Healing and growth through intuitive art
There is fire in my feet
But I am dancing
And lifting my heavy heart
A bird comes out from my head
Another bird is kissing me
I see my mom resting
On a big pink cloud
I am ready to sail on the river now
To pass the pasture
And come to my new playing field
I am quiet
I am strong
I only do what feels good to me
I am free.
They are dancing and I want to dance too. You see, it is about being together, loving and loved. Somehow this protects you from sliding into the fire.
But I am isolated. My skin is screaming. My mood rolls into itself and as a stone on the road it lets the little monsters play on its top.
This is all okay indeed. It’s just a story among the multitudes, except for the light inside, the light who does not care about a thing, and the light who cares about everything.
“They” are the brown and the ochre
“I” am the blue line with yellow inside
“Sliding”: Everything slides, the whole story. All the characters are in the same story and they all are about to fall. The light of the fire is already seen on the edges of things. It is also a part of the story.
“My mood”: the purple
“The little monsters”: Fear ideas
“The light inside”: You know what it is. It is the only thing that you cannot invent.
The truth is inside out.
The man is on fire
The man is a chair
He is bent as if he is sitting
And as if he is playing the mandolin
Or is he a sound?
The fire starts cold
And then
Maybe he is dancing
His head is only lightly attached
And without his head
He is turning into light
Who is this man?
The two last ones are such a good description of where I am nowadays.
I am sitting a lot, as I cannot walk, stand, or lie down without excruciating pain. So I sit a lot.
I am playing music.
I am dancing in my heart.
I am on fire.
Yes.
Blockages come and I blow them away. And if I don’t, something comes along and does it for me. Thank you these things that come along.
It is 3 AM.
The strength of the pain came back after a lot of walking on Governors Island and downtown Manhattan, drunk with city views, drunk with walking.
The pain, the body’s shaking, the murmur along the nerve-ways make it impossible to sleep. I go to the studio.
Like fires
The words come pouring easily and without a break all the way to the end. I am too tired to read what I wrote. I leave them as they are and go back to bed. I come back to them in the afternoon. I add words between the lines, to make things connected and this happens easily too:
It grows
It is like fire
And like a kick-starter
For what will come
The different fires
Are close to each other
And supportive
Your duty is
To just allow it to grow
Your tool is
The atmosphere
Within which it appears
This is the main thing that you can make
It is tangible
It is like wilderness
The fire burns and disappears
But the principle of growth
Stays on as the invisible guide
It is right here
And it is wonderful.
intuitiveflow 