Art is the created manifestation of what lives within. You discover a person when you look at her art. You discover yourself when you tell yourself what you see there.
My website is the encounter of both of us.
Welcome
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You are not alone, although the friendly creatures that live in your Quiet Room do not speak in words. You know there are many forms of language to convey the one meaning. Goodness is brought to all parts of itself by sheer wanting and not through heavy-handed conversation. You are tired of conversation, aren’t you? I know you are. You are tired of the noise that thoughts make and the energy they rob you of by going round and round like a wheel that has forgotten why it turns and cannot stop.
You needn’t worry so about this. Nothing is of consequence to the peaceful mind that trusts in the nature of the Unchanging. Be true to yourself and keep whispering the truth. Make it your companion through time and it will carry you to the plains of serenity that keep the sky open and its freedom within reach.
The Human story is only about a dream. Keep your mind in Heaven.
It is a truth not said enough, that the Rainbow that arcs the world after the rain, is here to show what has always been but not seen by your eyes or mine. I sit and ponder this small wonder as the Stars fill the sky above me and show forth all Eternity.
They are just like the lights that brighten my keyboard in this quiet moment that is just like the one before, but even sweeter for being new and fresh and full of possibilities. Don’t drag the past with you, I tell myself. There is no reason to believe it brings anything worthwhile with it. Life is a constant new beginning.
Be still, I sense somewhere within me. Be still in this moment that has no other beyond it. Be still, and let this moment speak, for the Moment does speak. Hear what it says in its singularity of purpose, in its reason for being: I am rich with Whispers, it says; I am a Giving and this is the only instant for giving. I am the gentleness that is your strength; I am the fulfilled longing for what has not gone awry. There is a book that sits quietly on your heart and it has lovely words written upon it. These are Words that open you to joys and hopes and promises that you thought stolen by the passage of time.
Let me speak these words you long to hear, dear. Let me tell you that you are the Sun. You are the Night that never closes the door to the light of Forevermore. I am so close to you–I am you. You are this and so much more. You are more than the fingers that touch an outer world that feels so real but is only brittle driftwood waiting to become dust. What is lasting is within you.
You are love. Too long have you confused what love is while the word is loudly bandied about in the marketplace outside your inner self. Love is the quietness of Good rejoicing. It is the cup that runneth over, the wind that carries you unbidden to your greatest happiness. It is what you are–it is the thing never looked for, never sought, and never needed. It is the very substance of your being in its wisest and deepest terms. It is what never goes away. It is the isness of being, the very nature of Nature–supreme and undaunted. It is what can never be altered or threatened or lost. It is the peace in the quiet, the song in the bird, the depth of the measure, the fullness of a chord.
Cry not for loss, there is no loss. See within this moment a gentle Presence, your own self, whole and wholly with you. Sense this now. Nowhere is there a thing of jagged edges gaudily painted up and parading about for your agreement. Sense what is really here in this ordinary moment that seems just like the one before. See that the new, the possible, the fresh…the innocent, has come.
Be still, but not as you have understood it when obeying others. Be still, as you understand only yourself. See that in you is the bridge to the World you think you see no more. You need not prepare yourself in any way to hope, to reach. It is in this moment of stillness that What Is will gather around your awareness–not when you look for it, but when you do not. You can do so much more when you do so much less.
You are the Song that you cannot hear with your ear. You are the Soundless that makes a melody of your life. And you are the rhapsody of Aliveness meant for expressing as you play at being human.
Tender Thought, where are you coming from? You exist in the quiet corners only.
The loud outer world is fully center stage and takes up room and makes a fuss.
But you, Tender Thought, you are soft and reassuring like the breeze on a warm day.
You are tranquil like the love that fills my heart in the midst of a meadow filled with tall gently swaying grasses.
You are the One I keep looking for and you are the One I need never seek–for you are nearer than the dearest part of me. You are the morning of every day that appears out of the mist of Foreverness into time and space. You are hidden but not lost. You are mine and you are me. I am what you are for expressing though I have come to express mostly what I have been told by outer concepts.
You are so quiet, so nearly not there that I find it hard to find you, not finding myself too clearly in this world of “other people.”
But finding you is the only thing that matters. Isn’t it?
A Deep and Natural light lives in the recesses hidden from my view. I go through a jungle of thoughts that hold me stranded in a world that seems so real—though I am, in truth, only the dreamer of this world.
I dream and find brambles made from worries at my feet and the path before me is obscured by my darkened view. I tread with uncertainty and head for distant hills hoping that the way will clear and the day come before my fears take hold of me and turn me in more wrong directions. There is a bit of Moon showing through the forest that has sprung around me from the troubled thoughts in my mind. There are serpents clinging to the branches moving the leaves in such a way as to permit their sighs to sound like song. I’ve become enthralled to “something” outside myself.
And yet, and yet, there are picture windows in the middle of the night that open onto a Daylight that allows the soul that is asleep to awaken and look again. There is on the horizon a little bit of Sun left over from a hopefulness believed in long ago. Yes, there is always hope in the air.
I am walking and wondering what purpose this journey is based on. The outer commands seem loud and intrusive and the sound coming from the grief in others makes the peace and quiet that still comes from within me, hard to hear. How does one turn away and listen to the sweet Nothing? How does one do that? There must be a way to stay peaceful where peace is not believed in. There must be a way to view the origin of life through the filtered illusion if time.
And to think, and to think—this time thing is not real—for, Dreamer that I am—I am only its creator.
