While driving my youngest to school last week, I noticed a very agitated driver enter the lane behind me. Huffing and puffing and wheel gripped tight, he made a dramatic show of his annoyance with every pause and stop we came to in the road. I stayed patient, breathing through the beeps of his horn while doing my best to keep space between his bumper and mine.

Now, this drivers car was considerably smaller than my own. He couldn't see around me or over me. My back window is tinted, and I knew he wouldn’t be see through me. From his perspective, he couldn't see the little girl emerging from the side street. He couldn't see her cheeks stained pink from the hustle of a fast-paced Friday morning. Or her My Little Pony bag dancing on shoulder with every step she took. He couldn't see her braids swinging in her movement. This driver was too busy being locked in the red zone. The only thing he could see was my car standing in his way.

His problem is our problem.

We rush around just as he did, blind in our own perception. We're trained to be so hyper-focused on the end goal that we forget to step back to see the bigger picture and consider how we are affecting others along the way. On this particular morning, I wasn't a mother driving her six-year-old son to school. I wasn't a wife or sister. I wasn't an artist or aspiring writer. I wasn't even a person. I was a blue sedan driving the speed limit on a two-lane street.

The driver behind me couldn't wait. I watched his mouth explode as he shifted from my rear-view mirror to my peripheral vision. I laid on the horn in a warning and it wasn't until he turned to look at me that he actually saw what I was stopping for. He swerved at the last minute, riding up on the curb of the opposite street. He wasn't even two inches from hitting her. Her hair moved— that's how close he was, braking only for a moment before taking off again.

I spent a long time reflecting on this experience. I could easily apply his situation to my own and objectively look at where I need to just slow down and observe others for a moment. How many times have I chosen to focus on my own arguments rather than to accept the viewpoint of another? How many times have I become so focused on going one way that I completely missed seeing a better route available? How many times had I hurt another because I couldn't shift away from my own opinions?

Alone, we cannot see it all. At some point, we have to put our trust in another, be it a friend, in Spirit, a teacher, the Universe, or even just the car ahead. At some point, we have to relinquish our need to control an outcome and learn to surrender to the obstacles that come our way. The only thing stopping us from experiencing our lives differently is the way we choose to perceive how life happens to us.

Who you are, your choices and your personality are reflections of your environment. Your choices shape your experiences. Your perception shapes your choices. Sometimes the only way out is to go up. To witness your world with eyes clear of the fog, ears free from the whispered opinion, the air clean from the energy of the familiar. Sometimes the only way we rise is by accepting the help of others. Don't be afraid to seek help outside of yourself. We can get so focused on just reaching the destination that it takes another to remind us there is much joy, and help, to be had in sharing the ride.

Vroom-vroom.
-Jamie Homeister
 

There are two types of shadows we hold, light and dark, but both are created from the same energy of lack, which is a need or want of something, and fear. Our dark shadows are scary places that we hide in the with self-harm. Be it substance abuse, addictions, depression, anger or violence, we numb or mask our "negative" emotions with patterns of behavior that make things feel less variable and out of control, even if those said behaviors turn our lives into total chaos. (Nobody said pain had to make sense.)

Our light shadows are where we try to over-compensate for the dark in ways we consider to be of higher merit. It is where we obsess over becoming "better" versions of ourselves, be it through religious ties, athleticism or our appearances. They can encourage us to over-give, extending ourselves way beyond our means of what would be considered right or fair.

All shadows are the pain we've experienced and not sorted through— the true grit of our soul and manifest in our lives until properly recognized and dealt with. Most commonly, we witness them when we turn things into what they're not. It's when food is made into more than nourishment, but emotional support. It's when sex becomes a resource to fill our emptiness instead of being a way to intimately connect. When shopping, alcohol, and fitness are used to fill a chasm within ourselves rather than just fill the need they were made to.

The painting attached is a portrait of my mother's shadow I met in journey a few days ago. For those unfamiliar, a journey is kind of like a very vivid meditation. She appeared to me much younger than her age now but there was a strong sense of myself mixed in there. Her face would shift at times, blending the features of both to form one. She wore a simple pink dress made of cotton, adorned with a row of shiny, pearled buttons down the front. My memory tried to place the dress from my childhood but it lacked any real pattern or design to pinpoint when. Her hair was full with strawberry curl, cheeks flushed and lips full. She stood waist-deep in a pile of discarded goods. It wasn't exactly trash, as very little of it was misused or crumpled, but rather just piles and piles of paper laid on top of one another, just as you would expect to see on a messy desk. Upon each surface held a different creative offering. Some had stories while others had drawings. There was photography, sheet music, all sorts of creative work and ideas.

I asked my mother where it was we stood to which she replied, "You are on the Isle of the forgotten. This is where all the actions and ideas neglected or not manifested come to stay."

Now, my mother is just like me (or arguably, I like her). She is extremely creative, passionate, and psychically gifted. Throughout her life she would create many children's stories, even turning a few into song. Few can rival her gift as an enigmatic storyteller.

My mother’s shadow-self flourished very early on from being raised in a household of abuse and addictions. She, in turn, learned to medicate with drugs and alcohol, and eventually ran away from home, joining a highly religious, straight-edge, "our way is the only way" commune. This is where her light shadows manifested. When the commune fell apart, her resilience went with it. She simply couldn't bear the weight of all that was. That was twenty-eight years ago and I cannot remember her without a Budweiser since.

Her choices of inaction and vice forfeited the connection to all the clever little songs that formed in her mind and abandoned the dreams of publishing all the children's books she had written and stored in her heart. It is with this understanding that I suddenly realized why I was there too. I have had many dreams and creative visions that moved my own soul to bring them to manifestation, but I let my dark shadows of doubt, self-worth, and fear keep me from starting. Subsequently, my light shadows of almost obsessive perfection prevented started projects to completion. I was damned if I did, damned if I didn't.

To expend any energy into a creative outlet is to connect to the divine for it is through our imaginations that we experience Spirit. To dream and create are channeled experiences. Be it through cooking, mathematics, art or music, no one is exempt from tapping into the gift of this light.

To share these creations is to contribute to the human experience, and arguably, is why we receive such beautiful gifts and prompting's in the first place: to connect heart to heart and stir the imaginations, creativity, and wonder in others. I would even dare to say that it's our responsibility to see these big ideas through. You just never know who needs what you have to offer and as in my own example, most of the time it's ourselves.

Today, I share this painting that is far from perfect. It doesn't fit into this little art niche I've carved for myself but if there's one thing I love, it's a soul who isn't afraid to be vulnerable. So I witness these shadows I hold, both light and dark, and honor the energy of the gift of creation by painting the dream. I hope that you find the courage to do the same in your own authentic way today, too.

'ancestral shadows' / Jamie Homeister