Bardo**

kaydee777
17 hours ago
3 min read

The sun and full moon hang in balance on opposite horizons as I wander into the dawn of this edition of the seasonal cross quarter day known in some circles as Imbolc, St Brigid’s day or sometimes even Groundhog Day.

Whatever you and your culture call this annually occurring alignment of earth and sun, moon and stars, the mid point between midwinter solstice and spring equinox, it’s often a time for weather forecasting.

It does not take advanced initiation or education to predict the continuation of a certain deadly deep freeze, the ever expanding plethora of signs, protests, testimonies and speeches notwithstanding. Would that it weren’t so.

One could even see this time as a bardo of dying - that liminal time of transition when the body is done, the consciousness lingering. A bardo of dying for a 250 year old social experiment.

And so on this Imbolc, this Groundhog Day we see a chilling shadow of prophecy: long, dark and cold. The kind of shadow that true evil casts.

*Mythical Corn Ceremony - watercolour by Ignacio Moquino (Waka Yeni Dewa) Zuni Pueblo. 1938*

I choose, however, at this inflection point, to take my direction, find my north star, find ceremony and some measure of succor in savouring the experience of a recent visit to a few of the (oh so many) art museums in Santa Fe and Taos which I was lucky enough to spend a bit of time in last week.

Butterflies, corn and rain storm clouds, oh yes. Life affirming. Life generating, seed germinating lightening. HA!

Here in front of this colourful, resonant ceremonial dance headdress is just one of the myriad places where I find my in breath, my in-spiration, my will to go on.

Note: the Hopi Butterfly Dance is a social ceremonial dance of gratitude thanking pollinators, invoking rain and celebrating harvest. Butterfly dances usually take place in August and September.

The Museum of Indian Arts and Culture on Museum Hill in Santa Fe was my first stop in what became a three day expedition to the northern interior of enchantment. (It might take a few blog posts to share). This museum is anchored but soars in a beautiful sculpture garden.

It was a bluebird high desert winter day. After the three hour drive, I spent some time dreaming in these sun warmed, beautifully maintained (thank you Santa Fe Garden Club) outdoor spaces before crossing the threshold.

There was a little snow about but not much for this time of year. Amongst all the other dire happenings in this part of the world, there is a serious snow drought in western USA. This does not bode well for the water table.

Again don’t need that groundhog to predict a hard, dry, no make that very dry, summer ahead for all of us tilling the soil downstream.

Lightening Boy, hoop dances one to the museum entrance.

Inside I found So. Much. To. Absorb. So. Much. To. Think. About.

I felt stuffed full and in overwhelm within the first three minutes, hardly ten steps in the first gallery (and there are about 5 or maybe 6 exhibition spaces, plus a theatre and activity rooms ) which housed an exhibition entitled Essential Elements: Art, Environment and Indigenous Futures - the exhibition which I had come to see, and which runs through early April 2026.

From the exhibition catalogue:

Essential Elements uses the lens of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water to explore the impact of climate change and environmental destruction on Native homelands and how artists are sounding the alarm and advocating for action. From the devastation of wildfires and drought to the contamination of ecosystems from uranium mining and other extractive industries, art offers a means to explore human connections to our planet and its precious resources. Traditional ecological knowledge, developed and refined over generations, can inform strategies for adaptation to a changing environment and building a sustainable future---but only if we listen.