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.
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.
The earth
Displays
All that grow
And live on it
Like a chord
That is played
In silence.
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A man with a beard and a bird
It is a mystery
That’s made of nothing
And yet it works
Looking with no eyes
You’ll find
It’s made of
Blocks of dreams
And colors
That are open
To no end.
On the river of me
The sun here and there,
The trees, the fields, the lakes,
Some grass, some earth,
A friend, a flower,
A cloud, a bird, a song
And the longing in my heart
As I float
On the river
Of me.
Bursting
The heart is bursting
It wants to go up
The legs are pushing down
To make the body rise
But there is no ground
To push against
The ribs open up
And break
Shall I go up to the right?
Or left?
Or, maybe, just
Spread myself
Into the universe?
At first he looked to his right
Then he changed his mind
Now he is facing us
With interest
This has cleared his mind
From the magnetic fields
Of thinking
Enough
For an idea
To appear.
From within the moving lines
And out of grey fog
Come the hot
And burning
The radiant
And the heavily opaque
Strong, stronger and even more than that
And steam comes out of the encounter
Dusty and dark at times
All appearing in the white
And from the white
That lets them all be.
He has been caught in the tree
And his guts are spilling
He is a kite
That has gotten
Many messages
The tree is tearing him
Apart
He has lost his cord
His heart is bleeding
The sky has no more clouds
To cry for him
He will have to play
With what he has
He will have to build a collage.
And what
If he is out of
Glue?
intuitiveflow 