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Out beyond there is a field I meet you there....(Rumi)

Updated: Feb 1, 2022

A series of 9 paintings was inspired by a line of Rumi: Out beyond there is a field, I meet you there....

at first I was just thinking of the meadows by the river I would walk through during the year, observing the ever changing color and textures of nature. Then I saw the metaphor also the unfolding of a relationship requiring to :"go to this field - and meet each other without blame, in order to grow.

I painted the paintings, then Joseph Bottone, the poet, sat with each painting and wrote a poem for each:

poetry by Joseph Bottone ©

paintings by Brigitte Brüggemann ©

This kind of meadow requires reverence

our Iroquois guide held us back

till we saw the myriad life there bobbing

and dancing -

said there are nature spirits here

like the pollen you don’t see

nourish the honey bee

At the end of the branch, perhaps

only one flower will bloom. Stay a while

there is promise here

in all that you are looking for

most subtle magic gloriously present

Have you seen angels like these

partially hidden in the buttercup flames of autumn

move the leaves gentle breeze

silence alive in you, a quiet joy in seeing.

Sometimes there is inexplicable weeping

ideas once tenable become altogether obsolete

between day and night there is reconciliation

storm clouds become summer rain

Look up in the trees as the light filters through

and now, turning, your arms outstretched

loose yourself, rise and be carried off

to whispers and summer seduction

in the sheltering trees

I see storms and chaos

churning rain in the groaning

and peace a plenty imagining things

I would walk here on a summer day

as evening painted brilliant colors on what

moments ago seemed a static green. Is not

transformation what we are hoping for in our lives

we can rest here a while and listen

I was lost in the mystery of what opened

before me, grasses green as fire,

cobalt outcroppings screened behind wild foliage

suggestions of something surmised

in pink swaddled low clouds.

this atmosphere holds a secret we wish to enter

And there she is in lavender,

ephemeral, fairy-like

humble, some might call a weed flower

but to me regal as any queen

come upon by chance

her eyes gazing up, indifferent

to who might pass her by

Winter hush draped over

in new snow. A time when the green world

has gone into it’s sleepy house.

Spring, serenely confident, sleeps a while longer

will emerge in perfect form to break some heart.

The river too, hidden beneath snow covered ice

flows over its rocky bed in perpetual anthem

Joseph Bottone


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