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341. Beloved sons
Maybe This time it is not About what is better And what is worse But: Do I want to play With differences Or Shall I rest in truth For which Both the righteous And the villain Are beloved sons?
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342. All you want to know
It is clear that this painting has in it a problem in the left lower side. Generally there is joy bursting in it. But look at that corner. Yes, it is the corner of my pain in the legs. It is what...
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343. I can close my eyes
In my little garden of dreams I swim I find the red hard to chew But the green invites me The yellows warm me up The grays advise to rest I see the screens That tell of being open and enclosed I see...
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345. What is happening?
Being, not being, The energy that gathers my body Is less insistent now My body feels the spaces in itself Where it does not exist These are the places Where my true self Is taking over The pain I...
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346. A new book
Dear friends, Pain has slowed me down quite a bit. But I continue to paint and write every day. It is my best way to connect with the deeper parts of me, and I do not want to miss any opportunity to...
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In every moment, like when there is an attack of pain that is hard to sufferAsk myself:Where is the “I”?And these days I already see, every time I look, many of my “I”’sin many levels. It is even...
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352. What will be?
InnocentlyAnd with children’s joyThey slowly moveWith their belongingsIn the air.It is the end of the line,They think.What will be the tasteOf empty spaceWhen we are gone?
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353. Can joy live in darkness?
Can joy live in darknessWhere it is denseWith blinding light,Where clumps of small explosionsTurn aroundWith menace?Can I find my true life in chaos?NoMy life is independentAnd pain is happening in it.
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354. The last sun of the day
The lines, Connected,Do they help to moveOr do they hinder?The dots, white and yellow,Over brown, grey and ocher,Are they smoothOr are they rough likeStones or broken bones?The beauty, is it real,Or...
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355. Right here
Weeds grow haphazardly in the villageAnd the village travels like a boatOn the face of historyTo reach its destinationAren’t the weeds distracting to the travel?And what’s the village’s goal, if notTo...
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