Healing and growth through intuitive art
The real
That is also inner
Is playing with me.
The creatures of the world
Come to sit on the tree
To look at the moons
As they move.
It is done
By the hand
The head
And the heart.
And they are nothing but
Movements
Of the real.
So the real
Is playing with the real
To see the real
Playing.
The sky came
From all directions
With little lights
To celebrate
The structure that you made
Around your house
To keep and to repair it.
The structure moves,
It grows
It knows..
But look!
There is no house inside,
Just sky.
I was not there. I sent my paintings over. They were framed there and this is the opening.
This time I won’t write a poem, but a description .
At first, when I drew, I thought that the lines represented the pain that I experienced, Relentless and continuous.
Then they looked like rain.
And in the end they started to look like trees without leaves, shivering in the cold.
Behind the lines there is a landscape.
The lines are like a filter that you have to pass, if you want to go beyond. You can get caught in the filter and you will suffer pain, rain, cold and longing for leaves.
But you can also pass gently, carefully, sensitively, through the spaces between the lines, and then you will find yourself in the place where it is beautiful.
This, in a way, is the essence of spiritual practice.
You can’t eliminate all the obstructions in your personal filter. Usually there are too many of them. But you can teach yourself how to pass in the spaces among them, to arrive at where there is beauty, love, playfulness and joy. The air from the landscape is already here.
And when your practice is through making art, you are already half way there.
It used to be a mountain
Full of rocks
And now it is a dream
That dreams itself
To be.
The poem describes a trip from left to right in the picture.
I am running rhythmically
Down a tree covered hill
Becoming breathless suddenly
As I see the omen in the air.
The landscape sends me
Through the fields
Toward a tree that welcomes me
Into a spot
from which I’ll have to leap
Across the empty sky
To meet the sun
That hides behind a cloud.
And I wonder:
How will I make the leap
after having lost my name?
Wanting
And the want dissolves
Fluttering once more
In the wordless void,
How can anything
Not wholly beautiful
exist?
He was hungry
When he fell
His green was still alive
His sun still yearned to shine
A little more
His joys and sorrows
Leaned against the wall
The light has started
Growing bigger
It was beautiful
He knew
Now where is
The unseeable heart
That will accept him all
Into itself?
The man with pain
Has forgotten everything
And now
He gives
the things he used to have
To birds.
I am disappearing
In my room
Gray light is coming
From the window
My lungs are still breathing
Sky
My heart is still beating
Red and green
Broken as I am
I still remember earth.
intuitiveflow 