finding myself

I feel like a puzzle

I haven’t yet found the pieces

but the picture so far is beautiful

I get to iron out its creases

as time goes;

over and over it unfolds

and folds back into itself

as I find myself

collecting my pieces

never finishing the puzzle.

incomplete drawing, the tireless ‘self-portrait’ of the eye-flower… bringing to mind that ‘puzzle’.


Let go. Let go. Let go. Surrender. Your body is heavy as a rock. Sinking into Earth.


Breathe again. Hard.

Let it all out. Let it go. Surrender.

Open your heart. Let it heal. Breathe into its healing. Feel the expansion. The blossoming. The spread of wildflowers blazing.

Breathe in possibilities. Breathe out all that is holding you back. All your limitations.

Breathe. Hard. Love yourself. Feel the expansion in your chest. See the flowers.

See your throat. Breathe in. Know your truth, settle into your truth, let it out HARD.

Open your chest, your throat, yourSelf. Let it heal.

Focus on your third eye. Look within. Witness the beautiful, beautiful jungle inside. It is you. Unfolding with life. Slow. Peaceful. Loving-blossoming.

Feel the breeze against the side of your face. The tingling. Sensation, bringing you deeper, further. See with your mind’s eye. The jungle is there.

The breeze. Bringing you back to the healing. Deeper, further. Feel it piercing through you. Feel every single cell inside and through. Healing. Blooming.

See. See with the omniscient eye inside the layers, past the layers within. The peaceful jungle. Full of slow, timeless life.

Sometimes the breathing stops. You don’t know what or where or how or whatever. But you. Know. This.

Your whole body. Tingling. Exhilarating.

Soaring. Ecstasy.

Feel everything.

Breath underneath your wings.

Surrender, surrender, deeper, deeper.



And explode in a chaos of sensations. Rush to the surface. Wiggle. Try to feel something concrete – material.

Here we are. The floor is there. Your toes are there. Ahhhh, your breath is there.

Roll to one side. Everything is loose. Jelly.

Push weakly up. Are you up? Woah. The world is spinning, even with eyes closed. You want to go back – the jungle, the eye, the tingling, the soaring. It all flashes before you.

You sit. Open. Giving, receiving, existing. Being.

Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude. You bow to the divinity. Inside, outside – it doesn’t matter. Being.

‘omniprésence’ by Bee

Sage advice from Elbert Hubbard

Whenever you go out-of-doors, draw the chin in, carry the crown of the head high, and fill the lungs to the utmost; drink in the sunshine; greet your friends with a smile, and put soul into every handclasp. Do not fear being misunderstood and do not waste a minute thinking about your enemies. Try to fix firmly in your mind what you would like to do; and then, without veering off direction, you will move straight to the goal. Keep your mind on the great and splendid things you would like to do, and then, as the days go gliding away, you will find yourself unconsciously seizing upon the opportunities that are required for the fulfillment of your desire, just as the coral insect takes from the running tide the element it needs. Picture in your mind the able, earnest, useful person you desire to be, and the thought you hold is hourly transforming you into that particular individual. . . . Thought is supreme. Preserve a right mental attitude – the attitude of courage, frankness, and good cheer. To think rightly is to create. All things come through desire and every sincere prayer is answered. We become like that on which our hearts are fixed. Carry your chin in and the crown of your head high. We are gods in the chrysalis.

‘prana’ in oil pastels, created by Bee… “We are gods in the chrysalis.”

Reinvention by Nikita Gill

Reinvent yourself.
Over and over again.
Plant new wildflowers
into your spirit.
Set a wildfire inside yourself
and then regrow.
Take the wildest thing about you
and nurture it till it blossoms.
Tend to the sea that resides
inside your heart
and listen to it’s storms
wash you anew.

How else will you let go
of everything
that causes
such terrible harm.
If you are still
living inside the old you,
the person
who was so damaged by it all?

‘blue lady’ colouring pencil on paper
by Bee


I drew this when I was in the desert in India. I spent a week there, alone. Half of the time I stayed with a family that a friend of a friend had stayed with.  The rest of the time I spent travelling in the deep desert with an acquaintace that became an interesting friend, Salim. We slept under the starry night, with beautifully crafted heavy blankets and travelled in the morning and evening on camel-back. We set up camp and cooked together, which suprised Salim because he wasn’t used to white women that worked. I certainly showed him how hardworking I am. Hey, I’m a farmer, after all. I’m not going to sit there and watch you provide for me. 

Anyways. There are no words to describe the mystery and magic and treacherousness of the desert. The intense heat and the intense cold. The buzzing life, though I thought there wasn’t much that grew or lived there. It is definitely one of the most beautiful places in the wilderness I have connected with. 

I wrote a poem on my visit there.


gracious horses wispering across the land

singing wind, teasing the dancing sand

majestically horned beasts ruling this place unmanned

rebelling camels, seeking places unplanned


unforgiving arid discipline

merciless expanse, barren

famished goats on their knees

thorn seas and milkweed trees


shared lunch with two shepeard-boys

sinister vultures exhibiting poise

th evening calls for fireside chainsmoking

undulated dunes, perfect for stargazing


mid-night waking finds me surprised

unwanted touch, I am paralyzed

brutal intentions instantly recognized

despising request I have to vocalize


and the perverseness is reprised

its physical manifestation, clearly chastised

but the verbal aspect of it remains

my discomfort unimportant, he deigns


alone in the desolation I am guarded

I shorten my stay for fear of being exploited

taken aback I am deserted

bewildered that such is the life of a woman.

Those nights in the desert were the first times I have ever experienced my own fragility and powerlessness before men. Salim was a good man. With strong family values and ingrained respect for the women of his country. But his spending countless nights in the deep desert with women from all over the world that slept with him freely conditioned him to think I would do the same. I don’t blame him. I blame the tourist culture. I blame colonization and globalization. It’s a sad reality.


I started this painting two years ago. A self-portrait. I’ve always been obssessed with this design, and I’ve always been obssessed with the idea of becoming a plant. Of transforming my body to be able to photosynthesize and absorb the power of the sun, transforming it into what I need to survive.

At one point I stopped allowing my creative energy to flow, which is when I got really depressed. My soul felt crushed. Then I set myself free and when I finally came back to this painting a year ago my creative energies were ever-flowing. They flowed and overflowed. I worked on it overnight for many nights.

I wrote a poem titled ‘receptive’ not long after, which gave life to the feeling behind the painting, and a title to it.

Here it is. My first real painting, ‘receptive’.

You can buy prints of it on my Etsy store if you’re interested! The link is in my menu.

eyes wide open

forever, it has been

whomsoever therein

born, again and again


consciousness ready

auspicious buoyancy

bottomless mercy

of the universal divinity