A Brush from the Dawn of Creation

The mystical experience.

It doesn't come from your head. It unfolds from your heart like a flower. 

It is a sense of an ancient shape beyond impermanence. It is a brush from the dawn of creation.

It can move behind a poem, a moonbeam, a memory of a childhood´s summer morning.

It is innocent. It doesn't obey. If you try to catch it, it dissapears like a butterfly.

And yet it is closer to you than your own thoughts.

There is a strange recognition when sensing it. You have known this in a forgotten time.

It can move behind historical places, but it is not history. It gives meaning to past and future, but it is not of time.

It is an invisible image accompanied by a soundless music.

It has no cause but leaves a sweetness on the tongue, a wonder in the heart.

It makes you long after breaking with the ordinary, and reaching into the extraordinary.

You must find it again and express it.

It is the self-portrait which came into being before yourself. 

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From the blog category: My Poems