Messengers:
The Courage to Rebel – The Power to Inspire by Marie-Eve S. Kielson
Messenger of Passion (excerpts)
Dear Friend,
I realize that the ending of my last letter to you held a rather somber tone. I had just learned of the theft of the Girl Jumping Rope. My energies were divided between many mixed emotions. It was difficult to sort them out, difficult to reconcile that I must abandon what can no longer be altered.
...As I proceed to process what I imagine the machinations of a sculpture thief to be, I was brought to the thought of imprisonment, the multitude of ways in which human beings find to limit themselves. Of course I shall probably never know about the thief who visited the Girl Jumping Rope and found a way to steal the innocence she portrayed. But anyone who must do such a thing is surely not free of heart. Any person who robs from another is surely lacking in liberation and has a heart encumbered. Stealing will not cut them free.
...It is all so relative, is it not. What one thinks of as freedom is another's prison. What one interprets as limitations, another experiences as structure. Strange how our views can bring us to such opposing ideologies. It certainly helps to understand how challenging it can become to make oneself understood. Our language can take us to different psychological lands, lands that are fraught with mines and barriers. It is a real commitment that is required if we will ever be able to decipher our intentions, to make headway on to uncharted seas.
...I do not know exactly how long I have been contemplating these fascinations and confusions, but I suspect that these incubations have surfaced because another birthday is approaching, a little more quickly than I would like. I do not believe that my birthday "phobia" has totally disappeared, and as it begins to show itself I become rather pensive and reflective. As I look at my own life, and look again at The Heart Imprisoned, I dread the thought that passion could disappear from my life or that somehow I would refute its prominence. I just hate to think that getting older signifies, in some way, a loss rather than a wonderful discovery, a tremendous opportunity to encounter what may have been carelessly set aside.
I am looking more closely now at the image of this magnificent sculpture. Within a beautifully executed rectangular home, a heart's surface is pierced by the treachery and torture of the thorns that surround it. The heart, the very seat of the soul, is being inflicted a most horrible pain. This heart, so full and luminous, is the mirror of the human heart. It beats its messages endlessly and generously. It asks us to breathe liberally, to grasp life and hold it close, protecting it from evil. The human heart holds our unproclaimed secrets, and will freely share these secrets should we but allow their disclosure. The heart can, so easily, become captive to the thorns that hold the power to keep us bound for an entire lifetime. This heart demands so little, yet receives rare recognition. I am struck with what it must feel like to endure thorns around my heart, robbing me of movement, of energy and the fire that I need in order to survive.
I am mesmerized by the heart and its imprisonment. It is a work of power and beauty and I shiver, for its translucence envelopes me. I am frightened by the cruelty of the thorns which have left their indelible holes. I have a deep desire to force them out of their resting place. I want to free this heart that has allowed the thorns to erode its very life. The heart must be freed, the heart must be liberated.
...Could it not be said that when we choose to disavow our passion, we will cry out in pain and eventually suffer an anguish so severe that no solutions will offer the healing. I ask you now, dear friend, do you believe that it is possible to live a full and meaningful life without delving into the passions that lie, so poignantly, at the core of our being. Perhaps you may feel that I carry on far too much about all of this, yet it seems that this image of The Heart Imprisoned has triggered a host of ideas that must find expression. To leave these ideas unattended simply does not seem to be an option. I look around and feel a collective sadness and sorrow that surrounds us all. It seems as though many have become deadened and lifeless, holding on for dear life to something they themselves do not perceive, something that defies recognition.
...It is my heartfelt belief that we need, and must honor the fire that lies within. I am not merely speaking or even alluding to the obvious, the presence of libido. We do not seem to have much difficulty expressing our need for sexual fulfillment. As a matter of fact, it remains a goal which knows no other in importance. It defines us and makes it possible for grand illusions to emerge and portray us to the world in very interesting ways.
...But what about the passions of the heart. Did we not arrive on earth with them intact, ready for retrieval. So, how did they become slowly dismissed, ignored, and allowed to disappear ever so subtly, year after year. I do not recall many articles dedicated to promoting that it is the passion within our hearts that will set us free. I do not remember reading the books and journals stressing the importance of allowing the deep desires of our heart to speak unconditionally, and prophetically reminding us of their presence, of their yearning to be seen and heard. How did pragmatism, rationale, and cognitive functioning win the battle against the dreams that desire to bring us to life. How were the thorns allowed entry. How were the thorns allowed to crush our joy.
...What stops us, do you think, from recoiling at the messages that so often deter us from experiencing that huge force of energy that we so long to feel within the core of our being. Have you not met hundreds of people throughout your life who were easily willing to give up their creative pursuits in order to be "responsible" and "practical". Why, do you believe, have so many allowed themselves to become weighed down, heavy and numbed with unreasonable demands and burdens. Why, would it appear, are so many oblivious to the fact that the fire inside of them has not been ignited in a long time, if ever.
...The hearts of many have become imprisoned, captured and stored in vaults, sealed for life. They have been surrounded by an impenetrable glass case inside of which resides their heart firmly gripped by the thorns of their fears. The Messenger of Passion has been refused entry and in that refusal, retreats. In powerlessness there is no soaring, no exhilaration, no enlightenment that can heal the wounded heart. The Messenger's wings attempt to breathe life into the tortured soul, attempting time and time again to remind us all of the elements that are so crucial to our survival. So, as a result, many doors remain closed.
As I ponder The Heart Imprisoned I ask myself whether any of us can be taught to be passionate, taught to be awakened from the deepest of slumber. Is it simply a matter of genetics and modeling. As the heart cries out The Messenger stands nearby and hears its painful declarations, its anguish. What will it require for the thorns to be removed, carefully, gently, of course, but removed. There will be the scars that will never disappear. They will remain to remind us of the pain, for it is crucial that we remember the pain of forbidden passion, the passion that has been allowed to be ignored, forgotten and compromised.
The Messenger's voice is a soothing one, a comforting one, ready to appear at a moment's beckoning. It is we who must make the initial call for help. The Messenger awaits our desires to be known, for he knows of the burning fires within us. He knows of the magnificent ways in which they can be activated and captured. The Messenger knows the precious messages that hold the secrets to our creative journey. The Messenger's wings have the power to carry us as close to a heaven on earth as can possibly be imagined. It is for us to trust. It is for us to walk side by side with what we know to be our truth, what we know to be the key that will unlock the magical desires within.
...I would be remiss if I did not tell you about the orchid adventures I have had which, in fact, also convince me that sometimes, right before my very eyes, the Messenger of Passion declares his truth. I returned recently from a trip to France and compulsively decided that my wonderful orchid collection "must go" for they were interrupting the harmony of the living space. Of course they never thought that their presence had suddenly become offensive and, I am certain, became horrified in learning that I was planning to give them away, send them to the "floral orphanage" so to speak. I cringe as I write this to you. I cringe at my callousness. Well, the compulsions grew and, lo and behold, off they were carted to the local florist who was thrilled, of course, to be given such an opulent gift.
Within days my heart became heavy and laden with sadness. The feeling of loss was all encompassing. I was mystified, for I simply could not grasp the full significance of what had transpired. The space, once occupied by the happy faces of my many orchids, now looked sterile and empty. Yes, there was more room, but the environment lacked the "chi" of passion. My nights became troubled as I attempted to sort out what my actions had precipitated. At the same time I knew what I must do, what I had to do, yet what I dreaded. There would be the embarrassment I would feel in reclaiming what I had, so capriciously, given away. I had been cavalier, nonchalant, insensitive to my heart's desire.
Yes, I had chosen to give away the orchids that had so occupied hours upon hours of tending them. Now I felt a tremendous regret. I had gotten rid of a precious collection, but greater still, I had unmercifully cheated myself of glorious moments of excitement. I had been willing to abdicate the thrilling moments I had felt in the past as I had anticipated the sprouting and blooming of new buds and shoots that would soon grace my home with beauty and wonder. I had been willing to close my heart to its deepest desire, to relinquish what had brought me such happiness and challenge for all of the misplaced reasons. The Messenger stood by and, in disbelief, lowered his head.
To the telephone I went, heart in my hand and shaking in my throat, fearing that the right words would not appear in their appropriate sequence. I felt a panic at the thought that no recourse would be offered to undo the harm I had instigated. I knew that I must make this call, for my greatest hope was that it would reconnect me with all that I had temporarily lost. I felt the sting of the human emotions that accompany us when we make foolish mistakes, the sting that reminds us that we are often called upon to swallow our pride in order to rebound and regain our inner balance.
I cannot describe the immense relief and tremendous pleasure I felt at the moment of reunion. At once I knew that my orchid hobby was much more than that. It had become a wonderful opportunity for ritual, meditation, for peacefulness and for pure joy. Nature's presence, through these exquisite orchids had, indeed, provided the drama and passion that was so essential in my life. For a brief moment in time I had almost given it away, given away the very gifts that make my heart sing--and for all of the wrong reasons.
...I have not stopped apologizing to those precious little beings who have spent hours and hours preening in the sun, hoping that their beauty will glorify the moment, and that their blooms will remind me of nature's magic and bring me the pleasure they wish to offer me unconditionally. I know now that pure passion can fill my heart, that pure passion can press against my soul and set me free.
...To no longer partake in the excitements and adventures of life, is to rob our souls of the bliss sorely needed to enlarge the heart and set it free. To lose one's aspirations, one's secret dreams, is to experience a kind of inconsolable death. We must learn what imprisons our beautiful hearts. We must learn how to cut the shackles that bind us from our explorations. No, my friend, I shall not imprison my heart knowingly. I shall pay close attention to the Messenger's clues, heed the voice inside of me. No, there shall never be imprisonment emanating from the core of my being - no, not for me.
...As I begin to say goodnight, there remains the sharing of one final realization. In the star-filled sky of cobalt blue I am brought to the magnificent heavens as they transport me to the final paintings of my mother. These paintings brought their messages quietly, steadfastly, and purposefully.
It was from her that I learned about passion, its face of uncompromising power, its ability to unlock the hidden treasures that ignited each and every work of her art. She was a painter and sculptor whose passion never eluded her. It exuded from every cell of her body. Not one of her creations is bland, non-descript or lacking in energy. It is from my mother that I learned to respect the voice within my own heart. It is precisely this voice that spurs me forth to write you the letters honoring the tenets that reside within my soul. It is from her creative hand that I was taught to take the risks, to heed the messengers who warrant our attention. It is from this wondrous human being that I was given the model that offers freedom of expression, freedom to know the truth, and the freedom to claim my unique destiny.
Yes, her paintings and her sculptures surround me. They have claimed their place of honor. They are welcomed by the humming birds and the orchids that embellish and beautify. All is serene, calm and awaiting the Messenger's signal announcing the new, the birth of the next lesson, the paths upon which I shall take my adventures and discoveries. Nothing is out of place, for all that is harmonious lives in perfect balance to one another. The animate and inanimate live side by side, willingly sharing the space they have been given.
There is purity in the blending of our voices as we continue to speak to one another through the works of art that were given their birth. There is purity in the blending of the forces that have united and reunited us throughout her lifetime and the life I now choose. We are different, yet we are connected through the merging of our thoughts and of our energies, of our shared expressions and hopeful dreams.
We remain as one belonging to the mystery of another sphere. We know the truths we have been called upon to share. We are comforted by the Messenger's wings when we falter and question the very nature of our existence. We are consoled when moments of fear overtake the passions to which we must pay homage. We are affirmed when we become the models of courage, so ardently sought. All has its time, its reason, its sacred place.
I breathe deeply and am grateful. I breathe the gift of life, the gift of beauty and am rewarded. I open my heart to the promise of the journey ahead and to the lessons retrieved. I open my heart to all that surrounds me. I respect where I am, where I have been and where I have yet to go. I open my heart to the Messenger's call and know that my heart is free, soaring, not imprisoned. The thorns have been removed, the beating uninterrupted, the opportunities abound. No restrictions, a heart unencumbered lies in wait for its next challenge, its next moment of evolution. The heart has been freed.