The Outpouring of Love
By Anna Biela
How my love for Banksy always leads me back home—to my He[art].
There is one realization that keeps returning to me. I cannot say that I know everything Dolores Cannon discovered through the conversations she had with the Higher Selves of her clients under hypnosis, but there is one thing that deeply resonates with my own experience. After a healing session, my young patient, Kasia, entered a profound state of awareness and allowed me to speak with what she called her “twin,” a presence that felt like her Higher Self. Both Kasia’s experience and Dolores Cannon’s work describe God as a Source of unconditional love and pure energy.
Today I realized that what I have been searching for all these years is not another person. I have been missing Home.
For the longest time, I believed another human being could give me that feeling of complete safety—that when two hearts merged as one, I would finally feel whole. But we are human. We are imperfect, and relationships, while beautiful, can also be painful. I feel nothing but love for my partner, and I look forward to the day when our hearts resonate deeply with one another. Until then, I have discovered something even more important: the love I have been searching for already lives within me. I am complete.
Before I went to Kupala, I began a painting series called The Outpouring of Love. It has been waiting for me. It took all this time to return to myself, but now I know I am ready. I am ready to paint love, to outline love, and to allow it to flow through my work without fear or hesitation.
There is nothing else I wish to experience more deeply in this life than love itself. I have made a conscious decision to say goodbye to everything that separates me from love—from God. I long to live in a state of unity, allowing love to become stronger than fear, sadness, loneliness, anger, or jealousy. If my art can help others remember that place within themselves, then it has fulfilled its purpose.
The most bizarre thing is that whenever I reflect on Banksy, I always come back to this same feeling. Beyond the art, beyond the mystery, beyond the cultural impact, something always leads me back to love. Not romantic love, but the quiet remembrance of Home—the place where love is not something we search for but something we already are. That realization has become far more important to me than understanding who Banksy is. It reminds me of who I am.
Looking back, I understand why I needed to walk much of my path alone. I remember feeling it even as a child—that somehow my journey would be different, and that no one else could walk it for me. For a long time, that realization brought sadness. Today it brings peace. Walking alone does not mean being separate. It means remembering that the Source of love has been within me all along, patiently waiting for me to come home.