intuitiveflow

I feel strange. I sit down to the brush and the paints. I let myself be guided by my sense of beauty alone and do not know what I am doing until I feel that it is done.

Living house on the water

This is what the words say:

All I want is

To play in the water

To send light fingers into the world

To give water, to be practical

To give heartfelt light

To fertilize

To enable climbing

To keep it cool

To give depth

To hold the happiness as it bubbles

To feed the soul

To look in

To be like ancient wisdom

To be like normal life.

Maybe this does not belong directly to healing my pain but I don’t think so. I am in a process. I am listening to everything that shows up. I never know what will turn out to be meaningful. I never know where clues will be found. I don’t understand the wisdom of intuition, but I can listen to it and do what I understand needs to be done. I am learning to trust it more and more. What an adventure! I feel so thankful and lucky.

Right after posting #46 I have to move the car for parking regulation. I double park where the police does not ticket and go to the Hungarian Pastry Shop, across the street from the Cathedral of St. John The Divine. I sit in the deepest and darkest corner, and this is why I use black watercolor. I won’t be able to see other colors clearly enough.

Here is the drawing:

Towers in the sky

This time I am showing the process of Going-in-with-words.

This is the book I do the going-in-with-words when I am not at home.

The book of going-in-with-words

On the left you can see the collection of words. I moved my eyes all over the drawing and caught all the words that showed up in my mind, as I was doing it. 

I looked again at the drawing and asked myself: What number should I use, and the first number that came to my mind was 4. You can see that I wrote this number at the top of the list.

I counted the lines and when I came to 4 I gave it the number 1.

I counted on, and when I reached 4 again, I gave it the number 2.

And so on. When I finished the list I started it again, and in counting, skipped the words that had a number already.

This is how I did the scrambling this time.

I wrote the list again, in the new order. And after it was all written down I started to add words, make slight changes and create something that made sense as a poem. It was not hard. The poem almost made itself. I could not know what it would look like before I wrote it, and I could not now what it would tell me, until it did. 

When I read it now, it makes a lot of sense to me. This is how my intuition talks to me and tells me what is the best for me to do with my life now.

Here is the poem:

It is not really a city

Turn around the hill

Among the fortresses

And meet the hardness of life

Look at the cathedral

Very near is the truth of freedom

Not in the erect building

It is open

Your feeling of need

Makes it seem closed

The citadel

Going up and up

That you think you can’t live without

Is nothing but a want.

If you compared what I wrote in the book to what I wrote here, and saw a few slight changes, you were right. Even now, as I typed the poem for the blog, I made a few tiny changes.

This is an answer to what was left open in the end of the last posting. As soon as I let go of the moralistic view, and my attention turns to the core issue of my wants, What should I do?

This is what intuition says:

Don’t get caught up in any of the signs of power. Let go of the wants, which want to build themselves into big appearances. Freedom is already here (in the surrender to intuition. You already know). In other words: All that I pursued, all that I felt I could not live without, and spent so much energy wanting, stands in the way of the flowering of my freedom.

I was waiting. We were in a big Salvation Army store, far away from home. I found a huge comfort chair near the entrance and sat in it. The pain was unbearable. I had to do something. I had my small pad, markers and color pencils.

The first drawing looked very much like pain drawings that I did a few years ago. There are enclosed forms, like stones, being shot out as if from a volcano, pushing each other in a progression that repeats appearing in the same places. And every center of pain radiates this crazy energy, where nothing works with anything. It just radiates and radiates and radiates. The quivering of the lines comes from not being able to control the quivering of my body. I try to make the lines go where I want them to go, but the push of the pain overcomes me. #1

Pain one

 In the second one the intensity had gone down and the pain, still intense nevertheless, concentrates in only a few places. Basically it is where the toes connect to the foot. In some places I can feel how it starts back in the foot. #2

Pain two

 The intensity goes up again and I try to be accurate in the description of where the pain is and how it feels. You can see that it has become more local, but very intense again. It does not radiate so overwhelmingly as before. #3

Pain three

 It becomes easier to look at it. The pain turns softer. It is easy to know where exactly it is. I am not in an extreme torture, though it still hurts quite a bit. #4

Pain four

The pain becomes even less horrible, I start being able to be aware of other things, like the parts of the foot. Then, in-float the dark figures. #5

Pain five

I decide to go into the dark figures. This will happen in a new posting to come. I also wonder about the pain itself. I have drawn it so many times. I listened to it closely. I saw it changing. When it started to be so intrusive I refused to make it into something that will stop me from doing anything that I wanted to do. But it increased in strength and persistence so much that I could not escape accepting it as a major actor in the drama of my life. I thought for a million times: Why do I have this? What does it want to tell me? Is there anything that I have to understand but it has escaped me? Where, in my subconscious, is the thought that has created this experience? Writing this last sentence now brings a stream of faint images to my mind and I stop writing for a second to pay attention to them. I see myself with all my sexual adventures in previous lives, escaping angry crowds, thinking about my life then, and deciding that I have escaped enough and it is time to stop running and accept the punishment that will come.

This kind of thought comes from a moralistic view, in which, if someone does an immoral thing, he deserves to be punished. This kind of thought ignores the fact that the action itself came from some hunger, and some feeling of “I want but I can’t.” This feeling is what has to be tackled and not the moralistic stance of right and wrong. In the kernel of suffering of “I want but I can’t” lies the key to my release. Even if I go along with the punishment view and allow myself to be punished, I do not resolve this feeling of want and can’t. See that? I need to go to the core and not to one of its derivatives.

At this moment I suddenly know, just as my eyes wander to the last drawing, which is open right next to me: The dark figures are my pursuers, the punishers. I don’t need to go into the dark figures any more. I know.

 I also know that many people don’t believe in past lives. I wrote about this before. For the purpose of healing, here in this case, it does not matter. I have these thoughts and images in my subconscious. They are active. They create my experiences. I need to deal with them, regardless of whether they represent something that had happened or a fiction that my mind has invented.