
Drowning
Like foam
Like sticky spider web
The character
Wraps itself around
His true nature
Afraid
that he will drown
Inside the endless sea
Of who he is.
Healing and growth through intuitive art

Drowning
Like foam
Like sticky spider web
The character
Wraps itself around
His true nature
Afraid
that he will drown
Inside the endless sea
Of who he is.

Not even this
Veils
In the shape
Of a cliff
Or like a sky rearranged
And lights
That shine
Between the silence
And what is
Not even this

Soft clouds
Open up like wings
To wake up
The little houses
That are held
By the weave of the world.
It is time, they say,
To cross the bridge
Near the place
Where the sun ends the day
To a place
That you do not
Yet know.

The sky came
From all directions
With little lights
To celebrate
The structure that you made
Around your house
To keep and to repair it.
The structure moves,
It grows
It knows..
But look!
There is no house inside,
Just sky.

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.

It used to be a mountain
Full of rocks
And now it is a dream
That dreams itself
To be.

The poem describes a trip from left to right in the picture.
I am running rhythmically
Down a tree covered hill
Becoming breathless suddenly
As I see the omen in the air.
The landscape sends me
Through the fields
Toward a tree that welcomes me
Into a spot
from which I’ll have to leap
Across the empty sky
To meet the sun
That hides behind a cloud.
And I wonder:
How will I make the leap
after having lost my name?

I am disappearing
In my room
Gray light is coming
From the window
My lungs are still breathing
Sky
My heart is still beating
Red and green
Broken as I am
I still remember earth.

Higher
In the view of the long line
I lived many times
And I was many people
On a chain
Made of light
If you look
From the place
With no time
You’ll see
That nothing ever happened
and yet
The sun keeps rising
Higher and higher.