New Medicines

Its been a year of transformations, that is the kind way of saying, a year of disillusions and more grief and loss than most people ever experience in an entire life time.

 

My Mother said, it perfectly, I hardly ever reflect back to her, the deep wisdom she has, as she puts most of it back into the roots of the earth.  Most of it is difficult to understand, all we can see of her, is the growth of love she puts in, which shoots into the ground and blackens the soil with the richness of her love.

 

Sitting at a beautiful restaurant, after a 3 day hacienda of hospital tests and all sorts of exams, she said, pointing to the walls, those are pictures, you create art, and your life's soul, and the deep anguish I see in you, is transformed into something so pure, loving and beautiful.  What you create, nourishes emotion.  It is emotional and that is not a picture.  

 

This is a loosely translated message, from a moment of insight that penetrated deeply.  I paint my tears and often it is transformed into love.  Those who look and are able to feel, are nourished and often brought to tears to.  I am always amazed when people see, for it seems most of the time, the world is fast asleep, lost in the joy of thier own discoveries of personal growths, and transformations.

 

Its hell to be nourished, for that means we had to lose something rich and loving.  And that is painful.  I don't consider myself an artist, I am a healer.  I know that when I touch things they are transformed.  And when I touch painter, my healing love goes into this, sometimes, there is strenth, sometimes sorrow, sometimes grief.

 

Nobody can ever understand what I saw, while my greatest friend walked these planes.  But I can take the notions of the movements and put them into words, works, articles, literature and chalk paintings.  Hopefully some of the movements of those times will nourish you through your great awakening of life.

 

For transformations always bring us back to the heartache that life truly is, the grief, the sudden loss, the torture, the break away pain, that keeps us from moving forward too fast, and falling too hard, because we still haven't gotten up from the last fall, or the last fall before that.  The rising phoenix has not such a soft landing site, even if the wings have just been singed by the fire that tormented her soul.

 

I hope you treat yourself with the wisdom that was meant to find you.  I hope your friends find you lonely, much of the time, for then you know you have touched the earthquake that has guided you here, to your great, giant, utilitarian heart, for the heart will tear you in two, slice you like an apple in half, plaster your heart on a giraffe's back in grateful service to her life.  If you have found your heart you can never look back, but you will have wished you will.

 

For love, grief and pain are not a part of the universal plan, but it is part of the universe.  Singing songs of grief is the hearts greatest desire, it will transform you, then it will kill you, for you were just a notion in god's giant plans of illusions.  You are nothing, nobody, nothing special.  Meant to be the icing on the cake of his home soul. A taste of a different type of breeding ground.  That was it, it was the great illusion, that we were something special.  god like in form.  Zues tried to make us believe humans could be gods and we actually believed.

 

It was the Saints that told us we were special.  That we should be disillusioned by doubt.  But we are regretful, we can never live the life we thought about.  We can only live entirely throughout the giant delusion of who we really are, nothing, nobody, nothing of perfection, we are doubt casters, on the worlds of the disillusioned hearts.

 

You were meant to breed and come here and doubt, doubt, doubt. to always be doubt filled.  that was your soul contract with life, to never know, which way, which way, which way.  that way? this way? no there? no here?  that was the life we all tapped into... nobody, nowhere, but me.

 

this is life, full of doubts, not regrets, but doubtfullness and dutilessness... or is it pure duty?