Art is passing Through

Art is passing through.

Art is as powerful as life: it traverses and helps traversing.

Creating: be an empty vase: receive. Being traversed: give back.

Through movement, images and words. Through dancing, drawing and writing.

Art and life are connected: there is no me, it is just passing through.

There is no I creating. Just receiving and accompanying others to receive through the received.

Art brings us back to be springing fountains, empty vases.

Openness to the earth and the sky-

mum komiza2.jpg

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Inner Peace

Inner peace is the first step.

We need to start with ourselves if we wish to have an effect on others, on communities. If we cannot change the outside we can change the inside. And by changing the inside, the outside responds to us. As inside and outside are faces of the same medal.

Inner peace implies a constant practice on the self. The inner practice on ourselves means and implies taking care of ourselves. And we can take care of others only if we know how to take care of ourselves by doing it. This will allow us to not project on others what we think it would be good for them, but to really start to observe and listen how it is possible to accompany them deeply, truly.

Truthful inner peace has something contagious: it is an arrow hitting the heart of the other as it does not force her his barriers. Inner peace behaves like water: it does not force the way, it goes where the way is open.

Inner peace is acceptance, presence and awareness. These three elements foster transformation of personal and collective wounds.  And transformation calls for forgivingness and reconciliation.


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A bittersweet ode to infinite

A place at the origin of nothing. Trees, everywhere but running trees, roots enchaining and nestling to each other: a complex flowing of forest. At the very heart of the deep pulsing greenness of foliage, a wooden hut. Round and circular, as the drawing of the world. At the very centre of the mandala of the world, hidden into the wood of roots like a lymphatic venation protected by dark thick bark, the thin figure of a young woman. Fine hands, bluegreen veins enmesh life to body, long hairs of amber honey. At the centre of the mandala of the world, in the place at the origin of nothing, inside what it looks like forest for an infinite flowing of roots and trees, a woman amber honey waits while listening to the rocking of the wind among the leaves. Confused is the memory of the whom, the why of the waiting. Reasons and motivation leave space to pure being there.

And what if traversing inches of earth, layering of rocks till the opening of a swathe exactly at the other side of the world, we could find an opposite pole mirroring the initial one? An immense labyrinthic palace voraciously extending along the paths at the other side of the world. Chests of unseen secret treasures shine like motionless statues in the flooding of beyond space and shape time. Everything is light: never ending candles cover angular mirrors, domes of glass tell flame color stories and tales of ancient times radiate dancing all around. At the exact intersection point of the labyrinth resolution, a mirror and a man. The mirror reflects the man, the man reflects the mirror. They both create mirages of silvery light and ocean brindled eyes, high mountains foam of waterfall the hairs, faces of wrinkles drawn by the smiling plow of time, soft and light for of time no name nor memory is known. It was forgotten by the Ancients who will come.

And what if the mirror would not reflect the appearing of men and places, but would be the light dot, the former point and focal lens of originary creation? If all the things that are would be the extraordinary real production of what has the only function of reflecting all what contains and overtakes itself? Then, perhaps, the creative principle would be a plane surface laying on the womb of nothing, nothing than does not manifest in any shape, for no shape is ethereal enough to mold or stem it. Nothing that imagining itself reflecting on a plane mirror-like surface, would spring imaginary projections of all the things that are. Where all the things that are imagine themselves inhabiting a place they named time.

In his deep blue eyes of ocean, chimera of marine vastness, the man reflects the mirror of nothing. And at the opposite pole, in the twin world of his labyrinthic palace, a woman amber honey weave a veil of unknown waiting while listening to the rocking of the wind. If only for one tiny instant the mirror that creates the world and reflects the nothing could melt at the touch of the ocean eyed man’s frail fingers, if only could liquefy in silvery crystal and open a breach in the infinite mystery, breaking the illusionary projection of the world, if that could happen even only for a fleeting moment in the place of forgotten time, then the man would dive traversing the watery rift.

And the woman amber honey at the centre of the mandala of the world in the place at the origin of nothing knows without knowing, holds a premonition that every whispering of the wind to itself among the leaves is a song that gave birth to root and tree, to a chase of branches, to entwined underbrush and foliage. And root and tree are echoes of a singing with neither history nor meaning, pure being in the moment of feeling whispered, of happening of whisper. And in the singing that is echoe of a wind whisper, in the thick dark that is nothing but light in her firstborn form prior to shimmering, the woman amber honey stretches her hand into the profound night.

A crack opens into the mirror that creates the world and reflect the nothing, while the womb of nothing imagines itself as a silver water stretch. The nonexistent lantern of limitless projections of forms shatters in glimmering drops of fragments. As the fragmented drops scatter in all directions, the fingers of the ocean man slide Elsewhere. He plunges floating and it is like falling backward toward wherever. The labyrinth which holds together the palace where all the memories of the world that never was and never will be becomes wave of seawater to melt like castles of salt.


Something meets at the cracking of nothing.


Like a step, like an intertwining of fingers, was the first birth Elsewhere. The wherever looked like a shiny point, if only it could have had the appearance of something. And the first step directed itself to the primary point and felt like a falling backward.


And falling was like floating, floating like sailing, sailing a gentle flying, flying trembling like a small candle flame, trembling a burning, burning a whirling, whirling a traversing while smiling among tears, traversing like the resonance of a glare, resonance and glare: an absolute stillness.


the day before Christmas

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Thoughts from encountering with Life Alignment healing practice


Reconnection with inner energies

At the very centre of the heart there is a voice that keeps on guiding us.

The heart talks to us constantly, it always accompanies this self we happen to be.

We are already connected with all what surrounds and envelops us.


In the world of distinctions we are used to think in terms of inside|outside.

We see, literally, the inside as separated from the outside, the outside as distinguished from the inside.

We reason in terms of duality of dimensions.


The heart already knows that inside and outside are the same, like a single transparent drop of morning dew.

From the place of the heart we can look through this morning dew drop: the veil of distinctions becomes transparent.

The world of human beings is like this watery silver drop: frail in shape, destined to melt with the sunrise sun.


Yet, we can enjoy the brilliancy of this transparency of light.

The voice of the heart reminds us, constantly, of this fundamental state of joy.

Heart murmurs: ‘you are deeply, deeply loved’.


-There is already light. Unconditionally.



Sometimes, sometimes it happens that we cannot listen to the voice of the heart.

So, we think the heart has stopped talking to us and we fall in despair, we feel abandoned.

It is not that the heart stops talking to us, -it never does-, is that we are pressing our hands against our ears, many times without even realizing it. Thus, we are not listening to the voice of the heart.


The heart needs silence to be clearly heard, the heart needs openness to be perceived.

We need to open to the heart, to abandon ourselves to our heart, that means surrendering to the forces of life, to be in resonance with the universe.

As the universe contains the heart as much as the heart contains the universe.


In this state of abandon we do not need any more to burn our energies in struggle: acceptance feels like joyfulness, flowing is a natural way of being, creation is an always springing source, love is already there, present.

We see through the morning dew drop, its outside shape, its inner consistency.

We are the sunshine that will melt the dew away.

We are multiple multiplying echoes of inner ecstasy.


Empty vase, we receive. Receiving, we create.

And creating is nothing more than a reconnection to inner and transcendent forces of unconditional love.


– And gratefulness becomes prayer.




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Origine - Jelica Tipic'

Origine [Artwork by Jelica Tipic’]


Centre: a shifting movement.

The movement of the heart: a never ending change.

Instability: stillness of stability at its centre.

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Impressions from a Skinner Releasing Technique experience

[Tasting through a writing practice]

Workshop by Lily Kiara at Spazio Nu [Pontedera, Italy] / 5th-6th of September 2015,


Part. I

Releas-ing into the body, into the mov-ing.

Observ-ing: tuning into yourself. || Seeing what’s happen-ing – perceiv-ing.

Perceiv-ing: as consciousness in process.

Pre-sence: as being responsive to feel-ing in situation.

Setting imagination in motion. || Mov-ing and be-ing moved.

Soften-ing: making the moving light, efficient, effortless.

Root-ing: to the earth. Making the moving stable, supported, anchored.


Allow-ing instability to soften-ing the fall-ing.

Allow-ing what’s happening. Allow-ing awareness to emerge.

[when movement, when dancing makes experience, and brings to embody, a way of conceiving life.

The bodysoulmind -in its unity- learns, and remembers]

Part. II  

Releas-ing: it’s in process. And the process seems endless as you can always releasing a bit more, softening a bit more, breathing a bit deeper. Allowing a bit more.

Like balance: you are not just in balance, you keep on balanc-ing.

Observe it for a moment:

Walk in the space now.

Slow down.

Slow down a bit more.

Look at way your feet are getting to touch the ground. Or how the ground is getting in touch with your feet.

[shift the perspective, dismantle normal the categories of subject and object, see what is happening]

How the ground is touching your hill, reaching slowly the metatarsus and then the toes. How the weight shifts and all the weight of the body is taken in charge by one foot, allowing the other one to lift and step.

Notice the light trembling of your legs and feet in this slow motion walk.

Allow the instability, let space for this fragility of walking, of being.

Observe. It’s a process. It’s in process.

———- Experimenting 2:

Hold an imaginary ball, 20 cm diameter, between your tights. The ball is made of space, it’s imaginary but it’s real. Space has a consistency we cannot see. But we can perceive it. And when we become aware of that, our bodies can move into the volumes of space, creating other volumes, modifying the volumes.

Hold an imaginary real ball of space, 20 cm diameter, between your tights. Ask to two partners at your sides to push your knees together. But you are holding a ball of space between your tights, your knees don’t move. There’s no space for them where to move: there’s a ball of space between your tights.


To know more about —

Skinner Releasing: ||

Lily Kiara:

Spazio Nu:

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All the shadows of the undying universe

cielmerAll the shadows of the undying universe

I see them borning on your face

the blaze of the immense heart of you

is warming back the place where you belong.


I will remember you

the undying light of the morning

back again again again

back as all the times it has been back

when all you wished was to drown in darkness

the abysses of nostalgia

in the neverending river of forgetting

of forgiving

of forever.


You will last for forever

when your new body will born

when you will be transformed

in all the shades of light

in each of the darkness shadows

new life of without time

will be consumed in the time of eternity.

diventare percezione5

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