Orca Institute Counselling and Hypnotherapy Blog

The Little Paint Brush By Diane Auld RTC.,MTC.,RCS.,HT. 2010

Once upon a time in a land filled with white emptiness walked a very sad and tired paint brush. It had been a long walk and at times especially recently a hard journey. All through her adult life she had family and friends around her. People who loved her, yet for some reason there was something about this latest journey that made her feel alone. It wasn't that she still did not have her family and friends she just has reached a hard part of the her journey leaving

her feel at time as though all the colour had gone out of her. At moments she could not find her colours and she worried that if she did not find them she would she remember or know what to do with them. Colour was so important to her.


She remembered times when the colours flowed on the canvas she was painting. Reds and whites, black and green, purple and orange, blue and yellow all the colours of the rainbow. But, at this moment everything looked like a drawing that had yet to be painted. Her life felt like a huge canvas with black lines surrounding large white areas. Yet no matter how she felt he little paint brush kept walking for she was strong, kind, spiritual and wise. She knew if she kept walking she would find what she was looking for and she could bring the colours back into her life.


Finally she decided to sit down and ponder her situation. She sat down on a rock and looked around; all she could see was the black and white and all she could feel was the sadness. A sadness that made her feel like she had lost a part of herself; lost her hope. Where were her colours? How could she live in a world with no colours? A paint brush with no colours. As she pondered the question and felt these new feelings a butterfly landed on the branch of a tree beside her rock; a black and white butterfly on a black and white tree. "You lost?" asked the butterfly. "I can't find my colours.", replied the little paint brush. "If you go inside you will find them", the butterfly said as it flew off.


"Go inside where?" shouted the little paint brush as she watched the butterfly fly away. "Go inside where?" The little paint brush got up and walked in the direction the butterfly was flying. "Go inside where?" She lot sight of the butterfly, looking around she noticed the black and white spaces and lines looked different. The white areas were not so large, though they still lacked colour. I wonder what the butterfly meant she pondered. What was she trying to tell me? She seemed so sure that a part of me would know what it meant. As if a part of me knew, knew what I do not seem to know. Just them another butterfly landed on the bush right in front of her. "What are you searching for?" asked the butterfly. "What am I searching for?' repeated the paint brush. My colours, my colours, the light that fills me up, colours my world, paints my way and Gives me substance."


I am searching for many things. What am I searching for? "Go inside there." sang the butterfly as it took off. Go inside where replied the little paint brush as it took off after the butterfly. "Go inside where?" The little paint brush sat down and looked around again. Everything looked different. Again the white areas were not so large and the black looked like lines. Things are changing she thought. My world looks different from when I started. Where are my colours? . "They are right there.". came a voice from behind the little paint brush. She turned around to see an old tattered well uses splattered paint brush slowly making its way towards her.


"They are right there." Repeated the old tattered brush as his warn out bristles pointed to the little brush. "Deep within you are all the colours, colours you know about and colours you can only imagine. My life is filled with infinite colour. Each word has a colour, each feeling has a colour even the feelings I don't understand, they are all filled with colour. Deep inside me is a place of wisdom and colour and when I take a moment I can touch that place.


Some of the colours are hard to take and I don't really like them, but, when I make them go away my world misses them, so I invite them back understanding they have value, they are all a part of me. When I allow those colours to be there my world is full again. My bristles may be worn, split and caked with paint in places but I can still paint beautiful colours. In fact my worn and tattered bristles allow me to shade the colours on my canvas with a depth and skill that comes from going to the deepest places of my colours and trusting what I know trusting well all our journeys are different.


"Is there something that you trust?" the old paint brush asked. "I trust me. I trust this journey I am on. I trust the love in my life. I trust. I trust that part of me that knows all." The little paint brush smiled. Wow did I really say that? She looked down to see a pale pink colour emerging at her heart as the butterfly flew around her head. Not the black and white butterfly but the most beautiful butterfly she had ever seen. The colour of her wings glistened in the sunlight. Suddenly the little paint brush knew where her colours were. Knew she had not lost them and knew she remembered how to use them. She felt alive again.


As she looked around she realized her whole world was a canvas and she had the colours to paint it. Trees and flowers she had the colours. Fields of grass she had the colours. The midnight sky filled with stars she had the colours. Joy and pain, love and hate, anger and laughter she had the colours and she proceeded to fill her black and white world with colour and finally she understood. Finally she understood. She looked around to thank the tattered old brush for his wisdom when she heard a voice deep within say: "You are welcome". Thank yourself for I am you and you are me. We are one.

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