A baby girl came into the world, with a huge heart and a brilliant light.
She landed in a family steeped in fear, hidden secrets and lies everywhere.
A mine field, one she navigated with care and disbelief, unsure how it was that these beings could be so unaware of the magic carried by love.
She was battered, inside and out. Violated in every way, over and over. She learned to disappear.
She stayed connected to the guides who’d known her forever. She learned not to speak to them aloud.
Living this way made her an excellent story teller, a consummate shapeshifter.
And yet, her heart stayed true through it all.
Though she had to build heavy, thick walls to keep it safe.
And in the busyness of maintaining that protection around her heart, she forgot. She covered it all up.
She lost track of the truth – the knowledge that we are all born with. That all is well.
Between self medicating and hiding and looking like everyone else, she completely forgot why she came.
She checked the boxes. She played the games. She grew up and flew the nest, quickly.
In her determination to fit in, she had listened to those who told her she was not an artist. She was not enough.
So she no longer recognized her own reflection, when wise ones tried to remind her of all she was, and was not.
And then, like many, she existed from day to day. She became a cog in a wheel, woke up enough to realize it.
Became a cog in a different wheel, somewhere else. She moved house a lot, looking for something called home.
In a flash of light, she recognized him. She saw, just for a moment or two, someone she belonged with.
Though she mistakenly thought that meant belonged to, which caused more shapeshifting, more hiding, more pain.
Knowing that babies knew the truth, she called them to her. Finally, one stayed and that began a whole new adventure.
A path that was impossible to travel, believing that she was ugly, bad, rotten to the core. All she’d been told, multiplied by decades of time.
Which led her to decide to leave. Permanently. Luckily, another bright soul helped her to begin again, instead of writing The End.
She decided to stay and in order to do that, changed everything. The symbol for who she was, the myriad masks she wore.
The stories she’d believed. She extended an invitation to her guides to rejoin her, and apologized for her forgetting. (They’d never really left.)
She just uncovered her ears, and listened. And in time, she took to dismantling the cage she’d built around her heart. She nearly fell apart. A lot.
And when she did, some angel on earth would carry her to the next place. Over and over. (Turned out they’d always done that, too.)
One of those angels put a paint brush in her hand. When the now grown up girl said the words she’d heard forever, the hard ones to say, she cringed.
“I am not an artist.” She reminded her that’s all she truly was – an artist. That we are all here to create the world, to bring in color and light, and so much good.
And one by one, struggling more than words can say, she began to do just that.
The woman remembered the girl, the girl remembered the infant and the light returned to them all. Maiden, mother, crone.
In a half century’s time, she’d come full circle. She found more like her, collecting them along her path like the brightly colored, shimmering stones they are.
The tribe and the power greater than us all welcomed her back with open arms, hardly remarking on her battle scars and the lengthy travel time.
They loved her and she loved them and with all that in place, she began to share the wisdom she’d always had inside her heart.
The words and images she’d always seen as making her different, as being dangerous to bring out in the world. The ones she’d been told were crazy.
In fact, they were the very gems she’d carried here and kept safely locked up inside for so very long. It turned out that fear had hidden the love.
Just as it had in her early days with that group of disparate souls. The ones she now sees as her teachers and sends love to from afar.
She brings those jewels to light, every day, in words and pictures and images. She shoots what she sees – the truth, the beauty, the love.
On the easel, she brings images from her heart to life in the ways they want to arrive, having learned that rules only keep the light at bay.
She sees the stories for others, translating them through a prism of light, a lens of compassion and tells them just what they can hear for now.
Occasionally, she slips or stumbles and begins to believe she’s too much, too different, that there isn’t room for her, as we all do. But now?
Now she’s caught in the embrace of those wise souls she surrounds herself with and gives thanks for every day. For the light they reflect back to her.
And she brings that light to others, beaming it out steadily and with ease, allowing the world around her to heal as it’s ready to. And best of all?
She teaches others to do that same. All while continually giving thanks for the journey that brought her here, and for the company she keeps.
(I guess you could say she lives happily ever after.)