When I first began my oracle art project, I had some grand visions around how it would all unfold.

I imagined that I would create a sacred ritual space such that I could create from an undisturbed, meditative state of transcendence where visions + ideas would descend from the heavens, rise up from the underworld, and emerge from the depths of my own heart. I imagined soft candlelight + gentle music + inner peace.

And yeah...that’s not at all how it happened.

In fact, I created exactly zero (of the 60 total art pieces) under the circumstances I imagined at the beginning.

Instead, I created my art in the gritty shadows of hard days, in small spaces between (or during) zoom meetings, and in moments of disappointment, fear, and uncertainty.

I had moments of creative clarity in line at Trader Joe’s. I tinkered with tricky pieces as I half-watched movies or played a virtual game of cards. I finished one piece around midnight on an Amtrak train, 7 hours into my trip.

I made art through grief, frustration, and uninspired boredom.

These were not the conditions I imagined for my art.

This was not the expanded state of transcendent bliss + peaceful awareness I assumed I needed to access to the magic.

No, the actual process was gritty + glorious + hard-won.

I created from the cracks. I took any space I had.

I opened to the magic wherever + however I could.

And it worked.

This taught me something important: that the magic isn't so fragile.

Magic doesn’t need an ideal set of conditions. It certainly doesn’t need perfection. Because magic doesn’t live inside any of these externals.

The magic lives inside of us.

And our work is simply to create imperfect openings for it to come through.

The magic belongs to you. It always has.

How might you give it room + invite it imperfectly? How might you continue to summon + show up for it? How might you remember that you can't lose it, no matter what?