There are places inside us that speak in the hush of clouds—those liminal spaces where earth’s ache meets the infinite. In this dream-vision, the waterfall emerges not from a mountain’s edge, but from the sky itself—falling gently from the realm of mystery, as if poured from the hands of the Divine.

The clouds are more than weather. They are the veils between seen and unseen, the tender carriers of memory, blessing, and longing. Ever-shifting, they echo the moods of the soul—how our inner skies can darken with grief or suddenly bloom with light. And yet, above it all, the blue remains, unshaken.

This painting is a cartography of inner weather. A sanctuary I’ve slowly come to inhabit, tend, and befriend. Within it lives the truth that I am the keeper of my gaze. I may not calm the storm, but I can choose the quiet clearing within it. Like a whisper through the heart, this piece reminds me of what James Redfield once said, "Where attention goes, energy flows.”

The waterfall becomes the sacred offering—an emissary of grace. It nourishes whatever receives it. Its flow is both fierce and forgiving, soft and unrelenting. It teaches that peace is not the absence of turbulence, but the space we carve out in devotion to our own becoming. It is the holy act of protecting one’s inner meadow, even as the skies thunder above.

This is where I meet myself. Where I remember that I am not separate from the beauty I witness—that I, too, am a part of the great unraveling and renewing. In the presence of such quiet majesty, something inside is restored.