
The king is standing
Clumsily
The simple man is lying down
Perhaps he is stretched
In pain?
The sun is shining rather harshly
And there is no need for it
As everything
Is radiating
Inner light.
Healing and growth through intuitive art

The king is standing
Clumsily
The simple man is lying down
Perhaps he is stretched
In pain?
The sun is shining rather harshly
And there is no need for it
As everything
Is radiating
Inner light.

Like Soutine
Never fit in
Approximate
Roll colors
On your tongue
Eat the fields
Swim behind your ribs
Adjust your heart
To pleasant warm
Know that grass
Will yellow in the summer
Find the blue
Lie flat on your back
And follow the stars.

So familiar
And yet
I do not
Know them
Each is busy
With his things
But they talk
With not a word between them
there is big sky
And roads to walk
The two are walking
With not a person there.

Still bent
But starting to straighten out
Still struggling
But Starting to radiate
Walking on the earth
With the sun in his heart.

When the storm
Is passing
When the thunder
Is still heard
And the horseback riders
Of distraction
Are still
Chasing them
Look through.
See the trees and meadows
See how much
The sky is deep
And laugh.
You are deeper than them.
Think of
Other things
You want
To make
Out of yourself
And play.

Alive
Here
And now
Appears
And
Disappears.

The big wind came
And swept away
The little house,
The trees
And the ripples in the water
And so it worked
Till there was nothing left, but
The little house,
The trees
And the ripples in the water.

Is it a mountain
Or the roof of a barn?
Is this a cloud
Or a smoking chimney?
And this,
Is this a man
With a bird in his hand?
What does he think about?
Do his thoughts
Dive in the sky?
And the drop of green
That fell on the face of the paper,
Why did it fall?
Can this drop be another world
With other people and birds?
Why don't they come closer
To shake hands with us
To have tea
And talk about our lives?
And can the children
Go out and play together
In the backyards
Of the universe?

There was a thought
And very soon emotions gathered
In no time
The wind will chase them all away
But we will still be blinded
By the light they had.

The lines, Connected,
Do they help to move
Or do they hinder?
The dots, white and yellow,
Over brown, grey and ocher,
Are they smooth
Or are they rough like
Stones or broken bones?
The beauty, is it real,
Or is it a dream that we have,
As this person runs through the fields
With the last sun of the day?