Friday, September 09, 2005

My Spirit Guide Brings A Message
48" x 40"
Acrylic, Oil,
Gold Leaf

My Spirit Guide Brings A Message

This painting is about a dream I had and the Spirit Guide who led me through it. I was sleeping and I felt my spirit detach from my body. Not an uncommon experience from what I've heard through talking with people about it, but it had never happened to me before. I lifted slowly out of my room, floating higher and higher into the air. I could see the land laid out before me. I also noticed that I was not alone. There was someone with me, but I couldn't tell who it was, only that I felt relaxed and at peace. I also noticed that there was a trail of light flowing from me back down to my body, undulating and filled with a soft, pulsing light.

I rose higher.

Soon I could see the curvature of the earth and I ascended above the clouds, the stars becoming sharp. Crisp. I could see the demarcation line between night and day on the earth, and the long shadows cast by the clouds along the terminator. I saw the intensity of ocean blues and the softness of green and brown, yellow and grey that made up the continents and islands. Still, I rose higher.

I looked up a little and saw the moon hanging impossibly still and close, bright and clean, the light reflected from it returning as subtle shades from the earth's night side. And the earth itself...a small pebble of life, spinning in a vast emptiness. A miracle.

I felt the life stirring along the surface, flowing through the air, burrowing into tree, earth, and stone. I felt it swimming through the waters and it sang! I heard the song not with my ears but with my heart. A small song of hope and exuberance. There was a subtle harmony of sorrow interlacing the prominent voice, but it only seemed to add to the sweetness. I heard a heartbeat, a massive, slow rhythm, pulsing out the hours, the years, the eons. At first I thought it was coming from our small planet, but it was whispered in my ear that this was the breath of the universe. To me, it sounded like footsteps in the sand, or the mysterious pulse you hear as a child, falling asleep on your pillow, unaware that you are hearing the flow of your own life, the blood coursing through your veins.

Even more distant, I began to hear the supporting voices of sun and moon, planets and distant stars - far off life from far off worlds - so remote that this shared music was the only way we would ever know of one another. Distances so great that perhaps our millienia of existence was like a teardrop in the ocean compared to the gulf of space which separated us. And then I felt a hand in my own, pulling me back. The world moved inexorably closer and I was once again surrounded by atmosphere and sweet air. Moisture laden clouds brushed through my spirit, cleansing me as I returned to my body. I was aware of human beings as a great family, helping to shape the music of life, our great work.

And then I awoke, tears staining my pillow, and the drumbeat of Creation sounding in my ears.






a small note:

To anyone who has been trying to reach me in the past couple weeks, as you know, it hasn't been easy. I'm all yours.


Anonymous said...

I had a friend once who used to imagine himself floating around like a helium-filled balloon, occasionally letting his string touch the ground, just to feel he was still anchored.
Your experience seems so much richer :-)
You use your words well, Aaron. I believe there is a novel somewhere deep in your heart. One day it will want to be written. I will be one of those waiting to read it....

lorna said...

Hurray, glad you are back and posting new pictures for all of our delectation. This one is beautiful- as always.

Aaron Paquette said...

I remember that balloon-man. He was always hoping for an anchor. I heard he made his own in the end.

As for novels, I'm afraid I wouldn't know the first thing about it. I can collect (and slowly am) other people's stories...but that seems ambitious enough for this decade.


Lorna, you are an excellent example of why the British always seem to come out okay: a wonderful command of virtually edible words!