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The Charade



On the masks and creative self-expression:


A couple of years ago, I started writing. Words pouring forth from some undiscovered well of wonder when I dropped down into a state of ease and curiosity. I am hoping at some stage to form the scrolls and scripts I have now collected into a book or maybe even books and so I signed up for two webinars on how to write. Both workshops included meditative explorations. During the first, I encountered vision where I was wearing the book as bars across my face/my mouth (the covid/mask charade was not yet even in full flow across the globe). Charade: an absurd pretence intended to create a pleasant or respectable appearance, hmmm. Writing and producing the book was reflecting my sacral expression becoming unbarred as I was awakened through the purity of love and walked forward learning to feel safe enough to express. Is the subject taboo? Somewhat, yes. Descriptions of a spiritual connection revealed, so consuming that some days it was difficult to function in the real world. Entangled relationship dynamics, deception, toxic patterns running through the bloodlines and broken wings… through the ages the bars have been welded tightly in place amongst our collective psyches. The archetypes that I feel flow through my pen to paper were even written out of our books and bibles through time, too over-aweing and ultimately empowering to be shared, so thought the few fearful men in control at least: keepers of the grail, hushing away hues of brilliant light in secrecy.


How did this come to be? Through fire: breathing sensitivity into intuitive understandings. The passions I lived through led to a purification of my etheric feeling body and shifted my awareness and perception of life.


The second workshop with @Eva Andrea included a meditation/visualisation to meet our muse. As I imagined myself walking through high grassy reeds toward my soul castle to meet the ‘soul child’ blossoming in my belly - vibrant shades of orange glowing outward from an orb of light surrounding the castle. As I entered, I found myself within a great hall of mirrors, the reflections we face through life and Oronos the fire dragon, one of the creatures in the story, to the rescue. As I made my way toward the window within the study where I imagined myself writing, I saw high beams and a vibrant mandala in the centre of the floor. Only now that I investigate the representation of the mandala I find it is an imaginary palace contemplated during meditation, with each object in the palace having significance, symbolizing an aspect of wisdom or reminding the meditator of a guiding principle. The mandala's purpose being to help transform ordinary minds into enlightened ones and to assist with healing. And then my muse appears when I ask: Magdalene, of course. It is Christian mysticism that draws me in like no other spiritual lineage or pathway, the dead sea scrolls, the Essenes, the gospels that didn’t make the cut for the King James VI bible, Mariam and Yeshua. Her eyes haunt me, her wisdom astounds me, her compassion and love unending, undying, vast: it is who I am, and she gifts me wings…


I don’t believe the masks will be with us for too long within our microcosm of the macro. As sages of the ages taught: It is not the Caesar in Rome we need fear, yet the Caesar within us all. In other words, self-work is required to lift our collective shadows. Where in life are we all keeping up absurd pretences intended to create pleasant or respectable appearances? When all it does it keep us small.


Write, create, express... fearlessly. 😊


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