Guardian Art

One genre of art cures I particularly enjoy is guardian art. These are art pieces that are totally or partially expressed from the point of view of an expression of loving, wise protective spirit.

The songs I share in Lioness and Source Art are examples of guardian songs. Many of my spontaneously flowed pieces, LionSongs, are guardian songs, when the following my process in music unearths messages from loving expressions of spirit, as in We Love You Children of Our Suns. 

My invitation to you, today: if you haven't done such an exercise before and are sparked to try it out, I invite you to interact with your own higher Source self/benevolent loving guardian spirit through an art work, allowing him/her/it/them/us to express a healing, loving, inspiring or other kind of wonderful message in your work.

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Guardian songs songs typically have a great deal of meaning to me personally, as I am able to access the healing message again by listening back when I need something to shake me back into alignment with Source. Here is an example of a guardian song with a message I find particularly comforting.   

You can call on me anytime you please. We are always home, when home is what you need. We're a guiding force. We can plot your course. We can sing you home, when homing is what you need. 

We can find your place in time in space and bring you back, when backing is what you lack. We can override the great divide inside you, and make you whole. Because whole is what we know.

You have the choice of what you give voice to. You have the right to say what's right or wrong or wrong for you. You can decide to go outside the outlines. You can decide to go inside the outsides. You are the power that opens up wildflowers. You are the power that opens flowers. 

We're the source you seek. You're our flowing stream. We're the drenching rain, and you are our living green. And we keep your name and your true domain. We can always refresh you when need to be sustained.

You think you're a shard of a shattered jar. But though you've traveled far from your home star, the whole thing is what you are. You think you're a part, but the whole thing is what you are. 

You are the power that opens up wildflowers. You are the power that opens flowers.   

The way I sometimes do it is that is I lay out a pain or problem of some kind, and invite my benevolent guardian spirit to speak the solution. 

The following song illustrates that type of interaction, with me laying out a quandary and my loving guardian self speaking to it.

In the first part of the song, I lay out the pain that a part of me is experiencing (this portion of the song is in the Catharsis Song format, as I am allowing a haunted fragment part to sing her tale.) It becomes a guardian song in the very end, when my loving guardian comes in, calling herself The Loving Motherlode.

My whole life I've been sad as f*&^ about God only knows what. I'm a lost cause. Once in a while I try to lay my paws on some warm heart that beats my name, just to find that darkness has it claimed. 

Or so sings some agony in me, casting her sad song out to sea. Tangle of nets that cut and blister, hoping to God that there's a listener as she sets sail into the night. 

My whole life I've been under wraps, hiding from a cascade of crap. I'm a hopeless case! Every day I lose my place. My mind is weak and unsustained, it holds no memory or blame. 

Or so says some vibration in me, sending a story home through me. Dark dirty wave that seeks a sea. Dark dirty sound that's coming clean, on its long path into the light. 

I lost my home and my chance to be happy. I lost my right to belong to my family. I don't deserve any love or affection, because of my reckless displays of imperfection. 

Or so says some resonance in me, seeking a medium in me. Dark dirty wave that seeks a sea, dark dirty sound that's coming clean, who needs my field as its amender, who's chosen home and whole surrender on its long path into the light. 

(Guardian sings:)

I see your path through the night little friend. All paths lead back to the light in the end. If you need a hand, I'm happy to hold. If you need some love, I'm the loving mother lode.

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Thumbnail image reverently appropriated from Ruth Heller's The Reason for a Flower.