I am painting. Every relationship with the canvas is different, similar to people. I let the colors go where they may for a while. It’s in it’s infancy, a baby painting. Just starting out. Taking it’s first few steps.

I study it for awhile. Falling into the energy and the restfulness. I try to stay open and feel what it can be. Do I see someone sleeping in there?

I put in the pose. Is it right? Does it feel like that’s the one that was trying to be borne

No.

Change it.

A different pose. This one is right. It feels right.

I push the paint around. Tightening the noose against it’s random, chaotic beginning. Different colors emerge. Older colors. Colors emerging from the baby steps. Patterns reveal themselves. Worlds within worlds.

Light shining through? Planned randomness.

I’m almost done.

I look up and it’s been hours. It felt like minutes. Minutes of discovery. Minutes that take me back to the rivers of belief. Rivers of dreams.