RAIN ON THE PATH.

On Sunday, February 15, 2015, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Slicing the mound and the moat into two semi-circles with a spade. Bamboo canes on the ground, weighted with rocks, determine where to cut, the previously celebrated circle, of water, clay, grass, and central standing stone.

Enough energy gone into concentric circles to open a worm hole or a portal or two. The crops in radial rows, while they tend not to move around much, do need more space to rotate. So it wasn’t long before i was digging more than just an idea.

A few days without rain, so, rough-dug the clods and sods of turf, turning into two half-moons with a central straight path, and padding down the corner curves of clay with grasp and pound of rounded rock.

So now, since rain fell overnight, i survey a choppy sea of sodden clay clods, with slippery path treacherous to tiptoe. So let it settle itself, till wind and sun come to dry clods to crusted turf tufts, to turn and desiccate with blade of spade.

Being but a momentary marker, a mundane interlude of transformational transition, extending the path through circles and seasons with no loss of symbolism or soil. No mere trivial thing, setting the stage for spring, and the awakening song, a stone’s clack against a stainless spade.

Warmed by fire in Hibernian hibernation, contemplating cultivation, and the instinctual alchemical forge to ground fertility. Returning to turn topsoil and chop, changing the composition with loving loads of porous peat, enlivening and lightening to loam. While bright flames flutter in the grate indoors, and evening rain intermittently spills and splatters, dripping from clogged guttering.

As above, so below, rain, a macro-micro microbial reshuffle, symptomatic blessing of larger transition. Nothing mundane about sacred soil so taken for granted, the tilth to till and tend from which nutrition springs anew.

Just a grounding interlude ingredient for the blog’s pot, devoid of drama, explosive revelations, the throes of empires crumbling to dust, structures buckled and blasted go belly up, opening all the buried cans of worms, while ‘apocalypse’ simply means revealing.

Turning the cyclic seasonal page, as Pisces morphs to Aquarian age. As quakes unblock some ancient springs, so to return to simpler things. All this, just a playful afterthought, for want of anything more ground-breaking and close to home to report. ~

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Martin Rainbowmaker.

...to continue

On Saturday, March 28, 2015, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

...Hello continued

where were we... oh yes, stepping into spring with a spring in our step.

I do hope you are warm, and cozily nested possibly with the four legged furry people, oh and here's some more of these things (~) there's an endless supply ~~~~~~~~~~~~.

I did wonder to myself how your gig went, though i was in an extended time warp waiting wordless for inspiration from my higher self as if in a spotlight and gazing into the black of an imagined invisible audience of over 26000 wondering if i'd lost my script or my tongue or stagefright, or something.  But no, it's the usual rhythm which happens every time between paintings and poems going way back beyond the dawn of relative maturity and you'd think i'd be used to it but it's always new since the past has never been present either before or since.

But like any good cornered creature i did remedy that, if not promptly for want of prompting but by virtue of impromptu artistic instinct and turning unknowing unknowingly into a source of inspiration.  Not as if the higher self is somebody else and when all the denser part can draw is a blank then thankfully the higher part has a clean sheet or canvas to itself free of distraction.

So, still not having a clue and arising from slumber pottering and pondering poking the grate indoors i went and put peanuts on the path which attracted some big blue-black rooks and got a string of close-up zoom shots from the kitchen window though they were telpathically wise to my tricks.  So then i sat down and wrote a page about it, got stuck there for a few days till i was able to put relevant words to the fact of how inspiration is like fishing though i've never fished, but it became a completed article of possible help for 26000 people, some of whom possibly never having figured out how to feel inspired and so had to resort to buying tinned fish.

Then today i got a couple of canvas sized photocopies of the best crow shot (rooks that is) to make into a painting, so i have two new articles with photos and a painting on the way.  Refined the soil for a potato patch twice over again, which i enjoy looking at, bought two bags of blight resistant potatoes, and the delivery men carried six big bags of peat compost through to the back for me so the back is much improved in both senses of the word, and in saying so i do wish likewise for you.  Here's some more of these~~~~~~~~~~~~~>*

Or to put it more soothingly, some of these ~~~~~~~~~~~~~*************

To wish your inspirit upliftment and freedom from clutter of conundrums.

If i sound dyslexic sometimes it's not me but my grammar, bless her, and, well, these alphabetic permutations random as they may sound are like fingers across a keyboard of a piano which is more grounded and resonates in empathy for whatever it is you may be currently dealing with but i know you know.  This ramble being  a hello, a checking in, a touching bass, or whatever, a reassurance of presence and support, so you know you're not alone, i haven't quite mastered bilocation yet.

Anyway, good vibes as ever and love from me.

PRESENCE OF OAK.

On Sunday, February 8, 2015, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

In the beginning, if there ever is one, was the oak, and the word was ‘ac’ to the Anglo-Saxon, hence ‘acorn.’ ‘Dair’, ‘doire,’ and ‘darach’ to the Goidelic-speaking tribes, and lots of other names to lots of other people.

The oak embodies many noble and sturdy attributes, being both Goddess and God, wisdom and knowledge, and it was universally ‘ac-knowledged’ to be so, and pristine forest covered the face of the land. Hence there was more bark than dark or how would the forest thrive.

The ‘creator’, if one were even necessary, was, and is, eternally immanent, omnipresent, one-with the creation, there being no such thing as separation except in thought. Diversity being the quintessential component of unity, and all is wrong if only one can be right.

So whatever the long list of noble attributes we say the oak stands for, it, self–evidently is well able to stand for itself. Exponentially more decisively and solidly so, despite humans with many axes to grind, who think trees are made of wood. So oak is worthy of reverence for setting us such a good example of strength, longevity, and selfless service to all.

The most undeniably indispensable attribute to celebrate and be humbly grateful for, being its presence. Though it’s a pity to have to state the obvious.

Words can do untold damage if used without undue consideration. Since the structure of language is designed so as to infinitely divide the indivisible, right down to the finest fractal of differentiation. The explicit purpose, of course being to have an adequate supply of separate bits of reality, so as to be able to rearrange them in a variety of different orders.

That’s understandable, so long as we realize it’s only the bits or concepts which are separate, and not that which they refer to. Otherwise reality would fall apart. That being so, i turn to paint. How’s that for a neat bit of shape shifting?

There are already enough, probably millions, of paintings of oak trees in the world, and more no doubt, presently being created. Just an aspect of what we do, one with it all. So here’s another one.

My motivation is not to later swap it for bits of paper with numbers on, and ‘difficult to duplicate designs’, which we strangely regard as having intrinsic worth. Thereby playing into the supposedly ‘only game in town’, namely: enslavement to numbers.

Paper comes by common courtesy of trees but the real currency is shared appreciation. So, drawn into the presence of oak, the natural ritualistic play of creative expression is also a gesture of shared appreciation.

Art has more to do with gratitude, generosity, and community, than with commerce. The latter has reached such heights, or depths of absurdity, that people with more paper than poetic passion pay tens of millions in ‘money’ for one painting. Thereby keeping the illusion of monetary worth, as opposed to intrinsic worth, firmly established as ‘the only game in town.’

This playful wordplay preamble simply to say, i present a succinct string of chronological photos of the distinct (but not separate) significant stages in the progress of the process. Hopefully of more help to whoever may feel they need such a thing, and worth more to me to be able to do so.

“Do trees have standing?” The intentionally odd sounding question put forward by many who are coming forward in droves in defence and support, and healing of the much abused Earth we are inescapably one with.

That said, as a present and enduring firm and stable affirmation in representation, speaking for ‘the standing people’, the trees, of the ‘Presence of Oak,’ *

**** **** ****

Martin Rainbowmaker.