Thursday, May 30, 2013

With the daimon in Paris

Paris

Real angels (not the greeting cards kind) are forever saying, Get Up, Wake Up, Get On With It. My creative daimon operates the same way. He has never heard of a body clock. He has no interest in what time it is, or how much sleep I get, and knows that what I most need to do with this body is to create with passion, entertain the spirits, ignite creative and healing fire in others... and marry the worlds.
    I felt the wind of his wings in the middle of the night in Paris. I was staying in a studio on the Street of the Moon Man and the Sun Woman, as I have renamed this section of the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Denis because of the statues a couple of blocks away. After a long day leading my Active Dreaming workshop, followed by dinner at a pleasant brasserie opposite the Gare de l'Est, I rose at 1:00 a.m. and sat at a table to write some of my new book. In France, it seemed natural to write about my "far memories" of other lives lived here, and to narrate how I have used the tools of dream archaeology - marrying shamanic dreaming to scholarly research - to investigate one life in particular: that of Charles d'Orleans, the medieval poet-prince in whose name Joan of Arc went to war. Three hours later, I was satisfied with a fresh 3,000 word draft and had written a couple of shorter pieces, so I thought I might put my body back to bed in order to be rested for the morning workshop session.
   Flat on my back around 4:00 a.m., I found my body was nowhere near flirting with sleep. I considered my situation from the perspective of a greater entity I felt was with me in the space. I sensed the wind of his wings. I rose from my body to join him and look down at the Robert body sprawled under the sheet. From this perspective, I had no concern, no worries, about how much sleep the body in the bed might get, or what might be done with it, as long as it served my creative purpose. I agreed with the daimon: let’s get that body up. Let’s get on with the new book. So I did, and turned out another 2,000 words. When the time came to shower and dress and get myself to the workshop, I was charging on all cylinders. Writing is a workout, and the creative act is energizing and healing. And the extraordinary becomes easy when we entertain our creative spirits and borrow their wings.

13 comments:

Carol Davis said...

While reading this wonderful account in a car dealership I received word that the flat tire that greeted me last night is fixable. This is happy news because it is much cheaper than replacing it. This will let me get on with the day's creativity...I've got wheels and wings!

Robert Moss said...

I was just considering posting another piece at my other blog on the symbolism of a flat tire in ordinary life. Tire trouble always makes me ask, "How tired am I?" Good that your issue could be fixed cheaply and easily. And now you have wings as well....

Nigel said...

Paris was the home of my favourite composer Camille Saint-Saens (1835-1921). I am going to be performing one of his pieces on the violin in a week's time. It is nice to hear that there is still so much creativity in this important centre. Many thanks ! Nigel

Justin Patrick Moore said...

What about the experience of Job with the Angelic beings he encountered? Sometimes working with beings from the world behind this world, in an unconditional way, can leave us tired and wiped out, like you have a flat.

I agree though, that from a broader perspective a person's daimon, and whatever other entities you might work with, don't really give a hoot about how much sleep you get, etc.

Robert Moss said...

I'm not going to make a Job out of this, Justin.

Wanda Burch said...

When I visited Arkansas I was asked if I recalled my chapter on "Angels" in my book and if I recalled what I wrote about my invitation to come inside the house with life-sized angels framing the doorway. Of course I remembered. "How much" did I recall of that visit? Every moment is still vividly in my memory. I felt the rush of wings throughout the house and chills still come with the memory. I have agreed to be interviewed about that house and those angels. The woman who lived there died a few years ago; and the angels have been moved to the altar of a church; but apparently only two "strangers" were ever invited to come inside that house. Many people, including reporters, tried every imaginable trick to get through the door. I was one of those two people who were invited in, and I suppose I never realized I was only one of two. "I was commanded to enter," I said. The person speaking to me said, "I know." He was the second person, and he had been a relative. I had the rare privilege of walking beneath angel wings that on that day felt like a living breathing presence, benign and beautiful, fiercely protective, offering a special blessing.

Nigel said...

I found your contribution very uplifting Wanda: thanks so much for sharing.

Robert Moss said...

I like your reverie, Wanda. Perhaps the creative daimon prompted your musings on the carved angels. I'm amused by how many people are turning the daimon into an angel. I concede I invited this by opening my piece with the words "real angels." I am using the word "daimon" (not to be confused with the "demons" of the church) in the Greek sense, with a slight nod to Yeats when he speaks of "the daimon who would ever set us to the hardest work among those not impossible".

Nigel said...

Just wondering whether a Daimon is a Muse by another name? Is there a connection between the word "Muse" and the word "Music" ?

Robert Moss said...

Yes "muse", "music" and "museum" have a common ancestry in the Greek "mousa". I would not confuse a muse with a daimon, however. Important to remember that the mother of the muses in Mnemosyne, the embodiment of memory.

Nigel said...

Many thanks, or "asante sana", as people say in this part of the world.

TheBusyMom said...

When I can't sleep its often because I'm being called to some creative endeavour. That or it's the voice of Spirit insisting that I pay attention to some message, work, or problem to be solved. The pre-dawn hours are quiet, and often its the best time for problem-solving and solution-finding.

Although my family finds it strange that I do this, I remind myself that since ancient times people have used these hours to commune with Spirit.

Nigel said...

I was reading about a fiction writer who, the closer he gets to a complete manuscript, gets up progressively earlier and earlier in the morning to finish it off. It seems that there is some principle of momentum involved here.