The Invitation
Mother Mary
She meets you in the place of surrender. In the quiet space between who you've been and who you're becoming. Her presence is one of unwavering grace. She asks for nothing except your willingness to let go and to be held in her embrace.
Her companionship is an invitation to rest in that knowing. To trust that even in the unknown, you are already in wholeness. To let yourself be carried by a love that has never once let go of you.
Mother Mary
Acrylic on canvas, 100cm x 50cm (23.6" x 39.4")
The emergence
Mother Mary came quietly, answering a prayer whispered by my soul. "I am here to take you home," she replied.
She was referring to the parts of me that ached for wholeness, for rest, for the old to dissolve. My life had been split in two. There was the woman I had been before the car crash, and the woman who emerged afterwards.
Her presence on the canvas felt like grace itself. Quiet. Unperturbed. Ever present.
As my own prayer deepened, her form pushed through the canvas. "Wait," she said, "light a candle, and turn off the lights. Now paint."
I followed the instructions, dipped my brush into aquamarine blue, and, in semi-darkness, brought forth her majesty. Too powerful to see in direct light, her blessing entered the canvas.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death." I recited to the canvas.
Death, I understood, was not an end, only the cleansing of old ideas of myself. "Surrender my child, there is nothing to fear, for I am with you. Always."
The presence