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 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.
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.
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 