A Golden-Rayed Flower in a Garden Grew

The poetry of Nature is ever alive! I love when the earth delights to feel my bare feet and the winds long to play with my hair, when I walk through the mountain flowerbed and get lost.

Once, near the mountains where I live, I went out for an evening walk and decided to stay out until sunset, for going out, I found, was really going in. I sat on the old bench and listened to the songs of the birds, looked around at the trees, moving clouds, and appearing stars from the other side of the sky. I could sense that the whole of existence is joyful. Everything seemed to be dancing. Trees were dancing for no reason; they were not trying to become somebody and they were not competing with each other. My soul always looks for places like this, where nature has not been rearranged by man’s hand, and one of these places is the American West.

Whenever I get a chance to be with nature without any purpose, it opens a door for me to observe its simplicity and how unbelievably the whole of existence is dancing. I used to be so busy with the dull and dusty affairs of life which had nothing to do with growing grass, flowers, and running streams. I feel in my body that nature seems to be the medicine. Since I dwelled among the beauties and mysteries of the earth I find myself never alone or weary of life. My heart flutters in the air while I rest among the breaths of nature. I am convinced a tiny flower is no less than the journey-work of the stars. Often, I notice the thrill of the flowers when the rain pours over them, and the trembling of the petals when the wind sweeps through them. I also sense the movements of the fragrant petals at the touch of the pollen, hear what the stream uttered to the dipping willows, and what the moon voiced to the sweet lavender.

Here in Denmark, I find a challenge in the pathless woods and a rapture on the lonely shore. I rest by the deep sea, and find music in its roar. Things happen when the vast sky and I meet. Looking deep into nature allows me to embrace everything better. There is a way that nature speaks: a language of stillness or ‘That Which Is’ speaks of its melody. At dawn, my eyes follow the floating clouds and the dancing trees. I hear the ripples of the sea, and the first rays of sun and nirvana are here. Nirvana becomes the body, when Nature is heavenly. Gradually, I get closer to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order, while the setting sun still whispers a promise for tomorrow.

Breathless, I snapped a tiny flower in one of Copenhagen’s gardens, rejoiced in the cloudburst, and kissed the wet grass. Nature rejuvenates so quickly and often it surprises me how cleverly nature hides every laugh-line of hers under flowers, leaves, and dawn dew. Every form of appearance or disappearance in existence leaves its impression upon me. What a wonderful world!

As it is in the mountains and other special places, I sometimes experience a ‘magical’ moment when the combination of my imagination and the reality of what is before me come together to form images and ideas which then become inspiration for my paintings. The colors and atmospheres are all included in my expressions ‘Rocky Pastels.’ When this happens, it is not only very exciting, but almost spiritual. The shapes, surface, color, and lighting found in the Southwest seem to be almost fantasy itself. I enjoy combining these elements with ideas - real or not.

In 2011, I was carried away with enthusiasm and energy by every interesting subject I saw. Every painting or ‘Cosmic Landscape’ I started was a new and exciting experience that sometimes turned into an all-night and next day session, as I was unable to tear myself away from the creative process. Often, I love to capture the feeling of great peace and tranquility that I feel in the desert. Only my canyon-echoes of paintings, poetry, and photography are lasting witnesses in this desert wilderness.

How to describe this ongoing poetic journey of discovery and observation? Here I find trees dancing in death, sculptures stone-made by Master’s hand, heat and cold, sacred pools, floating owl’s feathers, and raven’s company. I have contemplated a sky with a lizard, shared coral sands with rattle snakes, shocked myself and deer alike, been turned back by a cougar’s scream, stood very still with American rabbits (cottontails), been stung and burned, bruised and cold, mad with heat and the beauty of flowers, and count these endless trackless hours as my finest - outstanding!

My praises are my prayers:
A golden-rayed flower in a garden grew, and
was fed by fresh wet breezes with shiny dew,
It opened its petals to the sunlight, and
folded them below the kisses of night.