
In the evenings we gather
Near the tree
We sit in a circle
And listen to the stories
That the tree tells
Nobody talks
And we all cry
Because we love the stories
So much
And we love the way
It feels as if
Every story
Has its roots
In nothing.
Healing and growth through intuitive art
Which direction do you grow?
To where the joy will take me.
What do you hold on to?
Nothing.
And who is looking at you?
I alone look at me.
There is nobody else
Anywhere.