dr. Shelly to warm up to him. Got news for you Carl – the little blue pill she makes you swallow isn’t going to discriminate, you’ll be gone too, despite your godlike forgiveness.”
“What does it even matter if we’re all going to die anyway?” That was a new voice too; slow and subdued.
“Why be shy if we’re all gonna die?!?” Yet another caricature of Castor’s voice came through the speaker, this one amused. “Heh, heh,” he snickered.
A low growl began, and it quickly escalated until a loud thump concluded it. It was like someone had brought their fist down upon a solid surface; the counter or Castor’s desk maybe?
“Calm yourself, Ogre,” someone chastised, it sounded like Ralph, “we’re not going to die guys… Steve, stop being such an asshole!”
“I dunno, maybe Steve’s right about the pills… what other outcome could there be… we knew we were at risk the moment we saw the doctor.” The melancholy one said.
“Big belly Shelly,” the amused one snickered.
“Why do you think I was trying to get on her good side, fellas? I wanted her to know that we’re here to help Castor.” Carl sighed.
“Maybe we need to disappear for awhile—make her think we’re gone so she’ll lay off for a bit,” Ralph said, but he didn’t wait for a response before he continued. “Yeah, that’s what we’ll do. Do you all think you can keep your mouths shut for the next couple of weeks?
“Oh that’s a great idea… let’s just repress ourselves why don’t we? Why don’t we just get ahold of a sleeping pill ‘script and off ourselves right now?” Steve deadpanned.
“How could you suggest such a thing?” Carl said.
“Stay away and our souls may stray.” It sounded to Castor like the jokey poet was agreeing with Steve in his own cryptic way.
“Andy’s right,” the sad sounding one drawled, “if we stay away too long, we’re likely to disappear on our own.”
“GRRRRRR!!!” Orge growled in agreement.
“Don’t worry, Tom, we won’t stay away long enough to let that happen. The point isn’t to off ourselves,” Ralph argued, “it’s to get her off our backs until we can give Castor Pollux’s message.”
Castor gripped both arms of his chair. “Pollux?” he whispered.
“It’s impossible,” the sad one sighed. “Castor never remembers his dreams… at least not the good ones… and he never remembers us.”
The white noise of the recording rolled on into infinity after that, but no one else spoke. Castor sat expectantly for the first few minutes, waiting for more, but eventually his mind wandered off to run in its own circles.
He’d counted six distinct voices in that recording, including the growly one they called Ogre. Six people inside of him; people with the ability to shut him down, put him on standby so they could have their own little private pow-wow. It was frightening to think that they had that much control over him… even more terrifying to consider that they’d been hiding inside of him all this time.
But they were him, according to Dr. Shelly. That they appeared and acted separately from him was just a defense mechanism his body had implemented in order to help him deal with the trauma of losing PJ.
PJ… they’d said they had a message from him.
And what did they mean when they said he couldn’t remember his dreams? He had the same damn dream every night—a dream he wished he could forget.
Castor suddenly felt torn. His next move should be to send this file to Dr. Shelly… but they didn’t trust her… and if they were really just a part of him… then should Castor trust her? It looked like he was outnumbered 6 to 1.
But who was Castor kidding? That was just a convenient justification. Because if those strange little voices claimed to have a message from his brother, then they were right about one thing: he had to keep them alive until he got it.
Castor marched over to his computer. He placed his phone within hearing range, although nobody was talking at the moment, there were still hours of recordings for him to listen to and so he let the soft static play on. Then he turned to his monitor and pulled open a browser window.
“How to… remember… your dreams,” Castor said as he typed into the search bar.
He scrolled through the list of results but quickly became frustrated with the answers. He didn’t have time to sit around and meditate on his intention and write in a goddamned dream journal.
“How to remember your dreams quickly,” Castor tried, disappointed to see that many of the same websites were coming up. In the preview text of one new site, the author suggested drinking massive amounts of water so that your bladder would naturally wake you at the end of your dream cycle. That sounded annoying, and Castor suspected he was more likely to just piss the bed than to wake up and remember his dream, but at least it was something he had time to try.
A familiar low growl rose up into the air, alongside a fumbling sort of rustling made up of soft thumps and swooshing static. Castor lifted his phone to his ear.
“Hey fellas, look what Ogre found!” Carl called out.
“What is it?” Tom asked.
“It’s a microphone.” Ralph said.
“Well hallelujah,” Steve said sarcastically, “our oppressor is listening… say hello to your girlfriend, Carl.”
“Big belly shelly?” Andy asked, but his tone was lacking its usual amusement; he just sounded afraid.
“I don’t think so, fellas… well maybe, eventually, she’ll hear it, but we’re home, not at the doctor’s office.”
“You’re right, Castor must be recording this himself.” Ralph realized. “Castor if you can hear us, do not give Shelly this recording. You need all of us to go home.”
“Calea tea-uh! Calea tea-uh!” Andy said.
“Oh, of course, the Calea tea.” said Carl.
“We put it in cupboard.” Steve continued, and for once it sounded like his dry humor might have evaporated.
Castor was up and walking towards the kitchen before Tom could say, “You should drink a cup right now.” And he sounded almost happy.
“You should drink many cups,” Ralph added, “it’ll help Pollux to connect with you tonight. He’s not dead, Castor, just out of touch.”
Ogre barked out an agreement.
Castor yanked at the cabinet door in front of him, and there it was. A giant bag of tea leaves labeled “Calea Zacatechichi.” In smaller letters beneath it said “Mexican dream herb.”
How Castor had not noticed it was a testament to his recent tunnel vision. The bag was right next to his coffee, which he used daily. He opened the tea and sniffed; it had a peppery smell. May as well give it a go.
First the first time in a long time, Castor finally felt like he had a purpose. Interesting to note that his dissociative identities had been the ones to cheer him up. Using the technical term for his “condition” brought him back into the doctor’s office; Dr. Shelly would have a field day with that little tidbit. She acted professional and all that, but there was a gleam in her eye when she’d diagnosed him. Castor guessed conditions like his were probably rare, so he couldn’t really blame her. But he also couldn’t help feeling resentful about being her lucky little lab rat.
He put the bag down and glanced down at his phone to see if the play head was still moving. The boys had been silent for a while… but the seconds were still ticking away— he guessed they were done for now. Maybe for the day. But you never know, so Castor let the silent file play on, as he made his way to the sink to fill the teapot.
Castor took a sip and scrunched his nose. Despite it’s appetizing smell, the stuff tasted bitter. He had no idea how he was going to get down a single cup of it, let alone several.
Maybe some lemon would make it better? He squeezed a hefty splash from the tiny bottle he kept in the fridge. He tentatively took a sip, and it was still awful. Sugar it is then, he decided, but even after four heaping spoonfuls, though improved, it was still barely tolerable.
Over the course of the next few hours, Castor drank as much of the nasty tea as he could while listening to the remaining audio he’d recorded the previous day. Aside from the occasional rustle though, nothing more came from his six new friends.
Castor questioned himself at that thought. Could they be his friends if they were actually a part of himself? It was strange, but now that he was aware of them he felt a sort of attachment to them. The thought of handing them over to Dr. Shelly didn’t sit right with him. They were afraid of her, because she wanted to get rid of them. He couldn’t help but empathize with them. What if it were him who was to be annihilated from existence? He was sure he’d feel the same.
He was glad he had some time to think things through before his next appointment. Time to get to the bottom of what his new “friends” were trying to tell him. Castor wasn’t sure he totally believed everything they were telling him. And some of it most certainly confused him. But knowing that Pollux still existed somewhere and that there was a chance he’d be able to talk to him again burned a flame of hope in him so bright, that he could easily look past all the weird nonsensical things he’d overheard.
Castor hadn’t had a memory lapse since the previous day. And he was grateful, especially since he was unable to record and listen simultaneously. After he’d reviewed the last bit of white noise he’d captured, he started a new recording.
It took such a long time for Castor to dilute the caffeine from all the coffee he’d drunk, but eventually he began to get sleepy. He crawled into bed and drifted away. When he saw his brother, alive and well, and reaching toward him, Castor finally felt like everything was going to be ok.
***
Dr. Shelly was still riddled with confusion, when the detective came by to drop off Castor’s phone. Though she was nodding her head as she took it from him, she wasn’t registering any of his words… she was still seeing the image of Castor’s empty, rumpled bed in her mind’s eye. The police hadn’t found a body in that bed, only what Castor had left behind: the tiny mic she’d recommended and his phone. No one who went anywhere willingly left their phone behind. You didn’t have to be Nancy Drew to know that. Dr. Shelly forced a smile as she shut the door behind the retreating officer.
It saddened her to no end that she had been the one to report Castor missing; that he had no friends or family who’d noticed he was gone. And now, after the police had taken their time coming up with nothing, they were finally letting her have her turn.
Dr. Shelly was no detective, but she knew that the longer a person was missing, the less likely it was that they would be found. That’s the only reason she opted to listen to the latest recordings on Castor’s phone first, despite her preference to listen to them in order.
She pressed play on the last file recorded. It took awhile to get to it, but Castor’s voice finally came through. And, as calmly as she’d ever heard him, he said, “Oh yes, Pollux, I’m so ready to come home.”
[Conclusion:]
Well, my friends, I hope you enjoyed my modern twist on the Castor and Pollux story. I actually didn’t have a clue in the world as to who these two were until I did a little Googling. Castor and Pollux are twin half brothers from Greek and Roman mythology. For our purposes, we’ll stick to the Greek version of the story.
While Castor and Pollux shared the same mother, they had different fathers. Castor’s father was the King of Sparta, which made him a mortal, but Pollux was a demigod whose father was Zeus himself. One day, when the twins were fighting side by side in battle, Castor was struck with a lethal blow. In order to save his brother, Pollux asked his father if he could share his immortality with Castor, which is how they both ended up transforming into the two brightest stars in the Gemini constellation we still see today, to live together eternally in the night sky.
Upon further research, I also discovered that Castor’s star is not just one star, but actually six stars in one. And that’s when I stopped researching and started writing.
There is much more to discover about Castor and Pollux’s story, should you want to pursue it further, but I just wanted to give you a glimpse into what stuck with me as I rewrote my own modern take on how the Gemini twins found each other in the sky.
So before we say goodbye, I’d like to send big virtual hugs over to Hannah, who was so kind as to share her art with us today, and who gave me the breadcrumbs to follow that eventually led me to writing this story. Unfortunately for you, both Castor and Pollux, the paintings, are both already sold, but there is plenty more cosmic eye candy available for your viewing and purchasing pleasure over @hannahandthecosmos on Instagram. So definitely check that out whenever you can.
Thanks so much for listening, my friends… I’ll catch ya on the next one.
The podcast currently has 30 episodes available.