<![CDATA[Madeleine Newkirk

Lila "Leela" Haris was a radiant spirit—innocent, strong, and deeply devoted to the search for her True Self. Through years of inner work, transformation, and creativity, she touched the lives of friends, family, and fellow seekers around the world. In her final months, as she faced rapidly advancing cancer, Leela remained committed to expanding her consciousness and helping others on their journeys. Though she left us in June at the age of 51, her adventure carries forward—her spirit is still here, woven into the love and memory of those whose lives she touched.

To be with my grief and celebrate Leela, I turned to process painting, a creative practice she and I had shared and loved for years, this time working with Stewart Cubley of The Painting Experience. Though it had been a while since I’d picked up a brush, it felt like the right way to honor her. For more than a decade, Leela and I had also been a part of the Dalian Method (DM) community—another deep bond that shaped this tribute.

When Leela learned that her cancer had spread significantly, she invited a group of us to share in her dying process—to both offer and receive support. Through her work with Mada Dalian and DM, especially after her diagnosis, Leela experienced tremendous personal growth and wanted to pass on the wisdom and insights she had gained. As part of this sacred journey, we gathered online for meditations to uplift her, opening ourselves in compassion and vulnerability, and feeling a profound sense of unity and love within our group.

I felt drawn to begin in the center of the canvas with a deep cobalt blue, letting intuition guide me. In process painting, the focus is on color, brush size, and the areas that seem to call the painter’s attention—not on the finished product. It’s about immersing fully in the experience, rather than planning for the outcome.

Very early on, I had the thought to paint a heart, which immediately met with internal judgment about how hokey and expected that might seem. Still, I couldn’t help but think of Leela’s final painting—lively and imaginative, filled with the dots and spirals she loved, each one echoing her infectious delight in creativity. Leela’s paintbrush must have been happily obsessed with making the tiniest of dots.

Surrendering to the process, I returned to the center of the piece and began to create hearts. My brush seemed to know exactly how to bend into each curve. As I continued, a bold vision of colorful imagery exploding across the canvas appeared in my mind. Initially, I resisted—it would be too exhausting, impossible for me to replicate on canvas. Stewart asked how it felt to form just one shape, and I realized I enjoyed it. Staying present made it easy. Jumping ahead in my thoughts was what became overwhelming.

As I observed the canvas, I was delighted to notice that I had already created the outline of three larger hearts. It was as if the painting itself knew where it was going, quietly finding its rhythm and unfolding bit by bit. I was surprised by how much I had grown to love all the painted hearts—once resistant, I now saw them as reflections of Leela’s big-heartedness and her way of caring for others, even while she was sick. My delight was short-lived. That familiar sense of overwhelm crept back in as I faced the many unpainted surfaces that remained. How quickly I toggled from joy to doubt and lost touch with the present moment!

The more attached I became to what I’d created, wanting the painting to continue to flow, the more I was reminded of how attachment can limit both art and life. Focusing too much on the outcome made it hard to surrender and paint what was truly present. I thought of how Leela, through her own inner work, learned to release her attachment to the physical body—embracing the mystery beyond and discovering the powerful freedom in letting go.

Midway through the process, the essence of my creation began to emerge. In the lower canvas, vibrant azure blue wove through grassy reeds, forming a flowing neck that rose into the expansive outline of a head. At its crown, a bowl-like shape cradled baby birds, with adult birds perched along the edge. When I first saw it, my heart was deeply touched; the imagery sparked memories of transformation and renewal from the animated film Moana.

For those unfamiliar with the movie, several Pacific—or perhaps mythical—islands are dying because Te Fiti, the goddess of life, has lost her heart. When Moana restores it, a brilliant green light radiates, transforming decay into lush beauty as vitality sweeps through ocean and sky. This enchanted fairytale moment symbolizes both renewal and love—the kind of love embodied by Te Fiti’s beautiful, selfless, and forgiving heart.

Just as Te Fiti’s heart brought life, harmony, and love back to the world, my own heart transformed in Leela’s presence. Her infectious laughter and childlike wonder, paired with her kindness and inner wisdom, drew people close. Even in her final days, she gave selflessly to our community. Her generosity and vulnerability touched us, bringing our hearts together in her wholehearted presence.

This brilliant display of rebirth and renewal also speaks to Leela’s lifelong devotion to the journey of truly knowing herself. It reminds me we can awaken profound change by bringing light and awareness into our lives through self-discovery. In my tribute piece, the cascade of hearts, ribbons, and whimsical figures celebrates Leela's playful energy as a radiant rainbow of color. I imagine the baby birds are singing as confetti rains down from heaven in celebration of her continued journey through the cosmos. Each time I look at the painting, my heart overflows with gratitude for having known her.