Is Losing a Sense the Same as Recovering it?

My first reaction is of course some sort of anguish at the possibility of losing one of my senses, I mean; I like and enjoy them all so much. But this issue presents so many different possibilities and lines of argument that we probably never will reach an agreement.

Many in the deaf community are very adamant about manifesting themselves against an ear device to help them listen. A few of them even go as far as to judge rather harshly those who decide to get the implant, claiming that being deaf outlines to a large extent their identity.

I disagree.

I know I don’t have as much license to voice out my opinion in this matter for the simple fact that I am not deaf, but I’m also not many other things and I still consider myself me, even if something about this me were to change. If there is a constant in this life, that constant is change. I am not the same person I was yesterday, for many things have changed. I know that by the time I finish this entry, I will be a different person than I was when I started writing it.

But the truth is that everyone is going to have an own interpretation of who they are based on their experiences and ideas. I wouldn’t want to limit the perception of my identity to one single aspect of my life, personality or even body. I think that what makes us unique is precisely the very fact that we are unique and ever changing.

However, I respect those who think differently than me. It’s their choice.

Is Reality Truly What We Make it to be? A Forest Gump Review

I saw Forest Gump again. I lost count of how many times I have seen this movie a long time ago. I saw it about five times in the movie theater alone, it’s important to note that movie tickets weren’t as expensive back then. And it doesn’t matter how many times I see this film, I will always feel moved by the scene in which Forest says good bye to his very best friend Bubba, or when he runs into Jenny in the middle of the fountain in Washington and when he sees his son for the very first time in Jenny’s apartment.

It only took one person for him to believe that he wasn’t different than anyone else, and that he could do anything he set his mind to as long as he persevered; his mother. And he goes about life with that mindset. It didn’t really matter what everyone around him said to him, about his “condition.” He was very resolute and soundly logical, I mean it really is true that “stupid is as stupid does”, right?

In light of many considered New Age movements, perspectives about life and existence, raising awareness, and “revolutionary” concepts which claim that it is our mind what creates our reality on a daily bases, (I think about The Secret ®) it makes you wonder if maybe Forest Gump was one of those masters at manifesting their desires in their everyday life and that he ultimately realized, before many of us, that it was what he set his mind to that determined what he would accomplish and not what others assumed. I know that many consider his accomplishments exorbitant or far-fetched, but if you think about it, many have achieved all those things presented in the film..

And I know that it is one of those sentimentally packed, emotionally charged tearjerker movies, (award-winning tearjerker) but I still like it and find it inspiring. The acting in the leading role as Forrest by Tom Hanks is just simply superb. I am not a big fan of Hanks, I have to admit, but he sure does deliver a great convincing performance, comparable maybe to that of Dustin Hoffman in Rain man. But Hanks does it so naturally that you would almost think that he is not even acting, and that if you happen to run into him walking down the muddy roads of Alabama he would say hi to you very nonchalantly, and genuinely interested in you with a “Hi, my name is Forest, Forest Gump” with a twangy southern accent.

I remain a fan, what can I say? With memorable photography, amazing directing and smooth editing, Forest Gump is one of those films that leave more that a brief sensation of wellness. It leaves just a little bit more, and I recommend a little bit of that “it” to everyone any day of the week.

Equal?

It is so easy to forget that there is a very large community of individuals with special needs. I know I often do. To a large extent, we seem to forget about a lot of issues because we are too worried about our own issues, like getting to work on time, what’s for lunch or dinner, the credit card bill, car payment, and the list goes on and on.

As I think about it a little bit more, I think that in a way we all have special needs, it just so happens that a few have very specific ones, significant differences in the way they think, walk or not walking, going about life.

What if my child had a very specific difference?

Maybe if that were the case I would notice the specific areas in which we as a society are failing to provide everyone with equal opportunities. Maybe I would notice the lack of ramps on sidewalks, or how difficult it is to get around in a college campus, or any public venue if my child needed a wheelchair to go around.

As with anything in life, there is a lot of effort needed to get things done. We have a certain way of looking at things, and when what we see doesn’t fit our model we find opposition. It may be some form of selective appreciation. We see what we like to see, and when we don’t understand something, it’s always easier to look away.

But there is only so much looking away that we can do. Reality can be avoided, but sooner or later, it will catch up with us. We can’t pretend that there aren’t any problems because that only makes things worse.

I guess all I’m really saying is that we have to see the reality that we are living. The fight for equal rights hasn’t ended. There is still a lot of work, and progress to be made, and the more people are aware and involved in finding solutions, the easier it will be to reach them.

The Path We Choose

Do we have a life of growth and learning?

Are we humble to knowledge and different perspectives?

Or do we stop learning at some point and just repeat the same messages over and over again?

Do we presume to know an absolute truth without even knowing of the other possibilities in this vast existence?

Which are we?

Who do we want to be?

If there ever was somebody who knows how you feel…

There isn’t a single day in which I don’t see some reference to the power of the will, or to how much WE are in control of our lives. Hardly a week goes by without me hearing somebody utter indiscriminately and at the very first chance they got “You are in control of your destiny” or some variation to that effect.

If they keep that shit up, I’m going to start believing it. If I keep seeing more people actually doing what they love and be recognized for it, I might get the impression that I can do it too. If I read one more novel that is so absolutely exquisite that it makes me feel like I’m barely writing at grade-school level, but at the same time teaches me something new, I might even get the delusion that I can write something that can teach someone else something too.

I’ve found out that I am a master of sabotage. And my favorite victim is I. And I am ruthless with me. I can totally keep myself from doing stuff all day long and I can say things to myself to keep me from being productive.

Q: What’s keeping me from writing at least one thousand words each day?
A: Me.

If I did that… let me do the math, although I’m not too good at it (←See what I mean?). Well, a thousand words each day for a whole month is 30,000 words. Mmm, that’s half a novel right there. So technically I can write an average of 6 novels in a year by writing one thousand words everyday. So far I have written 285 words in this little ramp, and it has taken me exactly ten minutes. If I keep writing at this pace, I can have as much as 1700 words on paper, if I do this everyday I can have a full length novel manuscript in 45 days.

Q: Who’s keeping me from doing it?
A: Well, you get the idea.

Me, me, me, me, and no one else but me, and that’s it.

Am I going to write the next great American novel in this fashion in the next 45 days? Maybe not… but maybe yes. Will I know if I don’t give it a shot? Definitely not. What if it takes me more than one shot at it? What if it takes me ten years? Well, I can spend the next ten years (or twenty) writing about one hour a day and see what comes up. As it is I already spend about 8 hours in a job that I don’t really care for. Why not spend some time doing something I actually love?

So there, I said it, I don’t care for my job (although it does pay the bills) but I’ve had jobs that pay the bills for the last 12 years. I really need to get my self to write. Hey look, I just made it to 500 words in half an hour. Not bad.

So it may be up to me after all.

A Musical Quest for the Self (Part II)

Music as an expression comes from a place, or places, not always reachable by our conscious mind or mere desire. There is something else. There is a lot more in our beings that makes connections with the tangible world.

In some cultures the connection between music and spirituality is even more developed. I would even venture to speculate that those cultures that have deep-rooted spiritual beliefs/practices have used music as a mean to achieve that connection, such as the Central Javanese musicians and their stories, outlined by Judith Becker in Gamelan Stories,
“While these stories focus on the events of music and dance, those activities also become metaphors for the strongly felt, extra mundane connections between human and cosmos, between individual and a greater, more enduring, more powerful realm…”

And I believe that in a way we are all trying to transcend that window of existence between the “real world” and the spiritual one in one way or the other, weather we realize it or not, and that is the very reason we look for answers in many different places and continue to go to church and pray in silence every night. Even if a person claims to be an atheist, the very moment he turns on his radio he or she is having a spiritual experience related to him/her by the artist who created the music, so that this person who believes in no god can find himself singing along ecstatically and completely oblivious to the external word, feeling whatever emotions the sound evokes in them.

“Traditional spirituality, according to Wuthnow, emphasizes habitation- ‘the notion that God occupies a definite place in the universe and creates a sacred place in which humans can dwell as well’”.

The more I learn about music and its vibrations, and the more I read about the soul and the source of inspiration I can see that is evident the connection between these two. I can see the strong correlation between a feeling and a beat. I can see the harmonious way in which a soul vibrates and how sound, existing in a plane of existence closer to the spirit, can connect with it in a much closer level, and thus bringing it forward to our awareness.

Something similar happens in shamanistic ceremonies. I had the opportunity to experience it firsthand when I attended a spiritual ritual with a Peruvian Shaman, a female Shaman, in which the rhythmic beats of the rattles and harmonious whistles by the performed by the female shaman transported one to remote corners of the Amazon rainforest. It is difficult to explain the experience just as it is difficult to attempt to explain love in scientific terms, but the feelings were there. The experience was real. The music had a tremendous impact on those of us who were present in the ceremony, and when talking about it afterwards, the general consensus was that the melodies did, indeed, had the power to evoke powerful feelings and a sense of peace.
The closest evidence I found to this experience is Gamelan Music and Meditation, which is said to bring a person “to achieve the desired spiritual state of heightened aesthetic perception”

A Musical Quest for the Self (Part I)

Life in this world can be a long and hectic journey, but somehow most people seem to believe that there is “something” else out there. Even more, a lot of us have a fervent belief in that there is more to our lives than what we experience in the physical world.

I can accept, for the most part, the everyday occurrences I live. I can feel the cold in the morning when I wake up and get up from bed. I can accept the fact that there are miniscule floating particles of steam carrying around the smell of a fresh batch of coffee. I have no problem dealing the mundane conventionalisms of paying for gas with cash, and now often times with virtual currency packaged in a fancy golden debit card. But then I start questioning what can’t be as easily perceived. Especially when I turned on the radio or play one of my favorite songs and feelings overwhelm my whole being. I have to question what I know, or think I know, when a melody brings a tear to my eyes. I think about the possibilities when glimpses from the past begin to fill my mind when I hear certain tune.

What is happening to me?
What and how are these vibrations touching when they travel trough the air and reach my ears?
Is my soul being touched by these sounds? Is my spirit being elevated by these harmonies?

It would be really difficult to assess and ultimately reach a final conclusion on these questionings, but based on personal experience and the way music has contributed in practically every aspect of a person’s life, I would like to venture the notion that all questions posed have definite answers, that these answers will be different from person to person, and that they are all probably right.

Oscar Wilde on the Importance of Editing

"I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again."
- Oscar Wilde

Top 10 Novels of the 20th Century

According to the Modern Library’s Board these are the best novels of the 20th century:

1. Ulysses by James Joyce
2. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
3. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
4. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
5. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
6. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
7. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
8. Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler
9. Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence
10. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck

My personal favorite is Lolita, but I'll be the first to admit I haven't read all of them. I'm working on it though.





They supposedly had a preliminary list of 440 novels. I hope that at the very least each member read ALL of the works in that list.

Oh, by the way, they only considered novels written in English.

Mmm…

In any case, here is a recommendation for everyone: 100 Years of Solitude

Life is a work in progress

Nothing is ever truly finished.

Words Slithering From Me

It happened this morning.

It started somewhat sluggishly, but quickly sped up as I rose from bed. The only explanation of sorts that I dare venture fort about this odd phenomena is that gravity, accusing its ill effects indiscriminately over all the elements in the universe played a practical joke on me taking advantage of my morning lethargy.

Without any notice, after a strident beep of the alarm clock, every single word I have in my brain, the ones I use regularly and the ones kept concealed in a corner of the right side of my brain, plummeted down from the center of my cerebral system to the back of my neck, through my spine and down my back.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed, wife sleeping soundly, one by one they sled and fell to my sides without me being able to do anything to stop this incidence,

And it wasn’t a dramatic fall.

It wasn’t a memorable or transcendent event. It was more of a circumstance. Things are usually a lot less painful and easily justifiable when they are circumstantial. The drop, unhurried and somewhat measured was, however, with a touch of dignity and almost with sophistication.

As I stood up, half asleep and numbed by the internal silent revolution taking place in me, words like “stuck,” “diligence,” and “nag” fell first like water from a cascade striking a rock on its way down, with the exception that verbs and articles found no rock on their way down, but joints, bones and ligaments.

A fraction of the words went down my left arm. In their journey they bordered the three scars on my elbow while bouncing due to the wrinkles in it. A whole bunch of them plummeted by my forearm until reaching my wrist, where they paused for a moment when noticing that the end of the way was near. Little by little they saturated the palm of my hand before projecting themselves very orderly taking turns using my fingers as trampolines.

The same took place on the right side of my body with a slight difference, while verbs and adverbs made their escape trough this side, adjectives and articles slipped very casually by the left. It was only 5:34am when I witnessed how each and every single one of my favorite words plunged into the air to a gracious fall until reaching the ground where they broke in individual letters when hitting the ceramic floor, turning the room into a gigantic bowl of alphabet soup.

I stood up feeling a tingling sensation throughout my body and arms. The rest of the words and expressions glided all the way down until reaching my ankles. Once below, with the proximity of the floor, the louder and empty sound that the words falling from high above were making became a barely audible toc sound originated by the words jumping out of my toes. The words diving from such a low altitude remained in one piece and scattered all over the room, hall and bathroom floor as I made my way to the shower.

As I was calculating the ideal temperature for my morning wash words kept tumbling over and exploding in miniature splash sounds. In this way the shower was soon saturated with consonants and loose vowels and even some complete words, like “cohesion” and “adhered,” who faithful to their meanings stayed in one piece.

I have to admit that I felt a bit of joy when I say words like “politics,” “tyranny” and “failure” go down the drain, and became worried when I saw “unconditional” trickle down my right arm mixed with the shampoo foam. I truly believe that it must have been the inevitable nature of conformity that kept me from grabbing that last word, same with others like “caring” or “friendship,” which was stuck on the edge of the drain practically the whole duration of my shower.

Once outside the shower I found the words that had fell on the floor all over. Tania, my wife, still asleep hadn’t noticed what had been going on during my morning, which was a good thing. I didn’t want her to become alarmed, especially after seeing Nini, our cat, battling in silence in the corner of the living room a couple of verbs that were floating about for some strange reason.

Before I knew it, every word and letter that had been on the floor was now levitating, reaching the ceiling very quick, after all I live in a small apartment, and since they had no other place to go they dissolved in the air, popping like bubbles.

I was almost certain that there wasn’t a single word left in me, that’s why I didn’t even bother to ask Tania if she wanted some coffee. I walked into the bedroom to get ready to go to work, although I did wondered how much help was I going to be without the means to communicate.

I was pondering about this when Nini approached me purring and holding a word between her teeth. I didn’t pay much attention to her as I though it was just another joke of an unusual morning, but I realized that the word she held in her teeth was “infinite.” She let go of the word and it didn’t fell, it floated and reached the height of my forehead. It started to shine in a warm incandescent glow that turned the bedroom into a comfortable place. Then I felt every single word, the ones I use quite regularly as well as the ones kept concealed somewhere in a corner of the right side of the brain, seeping back to me there, sitting on the edge of my bed one by one they all took their place back in my mind without me being able, or even wanting, to do anything about it.

“Good morning honey,” Tania said to me.
“Good morning sweetheart,” I answered. “Do you want some coffee?”

The Freedom to Be

I have sat in front of this piece of art countless times. I have seen it over and over again and wondered about it. I see the feminine figure of a girl dancing in the sun, out in the open by a fantastic tree, and I think about the artist who painted it. I think about all the things that were going on in her mind as she was painting this piece. I think about her life, the principles she values, the feeling of liberty, or maybe the need for that feeling that led to this creation. I wonder if she was thinking about herself and her journey in this life, or if she was thinking about the journey of every woman in the face of the earth today, or at any point in time.

I sit in silence in front of this warm colored piece of art that shows a girl in the middle of a field holding something that is unseen, maybe a concept, a feeling or maybe even an ideal. She holds her arms up in the air in an endless embrace, as her hair is caressed by the wind and floating about. She wears a short white dress that shows her legs, but its length is perfect for her. The length of the dress, just above her knees, allows for her to be feminine, sensual and fresh in what could have been a warm summer afternoon. She wears the dress with such a perfection, grace, and lightness that one can’t help but to think that she is the only being in the universe that can get away with being immortalized in a piece of art wearing it.

There are a few other items in this painting that make its composition tight in the enclosed environment of the canvass, but in the way in which they are arranged together they elevate the expression of the painting way beyond of its limited dimensions. There is a heavenly body that seems to represent a sun, but not an ordinary one. This sun seems to have feelings for those who receive the benefit of its light, and like so, it almost seems to be smiling in witnessing the freedom of the girl. There is also a tree that appears to be growing by the minute, as one admires the painting, and this is just because there is such dynamism in the interaction between all the elements in the image that they all seem to be doing something more than what they were captured doing when this moment was celebrated.

Even the ground in which the girl stands seems to be evolving as I type this explanation, as if representing the ever-changing, and ever-mutating shape of the earth, or the universe for that matter. To the right of the painting, as one faces it, there is an elevation that seems to be a mountain or a hill of some sort. Its perspective is loose, and it’s hard to tell whether it is near the front, where we as spectators are located, or if it’s many miles away, far in the background, but after a while, it doesn’t even seem to matter, since we can see it from where we are, and that is sufficient to understand its role in the complete equation. It brings balance.

Facelessness Beauty

The girl doesn’t have a face, and yet there is a lot of beauty to her. She is facing us. She is facing the world. She is presenting herself as she is, simple, pure, loving, vulnerable, whole, but more than anything she is free. We can’t really see her feet, but if we could I would be willing to bet that she is barefooted. There is a certain lightness to her whole being, as if she was a dancer. She looks like she just finished dancing or is about to start doing it. Her facelessness becomes an attribute to her mystery, since instead of making her anonymous it makes her perpetual, like she can’t age, like what we are seeing is not her physical body, but a pure manifestation of her being, her essence, one could go as far as to claim that this delicate figure is her soul. I get he impression as well that she could be any woman we have ever loved in our life, mom, sister, daughter, wife… and she is happy, no, more than that, she is ecstatic that she can give herself to us completely in any way she can, and what she asks in return is so little, and yet we make it seem like it is so much. Her long hair, floating in the unseen air, waves and salutes as part of her, part of her freedom, part of her embrace, but also as a symbol of her uniqueness and the liberty with which she carries herself.

Her slender arms are also very distinct features that add up to her meaning. I believe that the way in which they are arranged is very symbolic. They are not falling to her sides. They are not raised up in a “V” shape. They are not holding anything that we can see with our bare eyes. She is holding her arms high above her head in what seems to be something more than a symbolic hold. Perhaps the answer to the question, “what is the girl holding?” will be the element of discussion in college courses or artistic discussions sometime in the future. Perhaps I will never truly know, but I can speculate. She is holding on to everything in her life, and more than anything, life itself. She, her very essence, is depicted in this painting as a magical being, as a true miracle of the universe and a celebration of life. She is the visual embodiment of a free spirit and she is rejoicing in her existence, as I am.

I can think of many reasons why an artist would paint something like this. In this particular situation the artist is Mexican woman from Mexico and the painting was done in the early 2000’s. Even though this country has developed considerably, there is still a lot of ground to cover when it comes to equal rights and equality between men and women. It is not an uncommon occurrence for women to be beat up and abused by their husbands, and in some instances even by family members. These kinds of situations, of course, take place almost all around the world, but in this case the artist happens to be from this country. This is not to say that this is the ultimate reason, or the only reason for that matter, for the creation of this piece.

It is my impression as well that this painting talks about a spiritual freedom, and I’m not referring to religious freedom only, but to a freedom of the soul that goes beyond conventional dogmas or systems of beliefs written by a human hand. The freedom she seeks, or perhaps the freedom she found, is the freedom a person searches as an individual. This freedom I am referring to is that which allows us to make the choices we believe are the right ones, and also the one that allows us to learn and forgive ourselves for our mistakes. This freedom is a very intimate and personal one, and it is very different from person to person, but for her this is a very attainable one, and also one that she holds dear, and true to her heart.

Here and There

There are hardly or any straight lines in this piece of art, and everything seem to be somewhat loose and because of this there seems to be a lot of movement in the frame. The only somewhat vertical lines, or verticality, observed in the painting is in the trunk of the tree. There is an upward movement very symbolic of growth that can be appreciated in the many points that make it up, since the trunk has no concrete definition. This is certainly appropriate, since in this way one still gets an impression of solidity and sturdiness, almost as if the tree had some kind of toughness to it and definitely a more intimate connection to the land. The ground has horizontal elements, although once again, just like with the tree, no certain or concrete definition. I find it interesting that what would typically be the most concrete or solid elements, the tree, the ground and even the hill/mountain, are formed or represented by dots or lines. It’s almost as if the place or plane of existence of this ethereal being is between realms of existence. As if this girl is not in the same world we are, or better yet, she is in the same world we live in and also somewhere else, a place where she connects with herself.

The girl, even though upright, is mostly depicted with diagonal and round lines. The curves that shape her body certainly remind us of her femininity. She seems delicate, but as opposed to the ground or the tree she has a completely solid body. Her figure is slender, but one gets the impression that despite being a thin and delicate being, she is not fragile. Her built resembles that of a young woman, she is still a girl, but one can attest with certainty that she is becoming or has become a woman.

The sun keeps its round shape, and is the only other element of the panting that has a solid outline, although, faithful to this dreamy-like composition, its color is an aqua-green, impossible for a celestial body of its nature. But then again, what is possible or impossible in this private and intimate world seems to be outside any forceful attempt of explanation.

In this way, the aqua-green sun sheds many hues of yellow and orange that melt in the background of this image indiscriminately, making the over-all experience of admiring this painting a warm experience. Somehow, there is an impression that despite the irregularities of the ground, the undefined shape of the tree and the awkwardness of the color of the sun, this is a safe environment. This place is a sacred ground where one can only feel privileged for being able to see it, or know of its existence.

The many colors of the points that make up the ground, the blues, greens and blacks, give the impression that they can be anything that make up for a surface, water, grass or dirt, but despite its irregularities, one also gets the impression that is okay to be there.

The painting in essence and form is very simple. The figures are uncomplicated; yet, they hold a lot of meaning and value to them. It is in this simplicity that their significance takes on a larger level. It was not necessary for the artist to define every single line of the figures she presented to us in order to express a lot. As a matter of fact, this style adds to its meaning. There is a feel of innocence and freedom, and the painting evokes to those moments and feelings when there is no corruption of the virtue, of childhood, of growing up, but growing up with a pure heart, and a clean soul.

The material is oil on canvas, and I can’t say how many times I have seen this piece from a breath away and felt the imperative need to be part of that fantastic world, and its texture is but another reason for this feeling. Whenever I get close to it, and I’m able to see every minute detail of it, I get the feeling that the whole painting is irradiating energy. Every item in this piece is emanating some form of energy, and the texture of it certainly reflects this. The background is very smooth and silky. Most of it seems to represent light, and so the evenness of it contributes to the feeling of “lightness” and ultimately the sensation of peace. The girl and the sun have more of a substantial quality, which adds up to the energy and presence they command.

She is there for me

Every time I see this painting my attention is directed unselfishly and very gently to the figure of the girl. She is the main point of attention because of her features, because of where she is located, right in the middle of the painting, because of her beautifully simple white dress and because of everything she symbolizes. I close my eyes in front of the painting once, twice and every time I open them I see the girl and then, everything else.

After admiring her simplicity I undoubtedly have to look up the sun. It is in the upper right corner, but not too far out. The sun, in all of its immensity and power, seems benevolent and caring, it’s almost as if it wanted to look after the girl, but I get the feeling that she is too free and lively, so more than anything the sun is just admiring her and her beauty.

Usually after contemplating the interaction between the sun and the girl I divert my attention to the tree and the ground and think about the relationship between them all. The tree and the ground seem to be some sort of mantle that protects the girl from outside forces. They provide an environment in which she can evolve and feel safe. Their flimsy or surreal texture makes them soft, but dynamic. There is a lot of emotion in them, and their interaction as a whole feels like that of nature with the spiritual world.

This is when my mind flies away with her. This moment, which takes place soon after absorbing it all, her figure, the sun up in the sky, the ever-changing universe in which she lives, the bright and radiant colors that make up the background is a sacred one. From that moment on I cease to exist as I know and travel far away. There has been an invitation to transcend extended to me. This invitation came in the form of a painting that speaks to me so powerfully softly, that I accept it with all the joy and emotion that I am capable of feeling. And I fall with her. I fall to her.

I let myself go and leave behind my fears, doubts and all of those self-destructive behaviors that keep me from evolving. I see her as a living model of the power and reach of the human soul. I see her and everything she symbolizes as the next step in the evolution of a being. The most beautiful part of all this is that it seems to just happen without force or effort on my part, almost as if I am meant to follow this path, almost as if the way had been painted for me to go after, almost as if there was no other way to go but there with her into her universe, and once I’m there I find out that that this is also my place, the place where I was supposed to be all along, the place that was waiting for me even before I was born, and I feel blessed for being able to recognize it, and for taking all the necessary steps to be here.

I gain a lot from admiring this piece of art on a regular basis. It takes me somewhere deep and profound within myself. I often think of abstract concepts when admiring it, like freedom, expression, happiness and unconditional love and I realize that those concepts are not abstract after all. Those concepts, or feelings more like, are universal and real. This girl in this painting represents all of them in a very simple and romantic way. She is there, all by her lonesome giving herself to me every time, waiting for me to be with her in this journey between realms of existence. I know that she is real. I feel her presence everyday. She is the spiritual embodiment of everything that is good, and everything that is worth living for. This painting has given me many moments of peace and true joy. I feel very grateful that somebody had the insight, inspiration and skill to paint this, as I take it as a beautiful present to my soul.