When the world pulls apart on all sides and voices drown each other out, we need inner antennas to sense where our life force may flow. Instead of letting ourselves be scattered, we can choose to guide it into channels that nourish us, connect us, and keep us moving.
As the days grow shorter, a space opens that calls us inward. It is a time when seeds ripen in the darkness before they become visible. From this depth arise forms, sounds, movements – the raw material of our creativity.
To create means embracing two things: the daring to set out into unknown terrain without a map, and the patience to grant the invisible protection and endurance.
Creative work means swinging between closeness and distance – engaging, releasing, returning. Only in this interplay does clarity emerge, and with it the moment when the next step reveals itself.
And so the one question arises: What is the one thing that truly calls me – and what is the first small gesture today that opens the door toward it?
Whoever walks this path learns to trust the invisible sight of night, to honor the body as guide, and to recognize in the voices of others the echo of one’s own search.
In this field of questions and sometimes tense experiences, images grow within me that then burst forth like a liberation – and often only reveal their meaning afterward, in the act of beholding. Thus, a few new digital collages have emerged, and one of them carries a story it longs to tell:
At the hour when the stars stand above the earth like open and watchful eyes, the unknown woman encounters the bull of blue light. Her hair streams in the wind, and her feet know the essence of the earth.
The bull – though one might not see it at first glance – is ancient. He is the symbol of the earth, of fertility, of wild natural power, of untamed instinct. In myths he has long borne goddesses across lands and seas. He is the beast of the moon, of sexuality, of creative potency.
He is the bull of blue light, whose horns hold the moons and whose mane carries the fire of the world.
His deep blue color mirrors the sacred, the transcendent that slumbers within matter.
The unknown woman with white hair wears no shoes, for she walks the path between worlds. Fish swim beside her in the air, birds sing in the element of water, and a butterfly leads her as though it were a messenger of transformation.
She climbs upon the back of the bull of azure substance. Each of his steps resounds like the heartbeat of the earth. His horns are not of horn but carved from moonlight. In his mane lives the fire of the elements. He bears spirals and seals upon his skin – ancient signs that can neither be read nor forgotten, only felt: the alphabet of the unconscious.
The nameless woman, with hair like flowing time, merges with the bull. She is the awareness, the soul, the guiding force that dares to ride upon matter.
The soul moves with matter, the light upon the heavy, the infinite upon the finite. Thus the bull strides with the woman upon his back across the hill – not spirit or flesh, heaven or earth, but always both at once.
At last, upon the highest hill, the bull stands still and speaks without words into the wind of time:
“I am the power that carries. You are the breath that guides. Without you I remain blind, without me you become groundless. Together we are balance.”
In times of tension, it helps to return again and again to one’s own silence, in order to hear the subtle voice beneath it. Whoever feels the breath discovers a thread that carries them through storm and restlessness. And when we remember what truly nourishes us, the inner compass realigns itself on its own.
And of course, it is easier said than done. The path through silence and not-knowing is an athletic challenge in its own right.
DigitalCollage – ©️Angela Fischlein