Archive for the 'Intuition' Category

336. The child has stopped crying

I had to carefully compose again after it looked as if I had finished it already.
There was a lot to add. It is so easy with this technique.
And I fixed it. Now it appeals to me. I made it to appeal to me.

When I think what is new about my late paintings, it is that they are more subtle. There is a sense of joy that bubbles up in them. This sense of joy was in my paintings before too. But the feeling was that it had to struggle more in order to express itself. It was beautiful that it did, and there was a sense of drama in every one of those joy expressions.

Now it feels that the joy is comfortable and playful. It does not struggle in order to be.
The dark past is still in the painting. It looks darker than in previous paintings, but it also looks old, weak, dilapidated.

I remember the technique that I developed in healing from far, when I practiced with the group Consciousness Research Institute. I would create a huge dome around myself, full of good energy. Then I’d bring the person to be healed into the dome, to be there with me.
And I would feel the discomfort of having with me in the space of the dome someone whose energy did not match with mine. (Just as the pain in this moment is such energy that does not match mine). And I would let this strange energy be a part of me without resistance. Just like having something in your pocket that you don’t necessarily feel comfortable with, but it is there. So you just get familiar with the feeling of it being there, and you go on with the business of life. Going on being, that now includes this uncomfortable feeling. You let it be until it is a part of you that does not stand out any more. It is not uncomfortable any more, but itself as it is.

Strange how difficult it is to explain this and how natural, spontaneous and simple it was to do it.

So now it starts to feel to me that I am, at last, at this very stage with my past.
I love the little boy who I was, who struggled so hard, with so much pain and fear, and I can’t but admire how courageous he was, how good hearted.
I love him dearly.
And at the same time I get less and less impressed by the traumatic influence of that time. The trauma can be seen in the art. But the joy grows as an expression of freedom. Like a beautiful bird that was caged in darkness and, as it comes out of it, grows and becomes the whole scene.

There are delicate structures that may represent the way I explained things to myself, and they are very fragile. They can fall apart easily or change into something else. And in a way they are irrelevant to the joy.
Joy is the original state. Thinking is a game, happening inside of joy and sometimes becoming too heavy and obscures the joy that it has come from.

So it is a good thing that the thinking, as it appears in the art, has become lighter and less obscuring.

Look at the dark blue and violet shapes at the bottom right. Don’t they look like old remnants of a war that has ended? Do you feel the relief of being joy that is free from those remnants, a joy that does not struggle to be?

I’d say it is still quite moderate. It is just taking stock of the fact it is here. The child has stopped crying and now is becoming interested in everything.

335. Golden tears

A garden grows
At the top of the soil
With a touch of sadness
To it

A lonely soul
Is leaving
Hoping to have it better
In another place

There is gold in the earth
And next to it
A hidden wound
A flood of sadness
And the body of a man

He is resting now
Near water and green
He is dreaming
Of a life that he could have
If he managed to go up
To the open air
Passing the blood
And the tendency of history
To pull us down
Against our will

In the open air
Our garden grows
Married
To a trauma

But we know
Don’t we
That every morsel of this scene
Is made of gold

We wipe our golden tears
With wonder.

334. I want to be a tree

I want to be a tree
But I am not sure
Which tree
I want to be
And I’m not sure
What the conditions are
In the place where I’ll stand
Is it very windy there?
Is there competition for the food?
Will the goats eat my bark?
Will the other trees be friendly
And will they understand
That I have to be
This certain way
Because of how my childhood went?

But wait
Maybe I can be a tree
From another childhood?
My mother stood very tall
Or ran wildly in the fields
My father traveled in an air balloon
My brother played
In coloring the clouds
And I knew
That everything is possible
Right from the beginning?

333. Improvisation on head and shouders

The parts of the head
And shoulders
Spread to all the wrong places
As if they were kids
In a school intermission

Instead of being controlled
By the rules
They freely followed
Their hearts

As a result
Harmony settled in
In which
Effortlessly
All individual whims together
Became the complete expression
Of the one.

332. The nerve pain that broke the dream down

The queen had a party
The guests drank and talked
Around the table
But I wanted to sleep
So she made a bed for me
Nearby
I sank in
Among the big pillows
The words of a book
Appeared
And I read them in my sleep

Nerve pain woke me up
Where in the book was I?

I left with all the guests
Not before
I saw the queen
Getting into that same bed
Saying:
How nice that it is warm

I let the others go
And came back to fetch my shoes
But the royal cat attacked me twice
And fell on its back
Like a rag

I gave up
I laughed

The dream of my life was lying broken
On the floor
And light was coming
Through the cracks.

331. Pain

The appearance of pain

At first
The red and the green
Fought with each other
And each of them was pure

Then the grey opinion said
That they were bad
And had to be hidden
From the public

Parts of them
As is always the case
Showed up
Anyway

Unstoppable
And right
But not any more
Pure and innocent

Then from fighting with the grey
The yellow lines appeared
And taking middle stage
They are screaming in our face

The yellow lines are what
In human terms
Is called
Pain.

330. Flying to the night

The pilot is still hot
From life
Memories
Scratch him like stars

But the fields grow dark
The sun gets caught in a barn
The wheat stalks lower
Their heads

And as the pilot still flies
Through the dust of the world
The lakes underneath
Go deep to no bottom.

My friend told me he is getting ready to die, and he is not afraid.
As long as he lives, he said, he does what he likes to do.
I placed it in my mouth, as you do with unknown food, waiting for the taste to show up.
I did the painting that you have here, not knowing what I do, as is always the case, except for being loyal to my sense of beauty.
Then I wrote the words that came.

329. Magnetic fields of the mind

The mind creates magnetic fields
Within what do they live?
They live in the truth
The truth is everywhere
And it is the only thing
That cannot be destructed
Therefore
It is not a thing

Trees grow from the earth
They eat the earth and drink water
They soak the sun
They breath the air
Like us
The earth and water are
The sun is
The air is
Products of the ancient mind
And are influenced by my own
Current mind

My mind
Is a traveling choice maker in infinity
Using the old truth
As clay
To be shaped with imagination

Hey
Everything is me!

328. A thought out of nowhere

There was some noise in his mind
He saw something
He read
About a man
Ancient drawings
And faces

And there was the pain
The lack of sleep
The struggle

He turned to peace
And out of nowhere
From far and from close
Softly touching
Orbs of air
Or softer than that
Came

He closed his eyes
And they organized
Themselves
Based on his love
To a new
Original thoug
ht.

327. Birds and I

Birds can fly
They are not afraid of heights
A bough
Is a home for them
Sometimes they would fight
for a good one
Then they’d sleep
Almost standing
Birds start to sing
Even before the sun arrives
Birds are soft
And hard

And I
What is hard and what is soft
In me?
What am I afraid of?
What will my dreams be like
If I have to keep my balance
At night?
Will I sing
In the morning?

When I was very young, there were geckos on the screens of the windows in my room, hunting flies and moths. And beyond the screen birds were standing on the windowsills. Then they would fly to the trees that surrounded the house.
In the evenings many birds would fight for the good boughs, making a huge noise. Then they’d settle down and sleep, sitting on their folded legs that held on to the thin branches. They did not have homework to do. I loved their boldness as they peeked into my room, with the excitement of having just flown still alive in them.
Today, when I close my eyes and imagine what a good life is for me, I see myself flying above the landscape, almost like the birds, but I flap less with my hands. I just have to think forward and I fly. And when I settle on a bough, at the top of the tallest tree, I do not shout. There is nothing to fight for. The world comes to me.


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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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