By Amy Saia
Upon seeing the element and archetype theme, I knew I was in the right place. Tarot and various forms of divination have been my norm for years now, perhaps in past lives too. Psychic tools get a bad rap, yet life has made it clear that symbolism occurs naturally and spans every breadth of our existence. Look up, the clouds form shapes and numbers; feathers, and faces. Look down, a coin can indicate an important year. Perhaps you see a leaf in the shape of an airplane. Thinking of travel? The universe knows. And we know, deep inside. Our higher self knows. I feel that creativity, writing, is a form of divination and manifestation, which is why the crime/horror genre will never interest me. One day I was writing a novel where a homeless teenager breaks into a woman's house. That night, someone cut the screen on my back window and tried forcing their way in. Another time I wrote about a teenager whose mother was diagnosed with diabetes. That next week I received a frantic call from my mother who had just suffered the same diagnosis. These are only a few examples, but what really plagues me is this: did I manifest or predict? Am I projecting through the art of writing, or soaking in the essence of future events not yet come to pass? This fear is not something I foster—writing would be dead if I did. Instead, I hold it back in the walls of consciousness as a small possibility. Writing has always been my thing, and it doesn't seem I'll give it up any time soon. The beauty of writing through intuition only confirms just how sacred the act is; how lush and forgiving spirit is within and without. To grasp words and sentences, ideas, and dialogue from a hidden realm, is beautiful. Magical. Healing. Comforting. So, I could never give it up. From a useful standpoint, it becomes a mirror. Over a decade ago, Morgan Robertson wrote a book titled “Futility” about a ship with similar size and proportions to the Titanic. In the book, a large ship called Titan hits an iceberg and sinks leaving many to drown. Like the doomed Titanic, it too did not hold enough lifeboats, and sank in April within the desolate, freezing waters of the Mid-Atlantic. Uncanny, yet this is how intuitive, creative writing works. We channel. We emote truths. The truth is, unless a person trusts their or anyone else’s intuition, they will not follow guidance provided by the Universe. Thus making our fiction, fiction. A mirror ignored.
Eons ago I wrote lyrics and music which entailed a similar process of culling words and sounds from an invisible source. This is where people get upset. ‘They’ wrote it. ‘They’ own it. It is ‘theirs’ and copyrighted through some egotistical need to possess that golden thread we all seem connected to. While it is healthy to acknowledge your own work and ideas, it would be ignorant to say you are an island. If you were, where would inspiration arrive? We are connected through daily, life interaction. We all suffer and smile. We all have pain and joy. That is life. Creation reflects life. I reflect you; you reflect me. To be an island means to have no source. And that is the point. We are connected and driven by the source of a creative muse; the source of an endless spring called the Divine. This is where we come to drink-whether we like to acknowledge it or not. It would be better to say, I am the water surrounding the island, and each day I lap at her shore. This would be a truer statement than going on with the solitary bent. No, you are not alone. Your creativity, and mine, all come from this thing called life—and the Divine.
Intuition through writing, that branch, the rod, the fire, the ego, the drive, the muse . . . it is all within and without. It is life and it is dreams. Each day we form a new leaf from that invisible branch from whence all grow and flourish. No more can encapsulate the essence or writing than the wands suite in the tarot. Yes, a sword and air archetype would be the ultimate wordsmith, but the process itself is fire. Phallic, and thus life-giving, we create. We conjure and copulate with the written word. Hello.