Now, once again, this has been brought back to me. At the moment I’m in Kuala Lumpur, not exactly surrounded by nature, but I was reminded that I can simply imagine these places and paint them – paint them with the intention of healing. And this is actually my second session like this: Healing, West Bali – plastic waste.

I’m picturing myself healing – healing that particular moment when I was in West Bali in the spring of last year. I remember it so clearly – there was this long stretch of filth, a band of rubbish where plastic bags were floating on the water, hanging in a line, maybe 50 metres out from the shore. I could see it from the place I was staying. And it was heartbreaking – the pollution, the filth, the plastic bags and all the rest. The beach was completely desecrated.

So now I’m painting in a way that was shown to me – a way that helps me to focus more deeply and really think about what it is I’m healing. And I can feel that it gives me a sense of purpose – something I haven’t felt in a long time. You know that feeling when you wake up in the morning and you know why you’re getting up? I haven’t had that in ages, and now it’s coming back. It’s amazing, really – to feel that what you’re doing actually has meaning.

Of course, in my personal life, all the travelling and everything, that all makes sense in its own way – but I’m talking about something deeper. That sense of professional or soul-level fulfilment... I hadn’t felt that in so long. And this, this is truly coming from my heart.

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So now I sit here, in this city of concrete and glass, far from the ocean, and yet – I can feel it.
I close my eyes and I’m back there, on that shoreline, standing in the still heat of West Bali,
looking out over the water choked with plastic, and I send it love. I send it colour.
I paint not what I see, but what I want to see.
Not the pollution – but the healing. The remembering. The returning.

Each brushstroke is like a whisper to the land.
To the sea. To the spirits of the place.
I don’t even know exactly how it works – but I can feel that it does.
Something moves. Something softens. Something opens.

The colours I use – they’re not chosen from a palette. They’re felt.
Sometimes I don’t even know why I’m picking up one shade over another.
But I trust it.
It’s almost like the painting wants to be born, and I’m just the hands.

And around me – little bowls, little jars – full of infusions, tinctures,
things that might once have been tea, or earth, or fruit, or sunlight in liquid form.
They don’t need to be precise, that’s not the point.
It’s the intention inside them that matters. ..It’s ceremony, not chemistry.

There’s no separation here between art and ritual,
between healing and creating, between me and the Earth.
It’s all the same act – of love, of care, of remembering what it means to belong to a place.
Even if I’m not physically there.

I realise now – transformation isn’t only “physical”.
It’s not just about removing the plastic. It’s about tending to the inner wound.
Holding space for grief. Imagining something better.
And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s how it begins.

And in this act – this small, quiet act – I find something I thought I’d lost:
a sense of meaning. Of rightness. Of being exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I’m meant to do.
Not for praise. Not for outcome.
But simply because it feels true.

And that… that feels sacred.