a daylight dream

I’ve come to think of art very differently. What art was once: a painting, a song echoing through the strings of our hearts, a poem ripping apart our blindness and perhaps, everything beyond and in between tangible forms. I honour art. The pulse that drives my existence is artistry. But not this kind— not the one that lives in distinctive form. My pulse is real , limitless art. For me, art is the consciousness of co-creativity. It is the process in which the artist derives inspiration beyond what is seen and apparent, and melts into it, allowing the soul to serve the unseen through intentions and therefore, action. What truly is the product of art is the whole life of an artist. The entirety of it. Everything in an artist’s life mirrors his/her intentions. The beauty and originality of the artist’s actions become the natural consequence— and it does not merely have to be the painting or the song or the sculpture. It can be the way the artist gazes into the beauty of a flower; the wor...

  Sometimes I like to imagine the world when I’m not in it, and it will remain ever so beautiful, ever so balanced, present and reverent and real and raw, working its way through cycles, entwining darkness, death and lessness with the fingers of unfettered streams of Light, Life and fullness. Such a notion leaves me a lightbody, as I chose to roam this Universe as I am, presently. A lightbody, bouncing like a blackbird, making its way through the alleyways of flowering delight and isness. There is no way  but to walk the walk of love, dance the dance of love, live the life of love, and gratefully, in deep thanks, die its death.

  I was born into brokenness, and in brokenness. My first memories of this world were very dark and I did not impart unconditional happiness upon my arrival. I was born into fear and in fear. My memory was clouded by the earthly responsibilities of childhood and adolescence. My soul and heart were forgotten, and I remained in the haze of transition for a very long time. But then the speck of light in me awakened as I grew, and I have reclaimed my light upon all the brokenness my life was built upon. I could even muster the words to say that I am afraid of myself, of the power of love in me— how it annihilates everything I’ve been through and binds all dimensions into one timeless, spaceless nothingness.  I could navigate my fear of myself, sometimes on my own, and sometimes I’d need your eyes. But will you ever be afraid of me, my dear one? Will you ever be afraid of my light that I cannot begin to contain? Will you ever be afraid of being received by me, in all your brokennes...

Last year, I wondered if I could write a letter to my future self— my ideal, most honest and authentic version of me who already is within me, but needs the most appreciated dimension of all: time, in order to bloom into being. Upon reading the letter I wrote to myself last year, I see how I’ve taken steps towards what I intended for in terms of growth. But as we grow, we find deeper parts of ourselves that yearn to shimmer into the light of day. Here is a letter to myself, and all the healed parts of me. My dearest Soraya, My dearest, softest flower in the fields of your dreams, Your eyes are melodiously sweet as you’re reading this. Your features have softened, something in your face has emulated a healing kind of grace that is ever-forgiving and acceptant. Your eyes are ever-bright, wide with exuberance and equanimity.  And what happened to your voice? How have you grown to embody strength and the unmatched power of truth through it? What once held me so deep in insecurity and d...