Healing and growth through intuitive art
Weeds grow haphazardly in the village
And the village travels like a boat
On the face of history
To reach its destination
Aren’t the weeds distracting to the travel?
And what’s the village’s goal, if not
To travel while the weeds distract?
And why is the goal so far away
Along the waves of words,
And not right here, right now?
A face is not a face
A face is not a face
But an infinite number
Of living and changing
Particles of thought
The whole history of mankind
Goes into every one face
And can still be felt
And appreciated
If you look for it
You’ll find that the face
Has never had
Good reasons to be
The way it is
Or bad reasons
Just reasons
All innocent and lost.
intuitiveflow 