The Art of Healing

Every color: every aspect, texture, design, ability, and possibility that lives within me melts, burns, sprinkles, coats, and layers this rock. I am, and always have been, full of dreams. The passion is in the process, as I encounter both doubt and delight, marveling in the awareness of my own work's embodiment as I persevere and aim for gratitude.

There is no need to fear when each and every time, I come to discover that my own deeply developed sense of trust and commitment is what holds the key. Do you believe in yourself? Could the answer to this have the power to open up everything, beyond the doors of space and time . . .

With all windows in the apartment open, I reign in the natural elements of wind and fire. The sap drips in the blue-rooted flame, guiding me back to a powerful stillness I held through pen and page as ink bled black in the middle of Phoenix. The eye of the storm. That's what I called it while there. Funny how I'm just realizing now the significance of the city's name.

The sap begins to bubble as I move the flame slowly, letting the nectar burn in places if need be. This is the art of creating----the art of healing. Deep in my subconscious, I know with time, the magical wings will emerge, but not yet. Still softening the sap, the flame moving faster now, I'm focused on smoothing the surface.

With the air richly fragrant, warm pine almost too pungent to bear, I open the slider door and let in the full-bodied wind. It's enough to light up my skin, awakening every horizon until I am fully aglow in outline. And yet, the scent of sap is still too strong.

I move toward the spices in the kitchen, and instinctually, grab the nutmeg. I want more warmth----something I can taste, not just smell. The nutmeg sprinkles on like dirt, soft sandy beaches in the grooves and shallow pockets of land. I let its magic powder the rock, in love with the subtle elemental change. Beneath the liquid coating of white paint, grains of texture arise like moon rocks, close enough for me to touch. I want to dive in fully as I push the paint ashore, watching as the white seeps beneath the raised edges of golden land.

This is the zoomed in perspective, but from a distance, the entire rock now looks like a splatter of bird poop. Humor is my strength and flexibility point whenever creations yield this uncertain kind of space----the space that doubts and challenges the overall vision.

How much do you want this?

How much do you trust and believe?

There is no erasing or crossing out when it comes to these rocks. My faith is tested in every way as my two main options are to either throw out or create on, and because I already know that these particular rocks are gifts, not burdens, I of course, create on.

Inspired now by the land, I generously coat all white with a layer of burnt orange. I let the desert saturate to a liquid view, where the medium spills out into space, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality. We can swim in this. Navigating with forces beyond what is absolutely there, I watch the tide rise in ability. The connection now is multi-layered, multi-dimensional. Red rocks coat moon rocks, but in truth, they're all existing at the same time, and with the paint still wet, the planes mix at various points.

I don't stop until everything is Sedona sand. Have I reached primordial waters? Not quite. Now, from a distance, the rock's elements blend together, but the cohesion is heavily reliant on that one color. My dreams are more than this. Life is more than this. I trace galaxies and rainbow constellations in the sacral waters. Like snowflakes, they crystallize and expand, but none of it makes sense until I mix together a watery purple and let the stream drip off my palette onto the rock.

That's when the entire vision comes together. That's when every color I ever could have imagined emerges and bathes in wonder as each one's gifts are reborn in the current of life. There are many currents. As the paint dries, the flow of endless colors makes this clear, and just like the ocean, the whole of the creation is infinitely magical.

But even so, it's still not complete. There's something about the sap center that makes me sad, and so, I hang out with this sadness for a day or two. I allow it, you allow it----my boyfriend and I, we both grant each other permission and space----and in this space, I find myself bathed in the scorpio full moon. The following day, I discover that I can hear better. Sense, center, and understand better too. The nutmeg, added intentionally for more warmth, taps me into something beyond that, something more.

Can you trust in your instincts?

Can you be open enough to the process of creation and healing?

Out of curiosity, I look up the spiritual meaning and uses of nutmeg. Did you know that when accompanied by a purple candle, nutmeg can be used to reign in spiritual guides? I didn't know that, at least not while in the process of naturally creating . . .

And with this deeper connection to self, to romantic partner, to universe, and to natural instincts, I celebrate and ground it all out the way I know best----with a walk in nature. Along the road, up the hill from our apartment and just before exploring a brand new trail, I find the last element needed to complete my rock. I pick up the strip of white birch bark and carry it in one hand, my water bottle in the other. I hold it with me for all three hours of the hike, and once back home, I lay the natural paper flat in the sun and trace the wings of a butterfly. I press its body into the warm pine center, where everything truly meaningful, I keep.