So close to my birthday, on a day of significance, to me, for reasons I would have otherwise. I find myself awake and motivated to meditate. The struggle, for this moment at least, is gone. I follow it and what starts as the challenging inward plunge becomes a dive to depths only ever previously glimpsed before. So different, every time.
Tapping into the root chakra, its beautiful red glow is so much brighter after the two-year journey to learn from and let go of the latent traumas. How did this serve me? ...Wait, what is this dull orange that hovers just above? I have been creative, have I not? The sacral chakra, so dimmed, suppressed, begs to differ.
When was the last time I freely created? Ah yes, that picture I drew, the image that came to me several months ago, I recall but... What does it mean?
Neither drawing, nor painting, are my forte, my preference has always been word art. However, I found myself there with a canvas, bought on a whim, sometime long before. My pencil hovered above the vast white space which held so much potential to be anything.
How to capture this image? How to do justice to the beauty it showed, a wisdom resonating in my heart and soul?
"Just begin."
My hand moved and lines appeared. The formation of circles, triangles, squares and ovals, a sacred geometry as the guiding force.
A silhouette, the shape of seated form, hands reaching to the sky.
The first yoga, carried through eras of time, the spirits desire to fly.
Breathing in, breathing out, a minim, a quaver, and a semibreve
Wreathed and suffused, with a clef to lead the way.
Cyclical pattern along the full spectrum of a vertical staff.
A radiant beam, conducting this mortal path.
And so now, once heard, can I finally, see?
This instrument, given, as part of this divine symphony.
So, what shall be the notes I play?
What songs do I choose to sing?
What harmony might be found this way?
In rhythm with the space between.
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