Art of dreams

to Ale...

If I made you a painter.
What would you be?

This isn't writing.
That isn't a painting,
They aren't teaching.
You aren't sitting.

In a dream everything is different from what it appears.

At first that appears to be a girl in the classroom.
But look again.
Not at the girl, but at the girl of my dream.
Do you see?
Nothing is really as it appears.
There is nothing inside of you saying, how do you do, how are you living.
You can't see eyes looking back at you from a dimension inside.
Angels are real.
Everyting is nothing, nothing is everything.

And deeper and deeper down we go, until the bottom comes up to us, until we see ourselves coming as we go.

Read a painting, it carries no meaning, read a painting, it can't be done. Feel a painting, paint a feeling, say it with colors, say it with tears, portray your heart away...

You can't find the answer, looking at things that go round. Or answers that go round, and round, and round, listening to that annoying sound of your mind. Listen to that beat, that rythym of your heart, it can be done, you can't be lost, you get lost only in the currents, sucking you down.

Only to come up again, gasping for air, your breathing uncontrollable, your vision impaired. It can't be real, it can't be found, keep painting your deep emotions, that art must be living, way down under ground, way deep your soul, way infinite your love...

mizpah