Lucia poured water into the tea kettle and set it on the stove. She then measured two scoops of tea leaves into her grandmother’s century-old teapot, too distraught to notice their tangy aroma or curling beauty, before replacing the lid. Only rarely did the teapot leave the battered cabinet where Lucia kept her precious family mementoes, but today she hankered to touch its round, inviting belly, admire the delicate designs winding around in a never-ending circle, and savor again the hours that she and her grandmother had spent chatting while drinking tea when she was a girl. It was a simple teapot just like hundreds of others made by the same factory so long ago, but to Lucia it was a gateway to all she had lost and did not know how to regain.
She had been laid off from her part-time, minimum wage job in the morning and spent the afternoon in line at the neighborhood food pantry. She had never before asked for help, but she needed milk or bread for her son and daughter when they came home from school. A freezing panic set into her stomach as she glanced at the calendar and realized that rent was due next week. Without her job she would never be able to pay it and she was already two months behind. If she and her children were evicted, where would they go?
She thought of her grandmother who had brought the teapot with her on the long voyage from the home country she had fled when war made life too dangerous for her family and village. She was just a small girl traveling alone because there was only enough money for one family member to escape. The teapot, a memento, had been wrapped in the few clothes in her suitcase along with a letter to a distant relative begging her to take Lucia’s grandmother in. Lucia had learned all this from her mother, now long since passed away. Her grandmother had never spoken of it.
Lucia wondered how her grandmother had survived so much, even more than she herself was facing now. She pondered how her grandmother cherished every flower in her garden, every human being she met, every day as being made up of moments of grace. She always seemed as if she knew she was where she was supposed to be, doing what she was meant to do, even if she was just washing dishes, or, in her last months, sitting quietly in the dayroom of her nursing home. Lucia remembered having such transcendent moments herself as a child, but now she was so busy with trying to keep herself and her children fed, clothed, and sheltered that she had no time for the luxury of contentment.
Lucia’s reverie was interrupted by the whistle of the tea kettle. She waited a moment for the water to stop boiling, then poured it into the teapot.
The faint sound awoke one of the Spirits who Goddess had assigned to Earth as a caretaker of the world’s living beings. She had given this Spirit the special task of serving the world’s women. The Spirit had taken a short nap, only a few thousand years, merely the wink of an eye in terms of human history. Other Spirits had continued on during her rest, answering the cries of those in despair, gazing down with compassionate eyes, always offering just what was needed even if the humans thought they wanted something else. The whistle reminded her of the delightful hums, chants, and music that had come from all the Goddess sacred sites around the world when she had first fallen asleep. She wiped the mist of millennia from her eyes and flew down to Earth to see where the music was coming from.
She looked in vain for a globe full of caves, temples, shrines, groves and other sites sacred to the Goddess. The Spirit found that so many had been abandoned and razed that entire communities existed without a single image of Goddess. The places that had once been so holy were now silent, bereft of human hearts and minds. In many places, the names and images of Goddess were now reviled or forgotten. Her hymns and stories were no longer told and her music no longer filled the air. The Spirit, first puzzled, then troubled, sought out the humans who were so dear to her and searched their souls. Too many women who once saw themselves as the sacred givers of life and had served as shamans and priestesses, now no longer knew that Goddess was within them and their voices were banished from holy places.
To the Spirit, the destruction that had taken place was epitomized by the desecration of the serpents. All over the planet she saw the sacred snakes cut into pieces, made into objects of fear and revulsion. For millennia, snakes had been symbols of the renewal of life and transformation and had accompanied the priestesses in their ceremonies. In many culture, the serpent was the symbol of wisdom and enlightenment and the life energy within all humans, ascending upwards when awakened. Could the sacred serpents be made whole and once again bring their life-giving power to humans, the Spirit wondered? Could people as isolated from one another as the pieces of the serpent ever find each other and their own sacredness within themselves?
Nanri Tenney Artist Statement
Woman with Bountiful Bowls, a symbol for forward movement and positive feminine energy in our times. This spiritual woman on a teapot lid is offering bowls of food to all. She is holding the world in balance with her nurturing creativity and sustainability. The round teapot represents the world in the process of returning to a healthy state. The spout and handle morphs the globe into a peaceful serpent dragon, a vehicle for positive transformation. The cut-up dead snake below the teapot is the shadow world and represents the transgressions that are done to the earth and its just peoples. The woman’s generous, wholesome work is victorious over these dishonorable exploits. May this creative endeavor of words and image bring kindly awareness to all who read it for the benefit of all sentient beings.
Drawing is Nanri Studio (c) 2012
Nancy Richardot Tenney (aka Nanri) is part of a bi-cultural artistic family, and from a young age she was fortunate to travel, experience art, and live in several countries. Her French and American heritage, design education, and exposure to many fascinating cultures around the world has ensured her a continuing life of artistry, enterprise, and originality. Nanri has practiced graphic design, illustration and photography professionally since receiving her BFA degree at the Rhode Island School of Design. She has had design studios in Trinidad, WI, San Francisco, CA, Concord, MA, and Maynard, MA where she has been the principal designer of a small design firm, Nanri Studio for 14 years. She teaches Natural Awareness Meditation and is an active volunteer with the climate crisis movement.
(To be continued)