In 1794 William Blake published "The Tyger" as part of his Songs of Experience collection. It was this poem that set the path before me at a young age. All these years, decades, only now do I learn he had visions of angels. To say I'm blown away would be an understatement.
Angels and trees, just like here, in my backyard, the row of pine trees. Tree spirits, Dryads, gateways, portals, Yaggdrasil, etcetera. Blake saw visions from another world, realm. Sadly Blake was deemed mad and died poor in August 1827, buried in a common grave in Bunhill Cemetery (London). He was largely unrecognized during his lifetime, which brings me to a conversation I recently had with my oldest son. I was frustrated one evening feeling that my hard work has gone unrecognized, bypassed, skipped over, etcetera. He said to me that perhaps it's just not the right time. Someday, maybe years ahead, decades, it might make an impact, mean something then. Such as what happened with William Blake because, at the time of his death, Blake sold fewer than 30 copies of Songs of Innocence and of Experience. It wasn't until the 20th century that his work was fully appreciated and his influence increased.
Knowing this about Blake, I'm okay with whatever is meant to be or not or won't happen until a hundred years from now. I just wish Blake were alive right now though, to see what's in our skies, not just in the trees. And getting back to the poem "The Tyger", as much as I'd love to explain how that poem came into my hands, spoilers come to mind. It's in my novel, "The Phoenix, the Tiger, and the Rose".
Anyway, I got chills typing this blog, divine forces at work. Those same divine forces left breadcrumbs, I followed. And here we are in 2021, opposing forces, light and dark, good and evil, angels in trees, wondering, questioning, searching for answers. While it seems not much has changed, it has in regards to angels making themselves more visible.
"In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors." - W.B.
Doors, portals, the veil, or whatever else one calls it. So much unknown, but we are filling in some gaps now. And like my son said, much of my work, what I've been showing may not be for now or tomorrow but decades or even a hundred years later. In short, it's in the creator's hands but oh how I wish I had a time machine! I'd approach William Blake and tell him he's not mad, insane, but gifted.
