They had never actually met until that moment as they worked on each other. Their hands were unknown in the same way as their births and their deaths were and would be. 

‘It’s strange that this is called “a turn,” isn’t it?

She giggled in school-girl-like way though her female maturity was well-established and uppermost in almost every situation. A senior teacher and professional, she found the role of ‘pupil’ of becoming alien and yet amusing. I took my place, arranging my stance, legs hip-width apart, shoulders matching, and each second of this preparation meant that increasingly more of the soles of my feet were spreading across the woodblock floor, grounding me into the Earth.

She walked behind me slowly laying her Parisian scent as she turned, her brilliant raised white shirt collar blasting my peripheral vision with its snow. Taking up the identical position behind me we became one, drenched in the voice of our guide, the voice without a god, without faith or thought.




‘Gravity is not an external force which we whimsically notice or not…………………..’

‘It is not outside, to be possessed or its presence invited……………………………….. .’

‘You are gravity and it is your embodiment of it that brings us to notice its eternal existence. Your Earth needs you as much as you need it……………………………………………………………………. ‘

We were ready, inverted mirror images of each other, fully embodying our breath which had deepened in tandem with our listening.  Your arms raised in slow motion from emptiness. There was nothing to be done.  There would be no outcome. Your widened palms and lengthened fingers with their bitten fingernails would at some universal ‘moment’ make soft contact at the base of my neck. We breathed together without distraction.


gravitational field


‘You have made Earth rich, a different kind of tree…………………………………….. ‘

There would be no end to this feeling, this state of lightness every man-second of which was newly experienced, its mystery a raindrop.  For we were firmly treading the path away from the smallness that man has become squatting in the shadow of a god, away from the arrogance of ‘being’ to our rightful place in the dignity of ‘becoming.’

Endlessness. Integration.

‘…….and each human tree is a mighty individual that can step into the full light and gaping sky……………………….. ’

Later, our ‘tree-ness’ continued on as we sheltered draped along the Earth instead of standing perpendicular to it.  Your fingers with their rings were inside my womb moving slowly and softly and we breathed the eternal one breath.

‘I’ve never been inside before. It’s such a relief that there is no outcome, just becoming.’




Words and images by Linden Thorp








 ‘When your heart surges broad and full like a river, a blessing and a danger to those who live near, that is when your virtue has its origin and beginning.’

Thus spake Zarathustra.

Vincent Van Gogh took his own life happily because his mission was completed. He had allowed his river to surge and overflow in all his works. He had utter trust in his own creativity and his artistic judgement never flickered despite no acknowledgement as a painter. He painted without cease but was so poor that he could not afford a place to hang his paintings so gave them to friends and even strangers to hang in their homes. Originals are still being discovered today in private basements and attics.

His joy and vision were not to be appreciated in his lifetime but he knew one day the world would be ready for them. He lived a life of complete sacrifice but not to a hypothetical god or image! He gave all his energy to creativity and therefore he can be called a true saint!





Societies and communities will judge and snarl at creators, sorting and grading them on a whim, wielding their right to destroy or applaud their talents and achievements. They will scream and shout criticism and condemnation exactly to drown out the individual small voice.

But if you are committed to living out your personal truth, that voice will become an opera cadenza, a great symphony, the roar of a lion. Van Gogh was such a lion.

Your uncompromising creativity surging and overflowing is your virtue!


Creative & Graphics (124)


      Moving images courtesy of Mariko Kinoshita, Linden Thorp and


Valid Lit: motivation to create


The words I write and the images I choose and make to accompany them come from stillness and inaction; in other words, from deep inside the self. They are not trite ‘concepts’ or ‘notions,’ flimsy ‘ideas’ or ‘theories.’

They are my truth which I breathe onto the page.



I did not read them in a book or think dead thoughts about them using an external stimulus. I went inside with the butterfly net of my breath and my sincerity, waiting and gently catching. Then, painstakingly I unfolded the winged words so that they could make their only flight.


I did not find the specks behind these words dangling from the horizon or high in a tree for I have changed direction from there to here, always moving towards the heart.

We can know the visible world with the help of words and images, but it is impossible to know our very being with them.

This knowing is our mission and our challenge as valid creators – sharing our inner truth universally with skillful and sincere use of symbols.





Images courtesy of Mariko Kinoshita and

Writing Brushes of China –, Christmas in Canora, 1982- Mariko Kinoshita, Inner Life of Music –, Small Volcanic Humming Bird –, Lotus –