Category Archives: Oracle Cards

Juried Shows and Oracle Cards

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When I started developing the Enso Oracle Cards as a tool, I realized that they they can be a very practical resource. Beyond intuitive revelation, these cards offer metaphors that help us navigate the day-to-day challenges of studio practice. They remind us, in a humanistic and positive way, that perspective matters as much as process.

Just last week, I was accepted into the Fiber Artists annual Juried Show with my piece called Woolgathering — wonderful news, because this piece was unconventional enough that I wasn’t sure it would be understood.

Lyn Belisle. 2025

So I also know the outcome could just as easily have been a polite “not this time.” That is the nature of juried competition. When the stakes feel high, reading an oracle card can provide a way to step back, breathe, and reframe the experience.

For example, The Pendulum card offers exactly this kind of perspective: a reminder that acceptance and rejection are simply two ends of the same swing, part of the rhythm of creative life.

When we draw this card—or choose it intentionally in a moment of reflection—it reminds us that the back-and-forth is not personal, it’s part of the rhythm of being an artist in the world. The swing of the pendulum is natural, inevitable, and temporary.

Juried shows are not a verdict on the value of your art. You know this.They are a reflection of one juror’s perspective, shaped by their own experiences, tastes, and the constraints of the exhibition. Just as a pendulum does not stop at either extreme, the outcome of any one competition does not define your entire creative practice.

In fact, The Pendulum asks us to look at where we stand in relation to those swings. Are we letting a rejection pull us too far into self-doubt? Are we letting an acceptance push us into overconfidence? The wisdom of the card is found in the center—the still point at the bottom of the swing—where we can observe both movements without being carried away by them.

As a practical exercise, if you’re entering a show or waiting on results, you might place The Pendulum card on your studio table. Sit quietly with it and ask:

  • What am I letting swing me off balance?

  • Where is the calm center I can return to, regardless of outcome?

  • What steady rhythm of making can I trust more than the verdict of a juror?

This practice shifts the experience of competition from one of judgment to one of balance. The card becomes less about predicting success or failure and more about anchoring yourself in the ongoing rhythm of your creative life.

What matters most is not the swing itself, but your ability to find stillness at the center and keep creating with steadiness and joy. It’s all perspective.

Now if only an actual pendulum could give me a positive yes or no answer about whether the piece will be accepted . . . .or maybe the waiting is part of the game 🙂

If you live in the San Antonio area and wold like to know more about the Fiber Artists of San Antonio Exhibit, here you go! Hope to see you there!

The Cane: A Companion on the Artist’s Path

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It’s been two weeks since we boarded the train from Westport to Dublin on our way back home from Mulranny. I’m working on a catalog of our work and adventures, and seeing all of the photographs brings back profound lessons that I learned when I was teaching there.

Our group explored not just making vessels in the studio, but also the wild, windswept beauty of the West Coast—the cliffs, sacred wells, narrow paths, stony beaches, and long flights of stone stairs.

One of our group members walked with a cane, and I worried at first that the rough terrain might keep her from fully joining us. But she surprised us all.

Her cane was not a hindrance. It was a companion. She leaned on it when the path was steep, planted it firmly when the wind blew hard, and carried it with quiet dignity (and smiles).

She never let it define her; instead, she used it as a tool that allowed her to go everywhere everyone else went. Her determination and grace became a lesson for us all.

This memory inspired THE CANE Enso Oracle Card, which holds a message not just for travelers in the world, but for travelers in the studio. In our creative practice, the cane becomes a metaphor. Where might I allow myself the gift of support without apology? What “cane” could help me take the next step? Am I resisting help that would make my path easier?

For artists, a “cane” might look like a mentor’s guidance, a trusted book, a workshop that opens new doors, or even a tool in the studio that simplifies what once felt cumbersome. Sometimes it’s as simple as asking for feedback instead of struggling alone, or letting technology carry some of the load so you can stay focused on the art itself.

Too often we equate independence with strength (I know I do), as if needing help somehow diminishes our creative power. But in truth, the supports we lean on—whether people, tools, or practices—are what allow us to keep climbing, to see new horizons, and to carry on when the path grows rocky.

So perhaps the question to bring into the studio today is this: What is my “cane”? What support could I embrace that would allow me to see farther, work longer, and create with greater ease?

Strength isn’t about going it alone. It’s about knowing when to lean, so we can keep walking.

The Cane
Support • Persistence • Courage

The Cane is not a sign of weakness—it is a trusted companion on the path, a staff for the explorer’s hand, a reminder that accepting support allows us to go farther than we could alone. Whether it steadies our steps on stony paths, helps us climb sacred stairs, or simply gives us the confidence to keep moving, it becomes part of the journey rather than a limitation. In art, as in life, the wise traveler knows when to lean on something trusted.

Upright, The Cane speaks of resilience, resourcefulness, and the grace to accept help without apology.

Reversed, it cautions against mistaking stubborn independence for strength—when we refuse the support we need, we risk exhausting ourselves and cutting short the adventure. The Cane teaches that there is no shame in asking for help, only strength in receiving it. Let it be your symbol of determination, your portable pillar, your license to explore the world at your own pace. Every mark you make—whether with a brush, a pen, or your feet—is richer because you carried on.

Reflection: Where might I allow myself the gift of support without apology? What “cane” could help me take the next step? Am I resisting help that would make my path easier?

Affirmation: I welcome the tools and allies that make my journey possible.

______________________________

Reflection for Your Own Practice

Just as my friend in Ireland leaned on her cane to climb cliffs and cross ancient paths, we as artists can lean on our own “canes” in the studio—supports that help us keep moving, see farther, and continue creating without apology. Ask yourself: What is my cane?

Here are some possibilities:

  • A class you’ve hesitated to take because you felt you “should already know”

  • A piece of equipment or tool you’ve postponed buying, even though it would save time or expand your options

  • The act of asking for feedback from a trusted friend, mentor, or fellow artist

  • Giving yourself permission to hire help for tasks that drain your energy (framing, shipping, photography)

  • Allowing technology—software, apps, even AI—to handle the tedious parts so you can focus on creating

  • Joining (or rejoining) a community or critique group for connection and encouragement

  • Setting boundaries around your studio time and asking others to honor them

  • Revisiting a favorite book, workshop, or teacher who once sparked your growth

  • Saying yes to rest and recovery when your body or spirit needs it

Which of these could be your cane right now? And which others could you name for yourself? I know one of mine would be setting boundaries around my studio time – but it’s hard!!

Your “cane” might also be thought of as a staff, walking stick, compass, anchor, lifeline, bridge, or guide—whatever image reminds you that support is not a weakness but a way forward.

True strength in art, as in life, is not measured by how far we can go alone, but by the wisdom of knowing when—and how—to lean so that the journey continues.

Linda, this card is for you!!♥

 

The Pendulum: Trusting the Swing in Mulranny

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I’m back from Ireland with so many stories and memories that it will take a while to sort them out! But here’s an interesting one that was rather unexpected and which inspired a new Enso Oracle card.

Sometimes, the best teaching moments aren’t in the lesson plan.

While I was leading my Vessels workshop in Mulranny, Ireland, surrounded by the misty coast and the wind-bent trees, I found myself reaching into my bag and pulling out my “traveling” pendulum. I hadn’t planned to use it—it was more of a talisman I’d brought along (as usual) for my own quiet moments. But Mulranny is a place of mystery, myth, and magic, and the impulse felt right.

I told the group, “Let’s try something.” We were at that point in the workshop where decisions—big and small—needed to be made. Which colors to use? Which textures? Which direction to take in the making of a vessel? I explained that a pendulum can act as a bridge to the deeper knowing we all carry, the kind that hums quietly underneath the noise of logic.

Holding the pendulum over two color swatches, I let it hang still and asked a simple question. Slowly, it began to move—just a subtle sway at first, then more definite. The group leaned in. Soon, several of them were trying it, holding their own questions in mind and watching for that almost imperceptible shift.

It wasn’t about fortune-telling. It wasn’t about giving up control. It was about giving ourselves permission to trust the quiet “yes” or “no” that lives in the body. To remember that intuition is not guesswork—it’s an ancient sense, one that’s always been part of the creative process.

Later in the week, when we visited Westport, we wandered down a narrow side street and found a tiny shop called Amber. Inside was the most extraordinary assortment of pendulums—crystal, amethyst, silver, and other beautiful stones, each one catching the light like a secret waiting to be told.

We must have looked like a small flock of birds gathered around the display, choosing the pendulum that felt “just right” in our hands. Many of our group went home with one of their own, ready to continue the quiet conversation we had begun in Mulranny.

In a place like this, where the land seems to breathe stories, it felt natural to weave this tiny ritual into the making. And it reminded me that sometimes the most valuable thing we take home from a workshop isn’t a finished piece—it’s a new way of listening.

Now, my traveling pendulum has earned a permanent place in my teaching kit. Because you never know when mystery, myth, and magic will decide to join the lesson.

Here is the new Enso Oracle Card, inspired by the wonderful artists who traveled with me.

The Pendulum

Keywords: Inner knowing, choice, intuitive guidance, balance, surrender, sacred uncertainty

There are moments when logic falls silent and your hand must let go of the wheel. The Pendulum swings between possibilities, not to confuse, but to reveal. When this card appears, it’s a reminder that you already hold the answer—not in your thoughts, but in your body, your breath, and your deep creative instincts. The pendulum does not choose for you—it reveals what your soul already knows.

Upright Meaning:
You are facing a decision that cannot be solved by reason alone. Step away from overthinking. This is a moment to consult your intuition, your body, your subtle knowing. Let the pendulum—literal or metaphorical—guide you gently to the path that resonates deepest. Your aesthetic instincts are powerful. Trust the quiet yes or no that lives in the swing of your inner compass.

Reversed Meaning:
You may be seeking external validation or becoming stuck in analysis. The pendulum is still swinging, but you’re afraid to watch. This card asks you to release your need for certainty. Let go of the fear of making the “wrong” choice. When intuition is blocked, even a small ritual of trust can restore your balance. Be still. Feel. Begin again.

Reflection Questions:

  • What decision am I overthinking right now?
  • How do I listen to my intuition—through movement, image, ritual, or sensation?
  • What signs tell me I’m in alignment with my creative truth?

Affirmation:
I trust the swing of my knowing. My intuition is quiet, wise, and always present.

____________________________________

If you are interested in knowing more or want to try it for yourself, here is a short guide to using the pendulum as part of your art practice.

Trusting the Swing: A Pendulum Guide for Artists

Using a Pendulum to Access Creative Intuition – Lyn Belisle

The pendulum is a simple yet powerful tool for tuning into your intuitive voice. For artists, it offers a unique way to bypass overthinking and reconnect with the subtle guidance that lives within the body and spirit. Whether you’re choosing colors, materials, titles, or direction in a stalled project, the pendulum can act as a bridge to your inner knowing.

What You’ll Need:

  • A pendulum (any small weighted object on a chain or string—crystal, metal, clay, or even a washer on a thread)
  • A quiet space
  • A sense of openness and curiosity

Getting Started:

Center Yourself.
Begin by taking a few deep breaths. Place your feet on the ground and soften your gaze. Hold the pendulum lightly between your thumb and forefinger, letting it hang still.

Establish Your Yes and No.
Ask aloud or silently: “Show me yes.” Observe how the pendulum begins to move—perhaps in a circle, or back and forth. Then ask: “Show me no.” Each person’s pendulum may respond differently, so honor your unique motion.

Pose Simple Questions.
Begin with clear, gentle questions that can be answered intuitively:
– Is this color the right choice for this piece?
– Should I work on this project today?
– Does this direction feel aligned with my voice?

Trust What Arises.
Resist the urge to override the response with logic. The pendulum’s movement reflects your subconscious alignment—not a magic answer, but a mirror to your own resonance.

Use in Your Practice.
Keep your pendulum in the studio. Use it when you’re feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or unsure. Let it become a small ritual, a moment of reconnection with your deeper self.

A Final Note:

Using a pendulum isn’t about fortune-telling—it’s about slowing down, listening differently, and allowing mystery into your making. The more you practice, the more attuned your intuition becomes. Like any creative tool, its power comes from the attention and trust you give it.

 

 

The Muñeco: A Small Figure That Holds So Much

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While researching a new series of altar-based assemblages for the Taos exhibit that will be inspired by the ritual codex of Sr. Alfonso García Téllez, I rediscovered a word I hadn’t thought about in years: muñeco. (“moo-NYEH-koh”)

You may not have heard this term before in this context. In Spanish, muñeco means “little doll” or “figure,” but in the sacred art of Alfonso Téllez—an Otomí shaman from San Pablito, Mexico—a muñeco is something much more than a toy. It is a spirit vessel, a symbolic stand-in used in healing rituals, offerings, and prayers.

Cut from handmade amate bark paper in simple, symmetrical forms, these figures carry what is too heavy, too complex, or too mysterious to name directly.

That idea stopped me in my tracks — a symbol? An archetype? A vessel for complex emotions?

In Téllez’s codices, a cut paper bird figure, for instance, might represent loss, freedom, rebirth, or all of those at once. The figure is a kind of visual shorthand—a handmade icon that expresses the inexpressible.

These are not just decorative elements; they are tools of ceremony and emotion, used in acts of release, remembrance, and reverence.

And that’s when I realized — we could all use a muñeco.

What if you cut a shape from paper—just a silhouette—and let it hold something for you? A grief. A prayer. A question. A transition.

You could glue it into a collage, tuck it into a pocket, burn it, bury it, or simply keep it near. Not to solve the feeling. But to give it form. To acknowledge it. To begin to let it move.

This idea became the seed for a new oracle card in my Enso deck—The Muñeco. It reminds us that the most powerful symbols don’t have to be complex or literal. They just have to be true.

Sometimes, the smallest figure holds the most.

The Muñeco

Keywords: Spirit Vessel · Proxy · Release · Ancestral Simplicity

Interpretation:

The Muñeco is a doll-like figure cut from bark or paper—simple, symmetrical, and quiet. But don’t mistake its humility for weakness. It is a sacred stand-in, a vessel for what you cannot carry, what you cannot say. In ritual, the muñeco holds illness, sorrow, memory, or prayer. In your life, it may be asking: What weight are you ready to release? What part of you longs to be witnessed and let go?

This card honors the ancient truth that the most powerful symbols are not always grand—they are small, handmade, passed down, and alive with meaning. The Muñeco reminds you that fragility and faith can live in the same shape. Cut your prayer from paper. Name your burden. Then offer it forward, and let it be carried.

Reversed:

Reversed, The Muñeco suggests confusion between what is yours and what you’ve placed onto others—or what others have placed on you. Are you unconsciously projecting, assigning roles, or expecting others to carry what is yours to hold? Or are you refusing to let something go, keeping it folded tightly within yourself? The spirit figure has become tangled. This card invites you to separate, to clarify, and to release with compassion.

Reflection Questions:

  • What object or act could serve as a release today?
  • Have I mistaken simplicity for lack of meaning—or overlooked the quiet things that hold the most?
  • Who or what have I turned into a proxy for my own unspoken needs?

Closing Insight:

The Muñeco holds space for what cannot speak. In letting it carry your burden, you remember that even the smallest gesture can be an act of ceremony.

(Above) Autograph manuscript concerning Otomí indigenous curandero customs and folk medicine in Mexico. The text describes shamanic rituals for various maladies (enfermedades) with mounted cut-out paper figures (mun̋ecos)representing spirit entities drawn from both indigenous and Christian mythos. Illustrated with amate bark paper cut-outs, dated approximately 1978

_____________________________________________

A Small Practice

If this idea speaks to you, try this:

Sit quietly with a small square of folded paper. You don’t need a plan—just rest your hands, take a breath, and begin to cut. Let your thoughts wander toward something you’d like to let go of… or something you wish to remember.

When you’re ready, unfold the paper.

See what’s there. A figure, a shape, a whisper of a form.

You’ve made your own muñeco.

Now pause. Ask yourself: What do I want to do with this little symbol?

Will you keep it tucked into a journal? Burn it in ceremony? Bury it, give it away, or place it on your studio worktable or tape it in your window?

Deciding what to do with the cut shape is part of the ritual.

It’s a way of giving form to something too vast for words—and choosing how to honor it or say goodbye to it.

And speaking of saying goodbye, I’m headed to Ireland this week to teach a workshop at the Mulranny Arts Centre—an inspiring place where dreams and landscapes overlap. I’ll be offline for a little while, but I’ll return soon with stories, images, and new ideas to share.

In the meantime, why not cut a paper shape, a muñeco —not to finish something, but to begin. Let it be a placeholder for your thoughts, your plans, your hopes. Let it hold what you’re not ready to name just yet.

Be safe.
Do good work.
And let the small things carry meaning!

Thanks, as always, for reading SHARDS.

♥Lyn

my muñeco for the journey – it holds so much and lets go of so much

The Pause: Take a moment. Let it be enough

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This is the next in a series of summer posts using the in-progress Enso Circle oracle cards that I’m working on to help myself keep consistently grounded in studio practice and creative community. Thanks for being part of that. Read on.

In the wake of the recent floods here in Texas, we find ourselves reeling not only with grief, but with a sense of helplessness. As artists, our instinct is often to respond: to create, to express, to offer solace through our work. We feel the call to stay on the path, to keep moving forward, to do something with our hands that might help mend the world.

But there are moments when even that noble impulse must yield to something deeper—stillness. Not from a lack of inspiration or purpose, but from a need to let the weight of the world settle gently into our hearts without resistance. To let silence be a kind of medicine.

This is not a surrender. It’s a sacred pause—a conscious act of rest and reflection that allows us to absorb what we need before we continue on with renewed meaning and strength. We do not stop because we are lost—we pause because we are listening.

This another early Enso Oracle card that I created several months ago, but it seems really appropriate right now.

THE PAUSE

The Pause – When Stillness Is the Bravest Choice

Keywords: Stillness · Restoration · Listening · Grace

Interpretation (Upright):
The Pause arrives not as an absence, but as a presence—quiet, whole, and necessary. It invites you to step away from motion, not because you are uninspired, but because your spirit knows when to rest. Like a hush between notes in music, this moment of stillness holds space for something sacred: integration, healing, and gentle awareness. In the midst of life’s turbulence, this card reminds you that you are allowed to stop. To be. To listen. Rest is not retreat—it is preparation. In the pause, your deeper knowing rises. Let it.

Interpretation (Reversed):
When reversed, The Pause may reveal a deep discomfort with stillness—an inner urgency to do something, especially in times of sorrow or upheaval. You may feel desperate to help, to fix, to create meaning out of heartbreak. But this impulse, though noble, can become a way of avoiding your own need to rest and receive. Not every response must be immediate. This card asks you to allow space for presence before action. Choose grace over urgency. Trust that your quiet awareness now will shape deeper, more meaningful offerings later.

Reflection Questions:

  • When was the last time you truly allowed yourself to be still?
  • What emotions or insights have you been too busy to feel?
  • What would it mean to pause—not out of weakness, but out of wisdom?

Affirmation:
I honor the stillness between moments. In rest, I restore my light.

What happens after the Pause?

You don’t simply go back to work. You go forward—with a steadier heart, clearer eyes, and a deeper sense of intention. The stillness doesn’t erase grief or uncertainty, but it softens the way you carry them. You may begin again slowly. Gently. You may write one word, make one mark, sweep your studio floor, or sit beside your worktable and simply breathe. That is enough.

The Pause is not a break from your path—it is a sacred moment within it.

Things to think about when you need to pause:

  • I don’t need to solve everything right now
  • This moment is enough—I am safe to just be.
  • Stillness is not emptiness—it is where I gather strength.

Previous Enso Circle oracle card posts:

THE CRACKED CUP

THE SHINY OBJECT

THE HUMP

THE WANDERER

The Cracked Cup: Holding Loss with Reverence

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This week, as floods have devastated parts of Texas, I have felt a deep ache settle in my chest. So many lives lost—families shattered, futures rewritten in a single rising tide. There is no mending of such losses, only the sacred act of holding space for them.

It was with this sorrow that I turned to The Cracked Cup, one of the first cards I created  in the Enso Oracle deck. The cup, once whole, now bears a fracture that cannot be hidden. Yet it still holds meaning, still carries essence. A cracked vessel is a reminder that something precious was once contained, and though altered, its story is not erased.

Loss connects us. Not because we can understand it fully—but because we recognize its shape. We have all carried our own cracked cups, fragile with memory and longing. And when we witness loss in others—especially such heartbreaking, public loss—we may feel helpless. But if we acknowledge it, if we name it, if we allow it to soften us rather than harden us, then something sacred can begin to form.

Grief shared is grief witnessed. In honoring the cracks, we honor the love that came before them.

The Cracked Cup

Keywords: Imperfection, Vulnerability, Beauty in the Broken, Holding What You Can

Guidebook Entry:
The Cracked Cup appears when life has etched its story into your form. In the upright position, it honors the quiet resilience of holding, even with a fracture. You are still a vessel, capable of offering and receiving, though shaped now by experience. The crack is not your failure—it is your history, your refinement. Like kintsugi, where gold fills the fault line, your beauty is revealed in the break. This card invites you to celebrate what remains and flows, rather than what was lost.

Reversed Meaning:
Reversed, the Cracked Cup may signal that you’re trying to pour from what no longer holds. You might be ignoring signs of depletion, overextending despite inner fractures. There may be grief you’ve hidden in plain sight, or a perfectionism that keeps you from offering anything at all. This card urges rest, repair, and self-compassion. It’s okay to set yourself down for a while.

Reflection Questions:

  • What am I still trying to hold that might be leaking away?
  • Where can I find grace in my imperfections?
  • Am I trying to serve others without tending to my own mending?

Affirmation:
Even with a crack, I remain a vessel. I hold beauty, truth, and healing within my imperfect form.

_____________________

In the wake of deep loss, there are no easy words. The grief sits heavy, as it should.

And yet, as artists, we often turn to our work to hold what cannot be spoken. We make marks, tear paper, mend fragments—because our hands need to do something with the sorrow.

Artists can bring gold to the broken.

The old practice in Japan called Kintsugi, where broken pottery is repaired with gold, doesn’t hide the cracks, but honors them. It does not undo the break. Like The Cracked Cup, it simply says: this mattered, this was loved, this was lost—and it still holds beauty.

When our artwork feels broken, we can follow this same impulse—to mend with grace, to let the light in through the cracks.

Here are five little ways artists can add a touch of gold to their broken places – almost as a metaphor.

1. Gold Leaf or Metallic Wax on Cracks or Seams
Highlight repaired tears, joins, or fractures with gold leaf or metallic wax. Instead of concealing damage, this elevates it—visibly celebrating the healing process and transformation. Even in collages or fiber works, adding a subtle gilded line over a seam can evoke this reverent beauty. Book Foil makes wonderful lines over a wax surface – I use this often.

2. Thread or Wire Mending
Use gold or brass wire or gold embroidery thread to literally bind pieces together. Whether it’s torn paper, fabric, or broken sculptural elements, the physical act of mending with golden thread becomes a ritual of restoration and reverence. My friend Flo Bartell just emailed me this morning about using a gold wire for knitting, to communicate a delicate permanence. Perhaps we are all needing a bit of gold as shining metaphor.

3. Symbolic Gold Marks
Paint or draw golden lines, halos, or marks over areas that feel unresolved or damaged. These can represent scars or epiphanies—places where the work “broke open” and something new emerged. Think of them as visual blessings for the broken spaces. Use a gold Sharpie or paint pen for some asemic writing on unresolved work.

4. Incorporating Found Golden Objects
Embed small gold-tone found objects—buttons, charms, keys, or jewelry fragments—into your artwork where pieces feel lost or incomplete. These additions can be talismans of memory, resilience, and beauty born from imperfection.

5. Transforming Damage into Focal Points
If part of a piece is damaged, emphasize that area with a glowing, gold-infused feature—like a golden portal, sunburst, or frame. This approach not only restores but transforms what was broken into the heart of the piece’s meaning.

In the quiet aftermath of loss, The Cracked Cup reminds us that even when something breaks, it still has purpose—maybe even more than before. Like the golden seams in a kintsugi vessel, the work we do to mend our hearts can become part of the beauty we share.
If you are an artist, know this: your creative practice is a balm, a beacon. Keep making. Keep tending to your art as an offering—not just for yourself, but for the community that surrounds you.
And please, take care of yourself and those you love. Be gentle with your days. Hold your own cracked cup with tenderness, and let your light shine through the places that have been broken open.
♥Lyn
Previous Oracle Cards:

THE SHINY OBJECT

THE HUMP

THE WANDERER

The Shared Spark: Morphic Resonance and Creative Synchronicity

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Rupert Sheldrake, English biologist, biochemist, and author

One of my all-time favorite books is The Rebirth of Nature: The Greening of Science and God, by Rupert Sheldrake. It inspired this week’s Enso Oracle card, The Shared Spark.

Sheldrake’s theory of morphic resonance proposes that memory and habits are not stored only in brains or genes, but rather in collective fields called morphic fields. These fields carry information across time and space, influencing patterns of behavior and form. According to this idea, once something is learned or created, it becomes easier for others to learn or create something similar—not by imitation, but by tapping into a shared field of information.

This theory helps explain the uncanny phenomenon where two writers, artists, or inventors—working separately and unaware of each other—can arrive at the same idea simultaneously. They may be tuning into the same morphic field, where certain creative patterns or insights are “in the air,” accessible to anyone open to them. In this way, creativity may be less about ownership and more about resonance.

In her book Big Magic (another favorite), Elizabeth Gilbert recounts beginning a novel set in the Amazon rainforest—she was passionate about it, got a publishing deal, did deep research… then life pulled her away. After nearly two years, when she tried to return, the inspiration was gone. Then she met Ann Patchett, who revealed that she was writing a strikingly similar novel, also set in the Amazon—with no awareness of Elizabeth’s project. The idea… “migrated” to the mind of her friend and fellow writer, Patchett, where it grew into that author’s bestselling novel set in the Amazon jungle, State of Wonder.

Think about this : What if the creative idea that arrives unbidden—just as someone else is working on the same thing—comes not from your mind alone, but from a deeper field we all share? Jung called it the collective unconscious, a psychic ocean of universal symbols (archetypes) and instincts. Rupert Sheldrake, in The Rebirth of Nature, offers a complementary vision: that ideas and forms can resonate across individuals through invisible morphic fields.

The Shared Spark oracle card lives at the intersection of these two ideas—a visual embodiment of the moment when something ancient and collective sparks simultaneously in two separate souls.

The Shared Spark
aka The Echo Field

Keywords: Synchronicity, resonance, collective insight, unseen connection, simultaneous inspiration

Meaning:
When The Shared Spark appears, it reminds you that ideas do not exist in isolation. You are tapping into something larger—a morphic field of thought, memory, and form that transcends location and time. Whether you’re mid-project or just beginning, this card affirms that what you’re creating is part of a greater, invisible dialogue. Others may be receiving similar sparks right now—not because of imitation, but because you are attuned to the same current. Celebrate the wonder of this resonance. It means you’re exactly where you need to be.

In a reversed position, The Shared Spark invites you to release possessiveness or fear that someone else “got there first.” Comparison and self-doubt can cloud your unique contribution. Remember, even if the concept is shared, your expression is singular. Trust that your voice brings something irreplaceable to the field.

Reflection Questions:

  • Where have I experienced a creative idea that felt strangely universal?
  • How can I honor synchronicity without falling into comparison?
  • What unique perspective do I bring to a commonly held insight?

Affirmation:
“I am part of a greater field of vision. What moves through me is shared, but never duplicated.”

MORE ABOUT THIS

I had a note about this very subject last week from my friend and fellow artist and writer, Melanie Childress Reuter whose Made for Grace Arts lives on Substack. She wrote, “When you see my post on Sunday which I wrote nearly two weeks ago, you will wonder how in the world our brains got intertwined. My piece starts out with a story of a lady who keeps going to Michaels to buy supplies for the next latest/greatest. I promise I’m not copying you – lol!!!” Melanie is a master of practical spirituality – you’ll enjoy what she writes.

She referenced both my recent Oracle cards, The Shiny Object and The Hump. We’ve all experienced these things – that’s why these Enso Oracle cards are such a joy to invent. They are based on our real and messy and exhilarating and never-enough-time creative lives.

The Shape of What We Hold

Lately, as you may know, I’ve found myself deeply drawn to the form of the vessel—small boats, pods, bowls, bundles. And I’m not alone. In recent months, I’ve noticed artists, writers, and makers across disciplines turning toward vessels as symbols and structures—sometimes consciously, often intuitively. It’s as if the world is asking us to hold, carry, and contain something tender, transitional, and vital.

According to Rupert Sheldrake, this is no coincidence. When a form or idea begins to emerge in multiple places at once, it may be a sign of morphic resonance in motion—a shared energetic field where meaning is coalescing and transmitting itself through the minds and hands of many. Perhaps the vessel is not just a form, but a frequency.

Why now? Maybe because we are navigating uncertain waters, and the act of making a vessel—literal or symbolic—is a way of reclaiming our ability to gather, protect, and offer. It’s not just about what the vessel is. It’s about what it makes space for.

Which brings me to something I’m especially excited about:

My new online course, Vessels and Spirit Ships, will launch in just a few days on my Teachable site. This project has been in the works for nearly a year, and it’s full of all the things I’ve been exploring—wax, thread, paper, memory, metaphor, and mystery. If The Shared Spark speaks to you, I think this class will too.

Stay tuned. The tide is rising.

PS. If you’d like to take a look at Rupert Sheldrake’s book, The Rebirth of Nature: The Greening of Science and God, you can find it here on Google Books.

What’s that?? A shiny object????

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We are previewing my in-progress series of Enso Oracle Cards this month, each card based on real issues from real artists in The Enso Circle.  We’ve already looked at The Wanderer and The Hump. More about The Hump later in this post.

Today’s Enso Oracle Card is all too familiar to me. It’s called The Shiny Object. It shows up when I’m knee-deep in unfinished projects, surrounded by half-torn mulberry paper and unanswered emails, and I still think, “Ooh, I need to check out that new cold wax thingy that’s water soluble – ” and off I go to Pinterest or YouTube to “research.”

The reversed Shiny Object is that moment when inspiration turns into avoidance — when curiosity becomes the perfect excuse not to finish anything at all. It’s not judging me (okay, maybe just a little), but it does nudge me to ask: Am I exploring something new… or running away from the work that’s calling me? Sometimes, the most courageous act in the studio is simply returning to what we already started.

So here’s this week’s Oracle Card:

THE SHINY OBJECT ENSO ORACLE CARD

aka The Rabbit Hole
Keywords: distraction, novelty, curiosity, temptation, redirection

A clever crow perches atop a cluttered studio table, its beady eye fixed on a sparkling bauble outside the window. Around it, the half-hidden remnants of abandoned projects and tantalizing tools—paint tubes, half-sculpted clay, unwrapped pastels, a digital stylus, rusted wire, wax pots—whisper promises of possibility. This card reflects the lure of the new and the irresistible pull of novelty.

Upright, The Shiny Object invites you to examine whether your current fascinations are playful expansions—or diversions from deeper work. You may be called to explore something new, but be mindful: every “yes” to something glittering may be a “no” to something important. Choose with intention, not impulse.

Reversed, this card can reveal stagnation disguised as commitment. You may be clinging too tightly to one medium or routine out of fear of getting lost again. Remember that the joy of experimentation doesn’t always equal distraction. Sometimes, chasing a sparkle leads to unexpected treasure—if your feet stay grounded.

Reflection Questions:

  • What am I reaching for right now, and why?
  • Am I nourishing my creative center or avoiding something deeper?
  • Where do I need more discernment—or more freedom?

Affirmation:
I honor my curiosity, but I choose where to land. I can explore without losing my way.

_______________________________________________________

Confession: I chased a few Shiny Objects last week while I struggled with The Hump,  trying in vain to figure out my Altar for Celebration Circle. I knew what I wanted – it was going to be called Georgia’s Dream, a tribute to the legendary painter.

It started out great – I figured out how to attach a deer skull securely to the wooden altar structure. And then I found the perfect photo of Georgia O’Keeffe to use as my encaustic icon portrait. And then The Hump appeared. I was stuck.

The Hump stage:

It took three days and a few rabbit holes to give me the breathing room to get back to the Georgia’s Dream Altar. And then it just came together! Sometimes we need blocks and distractions to force us to look away so that we can come back with fresh eyes.

Here’s the story of Georgia’s Dream:

Georgia’s Dream
Assemblage by Lyn Belisle

In this poignant mixed media assemblage, artist Lyn Belisle constructs a shrine-like portal into the inner dreamscape of Georgia O’Keeffe during her later years at Abiquiú. Central to the piece is the bleached skull of a deer, crowned with delicate flowers and flanked by rusted metal leaves—symbols of both decay and transcendence. A turquoise cross rises behind it, evoking the spiritual landscape of the American Southwest and the sacred geometry of personal myth.

Beneath the skull rests an image of O’Keeffe herself, serene and centered, set into an aged niche like an icon. It is not merely a portrait—it is a mirror of longing and continuity. Below, a brush, thread, and turquoise fragments suggest the tools of her artistic and spiritual communion. The word “MILAGRO” etched along the base speaks to the miraculous transformation at the heart of the dream.

Georgia’s Dream imagines an ethereal journey: an aged O’Keeffe, her physical body frail, dreams of slipping into the spirit of a deer—fleet, luminous, unbound. In this dream, she races across the high desert mesas she once painted with such reverence, becoming part of the land once more. The assemblage becomes not just a tribute, but a vessel of metamorphosis—where memory, myth, and matter blur.

I’ll be back next week with a new card – see you then!!