My new book is synchronistically nearing completion simultaneously with all that is unfolding for me in this present moment. One whose depths I may never be able to fully translate outwardly. All that made its becoming possible and all that is embedded within it therefore for me. But I look around and see and have seen so many artists whom I too know their works at time are the same for them. Thus, I move forward in bliss of my own choosing knowing all that is mine to do is to release it into the ether of the great unknown and work with it how spirit moves and flows through me to.
In anticipation of the final phase of editing, and in laying groundwork for all that is already in motion, in stillness with motion behind it, I leave you with these reflections. A momentary pause for connection and gratitude for you being here, reading these words.
So little is without intention anymore. I hope you too are reaching a semblance of such a place in your life where that is so for you in whatever ways that means so for you. Where I was lost, is so too where I was found. And of all ironies, to have found that I wasn’t really lost to begin with, which I’d known in my own inner trusting within all along. All I can ask hindsight is, are any of us ever, truly?
As of lately, I wonder at times now if I’ve been reduced to a life of not really being seen again by much of anyone, for much of anything meaningful within. A deep irony as the love within me is finally flowing forth more so freely than ever prior, but so is life that way sometimes. Perhaps many feel this a little. Not on superficial levels, or the larger spectrums, the parts so easy about it for near all from my perspective, but those more intricate and intimate. Getting more into the subtler inner workings of our heart language and the little things that make us distinct.
But there’s an untruth in that too, isn’t there? I see me and I see more than me too, and so it doesn’t really matter either. If I’m seen at all relationally again after all that was annihilated out of and away from my life. Not after what I’ve been through. So very little matters to me now, despite how much that matters still. Anyone that even knew me before, would have to get to know me in new ways, all over again, in ways that are hard for words to convey.
Nevertheless, in that I still see others in the midst of unfathomable illusions, so too do I trust in the miraculous of the unknown that I will find others for whom I won’t have to spend the remainder of my days now translating the tiniest bits of my soul to just to be in relation with them or another closely at all. Something so layered, that came so effortlessly before, that feels so challenging to foresee as possible or express at all now. How it was made to be so.
What does it mean to graduate then from Van Gogh to Monet in this moment’s symbology for me? Something that flowed out so freely in deep understanding in the wake of the recent full moon energy. As one journal was near filled, the inspiration and need for the one to follow seamlessly received, and the literalness of the former depicted by a painting from the former, just as the latter is depicted by the latter as well. I knew as soon as I saw it, it was the right one to choose, just as I knew it when I saw the one prior. Every journal I choose to pour words upon paper into by my very small hands, it is this way for me. And I love those details about it. The whole process of it.
‘Tis to have overcome in full breadth within my self crazy making externally, and within as a result, due to the exchanging of such things impacting empathic souls most of all. And finding one’s own way for doing all this in the face of an unwell world alongside that world’s dictates of what delineates wellness or rightness at all. It is a marker of moving into witnessing the beauty that was always sensed and seen but that nearly got lost in relational meddling and misunderstandings and projections and interiority persecutions. But it’s so much more than that too.
From Van Gogh’s Ploughman appropriately mirroring all the sea of blues that is underlying his larger body of work and personal struggles, to the grace of Monet’s Water Lillies and all it stood on its own for. I stood before these very works recently, so close in space to one another these days, and far more of which I won’t expand upon, and in their shared presence felt so much speaking so loudly between in the ways and order of which I was guided to see them. The culmination in survival of an insane world war made necessary from globalization’s takings and greater world aim making goals, but so too, the overcoming of grief from it having happened. Not just in the personal, or momentary measures, but the collision itself at large. All scales of it.
Therein is there surrendering then to the innate light in darkness in the aftermath of continuity and resiliency shining through so beautifully. Not just of a spirit of peoples, but the spirit of the human heart itself to alchemize the most horrendous of things into something worthy for expression of the beauty in the human experience all over again. Not in some far and distant future utopic time that may never come to be, that would make it so easy to relay forth such a thing, but directly in the aftermath while the bittersweet taste is still remnant and obvious.
I very much look forward to my upcoming book being available for your hands and eyes and mind and heart to comb through and reflect more upon sensed tidbits meant for you to find within it if you so choose to pick it up. Thank you for being here.
