Archive for the 'The world of thoughts' Category

255. Two about light and you

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The flowers grow in all kinds of shapes

The light in the flowers

Is your light

The light in all things

Is your light

Every little speck of dust

Is a door

The door is always open

Come, go through it

Come and meet us where you are.

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There is light in the white areas

There is light in the ochre

There is light in the black and grey

I am in the black of all shapes

You are in the white of all

And we do not know

We tell each other ochre stories

We laugh and we cry

We say: I am ochre, who are you?

Are you ochre too?

Don’t tell anybody that I said this

These are actually

Only words.

250.From a moon’s eye

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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

246. I just stopped

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I just stopped at some point

There was no point in going on

The message was in how it could go on

Forever.

240. Look back with your eyes closed

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Try this:

Close your eyes.

Sit comfortably somewhere of course.

Find something that your senses detect.

An example: The eyelids touching each other.

Imagine that your whole world is made of transparent clay. This clay makes everything and is not seen. This clay makes everything it wants. The things it makes appear to our senses.

Your clay creates the eyelids, the nerves that sense them touching each other and your same clay is the one who sees it all, from inside of itself.

Let’s say you hear a car on the road. Your clay is making it in this moment. Your clay is making the road. Your clay makes the sound. Your clay is making your ears and all their parts, right now.

What is this clay?

Why does it make these things?

Maybe out of curiosity? Out of the love of experiencing? Out of joy?

Playing like a baby?

Is it you?

Where does this clay come from?

 

Look back, from inside the clay, with your eyes closed.

 

239. The veil

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I looked at painting 7/3/16/A.

I started to read it again. Yesterday I read it psychologically (which you didn’t see), and the reading shifted to a bigger view of all psychology, as I’ve been doing lately. Obviously I am in a stage, in which I notice more and more the superficiality of the psychological realm altogether. I understand my meditation teacher’s belittling attitude towards everything psychological. I was, at the time he was doing this, studying psychology as part of becoming an art therapist.

For most people the psychological view widens and deepens their understanding of the human being. It was so for me too. How amazed and thankful I was when I realized that I could read all this hidden treasure in people’s art. And I played in this field for quite a while, enjoying my ability to easily see what is hiding there, and my resultant ability to help people see their own subconscious activity and release its powerful control over them.

Then, very quickly I saw that if you release a lot, you will experience how it is to live with less inhibiting ideas blocking you from being free. The psychological relief became a path of spiritual growth. I tasted the joy that becomes unleashed. I lived the love that streams freely unburdened.

And at some point it became clear to me that those psychological features, the killers of joy and freedom, are the building blocks of the personality. Just a small dip in the non-physical aspect of life makes it totally transparent that this character, this personality, is just a bunch of habits. You look from a deeper place and see the inflexibility of these personality traits as they inevitably cause people to bump into each other quite blindly, respond to each other uncontrollably and create all the unpleasant situations that we know.

Then you realize that what is left in you once these psychological features are let go of, is so much better than these.

What can be better than love?

What is wrong with joy that does not depend on circumstances, but is your inherent essence?

The whole psychological realm starts to look like a veil or a filter that you can look through. At first the view is dim and then it starts brightening. The veil looses all its previous power. Your personal veil becomes just one of the infinite number of empty energetic shapes, that you create in your imagined thought-world. And because you love the characteristics of your essence so much more than the personality’s character, your world starts to reflect back to you what you already experience, the beauty, the creativity, the joy and love. These are what the world is becoming for you.

 

 

 

236.The energy is left with no job

All the colors stand around me, in bottles, tubes and pencils. They are looking quietly at what I do. What will I say? They are my audience now.

I love them. They can do infinite things. They do not really look. I know. It is the whole who looks. The infinite listening-with-the-heart. The heart-of-listening. His name is I.

When the light of seeing is bright and strong, everything that is non-transparent burns into non-existence. Its energy is left with no job. It gives itself back to be used for creation.

The name of the creator is I too.

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It seems the light in the middle of the painting (the yellow and orange) is marred. It has been hit on the head.

Darkness (on the left) makes a threat. But the little child-who-flies is not afraid. He flies into the darkness to repair his past. He will find his love that he rejected in those old times. It is like the soul-retrieval that shamans do.

The goodness and the freedom-filled-joy, which is the lost part of him, will be found where it went to hide when it was not permitted to act in the world. It will be invited back and respected, loved, accepted, joined.

Again the lines tell the stories. The color shapes tell the emotions. The composition says that all is blessed, with all its tiniest details.

The white always looks with endless love and curiosity, with awe, with pride and marvel.

There is confusion there too, on the right, projecting a yes-no feeling.

Everything is okay.

 

The big yellow mother would like to say: Be careful!

But she knows that daring requires love and trust, and not carefulness. So she does not say a word. She admires her child.

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Yesterday in the morning I sat on the window seat and meditated. With all the lack of sleep that I collected, because of the pain, I fell asleep. I lost my balance and fell. I opened my eyes in the middle of the fall and saw the world turning around. But I was still asleep when my forehead hit the floor.

Then I woke up.

I felt fear and this conjured up memories from an event in my childhood, that now I saw more fully than before. Doors that were closed before, opened.

Fear cannot come if there is no story behind it. Falling cannot happen without a belief or a few beliefs that invite it. I know this is strange for some.

 

After some time I did this painting.

 

233. How the “I” moves to a wider view

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Being tired and in pain I became sad. Pain is a simple thing but living with it creates additional problems. Now all of them weighed on me. I thought: I can’t go on like this any more. I did not even paint yesterday and today.

My friend from Germany called. We started to talk and the phone line went dead.

I pulled a new piece of paper onto the table, dipped the brush into the water and into the first paint that my eyes saw in the watercolor box. It was olive green. This is how I choose the first color.

And then there was the drawing. No time. No pain. Brush, water, paint and the composition, the story with no words. The energy of the truth. Everything is good.

The olive green lines and the white of the paper are the best of friends. It is a holy connection. The lines, strikingly, appearing out of the white. The white does not have inside and outside. It is everywhere. It is all-there-is-everywhere. Even the word everywhere does not fit here. Is the green line real? And my eyes that see it: are they real? And my heart that has just become so full and so delighted, what about it?

(The other colors came later.)

 

Now in a different way:

Pain is part of the illusion of life, together with the body, with time, with good and bad.

The true self cannot have pain. Its essence is joy. Its essence is love and playing and being curious. The true self cannot be affected by the illusion.

For the “I” in the illusion pain is real and hard.

The good thing is that everything is connected. All I need to do is to change the way I focus and switch my identity to the true I.

Instead of focusing on the pain and automatically trying to escape it, to fight it, to prevent it, to change it, Instead of these, I find my curiosity and make the olive green lines. I find my playfulness and play with everything that shows itself. I look for the beauty in everything and find it easily. I look for my joy and it is right there. I am joyful. I look for my love and indeed what else do I have? This is how I start to identify with the true self.

And as I do this, I find that I have forgotten the pain. I don’t even feel it. Or if I do, it is not significant. I am in peace. The vibrations of the pain, the waves that streamed through the legs calm down. My hands that clutched one foot fall down, relaxed. The body rests. The energy of creation flows flawlessly everywhere it has to go. The body heals. The specific thinking processes that hold on to the body and its suffering become weaker. I am not so dependent on the body and the world around it. I witness them and I am free. In my mind I am already walking down to town, where the galleries are. I am going to see an exhibition. Right foot, left foot and I dance.

 


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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.