Archive for the 'making art' Category

390. How?

Wanting
And the want dissolves

Fluttering once more
In the wordless void,

How can anything
Not wholly beautiful
exist?

389. When he fell

He was hungry
When he fell
His green was still alive
His sun still yearned to shine
A little more
His joys and sorrows
Leaned against the wall
The light has started
Growing bigger
It was beautiful
He knew
Now where is
The unseeable heart
That will accept him all
Into itself?

388. To birds

The man with pain
Has forgotten everything
And now
He gives
the things he used to have
To birds.

387. Disappearing

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.

386. The boat of life

The king in me 
Is sitting on a chair
The chair is on a rock
The rock is resting on the sun

The king is cold
And has a blanket on his knees

Near the king
The prince is playing
With his yellow ball
Dreaming
On a lake up in the sky
Where golden fish are swimming

The king is too old to rule
The prince is too young
To take his place

The boat of life
Is taking them along with it
To where it wants to go.

385. Higher

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.

383. As I am

As I am

From the ground of all
I yearned to move.
Many excitements allured me.

I moved
And this inventive act
Has made the man with the thousand faces.

Some faces cry
While others laugh.
I took to watching all of them.

And seeing that they always change
I found
That I am the unchanging.

Among the many faces and allures
I am the simple joy
Of being as I am.

382. Prize

I won a prize and here it is:

381. Space in all directions

I came to life
With thoughts of up and down.
I saw a lot of space above me.
I found
that I was going flat
And soon
My face was pointed down
Towards my shadow.

The light of what’s to come
Is shining-in already
Here and now
And there is always
Plenty loving space
In all directions.

The view of up and down means that I had to grow. I had to be better. There was something to grow into. There was also the view of the horizontal of course. Yes, things happen and we are moving from here to there. But up is the direction that I wanted to grow into in my youth. All the idealistic people around me wanted this too.

But there were things, parts of my story, that pulled me to the horizontal view. You have to make a living. You are alone. Your body needs sustenance. There are achievements that you will need to fulfill. Some people will help you, and others will be a danger.

And chasing after achievements, you end up, or I ended up realizing that I had limitations, and these pulled me down. I failed to go up because I had flows in my character. This is what I came to believe.

Now I am old. I am eighty. I have a heart condition. I suffer with tremendous nerve pain in my feet. I know that we do not disappear when we die. I know that we are not who we think we are. There is a change in perspective that has to take place if we want to see this. It is not seeing really. But we can be in a state in which we know it. In order to know we need to switch our attention to a different mode, which is the gateway. And here it is. You can try it out right now.

Usually we give our attention to the objects. In the case of this painting, we give our focus to what is drawn and painted. And this is indeed what my story above spoke about. But try this: Try to let go of the objects, as if they don’t mater for the moment, and allow yourself to experience the space in the painting, that is everywhere. And tune in to yourself as you do it, so that you can feel what it does to you inside. There is a subtle sense of relief. Ahh… Like that. Do you feel it? Focusing on the objects turns out to have been an effort, compared to the experience of tuning in to the the space. This is the point of all of this art and poem.

The art was done without thinking. I was just following my sense of beauty.

The poem is a reading of the art, but it responds to the sense of beauty too. And because it does it, it brings to me this content, that the space inside of my mind wants me to get.

And here lies the power of art. Of all the arts.

380. A chord

The earth
Displays
All that grow
And live on it
Like a chord
That is played
In silence.

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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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