Healing and growth through intuitive art
All the questions that we have
Lead us to one final question
And all the power that our questions have
Comes from leading us to this
The question is: Who am I?
Or what am I?
And there is no answer to this question
Because we are the freedom
To be as we wish
Or as our heart yearns
And it is, in the end,
To be ourselves.
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.
Night. I draw in the darkness with one lamp over the table. I Collect words from the drawing and scramble them. There is a person there, tense all over. There is rain and blood and dirty green. I make a poem out of these, trusting the funny and loving energy of this strange universe to speak to me through this. It does. We speak together.
You figure it out…
Tension in the jaw
Blood moves in my veins
It is
Not me
If I loosen my grip
On things
Who will I be?
Do I have to scream
To find this
Out?
Do I have to tense
The muscles
In my jaw?
In the muddy rain
Life arises
From the bog.
intuitiveflow 