324. My old brother sits in the room of our childhood

My old brother sits in the room of our childhood
The trees in the yard
Move slightly in the wind
Inside of his body

The clouds, one big one small
Throw a ball between them
A picture that he made one summer
Still hangs

And every step that he took
Upon the reddish earth of the village
Has left a clear imaginary mark
In the infinity that he is.

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The healing process

Entries 1-58 show how I use the method of Intuition Through Art to heal myself from Peripheral Neuropathy.

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