nature, pagan, Poetry, spiritual

bit by bit

I pulled the card

not knowing

just desperate

seeking the answers to unasked questions

Lotus guru

Blooming

like dance

Smiling as she colorfully unfurls

I didn’t feel it then

the weight

of petals

pulling themselves delicately apart

It’s hard work

being gentle

letting go

unraveling to reveal hidden glories

Happening silently

frustratingly

bit by bit

until nothing is left but undoing

Thrusting vulnerability

exposing

inviting

giving all to possibilities

Spreading wide open

expanding

exploding

willing to fall completely apart

And watching myself fall

bit by bit

beautiful peices

collapsing back into myself

An act of violence

this blooming

this undoing

itself cannot be undone

Yet these dead petals

decaying

become more

feeding the blooms of tomorrows

art

Return to the Void

“What do you want to paint?” My friend asked before we entered her studio.

A huge mixed-media canvas with music-sheet Aspen trunks and brightly textured orange, yellow and gold leaves greats us as we go in. “You could help me with this,” she says, gesturing to the masterpiece.

I don’t say no but I feel a distinct pull away from contributing to her own work.

“Darkness.” I say, finally, after some awkwardly exchanged glances of uncertainty. “Well, not darkness… Like void, or a tunnel…”

“Some type of retreating vortex!” I finally exclaim after tripping over my thoughts for a moment. My friend gives me an amused, “oh really?” kind of glance.

“Yea, I mean, I don’t know what I want to paint, but that’s what it feels like…”

She doesn’t argue or try to clarify anymore before pulling out some fresh canvas for me. I suppose in a couple decades she’s had the opportunity to meet my oddities time and time again already, why should this lack of descriptive inspiration be any different?

She also advises oil paints so my medium remains malleable while I attempt to pull my art from my essence and plaster it over the crisp-white blankness of my fresh canvas.

I mix burnt umber and cobalt blue to make black, smashing the paint right into the middle of the waiting space. Swirling my brush around, I let the movements and strokes take me into a trance-like state of patient non-judgement and curiosity. Soon my brush is twirling and spinning on the pallet and then again on the canvas. Back and forth, around and around, my brush twisting dramatically to leave globs of texture and color behind.

The painting begins to emerge from within the paint: a dark rose…

Return to the Void; Oil on Canvas