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I AM the Sacred Memories

Updated: Sep 7



As I have shared before, when I entered this world, I encountered a challenge followed by a miracle. I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck three times but the doctor caring for my mom rushed to save me. He unwrapped me from the tightness and restriction, wrapping me up with his hope, giving me, his breath of life by CPR. Saving my life and giving me a chance to be right here, breathing and alive. When my mother struggled with post partum depression, it was my father the one who held me in his arms, close to his chest, heart to heart.


Around the age of 4 or 5, I had a surgery and I had to stay at the hospital overnight by myself. Mom offered to bring me some toys to play with so that I wouldn’t get bored and so that I wouldn’t get scared. I asked for a pad of white paper and colors instead. And just like that, I began to draw my inner world, I started to color any pain from the surgery, I was coloring my feelings away, giving them voice in the shape of forms, textures, and shades. I gave a home, to all of that, my being needed to express including all of the things that I may not have known how to articulate.


A little later in my life, around 9, I also began to sing. My dad discovered me one morning, I was playing one of his LPs while singing along. I still remember his facial expression, his eyes wide open, his heart smiling so big, coming towards me saying: “You are singing, you can sing, my dad-your grandpa-would have loved to have heard you sing! You can sing, sing, keep singing…I will listen to you right here.” He stood right there, some moments completely quiet and others joining me with song. Singing along and smiling as if he was watching a bird.


As I was growing, I continued to sing and I continued to draw, I wrote few poems here and there and one got published in the school's newsletter. Then, I began to paint around 13. I would experiment with textures and visions that came to me. Sometimes those inspiring moments felt like strong callings that my soul, my being, needed to record in abstract forms, symbols, colors, textures, shapes, images, creating a message, expressing wisdom, a story, information, signs and signals, all a part of a reality woven with multi-dimensions. It became more than meditation and contemplation, more than just communication, more than just creative and artistic expression. It became my spiritual guidance system, nourishing my roots and strengthening my foundation. Turning into a special magic wand, my shamanic medicine balm, a time travel portal, the drum beat of this rainbow dreamer, the rich soil in which this visionary metaphysical artist can ground and plant.


The inspiring pulse of life became the music of my dance. Each color a note, a vibration, a strand weaving frequencies in the reality of imaginations that were not and are not imaginary when they become the possibilities that grow and flourish in my inner garden, embracing and blessing all of that is around me.


On days I have not been able to physically dance or sing, I still dance as I live, and I sing with a drawing, painting, sculpting, crafting, I may still write a song and for sure some poetry. On the days I may not have the time to get deeper into a creative project that needs me for longer, there is always an easy going craft, a pen, a pencil, and paper to sketch with lines and words whatever it is that I am meant to listen to at that moment, I listen to it with my entire being, with all of my heart; without pretensions, without hesitations, but with clarity and honesty because that is what I like.


I like to listen

to the pulse of my blood flowing,

I like to listen

to the sacred poems in my bones

telling me stories,

I like it when my flesh

sings the memories I keep in there…

Because I don’t have them in photos,

videos, or letters…

That is why I rejoice in remembering,

because there are moments in life

that are certainly worth that.


~I AM the Sacred Memories~


Emelina Holland ©


From The Red Rose of Venus:

The Mystery and Magic of Mystical Poetry-Part 3


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