This is for every time I write and feel I am solving a mystery,
Unraveling a riddle,
Holding space for the divine,
Attending mass for the soul,
Clearing the runway for takeoff.
And for those of you shyly scribbling revivals n’ revelations,
To those whom paint their rebirth onto canvas,
To those whom sing soft songs of freedom,
And whom craft rhythmic recordings that rouse revolutions,
For all whom seduce the muse into sharing her secrets.
For the pain and the fear and the agony and the triumph and all of the times when we struggle to start;
For the fumbling, and the seeking and the ruthlessly ravaging, through halls of memory and mirrors of learning to grasp for understanding, for insight, for revelation.
When we shake the dust to wake the muse and meet only another blank page…
And for all of the times when we turn out the light, press mute on what ought to naturally soundtrack our psyches with songs of truth, and joy and awareness-unveiled by that angelic voice of expression.
However healing, the embrace of artistic freedom can be an elusive and often agonizing ambition;
but does that have to be?
Do we fight against ourselves in our endeavor to suppress the inordinate amount of pain-potential possible, with the unleashing of creativity?
Is the pain required, mandatory to the modality?
(Catharsis is chaotic but cleanses nonetheless) or does that suffering manifest from stifling our voice, from seeking from without, without first cultivating from within?
For those who seek angels elsewhere, petition teachers for divine bestowals of wisdom; and as bringers of blessings of bravery, and of evolutionary inspiration,
Looking to them to justify, and to guide, and to give answers to those aching Achilles heel questions that become our motive in all we do…
It seems far too quaint the notion, that external associations ought replace the hard won sonata; conducted by an acute sense of self.
In the whispering of witnessing…celestial persuasion becomes clear.
The divine truth my loves, lays in your lips, eyes, hands, in your brush, in the goose bumps that rise when recognition dances ‘cross the windshield of awareness.
Your truth is in your expression.
There is so much potential for liberty in bravery to bare your soul,
So much inherent brilliance in recognizing safety within your words,
Or finding home behind your lens,
Or unity wielding the painters brush,
All existence is a canvas…
And the unpainted story of your victory, awaits with the first step of design.
Fuck fraudulent facades fabricated by false prophets or solutions sought sans-self,
Cut the shit and surrender to your own answers.
Your art is the flavour of salvation, sacred sustenance by which to nourish more beautiful realities…sustain more shining aspirations.
In art, you are your own angel; you are the conduit for healing and for answers,
Open the divine dialogue and let the angels soar in through your perception, imprinting an effortless wisdom.
A deep remembrance washed over as I re-birthed this notion, re-realized this revelation, made it to this place of understanding, where I have stood a thousand times.
I thought about speaking to my angels, played out the transcriptions in my mind;
I have so many times tried to open the conversation without listening…at moments that seemed opportune, or in acts of desperation…refuting the evidence that celestial communication is internal.
Calls fell upon deaf ears, and the same lesson’s song shuffled on, in the playlist of my heart.
Like a slowly developing photograph, I see now those instances invoking angelic answers, I listened for the wrong responses,
Or not keenly enough to the organic nuances of understanding…the impulses…the feelings.
For a sound from without, instead of an impulse from within.
I’ve spoken to angels on my knees, and laid-out under blue skies,
Naked in shining waters, and drenched in storms,
And standing on the ledge, and at the verge,
And with converging of the worlds, now it’s clear,
My revelation, hardly new in notion, led me back where it always does, as an answer for all…
To the words; to the ethereal flow of ink, to the unburdening prophecy of a punched key,
A purposeful stroke…an unleashing of angelic answers…the creative source.
Those moments where I am in the rawest, purest, realist state of being;
I am here, in the flow, in my words, letting the angels speak their piece,
I step back to allow their expression and in it, I’m just a vessel, a conduit, and a grateful wingman for the winged-words.
In unbridled creative expression, we are divine; we are the truest aspect, the most unrefined source,
In our humanity, in our vulnerability, in an uncut version of reality, in the flow…
You are your own hero.
Expression is lip service to the divine.
Tune into your voice, and give voice to your angels.
In the Kundalini yoga tradition, the adi mantra (as I have heard it articulated by a teacher who as it happened, was also a gifted artist) is used as a reverence to the creative aspect of the divine. Often sung to open practice, and call upon divine wisdom in creative energy, to aid its manifestation.
By chanting it, we open ourselves to the infinite source:
Ong Namo Guru Dev Namo
I bow to the Infinite Teacher within.
Try it as a prelude to petitioning to (or painting portraits of) your patrons of saintly wisdom.
Then listen without prejudice, to the artful answer.
Rachelle Webb does not so much dig on labels though she has worn many: artist, writer, “suit,” strategist, catalyst, columnist, analyst, INTP, “guera torpe,” and presumably various other adjectives, unmentionable. Lover of all things beautiful, truthful and absurd; hater of all things mediocre, dishonest and lacking integrity. With the heart of a philosopher and the mind of a scientist, she has a penchant for paradox and a lusty love affair with words. She’s not sure what happened to her fascination with neon, though she swears that she left it somewhere in the 90’s. An artistically driven aficionado of big, fat ideas; and an idealistically driven advocate for empowering positive possibility, she’s a supporter of the supporters and co-creator of positive-rebellion. And while not engaged in such ambitions, can be found head standing in obscure locations, frolicking any & everywhere, and working tirelessly to recapture the feeling of being five years old.
She strives for a sustainable living-moving revolutions forward and serving heart-centric businesses VIA: art in motion creative services—a mindful marketing and conscious creative business development boutique, Ecocentric Guide, enerCHI (www.enerchi.ca ) crafting tools of empowerment, conspired to see you thrive—and The Inner Garden, Toronto’s Sacred Gathering Space, which welcomes fellow visionaries, change agents, sacred activists, social prophets and spiritual seekers to connect, create and transform.
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Ed: Bryonie Wise
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