Peace, The Lotus Way – #4 in the Peace Collection
The Lotus Teaching
This painting began with a story.
I had read about Buddhist monks walking across the United States—welcomed in Washington by a large multi-faith gathering after 108 days on the road from Texas. Different traditions. Different languages. One shared intention: peace.
Within the Walk for Peace community on Facebook, someone shared a teaching using the analogy of the lotus. I reposted it immediately, hoping other empaths and highly sensitive people might find the same support I had.
It went something like this:
Many of us move through the world like sponges.
We wake up steady and light—and then someone else’s mood enters our space. Bad news on a screen. Sirens on the street. A slammed cupboard. Drug addicts passed out on the sidewalk. Without intending to, we absorb it. Our bodies tighten. Our peace shifts.
The sponge has no boundary.
It soaks up everything.
But the lotus offers another way to be present in the world.
The lotus grows in mud—yet it is not stained by it. Its leaves and petals naturally repel both the mud it grew from and the murky waters on which it floats. Rain falls. Storms pass. Droplets bead and roll away. The lotus shines.
This is not indifference.
It is equanimity.
Compassion does not require drowning alongside someone who is struggling. If two people jump into the mud pit, who is left to offer a hand?
Rooted in mud, the lotus rises from its environment. It witnesses everything—yet sheds what no longer serves it so it can open fully to the sun.
It floats on moving water.
Its roots remain tethered in storms.
The author then suggested a simple practice. I used it three times that very day—and felt the difference immediately.
The Shift: From Absorbing to Witnessing
You are not “cold” for refusing to suffer.
You are stable.The next time a bad mood enters your space, do not become the sponge.
Notice the drop. See their anger or sadness as a single drop of water.
Become the leaf. Visualize your skin as the smooth surface of a lotus leaf.
Watch it roll. Say quietly:
“I see your storm. But I am not the sky. I am the leaf. This belongs to you.”You do not have to drink the poison to show you care.
That teaching became the seed for this painting.
Letting it Roll Off – a Painting Technique
Weeks earlier, the orange background had begun with smudging and holy water—an intention-setting ritual—then unfolded through layers of intuitive, grounding, meditative mark-making.
What may appear expressive on the surface was, in truth, focusing.
Releasing.
Opening.
Fire. Movement. Presence.
Over that field, the lotus teaching began to take form—not only in image, but in method.
I 
started with a simple white line drawing of a Buddha-like figure holding a lotus. Its stem spirals beneath the water, speaking to unseen growth—evolution happening below the surface before anything blooms.
That line was then softened with subtle washes of colour and delicate dotted accents.
Next came clear tar gel—a syrupy medium that goes on white and dries transparent. Once cured, it creates a raised surface that resists water. When paint washes pass over it, pigment beads and slides rather than settling.
A resist technique.
Just like the lotus.
As I layered white washes across the surface, the paint mostly rolled away or settled only into the creases of the gel. It did not cling to the raised lines.
Witnessing instead of absorbing.
The Final Lesson – Simplicity and Presence
Then came the final instruction:
Step away from the canvas.
Peace is not created through overworking. This painting was meant to remain subtle—in both colour and mark.
The original white line was redrawn in gold.
Touches of dimensional glitter were added along the raised outlines.
A veil of Interference Gold was brushed across the surface—appearing soft white from one angle, luminous gold from another, especially in the face and lotus.
The orange ground softened and receded, allowing earlier intensity to integrate rather than dominate.
This quiet radiance allows the painting to rest beautifully on a coloured wall—present without competing.
I completed the painting as I entered Inner Renewal Week with my Ananda community, an online spiritual retreat. The timing felt deeply aligned.
As the retreat unfolded, so did the final protective stages of the painting: two isolation coats and three varnish layers, spaced over several days.
Protection without blocking light.
Boundaries without shutting down.
Fire Held in Awareness
Last Tuesday’s Chinese New Year also felt meaningful.
It ushered in the energy of the Fire Horse—a rare pairing associated with bold movement, passion, independence, and intensity. Fire amplifies. The Horse runs forward. Together, they bring momentum and strong emotion—transformative when guided, overwhelming when untethered.
I was born in the last Fire Horse year, sixty years ago.
Which makes this message of peace—painted over a fiery orange ground—feel especially timely.
Peace is not the absence of fire.
It is the wisdom that steadies it.
Clarity within intensity.
Knowing how to let the storm pass instead of becoming it.
A Moment of Pause
“Peace, the Lotus Way” (12″ x 24″) – $1,111 Canadian
With this fourth painting in the Peace Collection comes a needed pause after months of sustained creative flow—joyful, immersive, and all-consuming.
Perhaps the pause itself is part of the teaching.
Peace, The Lotus Way is not about avoiding the mud.
It is about remembering your nature within it:
Caring.
Compassionate.
Steady.
If this painting speaks to you, you’re invited to explore lots more images and details here on the sales page.
Perhaps it belongs in your space—a quiet reminder to remain open, centred, and present, no matter the currents around you.
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