I look at the blog and read the last two entries. I feel love. As if this is someone else who is going through his adventure of becoming clear. I always marvel when I see other people release subconscious material and become lighter. What can be more heartwarming than that? It is I who is going through it, and another I is looking and feeling love.
I promised more and here it is.
Three in the morning again. I am too awake from the pain. I go to the studio and make a drawing. Slowly I move the brush, as if I have all the time in the world. I do.
I look at it.
I write to myself a few things. I can read my drawing fast. But I prefer to play with the going-in-with-words because it is more fun. I can be surprised.
I collect sentences about what do the different shapes in the drawing do. I scramble them and in their new order I insert a few words, change a few things until they start to make sense.
This is the result:
I spread green boughs
Like a herd of running
I turn myself into a landscape
I play becoming sky
And cirrus clouds
I am fed and aired
I even peek in from my side
To take a look at
How I grow.
It is a good feeling and with this I go back to bed.
I wake up in the morning and feel the heaviness of depression-like feeling pulling me down. This is strange. I have my morning call with Shirley and we dig together into my subconscious to clear programs that don’t want me to be free and happy. This helps. I feel lighter, and become very active, calling some people that I want to call and sending some emails. I feel compassion and gratefulness. That’s how I work.
Then the depressing mood comes back.
This is strange. It has been about fifteen years that I have been very stable in my good mood. People who come to me with depressions, memories of abuse and anything heavy always leave the sessions feeling lighter. This seesaw of feeling light and then heavy reminds me of one meditation retreat in which my mood switched between these two extremes every session, for a whole day. I could not do anything about it. I just watched with huge calm as my moods changed in front of me, so to speak, and then I went deeper.
I sit down to draw again.
The drawing does not show depression. Instead there are two sides, as before. Every one of them walks away from the other. The right, purple side, seems to have more difficulties and is getting into trouble with the yellow and the orange, coming from the ground. The red spots in this side also seem to get in the way.
The left side seems to have an easier time. Red in the left side feels like flowers.
The whole thing seems to be about duality and about judgment and choice that duality forces you to make. The more I go through these drawings of right and left that do not harmonize, the more I become a witness again, who is not on either side.
I am not that.
All of this is a process of meditation. It allows moods and memories to come to the surface. We have so many of them stored in our subconscious. Being quiet invites them to come from whatever depth they dwelled in and if we stay in the witnessing state they just go through our experience and disappear. Making art intuitively is even a better witnessing state, because there is wonder and love in it, and the mysterious sense of a wiser and more compassionate order.
I used to be a graphic designer and an illustrator. I became involved with the Chan Meditation Center and studied meditation and Buddhist knowledge with the late Master Sheng-yen from Taiwan. For twelve years I was in a process of deepening my meditation. I had many more experiences and insights and my life changed. After having illustrated more than 40 children’s books and writing two of them, I left this career too and went to New York University to study art therapy.