
I see the line that twirls
I see the lines that open as a mouth
To scream
I see a form that hesitates to climb
The red line
And is being stopped
By yellow.
What is waiting at the end?
Even the air says: Do not go!
And going back
Is not an option.
Healing and growth through intuitive art

I see the line that twirls
I see the lines that open as a mouth
To scream
I see a form that hesitates to climb
The red line
And is being stopped
By yellow.
What is waiting at the end?
Even the air says: Do not go!
And going back
Is not an option.

In the world
As it appears to me
A chair is playing
Like a shy child
The landscape calls me
To the far horizon
Roots of plants can hardly hold
The burdens that they carry
The fields make sure
That we can have potatoes
Houses on the hill
Invite us to be friendly
And the desire of my heart
Flies
Like flowers in the sky

Pain tries to interfere
With the flow of life
But ends up moving
With the plants
That shine in green
And with earth itself
As it is being held
By sky.
A little cloud
Departs from our planet
And flies
Above the sea
Of no direction.
Everything
That has ever been
And that will ever be
Is here.

He is searching
In the light
As if it’s dark
already
But even in full light
It is the heart alone
That has the gift
Of seeing.

If you try to explain
How an animal moves
You’ll see
That it does not end
In the here and now.
It always goes
To endlessness.

When you look up
To the sky
In a clear night
You can see
A dodo
Who is extinct
But is being represented
By rubies
In the sky.
In the same way
A simple piece of ground
Can be a throne
And a halo
That an angel
Cannot stop himself
From playing with
Can turn into
A motorcycle wheel
In our troubled times.

Red
That day
The body was made
Of dry twigs.
It walked across the
Blue mountain ridge.
But the ridge was not
In this world.
It belonged to a place
Where meteorites
Fall in the white sky.
The body took
Two clouds of dust
With it
And its heart beat
Red, red and red.

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.