Healing and growth through intuitive art
The pink
Is riding the ochre
The pink is a saint
We know this by the halo
He’s also a juggler
And even if his clubs
Fall
They never reach the ground
Just like him
The drawing lines
Try to be
A judge
A piano
A horse
A boat in Venice
To make the people laugh
Going forward
He looks at us
The watchers in the air
Who know
That nothing is happening
At all
And this is why
We laugh
Like children.
Under the drawing lines there are only two shapes. One is yellow. One is multi colored. The drawing lines above the second, bigger shape, were used as borders among the colors. The drawing and the multi colored shape became glued to each other through this. They became one.
But from the top of the multi color shape, the drawing continued to go out into the world and play.
-Come back, drawing. Time for dinner.
-But it is so much better to play out here. Do you hear, Mama? The yellow shape shouts “Catch me!” But no, I’m not going to hold on to anything. -Shine on, yellow. Be free like me. Don’t worry Mama. We are going to have a good time, all of us. Look: I’ve already made some fruit!
-Oy vey, my child is leaving…
(This was my subconscious.)
Yesterday and today I did two new paintings. I did them small. You finish faster this way and are able to see what you made immediately.
I look at the second one now, the one I just finished.
The first one is also interesting to share and maybe it will be in the next entry.
I wonder again about the function of the second layer, the layer of the colors.
The way it looks in this painting is that the line-work is the story, rich in details, like reality itself. It also means that it has in it all the stories that I have used to create this reality. That’s just another way to say it.
And the colors layer with the simplified shapes is a second way to tell that same story. Only it is devoid of the dramas of the first layer and loaded with (my) sense of beauty, which is a characteristic of the language of the real.
These two layers/languages work together through me to create my experience of everything. I experience all the busy details with all the contrasts, difficulties, hesitations, scares and daringness. And I also experience the deeper play of the energies that reveal more beautiful mixtures as steps occur. Again, when I write ‘beautiful,’ I mean my experience of beauty. In the deeper layer there is a sense of peace that is not in the story level.
The lines can be irritating, worrisome, too fast to attend to in a full way, but the existence of the deeper view at the same time and in the same place gives the calm feeling of: everything is okay. We are moving from one beautiful thing to another. Things work together. It is a good world, hiding right under the busy illusion.
You choose to go out (into reality) and you become more worried and more irritated. You choose to step in and you heal. You find the freedom and the satisfaction of meeting with your true self.
What is your true self?
It is a moving target. It is always in the deepest place that you can access now. Tomorrow it may be even deeper.
As you see
The areas overlap
And struggle with each other
For control of the same space
And what if they knew
That the same space
Is open and given to every one of them
With no limitations
All with love and joy and acceptance
Be they as they want to be
And the radiating hurt
Is like roots
Trying to hold on
With fingernails
To a piece of ground with no water
Or food
Bt they can change their experience
And feel blessed
In being able to dance that dance
And infinite number of others
For all eternity
With nothing to loose
Nothing to gain
Just joy.
The big stones
That were uprooted
That were torn away
From their heavy comfort
The loose stones
That everybody fears
Know already
Even as they slowly turn
And are about to fall
With a thump
The peace
That will be here next.
The tree and the stones
Are closer to my eyes
That are in the body
My imagination
Takes flight
Disconnecting from the body
And the earth
The flight takes place in inner space
Which fills up with joy
And this is what
Creates the drawing.
Arising from the plain
Stones and dust
Become stars
Where am I going?
Why am I tearing myself
Apart
Which is impossible
Anyway?
I thought these lines would be the skeleton, to which I’d add pencil lines of many details. But it looked finished and full of mystery.
If I saw a big painting like this in a museum, I’d be very enthusiastic. I’d stop, breathless, right there and take a picture, write the painter’s name, add the date..
Then I’d look him/her up in Google and probably see more samples of his/her work. Then I’d know that he/she is a favorite of mine. I’d follow him/her from that time on.
Maybe I’d meet with him/her one day and he/she would laugh, because he/she is in me always.
And I had to go to the museum and search in Google, for what has forever lived in me.
Or maybe I have lived in it?
You can probably tell
From my vibes
I see the reality in my dream
Collapsing
And there is something interesting
About the space that opens
Maybe you can see that too
It feels alive
Maybe more alive than it usually was
It almost has a face
And you can feel it
You can almost touch it
With your finger
Will it laugh when you do?
It may laugh
And you will recognize yourself in it
Even though
It is me
And if all that will be left
After everything else had gone
Are these three little birds on a line
This too will be
An expression of love.
My father lived at the top
On the right
This is after he died
I came to live on the rocks
Where you can see the lake
I sit on a bench
The evening comes like love
I let myself feel the evening
On my skin
Trees and stones look with me
Quietly
With not even one thought
In them
The moon, an adventurer,
Will come soon
To fly over the Galilee
Sharp rocks and all
I wonder if the roads can melt
The sky – yawn
Me – sing in a few voices
My higher self is resting too
No matter what he does
His language does not understand
The war
The sharp
The past
The will be
Deep in peace
He folds a sweater
Which direction do you grow?
To where the joy will take me.
What do you hold on to?
Nothing.
And who is looking at you?
I alone look at me.
There is nobody else
Anywhere.
In some place
Like in so many others
For this moment
The plant is attached to the tip of the world
The balance of flat and broken and empty
Of dots and leaves and feathers
Depends on
One very thin line
In a way that is unknown to us
The open chord of feathers in the moving air
Is perfect
For those who also like dots on a white surface
This is a rock
For children
Who make rocks and plants
From dreams.
intuitiveflow 