About 15 years ago I was on my way to work and found myself behind a van at a traffic light. I think the company was Classic Painting, but the important part here was it had a paint brush and some color strokes and said ” Your job makes my van go.”. I laughed, called and left a voice mail that I thought it was funny. It’s nothing new that I think you should splash appreciation and support liberally.
One night last week, I was reading before bed, and this popped into my head (not surprising, because I had been thinking about Vincent) – and I got – “Well if he was saying my name right this would have made no sense”. I didn’t know I was saying it wrong all these years until the Doctor Who Episode. What is more pretentious 1) saying it wrong with conviction 2) saying it correctly and knowing it sounds kind of pretentious? I could take it further and discuss the entire Dutch aspect, but I will leave it to you to follow the highlighted link if you are actually interested.
I wasn’t really sure if Vincent was being funny, snarky or serious, so I just waited. My mind drifted and like a movie coming up on a screen, I saw Starry Starry Night. Of course. Because it is beautiful. Because if I was brave enough for a really big tattoo that is what one of them would be. Because it is the only picture that I can see in a cheesy pizzeria and still just fall into it. I know it is Starry Night, but Don McLean and I like Starry Starry better.
And then it was like a deep silence, and rising from it I heard:
It was when I completed this that my true earthly pain began. I had held hands with God and seen the world as it truly was. I could not bear the separation when I slipped back into normal mode.
I always asked God to reveal himself to me. I knew there was something beyond religion, but early on did not know how to take the pathway to something higher. My painting sometimes brought urgency to the surface, but other times would calm me. Connect me to all that was. That night I fell into the Starry Night was beyond anything I had experienced before. I was washed over with an essence I had felt wisps of before, but now I was saturated with it. It was beyond any words I could imagine. It could only be told with my paintbrush. Oh how could I tell the world of all, I, Vincent am experiencing?
It was my ego that brought me back and separated me. It jumped in between me and my Godself.
It said I was psychotic. I was not.
It said I was not worthy of such connection, and that it couldn’t be real. Who are you it asked, to think you can not only know God, but share the Essence?
Because of my past and the methods I had used to conquer my demons, it seemed my outside life supported my ego’s claims.
I was I had listened to my Inner Self.