Friday, 28 February 2014

Letting go: the power of transformation

Icy Ambience by Ibrahim Ganiyu

For Ateinda


And in the butterflying freedom
I absorb the fierce rays
Rhythms of translucent energy
pour into
the hollow deep dark
I expand in the variant glow
I take the quiet seat
I fly into the reaching light
and levitate in the pull
I am swaying
The leap is swift but…


I take the stage
And sigh.

Mandala by Cristina Mcallister

Metamorphosis by Pochi Chan

A few years ago I dedicated two Shouts to the Brown and Root Tower building in Colliers Wood. The first looked at something I called the “Brown and Root effect” as symbolic of the lasting impressions of pain and trauma. The Tower is an eye sore landmark of this little area in Merton but it’s not possible to get to my home without passing it. I regard it as a symbol of stubborn blockages that hinder my spiritual Path (my journeying home). The second Shout celebrated the “Tumbling of the Tower” since it seemed that finally the blot would be demolished. I knew it was likely to be replaced by flats - any aspirations of a lovely cultural centre seemingly redundant. But four years later, the monstrosity is still there. If the Tower is a symbol of stubborn blockages which a few years ago I seemed ready to dismantle, how is it that the sign (spiritually) is still there? I’ll try to break it down in this rendering of Wordz.

Because I often write and speak about past traumas, in a purposeful, self-reflective effort to free myself from the damage they do, I tend to think “I’m over it.” In order to cultivate a deeper connection with spirit and kindle soul force, it is vital to do the kind of freeing up and releasing that is the aim of self-reflecting. The legitimacy of release and renewal must be precise: in Divine Order and Divine Timing, as my darling mother would say. The prematurity of liberation from a given experience produces an artificial, outer expression of Self. It’s projected rather than perfected.

Perfecting a renewed Self is not so simple as I might have imagined – given the still erected Brown and Root Tower blighting my journey. Moments ago, I referred to it as a “monstrosity” because some blockages are in truth demonic; meaning they are the destructive, subconscious forces that manifest after some terrifying experiences. They are repugnant little creatures embedded in the psyche causing all kinds of mischiefs despite varying attempts to live a whole and complete life. They are the little imps whispering negativity, doubt and fear every time I take a meaningful step forward. Tugging against my strong stride they hold me back – just as the powerful gust of wind blows me back when I’m trying to walk past the ugly Tower. By holding me back I mean they make creativity, productivity and potential seem impossible – make the small steps toward divine purpose heavy.

Till the last petal by Daniel Emeka

The worst ravages of these demons are reflected in a loss of creativity and forgetting. They have crowded the subconscious so overwhelmingly that it cannot fully remember its divine purpose. That understanding of divine purpose is what enables me to nurture spirit, advance creatively instead of being wrapped up in the mundaneness of life – trying somehow to make it orderly (or controlled) as opposed to the free flow that comes with creativity and self-trust. Recognising my divine purpose and expressing my creativity clears my Path. The demons (bacoos, we call them in Guyana) are there to make fuzzy my memory and keep me in a position from which they can insatiably feed on my vulnerability. The more they feed, the weaker I am and the longer it takes for me to dance in the rhythm of my creative light. But demons and dragons have weak spots too.

The elixir necessary to eliminate the blockages (the mighty Brown and Root Tower) is enmeshed in the very subconscious wherein they are seated comfortably. In order to “overcome the monster” I have to face it; how else can I locate the precise spot of vulnerability and thrust my dagger through it? Let’s take a look into the well of memory and see how the monster was birthed.

The little girl was summoned by two ugly cousins. They made her strip naked. She saw the belt. She cannot remember if it was patent or real leather. They asked her to turn around. The lashes left scars. But being on her back, she could not see them properly. A little older, she one day noticed her finger rub against a raised bit of skin on her back. It seemed like it was the first time she had felt this tiny mound.
“Don’t tell anyone about this otherwise we’ll give you some more, you hear?” the cousins had told her as she put back on her clothes. She didn’t remember the beating or the soreness of her back - but the warning.

Dyana and her dragon by Mshindo Kuumba and Orlando Harding

In this scenario a likely demon is forgetting. Psychic amnesia does nothing for our sense of Self since they encourage us to project a false personality. Another would be terror - this creates a kind of psychic seizure, impotency and disempowerment making Self-belief profoundly difficult. You may observe that the child only recalled the warning not the beating. The significance is that this “warning” is restrictive – it’s a blight, blocking forward movement (physically, mentally); it’s a discordant rhythm of negativity that opposes the creative rhythm of light. It has possessed – manifested – in the spirit of the child, submerged itself comfortably in her subconscious to the extent that she believes she has overcome the experience. Slaying this demon involves going to this subconscious place and dealing with the entirety of the experience – that both beating and warning induced the terror; that the scars are physical as well as psycho-spiritual. More than this, the girl might have retaliated (sought vengeance) on some other child as a necessary means of survival.

The girl has two pretty cousins. A few years older, she is often left to babysit the girls.
“Strip naked. It’s time to take your bath,” she tells them one day, preparing the way for many more days like this. The bubble bath is in one of those animal shaped holders – an ugly dark green cat. She looks at the cute cousins huddled in the bath.
“If you don’t do as I say, devilyn is going to eat you, fingers first,” she says slowly waving the bubble bath cat at the girls. Then she sings – “devilyn… devilyn… devilyn is going to get you…” and completes the chant with a giggle. She cannot see their scars, only hears them crying behind the locked bathroom door. The girls will not remember the limey, fresh smell of the bubble bath, the warmth of the water, nor the ugly green cat, but they will always remember the warning.

The troubling thing about blocks (the psychic demons) is that they create ripples or ruptures in our lives. Or said another way – they reproduce themselves but transform shape. Victim sometimes becomes oppressor often because they have not slain their demon – or sought the precise pressure point and method by which to defeat them. The girl must now face both experiences and undergo a more honest reflection about her Self-development and nurturing. Time will pass, she will become adult and revisit these stories but if reviewed in isolation the third eye has not been properly opened and there would only be partial understanding of what they signify. So the Tower remains.

There’s an obvious thread in the story. The experiences are connected with family. Here begins the silent feud, the incomprehensible resentments – hatred even. A cycle of misunderstandings give way to the past and forgotten gremlins residing comfortably in the psyche (of all the players in their parts), preventing the fullest expression of love and understanding necessary to strengthen family bonds. But without this understanding, the stagnation impacts the individual as well as the collective. The individual must do the thorough self-reflection in the interest of advancing the well-being of family. The well-being of a family promotes the well-being of the individual; the lasting effect is the mending of those ruptures. This will have a powerful bearing on how we see ourselves within the wider community.

Broken by Hasani Claxton Art

Solitary by Rick Blackwell

You might be wondering about the outcome – the choicest happy ending of the story. So let’s take another peep into the well:

The girl is now a woman. Sometimes when she finds herself looking into the well of her memories, she recognises the ugly cousins wielding the belt. In another moment she hears the sound of the pretty cousins crying behind the bathroom door. She’s sorry for them, though a wave of wickedness tells her it was child’s play. She tries, but feels nothing for the ugly cousins.
One day in some sudden moment of stillness she compresses the two experiences. As she looks deeper into the well she hears a voice saying:
“I cannot change the past. I recognise how these experiences have shaped me into the person I am now. And I can let them go. They no longer have a place in my life.” She struts to a window, as though something had summoned her there. She notices how bright it is outside; the sun had just made its morning appearance and releases a sharp wink in her direction. She allows herself to breathe in a new feeling with the sunlight blushing her cheeks. The tingling and tickle came with the same voice as before – “when you have a chance, do some work on the garden. Those weeds are spiralling out of control. It’s time you remove them.” With the same sudden impulse she moves to the back of the house as if urgently needing to get to the garden. She sighs, at those ugly weeds. “Where are my garden gloves,” she wonders and begins to search for them in a forgotten cupboard somewhere in the house.

African Voodoo by Obery Nicholas

Angel of the Valley by Ibrahim Ganiyu

Fuin Tumba by Chastity James

Towers – those blocks blighting our creativity, hindering our onward journeys – only possess us interminably if we let them. The opportunity to let go comes with a kind of readiness to recognise the right moment. Some significant age – like turning 40 or 50 might be the trigger, when we’re looking into the well of our existence over time. Fear of the impending changes might take over, so we hold on to the Tower since to release it is to enter the void of the uncharted. We’ve known the previous pains and are frightened to replace these with others. We think this is the natural exchange - pain for pain. But in the rightful embrace of change and transformation what’s likely is the exchange of pain for the return to the innocence of creativity, of feeling free to express ourselves, unhindered, unafraid. This next scene from the well is revisited with a view to dismantling its structure.

Teacher: so T. what are you going to do with yourself when you leave school?
T. I want to be a lawyer, sir.
Teacher: (Laughing) Oh is that so!
T. Yes.
Teacher: (Laughing still) Come come you’re not serious.
T. I am
Teacher: (Serious) That’s nice. But a trade would suit you just as well.
T. What trade?
Teacher: You’re pretty good at woodwork. Carpentry?
T. I am going to law school, sir.
Teacher. Yes, well we all have our dreams.

Temple of one Jean Paul Mavinga

The Blacklight by James Heller from the prototype2 video game

In our memory well we’ll find all kinds of cavities that have rotted our dreams and aspirations. Any kind of rejection is a form of foundation for a tower. Any kind of abuse throws terror on our psyche and casts a prevailing shadow on our creativity. To remove this shadow and dismantle the tower we need to take the bold step of looking honestly into the deep dark well of memory. Those demons will run and hide. But the sword is your readiness to expose yourself to them and strike at their weakest point. So the man now isolates the boy’s words as follows:

I want to be a lawyer
I am
I am going to law school.

In so doing, he transmutes the rejections (changes their rippling vibration); crushes the blightful tower. His third eye now regards the WORDS as a SWORD by which to defeat the dragon. Pain is not, after all replaced by more pain. The metamorphosis is a beautiful thing. The spirit dances. The heart pulsates with the delighting rhythm it has longed for. He’s in the Divine light – he’s arching towards it and basking in its beauty and butterflying freedom.

Aries the ram by Boris Vallejo

Sire By Marco Ferraccion

Sandstorms of our past by Amos Edwards

Shout Out

NOTE: Several of the above images were grabbed from Fantasy, Sci-Fi and Mythologies of Alkebulan on Facebook. You like their page and get the chance to be transported into, through and beyond worlds.