…therefore, I honor mud/ as any priestess must/ asking questions…

Who am I?

Where do stories come from?

Why do I write? 

What makes my wisdom relevant? 

I hope you’ll find clues, hints and allegations to the answers to these questions as you poke around this site.  Discover my blog, explore Pomegranate’s and Perfume, survey Christine’s other books, comment on the art. Tell me what you think.  Pose your own questions.  Oh, and about the mud-The rain forest at the top of the page is your first clue- all that life grounded in the mud of creation.  Mud as metaphor is the prima materia, basic stuff of our lives -bad parents, good parents, abandonment, betrayal, confusion.  It’s the  raw material we get to pummel, knead and mold into shape, adorn, bake, pulverize into dust, rehydrate and shape again; the beginning point of any alchemical transformation.  But Webster’s  mud is “wet, soft earth or earthy matter, as on the ground after rain, at the bottom of a pond, or along the banks of a river; mire.”  That mud is where we go to get out of our story, back to presence…

“After all,” as Gertrude Stein once said, “anybody is as their land and air is.  Anybody is as the sky is low or high, the air heavy or clear and and anybody is as there is wind or no wind there.  It is that which makes them and the arts they make and the work they do and the way they eat and the way they drink and the way they learn and everything.”