Stories Told Through Symbols 🌿
Planet in the Eyes of a Star-Wandering Pilgrim
A story about what one might see when they finally dare to look at Earth from above — and, more importantly, to look at themselves.
(That is, unless they get lost somewhere in the chaos of their own lines and paths. Which, honestly, happens a lot.)
🎨 acrylic and oil pastel
Sometimes, something unusual happens in silence. 🌿
Images and words begin to appear – as if another world is speaking to you.
This story came to me during meditation. And now, you can experience it with me.
Stories come to me through symbols and metaphors that I gradually uncover.
This time, I’m sharing them just as I saw them – unedited, unembellished.
Simply as they appeared.
If they resonate with you, you can look forward to more that I’ll be sharing over time.
And if you’re curious about how these stories come to life, take a look here → www.symbolion.com/ inspiration
I picked up a brush and started drawing lines.
At first they were careful, a little shy — like when you’re not sure whether you’re starting a painting, a meditation, or some suspiciously complicated ritual. Then the lines grew stronger, weaving, crossing… until they merged into a single knot.
A tangle of threads that tightened and tightened, shrinking into a small, heavy sphere.
And that weight spilled off the canvas and into me — as if I had been carrying it inside all along.
Then the sphere moved. First quietly, like someone breathing very softly inside it. Then suddenly, in pulsing waves, until long, intertwined, vibrating tongues burst out of its core.
They led straight into the jaws of a gigantic dragon.
And I — as it usually happens in fairy tales and, annoyingly often, in life — suddenly found myself exactly where I least expected: inside it. Swallowed whole, carried down a dark throat twisting like a tunnel that definitely wasn’t approved by any hiking trail markers.
At the end of the tunnel waited a furnace. A blazing chamber radiating merciless heat.
The tongues licked me, burned me, crushed me, reshaped me. I felt the fire sink all the way into my bones, until I slowly became part of it myself.
First glowing red like heated iron… and then turning bright, radiant white.
And then the dragon opened its jaws and spat me out — straight into space.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by perfect silence. A place that demands nothing, judges nothing. Galaxies curled around me in delicate spirals, planets pulsed with their own rhythms, and our Earth…
From above, none of the things we argue about so stubbornly down here were visible.
No borders, no cities. No wars, no labels.
Just a small blue pearl hanging in the vastness, looking almost accidental — and yet so impossibly complete.
Our blue planet was so small, so fragile, so beautiful that my heart tightened.
The view was breathtaking. And a little sad. Because most of us can’t hold onto these rare moments for long. Time sands them down, they fade… and we return to earthly concerns such as “where on Earth is my charger?”
And if you’re like me — “where’s my phone? my keys? my… head?” :D)
Maybe that’s why I feel the need to record these moments.
So they don’t slip away.
So they stay with us.
This image is one I want to carry inside me forever.
They say that when a person sees Earth from space, something shifts inside them. Astronauts describe it poetically; future Elon Musk space tourists will probably describe it less poetically (“expensive, but worth it”).
But how many of us will actually make that journey?
I, at least, have a photo of Earth on my computer desktop.
And every time I open my laptop, it reminds me how small we are, how enormous our worries can feel — and how tiny they would look from above.
Spoiler: usually very tiny.
Thank you for visiting and I look forward to seeing you at the next story. 