Four Lights on the Path: A Meditation for Awakening Creatives

I came into this class knowing I only had a short window—less than two hours—before I had to hit the road for a trip to Oklahoma for a girls' weekend in a cabin.

My dog Ralphie was with me, joyful and energetic, bouncing around the room, eventually curling up on a chair (with my firm guidance). His presence, too, became part of the teaching field.

My curriculum design always includes a theme and two or three ideas I want to explore, but I leave space for the unknown. I don’t know how things will land or what the group will need in the moment. 

That’s how I keep the process alive—not rigid or stale—especially since I’ve taught this class three times now.

I get bored teaching the same thing over and over, and two students in the room had already taken my previous class.

So I was holding a container that honored the current, the wave already in motion this year, while welcoming new students to join that energetic stream. The new medicine to this stream was systems of domination.

At the same time, I was preparing for my first solo road trip in over a year with my electric car.

I don't have a Tesla; I have a Ford Mustang Mach-E, which makes it a bit more of an adventure.

I knew I’d have to stop to charge, to rest, to reflect—exactly how I like to road trip through life too.

Not the rush-through-it model. And all of this—the timing, the energy, the movement—was shaping how I entered our session.

I knew I wanted to create an experience that would let them feel what it means to walk into the unknown.

A Meditation on "Four Things"

So I began not with what I planned, but with something spontaneous: a meditation I’ve been doing over and over. It’s focused on the number four.

I’ve been studying it lately—through numerology, through science, through systems of knowing that expand my way of being.

I brought it in because it’s been helping me make sense of things I’m still navigating in my own leadership and visibility.

As we debriefed their previous class experiment, some students were feeling stuck.

The prompt was simple and short—just a minute or two to complete—but the resistance was real.

It wasn’t about the prompt. It was about the truth they’d touch when they did it.

The reality that they might have to change something, learn something about themselves, or face the quiet truths about what’s held them back.

They were on the cusp of awakening. But awakening is rarely quiet. It stirs up what’s been dormant. It reveals what’s been buried by systems of domination, layered with personal identities and lived experience.

So I offered them this meditation. One that’s helped me soften into my own knowing.

The invitation is to reflect on four things:

1. Something you love.

2. Something you’re avoiding.

3. What connects those two—no matter how random it seems.

4. And the thing you truly want.

In class, I shared my own example.

I love my dog Ralphie—his joy, his spirit, the way he brings life into any room.

And I’ve been avoiding turning my Queen Mindset Leadership® mastermind into a course. The content exists. Clients have gone through it. One of my private clients is doing it now and loving it. The tech isn’t the issue—I’ve been using Kajabi for years. But I’ve been avoiding sharing it. Naming it. Launching it.

So I asked myself: What unites these two?

And I realized—they’re both things I love. And I’m scared. Scared that if I share what I love, it might be met with silence. Or only criticism. What if no one cares? What if no one sees?

But then came the fourth thing—the deepest desire underneath it all:
I want my work to reach people I’ve never met before.
I’m ready to be seen.

Not just by my community, but by strangers who are just now finding me for the first time.

That’s what I brought into the room. A living example of emotional intelligence and intuitive reflection. A bridge between desire and fear. And a reminder that what we avoid often hides what we seek.

Grief, Realignment, and the Wisdom of Expression

A few minutes into the next part of class, something unexpected yet deeply aligned happened.

One of my former students whom I'd invited—someone from a previous cohort—walked into the room.

When I asked why she was joining us that day, she shared that this day marked the anniversary of a miscarriage. In choosing how to honor her son, she decided to be in this space.

She said she enjoyed my presence, my instruction. She knew how ancestrally connected I am. And she wanted to be with that energy, rather than sit in solitude with her grief.

So I honored her share.
I honored her experience.
I honored her courage to keep showing up for herself in a world that is not created for her success.

Her presence shifted the dynamic—not in content, but in depth.

Now the group wasn’t just three white women exploring the systems that shape their creative blocks.

Now we had a Black woman holding her story alongside ours. And this shifted the lens through which I moved in the room—how I held space, how I debriefed the experiment from the last class.

We revisited last week’s work: adapted from The Artist’s Way, I had asked them to create a list of things they wanted to do. But I had added a twist—putting a liberation spin on it so that they could witness how expansive their desires actually were. This wasn’t a matter of me shoving my agenda onto them.

This was co-creation, rooted in what they had already offered about themselves.

I simply gave shape to what they didn’t yet have the language for.

I asked them to look at those desires through the lens of the four domination systems—colonization, white supremacy, unconscious capitalism, and patriarchy.

I also had them rate themselves on the wheel of privilege and marginalization. From there, the wisdom that came through was potent.

Some of the reflections they shared:

• “White supremacy keeps me in perfectionism.”
  This student realized that the expectations placed on her since childhood weren’t neutral—they were shaped by white supremacy.

• “Systems kept me from valuing and expressing my uniqueness and my art.”
  One student recalled how male professors dismissed her out-of-the-box creativity—and how that policing still lived inside her.

• “I downplay my desire because of unconscious capitalism and patriarchy.”
  Some reflected on being paid to betray themselves—to skip birthdays, cancel trips, downplay joy. They were taught early that wanting what they wanted wasn’t safe.

• “Colonization and capitalism limit my flow of sharing wisdom.”
  The fear of getting it wrong—of not saying it perfectly—silenced them.

• “Artistry feels like a scarce commodity.”
  One student said she was scared to use up her supplies—colonization had whispered: there won’t be more. Don’t invest. Don’t waste. Don’t create.

• “White supremacy kept me from advocating against white supremacy.”
  The fear of being wrong, or getting canceled, shut her down. She had numbed the rage, but didn’t know how to name it or if it was safe to.

• “Colonization eroded the boundaries around giving service.”
  That one landed deeply for me too. As I expand my work, I’ve had to be even more tender and firm about where service ends and my humanity begins. I am not mentor Dra. García all the time. I am not a 24/7 vessel for healing. Sometimes I’m just CarolLaine. A friend. A human. And that’s enough.

• “Patriarchy kept me from being more nurturing.”
  One student feared that loving people—pouring into mentees, friends—might cross some invisible line. She had been taught there were only certain people you’re allowed to nurture. Her boss once kept things so “professional” that love, warmth, humanity felt out of bounds.

What emerged was a stunning revelation: their expressions had been policed. Fragmented. Silenced.

Desire. Joy. Rage. Voice. Love.

These parts had been shaped and constrained by systems. And now, as they began to name it, to witness it—not just intellectually but somatically—a breakthrough emerged.

Without me having to say it, they began to realize the point of expression. Of art. Of truth-telling.

They began to see that all these churned-up emotions, all this newly integrated language, all this compost from systems that tried to rot them—was now becoming fertile ground for their creativity.

This was the moment of awakening.
This was the remembering.
That expression is not just aesthetic.
It is alchemical.
It is ancestral.
It is abolitionist.
It is the way.

The Walkers, the Holders, and the Practice of Trusting the Unknown

I wanted them to feel what it’s like to navigate a path they haven’t walked before.

Because everything we don’t know how to do, everything we’ve never done before—that’s the unknown. And what we do know, what we have done, is such an infinitesimally small sliver of what’s actually possible. As constraining as it might be, it still feels safer. By definition, it is more known.

And so I told them: this next part is going to be easy.
But if at any moment they didn’t feel comfortable, they could say no.
Because sovereignty over our bodies matters. Because agency is sacred.
Whether it’s closing your eyes, moving your body, or taking in a new idea—you don’t owe your participation to anyone. Not even me.

We were in the small drawing room at the Creative Arts Center, where everyone has a chair and table for note-taking. I asked them to move their desks aside as we were going to be moving through the room.

I was wearing a dress and sneakers that day—the outfit I had packed for a cabin weekend, not for “professional” teaching. But that’s what teaching with me looks like. I am not a brand, a mask, a slide deck. I am a whole being. And this class is Creative Awakening.

So we stood. And the exercise began.

I asked them to line up on one side of the room. I invited one of my students to be my co-lead and help me demo. She said yes, and that yes made all the difference.

First, I said:
Let’s all just walk from this side of the room to the other, with eyes open.
You can walk fast or slow. Just pay attention to how your feet feel on the floor. Notice the space around you. No pressure. Just walk.

I walked slow—long legs and all—and I let myself savor it. Everyone else got there faster. But I was unbothered. I was present. I wanted to feel the floor beneath me.

Then we came back.
And I said, “Now the demo begins.”

I turned to my co-lead and told her: You’re going to lead me across the room. I’m going to close my eyes. Your job is to get me to the other side safely.

I placed my hands in hers. She walked backward. I walked forward, blind. And even though I was nervous—it was my first time doing this—I felt safe. I trusted her. I love her. (Shout out to you.)

Then we reversed.

I turned to the class and asked, “Can anyone guess what’s next?”
They didn’t know yet. But I was watching their imaginations try.

Now that we had four people in the room—thanks to the divine arrival of the student from a previous cohort—we could pair up. I said:

“Decide who will be the walker and who will be the holder. The walker will close their eyes. The holder will lead them, step by step, across the room.”

They began.
Eyes closed. Hands linked.
Movements cautious.
Spirits awake.

Before they switched roles, I asked what it felt like.

And this is what they said:

For the walkers—the ones who closed their eyes and trusted the lead—they felt safe.
They felt held.
They felt supported, loved, comfortable.
Some even started walking before their partner did—trying to take the lead themselves—because the unfamiliar felt too vulnerable.

For the holders—the ones guiding their partners—they were thinking:
Am I going too fast?
Are we in sync?
How do I protect them from bumping into anything?
They became attuned. They were matching pace. They were energetically connecting.
They were trying to become one.

I had written “trusting the unknown” on the board.
And I drew one of my favorite shapes: a web.

On one side:
Walkers → (Surrender)
On the other:
Holders → (Action)

I asked them, “Why do you think I had you do this?”

They didn’t have the words yet.
So I gave it to them straight: This is what your intuition feels like.

Your intuition is that quiet walker.
The one who senses, listens, responds.
And your body—your habits, your decisions—is the holder.
You’re both.

One of the students began to cry.

I hadn’t seen it at first. But when I turned to her, I said gently, “Do you want to share?”

She said something I’ll never forget:
“I realized that I always try to do things alone. That’s why I started walking first. I’ve never really trusted someone to lead me. I’ve always felt like I had to take the initiative because no one else would.”

Her voice cracked open the room.

So I grounded us in breath.

I said:
Let’s honor the version of ourselves who didn’t feel supported.
Let’s honor the one who had to lead, even when she was tired.
The one who couldn’t trust anyone to hold her.
The one who still kept going.

And I reminded them:
The purpose of this exercise is not just symbolic.
It’s somatic. It’s spiritual.

Your intuition is the one who feels.
Your action is the one who moves.

When they walk together,
When they trust each other,
That’s when your path unfolds.

That’s when you begin to follow your way—
not the script, not the performance, not the anxiety—

But the quiet knowing that says:
This is where I’m meant to go.

This exercise came to me as a flash after our first class. I didn’t test it with ChatGPT. I didn’t run it by anyone. It arrived. I followed it.

And the appearance of that one extra student that day? It made the whole thing possible. Divine choreography.

Creative Awakening → Creative Liberation → Creative Sovereignty

In the closing moments of our class, we lingered a lil longer than planned (~10 mins).

One student shared that, in her male-dominated field, she’s often one of the only women—and that even potential mentors didn’t always extend kindness.

So I introduced them to The Queen’s Court—an extension of the Queen Mindset Leadership® framework for reimagining mentorship and support beyond formal roles.

We briefly reviewed the different archetypes of wisdom-keepers in our lives: from spiritual companions to ancestral guides, from the friend who always affirms your brilliance to the colleague who sharpens you with hard truth. It was a beautiful detour. One I’ll be expanding in an upcoming blog.

After that, I guided them into a deeper inquiry with AI.

We’re now at Level 2 in our AI exploration. So I invited them to prompt ChatGPT with this:
 

• “How do domination systems identify and disrupt each chakra?”
   

Then I asked them to follow that up with a self-led question—to practice trusting their intuition and curiosity in real-time.

The overall result of this class? Magic. Vulnerability. Depth. Expansion.

This class reminded me why I do what I do. Teaching Creative Awakening is one of the ways I lead people into Creative Liberation—and ultimately, into their Creative Sovereignty.

Because when you awaken your creativity, you begin to remember.
When you liberate it, you begin to reclaim.
And when you become sovereign with it, you create not just in resistance to the system…
but in rhythm with your truth.