Astral Flow is a new painting inspired by returning to the chakra teachings through Yogananda’s perspective.

I’ve been working with the chakras for many years. I’ve taught about them and channeled guided visioning meditations connected with their energies. And yet, I remain a lifelong learner.

There is always another layer to discover.

This summer, I joined Ananda Worldwide’s online course Know Your Chakras, wanting to go deeper into the chakra system through the teachings of Paramhansa Yogananda. I was already familiar with many aspects of the chakras, but returning to them from this perspective has opened up new ways of understanding the relationship between energy, consciousness, action, and our spiritual journey.

I painted Astral Flow to mark the beginning of my journey through this new course.

The meditator in this painting may look familiar if you’ve been following my work this summer. But this time, I intentionally elongated the figure to fit the 12″ x 24″ canvas.

There was something meaningful in that stretching.

Life asks us to stretch. Sometimes life itself can be a stretch.

And our inner work is to keep returning to balance and alignment—to become increasingly conscious of what moves us upward and what pulls us downward.

The elongated figure also speaks to the astral spine described in yogic teachings: a subtle channel just forward of the physical spine, through which life force moves. The chakras can be understood as energy centres or doorways along this pathway.

I love the image of an inner highway.

Energy can move up or down this highway, and according to the teachings I’m exploring, the direction of that energy influences our attitudes, our behaviours, and ultimately how we move through life.

In the yogic tradition, the ultimate goal is Moksha—freedom, liberation, or ego-transcendence: the realization of our true nature beyond the limited identification with the ego.

The teachings describe this as a gradual awakening in which the energy rises through the central channel of the astral spine. As it moves upward and the chakras become increasingly clear, the seventh chakra at the crown opens naturally.

That’s why I painted the lotus above the figure’s head.

It represents that opening.

Not something we force.

Something that unfolds.

And I find that distinction beautiful.

This isn’t an overnight transformation. The yogic path describes it as a progressive practice—a work of lifetimes.

One of the teachings that has particularly stayed with me is the relationship between action and energy.

In yogic philosophy, action creates karma. But not all action comes from the same place.

We can act from the ego—with attachment to an outcome, wanting something in exchange, seeking a reward, or trying to gain or protect something we already have.

Or we can act from the soul.

Soul-motivated action isn’t about what we’ll get back. It’s action offered without that same attachment to personal reward or protection.

According to the teachings, ego-driven action binds us more deeply to delusion, while soul-motivated action helps lift our energy.

And we don’t have to be perfect at this.

Even beginning to practice this attitude can change the way we move through challenging circumstances.

I find that incredibly encouraging.

We can be in a difficult situation and still ask:

Can I respond from my soul rather than from my fear?

Can I act without needing a particular outcome?

Can I choose the action that lifts rather than the one that binds?

Even when we don’t get it right, the effort itself becomes part of the journey.

We already carry karma—patterns of thought, feeling, attachment, and behaviour—that can affect the free movement of energy through us.

This is one reason the chakra system is so valuable as an inner map.

The chakras can be understood as places where energy becomes concentrated, including places where fear, attachment, and karmic patterns can influence us.

But the goal isn’t necessarily to go hunting for and resolve every individual piece of karma.

Instead, the teachings offer another way:

Lift the energy.

Through meditation, through conscious choices, through the practices and attitudes that support spiritual awakening, we gradually create a stronger current of upward-moving energy.

A river of energy.

And as that energy flows more freely, it naturally works through the chakras.

For me, this is one of the most hopeful aspects of the teaching. We don’t have to have everything figured out before we begin. We practice. We return. We lift the energy again.

Balance is not a permanent achievement.

It’s something we return to, again and again.

Creating Astral Flow has reminded me that spiritual learning doesn’t have an endpoint.

I can teach about the chakras and still be a student of them.

I can have years of experience and still discover a new perspective that changes the way I understand something I’ve worked with for decades.

That’s one reason I continue taking courses with Ananda. They help me stay engaged with the teachings, deepen my understanding, and—perhaps most importantly—keep me aligned and on track in my own spiritual practice.

Astral Flow is my visual exploration of that process.

The energy moves.

We respond.

We return to balance.

We lift again.

And, little by little, the path opens.

Perhaps that’s what the stretching in this painting is really about.

Not striving to become something we’re not.

But creating enough openness for the energy already within us to move more freely.

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P.S. As of this morning, this painting is part of an exhibition of my work at Prana Shanti Yoga Centre in Ottawa. If the painting calls to you, see more photos and buy it in my online shop. 

Soul’s Journey started with an angel. A stone angel.

During a photo walk through Beechwood National Cemetery before a Capital Pop-Up Cinema event, I was drawn to a stone angel holding a heart. I stopped to take her photograph, not knowing that this quiet encounter would later inspire a painting.

Beechwood is designed to be more than a cemetery. Its winding roads, mature trees, gardens, sculptures, and quiet spaces invite visitors to slow down, reflect, and spend time in nature. It was during one of those leisurely walks that this angel quietly found me.

What made Soul’s Journey unique in my creative journey was where the inspiration came from. Many of my paintings begin with the inner visions and symbols I receive with my eyes closed. This time, the first spark came from the physical world — from an angel I encountered with my eyes open.

I began painting Soul’s Journey before receiving some unexpected personal news.

Over the following days, she became a quiet companion as I processed this news, co-creating with Spirit and reflecting on life’s journey.

Painting has always been more than making art for me. It’s prayer. It’s meditation. It’s an act of trust. As each mark appeared, I found myself taking one inspired step at a time, trusting that the path ahead would reveal itself exactly as it needed to.

Unlike a maze, a labyrinth has only one path.

For centuries, labyrinths have been used as a walking prayer or meditation, inviting us to slow down, quiet the mind, listen deeply, and trust the wisdom that arises within. The path leads inward to the centre and then outward again along the very same path.

As I painted this labyrinth, I experienced it as a reflection of the soul’s journey through this and many lifetimes.

Whatever your beliefs, the invitation is the same: to pause, to listen, and to return to the world carrying the gifts you discovered at your centre.

The labyrinth rests upon a circle of gold.

Gold has long symbolized the Divine, illumination, wisdom, and our eternal nature. For me, it represents our True Self—the individualized expression of the Divine that exists within each of us.

Hidden beneath the gold are layers of meditative mark-making. They remind me that every joy, every sorrow, every lesson, and every lifetime leaves its imprint upon us. Those experiences shape our journey, but they never change who we truly are.

Part of the soul’s journey is gently brushing away the mud and dust that have accumulated over time—not because they have diminished our essence, but because they have simply obscured it. As those layers fall away, our true nature is revealed, allowing us to shine more fully as the unique expression of the Divine we have always been.

Beneath it all, we remain gold.

I like to think of this angel as a loving guide and companion. When we ask for help, she reminds us that we are never walking alone.

Creating Soul’s Journey became part of my own prayer. With each brushstroke, I was reminded to trust that one inspired step at a time, the path inward, outward, and upward would continue to unfold.

By the time I finished painting her — through long days and nights of quiet creation — I felt lighter, more accepting, and more open. The process itself became a reminder that art can be a companion through life’s unfolding, offering moments of reflection, connection, and grace.

My hope is that this painting offers you a moment of peace, encourages you to trust your own journey, and gently reminds you of the gold that has been within you all along.

If this angel is calling you to bring her home, or if you’d like to see close-up photos, visit her in my online shop here.

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Last week, I shared Behold, the first of two Flower of Life paintings that emerged during a remarkable week of meditation and celebration with my online yoga community.

As I mentioned then, two distinct visions arrived almost simultaneously.

One became Behold.

The other became A Return to Source (photo left).

Rather than choosing between them, I worked on both paintings throughout the week, moving back and forth as layers dried.

Although they shared the same sacred geometry, they gradually revealed two very different invitations.

Two Paintings, Two Invitations

If Behold asks us to pause in wonder before the mystery of life, A Return to Source quietly invites us to step into it.

In that movement inward, immersed in meditation, inspiration, and the company of thousands of fellow celebrants around the world, it felt as though every mark and dot became part of my own spiritual practice.

Moving between both paintings, I could sense their interconnectedness—and the interconnectedness of all who were part of the retreat. It was in this spirit that these Flower of Life paintings came into being.

Beginning with a single circle and expanding outward through repetition, the Flower of Life has long been seen as a symbol of creation itself—everything arising from a single Source while remaining inseparably connected to it.

Whether viewed through the lens of sacred geometry, spirituality, or simply wonder, it speaks to the mystery of the One expressing itself as the many.

Because of the mark-making background layers, each flower within the Flower of Life is unique, yet none exists independently of the whole.

That feels deeply symbolic to me.

We, too, are individual expressions of the Divine—beautifully distinct, yet never separate from the Source from which we arise.

That understanding became the inspiration for the title, A Return to Source.

Rather than filling the canvas as it does in Behold, this Flower of Life rests within an open archway.

I never thought of it as a frame.

To me, it became a gateway.

Therein is the threshold between the everyday awareness we so often inhabit and the deeper reality meditation invites us to experience.

One morning, as I stared at the canvas, wondering what wanted to emerge next, I suddenly saw them.

A great pair of angel wings.

They mirror the curve of the Flower of Life above, creating another embrace within the composition.

Throughout my paintings, angels symbolize our Team of Divine Helpers—the unseen companions who lovingly encourage, guide, and support us.

Here, the wings do something more.

They help lift us.

Nestled beneath them sits a small meditator rendered in my familiar style, flowing between solid forms and dissolving fields of tiny dots.

Like all of us, she is both embodied and energetic.

Her hands are joined in Anjali Mudra and lifted above her head.

While hands in prayer at the heart symbolize reverence and gratitude, raising them overhead transforms the gesture into an offering of the whole self—a movement of devotion, surrender, aspiration, and joyful receptivity to the Divine.

I deliberately sized the figure so her hands reach through the opening created by the wings toward the centre of the Flower of Life.

To me, it became a visual prayer: with devotion, surrender, and the loving support of our Divine Helpers, we are gently lifted back toward Source.

The lower portion of the painting evolved layer by layer.

What began as vibrant mark-making beneath a translucent magenta glaze slowly disappeared beneath thousands upon thousands of hand-painted violet and radiant gold dots.

From a distance, they simply harmonize the expressive chaos beneath.

Only when you move in close do they reveal themselves, transforming the surface into a field of living vibration.

That transformation feels symbolic to me.

We often move through life believing that only what we can see is real.

Yet both science and spirituality point toward something deeper.

Science tells us that what appears solid is, at its most fundamental level, dynamic energy.

Spiritual traditions have long spoken of an underlying unity from which all life arises.

Though they use different languages, both invite us to look beyond appearances.

That’s one of the gifts of meditation.

The world itself doesn’t change.

Our perception does.

We begin to sense that beneath all the activity of our lives lies something steady, loving, and profoundly interconnected.

Perhaps that is what a return to Source really is.

Not travelling somewhere else.

Not becoming someone different.

Through meditation, we gradually remember that beneath our names, our stories, and our separate lives, we have never ceased to be unique expressions of the Divine.

The return isn’t a journey across space.

It’s a journey of remembrance.

Back to the Source that has never left us—and that we have never truly left.

Just as meditation invites us to look beyond the surface, this painting reveals new layers the closer you come.

If you’d like to explore its details and textures, I invite you to visit A Return to Source in my online gallery, where you’ll find additional photographs and information.

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The Temple Within emerged during the final unit of the meditation course I’ve been taking over the past several months.

I’ve come to realize that while many people process what they’re learning by writing, I process it through paint.

This painting became my way of integrating one of the course’s central teachings: that the union we seek with the Divine isn’t something to be found outside ourselves, but something experienced within.

In the yogic tradition, meditation is taught as the most direct path to experiencing that union.

At the heart of the painting sits a meditating figure. Behind it is the vesica piscis—one of the oldest symbols in sacred geometry and one I’ve painted repeatedly over the decades.

Formed where two circles intersect, the vesica piscis symbolizes the meeting of heaven and earth, spirit and matter.

I placed the meditating figure so the lower chakras remain grounded within the earthly circle while the head rests in the sacred space where the two become one. For me, it symbolizes that communion with the Divine happens within our own consciousness.

The illuminated chakras trace the inner journey of awakening.

In the upper circle, a dotted lotus emerges once the crown chakra naturally opens, following the work done on the other 6 chakras.

The dots represent energy in motion, while the lotus symbolizes enlightenment, self-realization, and the Divine. It feels like a field of awakening unfolding in vibration—subtle, alive, and radiant.

The labradorite stone resting within the cupola of the temple symbolizes intuition, transformation, and spiritual awareness, enhancing those energies in the beholder. It felt like the perfect energetic focal point—quietly inviting our awareness upward while reminding us that the light we seek is already within.

Nothing about the making of this painting was rushed.

Over the course of nearly fifty hours, countless layers of paint, thousands of tiny dots, and shimmering interference pigments slowly came together.

Some of those hidden details only reveal themselves as the light shifts or as you move around the painting.

It struck me that meditation is much the same. The truth doesn’t change, our awareness does. As our minds become quieter, we’re able to perceive what has been there all along.

…

Can I make a confession?

The peak of the temple roof isn’t perfectly centred. It’s off by about a quarter of an inch.

I’ve had this happen before in my paintings… was it distraction, or a happy accident?

Years ago, I probably would have been frustrated. This time, I smiled.

It felt like one more teaching hidden within the painting.

How easily we lose our focus.

How quickly we drift out of alignment.

And how gently meditation invites us to notice… and simply return.

Most people will probably never notice that tiny imperfection. I notice it every time I look at the painting, and instead of seeing a mistake, I see a loving reminder and invitation.

Every meditation begins exactly the same way—not by being perfectly focused, but by noticing we’ve wandered and returning to our centre.

Indeed, that’s what The Temple Within has become for me. Not simply a painting about meditation, but a quiet invitation to remember that the temple we’ve been seeking has always existed within us.

Indeed, the path isn’t about being perfectly aligned. It’s about noticing when we’ve wandered, and lovingly returning to the temple within.

One final note. Before I even finished varnishing it, The Temple Within found its new home, becoming the first of my paintings to be collected here in Ottawa. A beautiful being came to pick it up yesterday, once the varnish had cured.

It felt like one final reminder. What began as a personal journey became an offering. The circle widened.

The path inward to discover the Divine within ourselves is also a path toward recognizing that same Divine in one another.

The Vesica Piscis at the heart of the painting reminds us that we are never truly separate—we simply awaken to the connection that has always been there.

In the end, that’s what my art has always been about.

Not ownership.

Not even creation.

But quietly helping one another remember who we truly are.