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.
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?
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?
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.
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