To Sing with Bards and Angels: A Journey into the Creative Heart

By Iona Jenkins

To Sing with Bards and Angels is an invitation to travel through landscapes evoked by beautiful language, into the heart of nature and imagination. Step into the magic of a creative spiritual journey through the descriptive voice of a contemporary Bard, as she shares her quest to live and work in harmony with the Creative Spirit, writing her way into being, turning her life into poetry and story. With help from an angel and a full moon shining on the ocean, Iona Jenkins blends this potion of inspiration from a treasury of memories, her love of wisdom, sacred places, native landscapes, legends, the arts and nature, all served in a cup of creative possibility for those aspiring to live with wisdom and soul as spiritual artists. A few sprinklings of practical suggestions, optional meditations and tasks are added to help readers discover inspiration flowing through the unique song of their own lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: O-Books
• Release date: Dec 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781803410753

Book preview

Introduction

To Sing with Bards and Angels is intended as a signpost towards a door of possibility, for anyone aspiring to explore a creative spiritual path.

Once upon a time in Italy, after spending a day surrounded by masterpieces of sacred art and sculpture in Rome, an idea began to take shape. I was enjoying an October break, at the home of Italian friends, in the province of Lazio, when only a short stroll from their front door, I came across a convenient bench. Soon I was sitting quietly with my notebook in the late afternoon sunshine, my senses filling with peaceful impressions from the surrounding landscape. Rising behind me, in the distance, Monte Semprevisa’s peak stretched my awareness towards the sky. The scents and colors of warm earth and garden trees heavy with ripe lemons, seemed to mingle in sunlight, with my previous day’s memories of sculptures and paintings, visions of beautiful, winged beings, the inspiration of so many great artists. I began to write a poem that would become a first step towards exploring creative spirituality through these pages.

I named that poem The Language of Angels (see chapter 2), because it seemed as though Rome’s angelic art had become magically entwined with my experience of nature in that moment. The result was a blend of color, images, music, warmth, belonging, like the world’s fabric had been enlivened by the sound of angels speaking or singing their words of inspiration, for my heart to translate into its own lines of poetry. In Celtic culture, the Bards or Druid storytellers and poets know this stream of inspiration as Awen (pronounced Ah-wen). It is a Welsh/Cornish/Breton word that translates as Flowing Spirit, and it sings beautifully.

A few years later, when the angels caught my attention again, the first chapter of a book emerged from a meditation prompted by moonlight, reflecting on the sea outside my window in Wales. As I contemplated the shining path created by a full moon across the still waters of Môr Hafren (Bristol Channel), an impression arose of a loving, creative Presence, that seemed to exist not only deep within the internal world of my intuitive mind, but also as an integral part of the illuminated sea and landscape outside. I saw this Presence as an angel, a reflection of the moon on water, an otherworldly being, whose spiritual and artistic wisdom could be channeled and translated from a harmonic language of symbols and light into words of descriptive, poetry and prose I enjoy writing so much.

Although the ideas I offer come from my own creative journey, they contain helpful pointers for anyone aspiring to live a spiritually creative life. I hope that each one of my readers will allow themselves the freedom to interpret these signs according to their personal spiritual background and to choose the direction their path will take before traveling at their own pace.

I have discovered ways to heal my own emotional wounds, improve my health, increase my spiritual awareness, my sense of belonging and ability to celebrate life, by writing my path into being, creating spiritual direction through my art. I have chosen, then, to work in the Flowing Spirit, by not only including intuitive dialogue between myself and the Angel Presence of those moonlight meditations, but also through personal tales, poetry, and reflections from my journey.

Reciting my own poems in bardic voice, I have placed one at the beginning of each chapter to guide the reader over its threshold into an adventure. I then continue my journey, painting snippets from both my internal and external spiritual travels, in words, flowing through a stream of beauty and color as I experience it. Each chapter ends with an optional task and/or meditation, but since meditation has the power to open the mind, it is advisable, especially when working with the moon, to only attempt some of these exercises if they feel right for you. In times of turbulence, it is often more appropriate to slow down, practice relaxation, stay grounded and allow life to flow gently around a peaceful shore.

I invite you to become my spiritual traveling companion through the chapters of this book, as I follow my creative spirit, across external landscapes, and the internal worlds of unconscious mind. At journey’s end, perhaps you might be encouraged to explore further. The decision to present this work in descriptive bardic voice and creative form, is intended to demonstrate Flowing Spirit in action. I have also tried to remain as non-directive as possible, allowing you enough space and freedom to hear the angels singing your own song.

May your passion for life and the love in your heart inspire you to create.

Iona

Chapter One

A Language of Angels

Full Moon Meditation

The moon has cast a path of light

across the water straight and true

from shores of Wales to Somerset

in silvered streams of peaceful dreams

a star shines bright in deep night skies

and soft waves breaking on the shore

I hear the surging notes of Oran Mór,

the Greatest Song that sang them all.

Iona Jenkins

This full moon is going to keep me awake, so I decide to stay up for an hour or so. I light a candle lantern in the doorway, where my balcony looks out over the darkened sea. Next, I drape a blanket around my shoulders to stay warm with both door and heart open to the still night air, the lilting music from the harp of the ocean and the bliss of being able to float upon the notes of the Great Song, which in Gaelic is known as Oran Mór. These words expressing the idea of a Creative Spirit do in fact suggest to me, a greater musicality than their English translation. Every time I think about them, a deep sense of connection to a living, breathing universe wells up, enfolding me in its vast musical cloak of wonder and magic.

The Oran Mór is an ancient rhythm, an ancient melody that one hears in the wind, in the waterfall, in the beautiful strains of sound in Celtic music, song and chanting. It is a healing song, an enlivening song heard in the giggles of a grandmother, the whispers of a lover, the questions of a child. All religions would do well to foster in their followers the same kind of sensual innocence we had as children, the same kind of curiosity that leads us to ask, How do you hear the Great Song in your culture? How do you hear the Great Song in your religion? Therein, lies our salvation.

Frank MacEowen, The Mist-Filled Path, pp. 140-141, New World Library 2002

I close my eyes and invite my wandering mind to slow its pace, to rest a while from its monkey chattering, and experience the dream. But all the time I am conscious of the silver white moonlight path that shimmers bright beguiling, between the Welsh and English Shores. Then, I wait, until the eye of awareness opens her inner door. This is meditation and it is pointless to rush, for what will be will be. The unconscious mind, which only speaks in symbols and archetypes, needs to be given enough sacred space to fire up the imagination.

Soon, an image of an otherworldly being begins to form in my mind’s eye, which I also see reflected in the outer world of form, as an effect created by the light of a full moon shining on a background of night rippling sea. I shall call this ethereal figure of light an angel for it resembles a cultural image that my conscious mind has grown up with and can therefore relate to with ease.

He stands serene all pearly white, in a halo of soft silver and pale rainbows, as tall as a tree with his feet upon a silvered path created by the moon. Although he appears to be male, there is also softness, a feminine quality about him, as he speaks through my heart and mind in a flow of words as gentle as a dove yet sharp and clear as a bell.

I offer you creative wisdom, the angel says, floating in a circle of candle glow and pale colors that seem to move in tune with the sound of his voice. You may not always be aware of me, but when a door is about to close on one area of your life, I will always turn up to help you to open a new one, as well as offering guidance on the next stage of your creative journey. Now, since you are aware of me tonight, then why not stretch your imagination and allow your consciousness to expand?

The impression of an open door appears before me as if by magic, to reveal a mysterious misty road that extends far away into the distance. It is neither fully formed nor yet clearly visible, for it needs my footsteps to complete the magic.

Observe the path of your heart and know that as soon as you choose to tread upon it, so the mist will clear. The angel’s smile is generous as he adds, A path that I am hoping you might be inclined to follow, and should you have enough courage to venture out, then I shall be more than happy to accompany you. What do you say? Are you ready?

And with that, the Universe inside me becomes an entire choir of angels and stars, all singing to the moon and the ocean, penetrating the dark corners of nighttime earth, sky and human mind.

Slow down now, Angel, I say, feeling far too laid-back to move my mind in any direction. I am getting older, as you know, though I’m definitely up for an adventure.

The angel responds with another smile, as sweet as honey from a thousand bees. Whatever you ask, I will oblige, for it is up to you to set the pace. I have forever at my disposal and time does not exist for me.

I take the pearly hand the angel holds out and we head off towards the dawn, still cloaked in muted color and sea mist.

There is so much music, I tell my companion. It is forming words, which spiral through my heart and mind in threads of pale gold. I’m afraid if I do not stop to write them down, then I shall soon forget all I have heard.

Like I said, the angel replies, time, does not exist for me.

And like I told you before, Angel, I’m getting older and since I’ve no idea how much time is left to me, then it is logical that I might sometimes have a tendency towards impatience.

Impatience speeds time up, and patience slows it down, the angel’s gentle reprimand is given without the slightest hint of blame. Tap into the magic and stop complaining, he adds, since the Song will continue regardless of how many humans, seasons, creatures, or even worlds may come and go.

And here I am at peace and still again, as my companion continues to hold me in his smile. I take my pen and write until the spinning golden threads of the song have all been woven into lines of words. These words.

He nods. Have you ever observed, the angel says, as soon as I finish my task, how the musical instrument you call a harp is fashioned in a similar shape to the human heart?

"Why yes, it has occurred to me. Maybe it’s because I live in Wales or maybe it’s an echo from some Irish Celtic gene bequeathed to me from somewhere in my ancestry, or even the strong feeling of connection I experience with the natural world and its landscapes. Harps have an association with both Wales and Ireland, and when I think of harps, then I am reminded of Bards and the stream of inspiration they call Awen. Now that is a Welsh word, isn’t it?"

Whatever you call it, my companion answers, the inspiration is coming from the Oran Mór, which as you know is Gaelic, but although it can be named in any human language, the Great Song can only be understood through softening the heart and listening to the sound that flows through the universe, through all existence. The words are an attempt to describe the sound of becoming, intoned by my kind in our language of angels, and which I am at this moment using to communicate and you are translating, because we are connecting heart to heart. I am therefore flowing through your stream of consciousness as inspiration. To truly understand your part in the Song, it is essential that you tune up your instrument, to become harmonic.

And shall I always be able to hear you? I ask, knowing how easily I can get distracted and lose the connection.

Remember that there is art in your heart, two words that make a rhyme. If you choose to walk upon the path I show you tonight, then you will hear me. Should you become distracted and stray, then all that happens, is you become involved in the world’s noise again, the chattering of your own restless wandering mind. As you know, all of that can be discordant, so I don’t expect you’ll be gone for too long.

You are right, I do get involved with the noise sometimes, but eventually, it’s bound to get on my nerves, and it is then, I’ll come looking for you in the quiet places. But tell me, how am I able to translate what you tell me. There are no college courses for learning angel language. It’s not exactly like when I learned French at school, or when I signed up for an evening class in Italian is it?

When the mind and heart come together, the language of angels is easy to translate. Then you will create with love. Our song is the language of creation, the sound that calls everything into being. The Creative Spirit channels through the angel stream where the energy frequency steps down, so that you can receive and use it. The musical idea of a choir of angels is perfectly compatible with the idea of a Great Song, is it not?

The image you are evoking for me feels warm and safe with no hard edges.

The Great Song is a love song, creation is joyful, the angel continues. "It is the stress in human minds that messes everything up for you and makes harm instead of beauty. The words of the Song translate according to personal creative ability. You are hearing poetry, stories, philosophy, healing, light. Sculptors can see a soul in a block of stone or wood, potters see a vase in a lump of clay, artists see light, color and form on blank canvases, whilst a jeweler might see patterns, symmetry and energy in precious metals and stones. Some humans receive information that translates into wonderful systems, healing medicine, or into machines that enhance life on your planet.

Human diversity is truly amazing, and as a species, you’ve only uncovered the jewels that lie on the top layer of the deep treasure chest available to you. You must apply love and walk with courage, if you want to be part of the Great Song. We very much hope that your species will not destroy the environment with your discord or indeed, become extinct before you can reach your true potential."

I begin to understand you, I say still walking at my own pace. Our minds need light, and our hearts need love. We can learn to give and receive both. We can learn to become a part of everything, to harmonize with the Song, and instead of seeing ourselves as separate dominant creatures, we can take responsibility. It’s the separation that causes the craziness, isn’t it? We think we are alone, I say, suddenly feeling nurtured, like the angel and the moon are enfolding me in inclusive arms.

Then you will continue to hear my song, he replies, for as long as you are prepared to listen. If you write at your own pace, then, there will be peace within and without. No pressure, of course the choice is always yours.

Thanks, I answer, I really do want to listen.

I have an impression of silver bells as the angel beams at me, filling the room with profound peace, before his form begins to fade. The words are all written for today. I stand up to close the balcony door and notice that the moonlight has also receded. Although the path across the water has almost vanished, it still exists within my imagination, under my feet and in my heart space, clear and gold now, stretching from shore to shore, alive and shimmering with music from the stars.

Practice

Choose a time of day that appeals to you for making your own creative connection. You might like to set up a small table with a special candle next to an open