This is the first drawing.
The mountain of resistance (that we saw in the previous posting) has become the farmer, walking away from his fields. He has a jacket and a bag and has one leg. The other one is cut off. His fields have become his shadow. He has a wing that is heavy. The wing is connected to his fields. If he wants to flap his wing, he will have to flap all his fields with it, which is very hard to do. His horizon is sadness and lack. He is trying to walk away from his past, but the past sticks to him.
When I drew this I did not realize that I drew a person. I just did one line at a time, listening to suggestions from within, being dedicated to fulfilling my sense of beauty’s instructions.
The next drawing got me closer to the person.
I found tremendous anger. Colors change on the surface like the color of some octopuses when they are in danger, or about to attack.
Dark parts are parts that have become dead. The only thing that moves is anger, fury, clenched teeth, hostility. And now that I look at it I can feel the resistance too, as if it is saying: I am not moving from here.
But there is life in the hair. The hair shows some imagination. If it was a therapy session and the patient was immersed in sadness and anger, I might have suggested going into the hair, to give the patient some feeling of being alive. But I know that already and I am on my way to see in what way the resistance will change, if I just see it closely, again and again.
I drew once more.
There is softening. The anger turns to tired sadness. Remnants of beautiful colors appear and move through everything, as if saying: Look at what was lost. The figure, which suddenly looks like a bee, is bent as if it carries a heavy burden and there is a threat in the air, above the figure’s head. There is painful feeling in the chest. Gloom. Depression. Being a bee brings to my mind the way the bee has to die after she stings.
Maybe suddenly he starts to have these questions: What am I here to do? Why did I come here? I am sick and dying.
Some vigor remained in the lower parts, in the groin and in one thigh. Maybe it is the bees memory of the power she had in stinging. And there is a weak leg.
There is still some feeling of being stubborn, but the figure does not seem to be energetic enough to move far from where he is. Maybe he is destined to be on a slow, permanent pilgrimage? Maybe he will die? I find that many trips into the depths of our emotions and imagination reach death. Usually we are afraid of getting there, and quickly turn around to escape. But if we go all the way and agree to experience death, we discover freedom right behind it.
Here is the next one.
The world is split into two parts. On the right is violence, blood, rain and soaked earth. On the left there is something like a bird on a bough. And there is green, maybe cultivated green, living in these two worlds. When trauma happens, nature continues to be alive and beautiful as if nothing happened. This seems to be a split for us, because we do not feel calm and natural while having trauma. We cannot understand how nature can be so peaceful. What is interesting is that the figure has disappeared. Now there is only seeing. Maybe there is a teaching in it. The universe is always teaching. Maybe it says: The solution is here. Look at the natural world. Be natural. Be who you are. All the troubles start when you deny yourself the natural state of being who you are. Or maybe it says: What has just happened to you is natural, just as the bird, standing on a bough is. Everything happens because of the laws of the universe and everything is just as perfect. As such it is peaceful and harmonious too, even though it is hard for you to perceive the peace and harmony in it, because your mind refuses to accept it.
And then comes the next drawing:
All is plants now.
They grow healthily, spread seeds, make colors, live fully.
Who made them?
In whose mind where they created?
For what witness do they show their full life force?
Do you see anybody?
And now I can stop, because I know that the next one will be an empty page.