Art Archive - soul fish

When I Am Carried by the River

Angela Fischlein — Sat, 25 Oct 2025 17:11:50 +0000

When the River Carries Me

Aging is not a sudden break — it is a river that keeps carrying us onward, sometimes gently, sometimes fiercely.
Between letting go of the old shores and trusting the new currents lies a quiet initiation — one that can feel unsettling, yet deeply sacred.

Aging — that mysterious word that at times frightens us and yet inevitably calls our name.
It is not a standstill, not a fading, but a transformation that unfolds right in the midst of life.
As we learn to struggle less and trust more, a different space begins to open — softer, wider, truer.

This text is an invitation to stop trying to control the river of life and to surrender to its flow.
It is a reminder I whisper — or sometimes say out loud — to myself every day.
A piece of soul work, a touch of magic,
and perhaps a gentle recognition that aging is not an ending,
but another way of shining.

Of Aging, of Letting Go, and of Becoming

As you may have noticed, I’ve been spending more time lately with the theme of aging.
Perhaps because time itself feels quieter now.
Perhaps because the mirror has grown more honest.
Or perhaps because the inner call to become still has grown louder
than the noise of the world.

Against the Current

How long has it been?
That wild, defiant, radiant time when I swam against the current —
relentless, fierce, carried by the firm belief
that staying forever young must somehow be possible.

I swam as if my life depended on it.
And maybe it did — the life that still needed to prove itself back then.
I wanted to be invincible, luminous, swift —
a spark of stardust refusing to fade.

The Secret of Letting Go

And then, at some point, words began to drift toward me — quietly, yet unstoppable:
“Aging is not the end of swimming. It is the art of being carried.”

Since then, I have been practicing.
I no longer swim against time, – at least I try.
I let myself be carried. I let myself be changed.

Because, truthfully, there is no other way.
So I allow myself to be the river — not just the swimmer.

It sounds poetic, yes — but in truth, it is also uncomfortable.
For being carried means to trust what is greater than my will,
stronger than my ambition, older than my body.

It means making peace with my own finiteness —
and that is not an easy conversation.

The Art of Transparency

I discover: I have not become less.
I have become more porous.
Life moves through me like water through a sieve of light.
The forms change — the essence remains.

Sometimes I think of Inanna, the Sumerian goddess,
who descended into the underworld to surrender her garments and crowns,
until she stood naked and vulnerable before herself.

Perhaps aging is exactly that —
a sacred descent, a shedding of roles, certainties, and masks.
Not to lose oneself,
but to become more true.

The Breath of Heaven

And yet — sometimes, when the wind runs through my hair,
I feel the whole sky breathing within me.
As if everything I have let go of has returned,
softer, larger, transformed.

I realize: aging is not a vanishing.
It is a returning —
to the rhythm that carries us all,
to the place where the “I” no longer struggles,
but becomes part of the great river itself.

Who Am I When the Roles Fall Away?

When the parameters of identification begin to dissolve —
all that you believed yourself to be, your roles, your tasks,
the reflection you’ve seen in the eyes of others —
a trembling begins.
A fine, unsettling vibration at the very core of the self.

It feels as though the ground on which you built your life
suddenly turns soft —
not because it disappears,
but because it turns into water not because it disappears, but because it turns into water — or something like quicksand.

At first, there is often fear.
Who am I if I am no longer who I was?
The therapist, the mother, the warrior, the wise one, the lover —
each of them begins to loosen and peel away,
like skins you have worn for a long, long time.

It is a kind of undressing,
not before the eyes of others,
but before the mirror of your own soul.

The Quiet Revolution of Transparency

Socially, it can feel as though you’re slipping out of the grid.
The old answers to “So, what do you do?” dissolve into a gentle smile, -sometimes.
You begin to notice that belonging no longer arises from roles, but from resonance.
That identity is not fixed — it breathes.

In this state, something quietly revolutionary happens:
You begin to no longer have yourself — you begin to be yourself.
Not as a construct, but as a living movement.
The form of “I” becomes permeable,
and through its openings flows life itself — unedited, unmasked, unapologetically real.

It is not a state for vanity —
but it is one for the soul.

And you?

How do you meet your own aging?
Which myths accompany you — which images, which voices?
Would you like to share your reflections?
I would love to hear them.

Because perhaps aging, when we look at it together,
is not a decline —
but an initiation into the mystery of a becoming not yet visible.

Der Beitrag When I Am Carried by the River erschien zuerst auf soul fish.

Dignity and Aging

Angela Fischlein — Sat, 11 Oct 2025 12:37:09 +0000

Aging – for many women it remains a quiet taboo, a process few dare to speak of.
In a society that worships youth and perfection, maturity is often told as a story of loss – something to correct, conceal, or defeat. Yet aging is not a downfall, but a transformation: an invitation to enter one’s own depth.

As a psychotherapist, I see how deeply these transitions move women – including myself – physically, emotionally, and spiritually. In every fiber, the body calls for relationship, for attention, for a new and tender dialogue. Aging reveals what has long been ignored: needs, boundaries, vulnerability – but also wisdom, self-knowledge, and dignity.

As an artist, I explore this transformation through images. In my collages, bodies, symbols, and inner landscapes merge – telling stories of transformation, of the beauty of ripening, of the courage to remain visible.

For me, aging has become a creative process: a shedding of old skins, a listening to what remains when there is no longer the need to impress. A becoming – in the midst of passing.

There is the shock – almost a betrayal.

My body, once so loyal, so alive – the body that carried me, danced wildly, healed without question – now lies still more often. It no longer sets itself right. It asks for my attention. It speaks through a burning heel, through a hip that will not rest, through a fatigue that lingers like a shadow.

This is my encounter with a new dimension of being.

No longer the whirling dance of before, but a quiet pas de deux with impermanence.

I used to recover quickly – a week, and all was well again.
I was the self-reliant woman – strong, unbending, always ready to swing the sword, no matter how heavy the blade. It worked – magnificently, for a long time.

But now, things are different.
An infection that lingers for months, a heel that still burns, a hip that speaks to me each night.
It is as if my body is whispering the truth of finitude into my ear – persistent, unrelenting, and utterly clear.

The First Awakening

At first, there was shock — and then frustration.
The quiet outrage of realizing that my body, once so reliable, no longer obeys my familiar rhythm.
The “as before” no longer returns on command.
For decades, I could trust it to recover within days, to find its own alignment, to dance me through whatever came. But this year, the body speaks a different language.

It no longer self-corrects. It demands conversation, attention, tenderness — on its own mysterious terms.

Aging comes with its own agenda:

💧 The loss of elasticity — joints whisper, fascia pull tight, healing lingers.
💧 The silence of hormones — the gentle protection of estrogen has faded, and with it a youthful ease in skin, bone, and metabolism.
💧 The fragility of sleep — nights where body and mind call out instead of resting.

And through all this I begin to understand:
It is not about reclaiming the body I once had.
It is about receiving the one I have now.

This requires a new choreography:

💧 Instead of demanding, I learn to listen.
💧 Instead of striving, I practice slowing down.
💧 Instead of pushing through, I begin to soften — with small rituals, warm water, gentle movement, the kind of care that feels like prayer.

It is not easy.
There are days when the resistance is loud, when the memory of my old vitality stings.
But beneath the frustration, something else begins to stir — a quieter strength, born of surrender rather than control.

The Mirror of Society

We live in a culture that worships youth and smoothness,
that tells women their worth fades as their faces deepen and their bodies change.
But alongside this noise, another image is emerging —
a quiet revolution of women who meet their physical ripening with presence, not denial.

Where are our role models?
Perhaps they are already among us —
women who do not retreat into invisibility but step forward differently,
wearing their years as a mantle of truth rather than a disguise.

They move more slowly, yes,
but with the gravity of those who have lived and loved deeply.
They no longer serve the dictatorship of perfection.
They celebrate their bodies not because they are flawless,
but because they are real.
They speak of pain and change, of desire and strength, of joy that has learned endurance.

Finding Words, Building Bridges

To speak of aging — to name what changes — is an act of courage.
Language builds bridges: to ourselves, to one another, to a new kind of wholeness.
In speaking, we become witnesses to our own unfolding.

And so another image of womanhood begins to take shape — one that refuses erasure:

💧 A woman who carries her age openly, without apology.
💧 She wears her lines and her silver hair like a map of her becoming.
💧 Her body no longer rushes to please — it asks to be met.
💧 She does not hide — she transforms.
💧 She does not vanish — she arrives anew.

In a world that worships youth as the ultimate currency,
she embodies another beauty:
the beauty of ripeness, of clarity, of presence that no longer needs to prove itself.

And you — how do you meet your own aging?
I would love to hear your reflections, your stories,
your ways of listening to the changing rhythm of your own body.

Der Beitrag Dignity and Aging erschien zuerst auf soul fish.

When the world around us is drifting apart

Angela Fischlein — Fri, 19 Sep 2025 11:49:13 +0000

When the world pulls apart on all sides and voices drown each other out, we need inner antennas to sense where our life force may flow. Instead of letting ourselves be scattered, we can choose to guide it into channels that nourish us, connect us, and keep us moving.

As the days grow shorter, a space opens that calls us inward. It is a time when seeds ripen in the darkness before they become visible. From this depth arise forms, sounds, movements – the raw material of our creativity.

To create means embracing two things: the daring to set out into unknown terrain without a map, and the patience to grant the invisible protection and endurance.

Creative work means swinging between closeness and distance – engaging, releasing, returning. Only in this interplay does clarity emerge, and with it the moment when the next step reveals itself.

And so the one question arises: What is the one thing that truly calls me – and what is the first small gesture today that opens the door toward it?

Whoever walks this path learns to trust the invisible sight of night, to honor the body as guide, and to recognize in the voices of others the echo of one’s own search.

In this field of questions and sometimes tense experiences, images grow within me that then burst forth like a liberation – and often only reveal their meaning afterward, in the act of beholding. Thus, a few new digital collages have emerged, and one of them carries a story it longs to tell:

At the hour when the stars stand above the earth like open and watchful eyes, the unknown woman encounters the bull of blue light. Her hair streams in the wind, and her feet know the essence of the earth.

The bull – though one might not see it at first glance – is ancient. He is the symbol of the earth, of fertility, of wild natural power, of untamed instinct. In myths he has long borne goddesses across lands and seas. He is the beast of the moon, of sexuality, of creative potency.

He is the bull of blue light, whose horns hold the moons and whose mane carries the fire of the world.

His deep blue color mirrors the sacred, the transcendent that slumbers within matter.

The unknown woman with white hair wears no shoes, for she walks the path between worlds. Fish swim beside her in the air, birds sing in the element of water, and a butterfly leads her as though it were a messenger of transformation.

She climbs upon the back of the bull of azure substance. Each of his steps resounds like the heartbeat of the earth. His horns are not of horn but carved from moonlight. In his mane lives the fire of the elements. He bears spirals and seals upon his skin – ancient signs that can neither be read nor forgotten, only felt: the alphabet of the unconscious.

The nameless woman, with hair like flowing time, merges with the bull. She is the awareness, the soul, the guiding force that dares to ride upon matter.

The soul moves with matter, the light upon the heavy, the infinite upon the finite. Thus the bull strides with the woman upon his back across the hill – not spirit or flesh, heaven or earth, but always both at once.

At last, upon the highest hill, the bull stands still and speaks without words into the wind of time:
“I am the power that carries. You are the breath that guides. Without you I remain blind, without me you become groundless. Together we are balance.”

In times of tension, it helps to return again and again to one’s own silence, in order to hear the subtle voice beneath it. Whoever feels the breath discovers a thread that carries them through storm and restlessness. And when we remember what truly nourishes us, the inner compass realigns itself on its own.

And of course, it is easier said than done. The path through silence and not-knowing is an athletic challenge in its own right.

Der Beitrag When the world around us is drifting apart erschien zuerst auf soul fish.

Persephone

Angela Fischlein — Wed, 03 May 2023 08:33:22 +0000

Meeting Persephone

On March 23rd, 2023, Pluto entered the sign of Aquarius for the first time after a long stay in Capricorn. As my curiosity was piqued, I embarked on a little trip into cold celestial bodies. I quickly found myself in the land of the Roman and Greek gods while researching the stars.

Early history
Greek and Roman mythology portray Pluto and Hades as gods of the underworld. Both the Roman and the Greek rulers of the underworld were driven by the same deep desire: The Roman Pluto, a brother of Zeus, wanted Proserpina and the Greek Hades asked Zeus to mediate a conversation with Persephone’s mother, since he planned to marry her daughter. Due to Zeus’ knowledge that Demeter would not freely give her daughter in marriage to the god of the underworld, he had no interest to intervene in all these matters. Zeus shrugged his shoulders, explaining to his brother that he could take Persephone without Demeter’s approval. As the societal structures of the time changed, so did the well-known prehistory, resulting in much of it being altered from its original form.

Persephone
Known as a daughter of Zeus and Demeter, Persephone plays a prominent role in Greek mythology. Ancient Greek mystery cults celebrated Persephone’s return to the upper world as a symbol of nature’s reawakening. There exists a great deal of mystery surrounding ancient civilizations, whose practices date back to 1500 B.C. Chr. These ceremonies revolved around three central themes: descent and fall, sacrifice and fasting, transformation and the return of light and new life. Ancient fertility cults were brought to Greece via Crete, from Egypt. It is assumed they were associated with the goddesses Isis and Gaia. Sacred stories of mother and daughter have existed long before the Judeo-Christian idea of a divine father and son.

In Greek mythology, Persephone or Kore, the daughter of Demeter, symbolizes the new blooming of the harvest. It was during the fall of the year that only women in early Greece observed this significant ceremonial fertility ritual. Eventually, the cult reached Rome via Sicily, where Demeter and Persephone were worshipped as Ceres and Proserpina.

Originally known as Kore in her early stages of development, Persephone represents the youthful, vivacious, and enchanting goddess of spring. Demeter, her mother, loved and protected her until Hades, Persephone’s uncle and ruler of the underworld, abducted her and brought her to his domain. Note that no reference to rape or kidnapping is found in the original cult of Demeter and her daughter, nor in the traditions that preceded their mythology. This element was only present in the Olympic version of the myth introduced later in history. As recounted in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, a story dating back to the seventh century BC, Persephone was abducted into the underworld and subsequently forced into union with Hades.

The portrayal of Persephone as a kidnapped and raped victim is a dominant interpretation in her transformation, but it is believed that it only gained popularity after the shift from a matriarchal society to a patriarchal society occurred. Historical records indicate that violence and rape were not part of the original story.

How did the story unfold? One day Hades, Persephone’s uncle, emerged out of a crack in the ground and swept the young maiden away to the underworld as she was playing peacefully in a meadow and picking flowers. As has already been mentioned, there are reports of violence and rape. Her ascension to the throne of the dead as the goddess of the underworld was not accompanied by ritual or elaborate celebration. Due to the loss of her daughter, Demeter allowed the earth to wither and no fruit to grow for a long period of time. Eventually Zeus, the king of the gods, was turned to, and a compromise was reached after much back and forth. Hades reluctantly released Persephone for part of the year, but not before giving her pomegranate seeds, the fruit of the dead, to ensure Persephone had to return to the underworld. Due to Persephone’s consumption of these seeds, she was obligated to descend into the underworld each winter. This symbolized nature’s retreat from nature during the winter months. Upon Persephone’s return to earth, spring blossomed once more, and nature flourished once more. That concludes the well-known version.

Another variant of this narrative is far less well known and refers to the myth prior to social changes from matrilineal to patriarchal structures. Mother and daughter are pictured enjoying a happy and carefree time, the grain grows every year, surrounded by the magic of Demeter, and seeds grow, nourished by the underworld. The two women were united in a soulful connection until Persephone became aware of the existence of wandering and lost souls.

Despite Demeter’s desire to prevent her daughter from going to the realm of the dead, she was unable to prevent her from cutting the umbilical cord. Persephone returns to earth after spending a long time in service to the underworld. The sprouting and blooming of spring flowers at Demeter’s feet heralded her return. In response to her inner calling, Persephone returned to the realm of the dead following the annual grain harvest in order to continue serving the souls of the dead.

Persephone and her mother Demeter were central figures in the Eleusinian Mysteries, a religious tradition that dates back to the Mycenaean period (ca. 1400-1200 BC). Similarly to the myth of Inanna-Ereshkigal in Sumerian culture, crossing the underworld signifies change and transformation in the cyclical course of life. As the wheel of life turns, there is a constant and eternal coming and going, dying and being born of all there is on earth. In a symbolic sense, this also applies to individuals who experience life-changing transitions, illnesses, or intense suffering and pass through the gates to the underworld in their own individual way as a result of such events. It is not uncommon for Greek deities to assume multiple identities in ancient times. This can be seen in the goddess Persephone, Demeter, and Hekate (the elder self of Demeter). It is believed that these three faces and stages of spiritual development were worshipped together as a whole in presence of one Goddess.

The curiosity I had about Pluto led me to return to old myths in my search for information about the planet. At the end, it might be appropriate to mention what Pluto represents in astrology. As a result of a journey into the underworld, we may experience a transformation regarding our actual death. We may also experience a shift in how we perceive and experience ourselves due to deep shadows entering our lives. The realm of shadows is something we are forced to encounter by fate, in its own way. In this respect, it is no coincidence that Pluto symbolizes transformation and the power of deep change, and that it carries powers beyond moral judgment. Certainly, it is no coincidence that as a planet, it stands for the power of transformations we as humans inevitably undergo through crises. It also stands for the dissolution of mental and spiritual entanglements. Our healing powers emerge through the dying of old structures, bringing us a bit closer to our truth by awakening the dormant energy of our soul to the surface.

Readings further in depth: “Die verlorene Göttin”, Birgit Weidmann, “Lost Goddesses of Early Greece”, Charlene Spretnak, “Inanna – Gilgamesch – Isis – Rhea”, Heide Göttner-Abendroth

Der Beitrag Persephone erschien zuerst auf soul fish.

Artemis

Angela Fischlein — Fri, 21 Oct 2022 14:46:53 +0000

Artemis was worshipped by the Greeks primarily as the goddess of hunting, forests, and the moon, though she was also viewed as a patron saint of women and children as well. She kept an eye on all roads and their wanderers, as well as all water bodies and ships. Additionally, the goddess Artemis was the guardian of trade and all other transformative changes. Through her connection to nature and animals, she found her home in wild and flowering meadows.

The virgin goddess Artemis was one of the twelve gods of Olympus. These are Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, Apollo, Athena, Ares, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hephaestus, Hestia and Artemis. Her constant companions include the arrow and the silver bow equipped with great accuracy; other distinguishing features include wormwood and cypress.

Artemis and her twin brother Apollo are described in the lore of the Greek poet Hesiod as the children of Zeus and one of his mistresses, the Titaness Leto. In her jealousy, Zeus’ wife Hera chased and cursed the pregnant Leto, preventing her from finding a suitable place to give birth to their children. After many other gods and goddesses of Olympus stood by Leto, Poseidon created the island of Delos for her to give birth on.

As the first-born, Artemis assisted her mother in the birth of her younger brother Apollon as soon as she was born. As a result, Artemis was invoked as the tutelary goddess of childbirth from that point forward. The first-born Artemis represents the moon’s feminine power, while Apollon stands for the sun’s male power.

From today’s perspective, Artemis is considered the goddess of freedom and self-determination. Artemis is guided by her heart alone; she is an independent goddess. Artemis carries the driving energy and clarity that are necessary for making clear and objective decisions. In some cases, one may also have to establish and demand clear boundaries and demarcations for oneself, even to the chagrin of others.

Legend has it that Artemis, like all gods and goddesses of Olympus, also has a dark side, which led her to take cruel revenge. In retaliation, she was willing to kill others for her revenge and met arrogance and ridicule with harshness. For us today, that would mean encountering the dark side in us when we encounter mockery, scorn, devaluation, or any border crossing.

Sacred animals for Artemis are the stag and the bear, and she also feels deeply connected to the ibex and deer. Associated with fertility and growth, she is the goddess of nature and the tides. In nature, Artemis is associated with spring, when life begins anew. „Since every beginning carries a magic that protects us and helps us to live“ – loosely based on Hesse¹⁾, Artemis is also perceived as the goddess of magic, who carries within her the magic of change and becoming.

1) Stages, Hermann Hesse from the book “The Glass Bead Game”

Der Beitrag Artemis erschien zuerst auf soul fish.