"Thorpe of the day,(changing daily.)"

On 31 March 2012 20:52, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

"Thorpe" of the day. fine-tuning to appropriate colour tone.~ ....am i okay? more than fine thanks.
thanks so much for "the white goddess".  evening sun breaking through.  reflects in here off window across the street at a certain time on the clock. timed it last spring as it gradually got later. just lit a fire.  return to "the pooter", as a friend's child aptly called this p.c.  to be more succinct, in case i get published. saves trees, which everybody knows, are made out of paper.  i LOVE that my blog has large print. letters are to be looked at, not just scanned. ah... wondering how the ponies are doing. and needing names. they already got "manes".  name tags for nags. (i know what "tags" are now.)~ but here's a few tags for nags:  nag 1~    "hammaddi."- "champa" - "nagarjuna" - "nagual".~~~~~~ just sent you my sisters reply. thought noteworthy.~    was just on the "countesthorpe" google-earth link. looking again at the photos too.  where i was "raised", (strange concept !)  i mean; "was i too low?  read the history of the village. learned that "thorpe", comes from "torp", viking for outlying settlement. astonished to read that in 1242 *sic., the name of the "village" was spelled, (wait for it).........
~"Cuntassthorpe".~ you would wonder what went on in this outlying settlement. on land owned by william the conk. all sounds a bit torporous. as a child living there, the village was known in local colloquial as, (wait again)... "niffy crackum". west midlands english grassroots slang. if the preceding info were ever posted, i have three pertinent black/white photos, "snaps"of the artist at age 6 &7.  my sister has the whole archive i gather. of interest "to me", not as a "self". but with regard to "my" consciousness at that stage. something which wasn't wasted. in that, it wasn't outgrown as required.  they talk of "the inner child". well big deal. he's fine too, thank you. i can comfortably speak for/as him/me. has everything to do with art. they go, "oh self-taught.  you must be gifted". i still say, "no i don't need a rewards card thank you, i make my own." so, thank you for acknowledging my 700th birthday. i'm touched. or i must be. or should be, more like. becoming evident i have an experience, (not just a concept), of "age", that self-evidently diverges from the consensus norm. i sure don't feel 70. and have to wonder who's birthday i'm having. i'll be back on my bike. take a bottle of wine if i drank but i don't. mindful of the alkaline/acid thing. (don't do the acid thing either.)  it's never too late to have a happy childhood.   ~~M

rainbow reflecting makes full circle.

On 30 March 2012 01:51, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

.hello,    ..... ( a distant echo) a first re-sounding of my two remaining painting images
from 1968. toby had two goes at the colour tuning. the second approach had to involve a photo-shop job on the colour of the gypsy woman's face.  it's still a bit orange and should be a dusky tan. feel free to fiddle if you wish.
at least better than the transparency-print, which was "purple"!  (warm yellow + purple= golden brown.) way back then, i painted that picture twice, identically, in rapid succesion.  retracing and all.  the first one, on completion, all peeled off in sheets of elastic acrylic!  leaving a totally clean canvas.  i'd bought one unknowingly primed for oils. doesn't stick.  took it back, got another and did it all over again.  just in time to collect my weekly pittance from mr. lerman, and pay my rent. i hope the horses, the ponies, are behaving, not "nagging". what a hectic start to a day.  i hope it resolves and you all get on well. i don't recall those paintings having titles.  haha, see how long i've been in the peace movement. two years before "gypsy child".  "far out man".
come to think of it, "girl with doves", 13 letters. that'll do.  ....and "gypsy dreaming", 13.   lucky for some!
that was a good move, the bloglink to "countesthorpe".
where i sprouted from.  has set me reflecting.  hence the subject:  "rainbow reflecting makes full circle." unearthed a wellspring of memories bubbling up from a childhood seemingly untainted by trauma. considering i was what they call born, in 1942, middle of what they are pleased to call, "a world war". and counting.  which, later, must have imprinted the meme; "in the thick of it, but emerging out of it".  that fits with willy blake's four astrological element archetypes.  in this instance, taurus/ - "earth= "he struggles into life".
so, countesthorpe. with a mild sense of wonder, i studied the photos of that place on the link. i don't "do" past. i studied them in present mode, the mode of life. felt affectionate to what i saw, and remember.  very formative too. realizing, not everyone is blessed with benevolent childhood impressions.  i take a moment to gaze into them as they well up. i was last there, briefly, a day, 31 years ago. and only visited my parents house, shortly before my mother "passed away".  never letting on that my "marriage" and family had just disintegrated.  so what i saw was not the magic of childhood place that remains in seed form within my true imagination. i see the photo, "the beeches". the farmhouse on "green lane".  amazing!  it's still there.  and the two huge beech trees too.  one on each side of the straight path to the door.  wow!  i took the route down green lane twice a day from age 5 to age 11, to and from school. it wasn't the green lane which is said to be still there.  it's the one i internalized through the eyes and ears and nose of a young artistic boy in the 1940's. walking alone, seeming to recall every bit of hedgerow, stone or fence, or faded brick wall along the way. those beeches seemed huge then, and i witnessed them from three feet closer to the ground. i can still see the typical english farm buildings back in on the right -hand side. sort of mysterious and quiet, and those farm smells.  anything but mundane. many times since, i have drifted down there in imagination.  then, a few yards further, the row of old red-brick cottages with hanging plants and narrow footpath. encroached on by narrow flower-beds bordered with knobbly round dark slate.  where the lane swings right after that, and there's a photo."poplars farm". the "cosby" family lived there. jane cosby invited me one time, and i took some black and white photos of her horse.  and, there's "heathcote's" corner shop, just before "the spinney" on the left, which i always cut through on the "home stretch", to and from school.  i'm at the corner shop. went in to the small dark shop for a freezing home-made lolipop.it's a timeless,quiet hot summer day in eternity. i drank some "Tizer", "the appetizer". a big glass bottle full of amber coloured fizz and "god knows what". the side wall facing the spinney is covered with metal sheet advertisements, and there's a garage yard next to that smelling of hot rubber.  but no cars. hardly ever see a car. the odd small, always black thing, a ford prefect? going slow, not even disturbing the crows in the high tops of the ash trees, the "spinney".  the tar mc'addam melting , bubbling up. into the spinney for a thick stalk of cow-parsely, (locally called "keck") for a "pea-shooter". and a quick peep at the bird's nest in the hawthorn hedge where there's one wet and broken bright blue brown-mottled eggshell.
and the smell of fallen yellowed ash-leaves still takes me back there.
the world was much quieter then. there was a world war. but the world in my experience seemed to be sundrenched in a timeless hush. bushy and flourishing and tangled with wild honeysuckle smells and buzz of insects. when i say ,"eternity", i'm not being sentimental.  that's false feeling. this was just feeling what was present; the absence of "time". it seems, "sometimes" it was almost hallucinatory. that's a good memory to have. because, ultimately you discover, it never went away.  you did, for a while.  what was never there, how could it go away? it seems, i saw "the ordinary world" without veils. fortunate that my love of expressing it on paper was noticed and encouraged sufficiently that i never abandoned it.  i've done "the long  dark night of the soul". haha!  i call it, "the nong lark sight of the dole". but on reflection, a rainbow has to make a full circle.going off on a curve is fine, so long as you keep going and come back around. look!  we're all on this circular tour together. it seems dark now, when you think about it. what you get is what you think about.  thinking perpetuates the thought-image of a "me" that, "thinks".
thought thinks it has to think or there would be no me.
well fine.  you can't lose what you are even if you throw it away.  obvious?  who are you to throw yourself away?   how many of you there?
so i just give it away.  that's a dead give-away, and, well, i've already given it away. rainbow reflecting makes a full circle.    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Photo From:
www.leicestershirevillages.com

artwork :

Gypsy dreaming. martin law, 1968

Girl with doves, martin law, 1968

flowing with fractals

On 24 April 2012 01:41, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

.flowing with fractals,
i realize, may sound on the surface, like additional complexity. depending on whether mind is momentarily captivated by the focus into exponential drift into progressive  minutae,(sp.not in dictionary) or pursuing
the macrocosm where the theme is more readily recognizable. there we discern the pattern of the party puzzle.  a third-eye colour to enhance discernment of the unseen. fractal moments. life's little swirls and eddies. intending all day to approach editing, yet finding myself in the moment of enjoyment stepping back to survey the pattern so that focus is stabilized i observe the familiar momentary puzzle of does this go there, or does that go here? and is it a problem to be re-solved, or a pattern to be discerned.  interesting. while the macro priority (what matters), is the overall health and wholeness of the bio-sphere and all therein. our sole responsibility as microbic embodied spirit sensors symbiotically subsisting in the gaian carpet, is to vibrate harmoniously within the weave. earlier, in the relative terms of time, approaching the computer, a friend rang, running out of "credits", and with vehicle expired, enquired, would i be going to the shop?  if so, could you pick up an "irish times"?  has a crucial article on impending water-meter charges
so i did.  and also bought some water, and something to start fire.
having used it in combination to make food ingestible, i again approached the computer.  the phone rang, and another friend who had hinted by email earlier that it might, as it was not engaged, engaged me in conversation.  one of those moments when someone is glad to hear you're not engaged. and we explore further the minutae, (a word not in my dictionary.)
the larger pattern is, regarding my birth day. i have told perhaps a couple of people. though planned nothing more than having plenty of water on hand for tea, milk, and honey, and enough stuff to ensure a fire. anticipating relaxed conversation in nuances of presence otherwise too subtle to transcribe merely alphabetically, as is the case with "progress". outside the box, of course, there is zero pressure to resolve any conundrum on it's own terms. by way of saying , i haven't a clue. but the dynamic of flux is always in continual flow, so it doesn't matter not to know.  true, half a dozen heads may be "better than one"(?).   that is, as and when, they ultimately resolve into being of one mind.  not that i'm passing the buck, of course, or even hitting it head-on.
seems i'm "meant" to be writing this tonight, meant, in as much as that's what's happening, and that the process is enjoying itself, if at a snail's pace.  and they said snail-mail had gone! a fascinating fractal composed of, talk of "toothpaste", sources of vitamin B12, ponies on the loose, pyramids and progress, concealed nuclear meltdown, and "contact with celestial star-relatives has begun at mount adams".  all of which is why, the well-being of the bio-sphere is top priority, above personal acheivement, where , relatively speaking, nothing matters but that we unfold harmoniously in inescapable interdependence and enjoy the process.  blending the dreaming with the being. thankfulness for the small things being the "hathors' " advice for safely surfing the currently escalating solar storms. a phenomenon which amplifies polarity of emotional response, purging all that was unconscious and unacknowledged.   provoking the inner dialogue in it's habitual over-rationalization of hitherto unexplored realms of feeling.
but i digress, following the fractal flow.  when in doubt, whether it's a bed or a table, sleep on it. we will know what we don't now know, because the kaleidoscope changes, by itself. so let us stay tuned.  any day is good as a birth day.  i wonder how many there are in a second. at least that takes the pressure off.  my grandfather was a steam-engine drivers mate.  we'll come into the station when the signals change.  stay calm, and warm, and dry.
i had no notion to write any of this.  is this a book or what?  we will see what..."transpires", is the word i was looking for in a previous letter.  stay tuned. in concert~M*

artwork :

Crystal of love, martin law, May 2008

sure tis a grand piano

On 11 April 2012 00:23, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

.< a sort of rich resonant mahogany colour~
redolent of rounded mouldings holding literal tons of
tones in tensile fine-tuned-taught shimmering sheets of diatonic periodic dynamic-dominions -of- domino -cascadencies reverberating huge harmonic radiance evenly unto the ether... so to speak. he tuned the solid waiting dark vertical harp box without hassle in about forty minutes flat to a sharp pitch a semi-tone below concert and naturally so for caution and saying it was sound.  while i pottered for coal and black coffee by the fireside sitting listening.
witnessing through ears the artistry and craft of hands that had honed for noted and notable nobility of grand symphonic recital performance and didn't even stop for a cup of tea.   it's sound. i thanked him roundly handing two sheets of orange paper and a tracing of ten summers.  into his hands having just spanned a trail of scales for a soundcheck finale.  wow i can't do scales says i, you don't need em says he, only fish need scales say i, and he, only for fish is right.   and he out the door to another appointment.  and i a quick ramble of ivory medleys blessing all elephants with a blaze of westering yellow on eyelids dancing complementaries deep into the sanctum of iris.

"WOW"

On 2 May 2012 04:10, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

like this: a friend, had been busted last year for cultivating a certain natural herb* and has been in suspense for months, convinced, and prepared to go to jail. (as if the suspense wasn't bad enough). the court case was today, may day. her soul crying "may day may day". i had already promised to do something i hoped might help.which i did at 5am this morning. what bit i have gleaned of how to call on spirits of the directions,+ mother earth/father sky/ the inner no place of the heart. and in the correct order. while listening to Courtney Brown the remote viewer, & simultaneously focussing to compose a 13 word sentence (like fashioning an arrow),late into the night.  "……. is being protected,she will be free.court be kind and lenient" (13) consulted my book of most relevant indian signs and chose six. wrote the message 13 times neatly, added signs.
(sure spirit won't mind sharing this) at length and slowly, aloud called first on the east in peace and goodwill to hear my request. with incense clockwise round thru to north. i believe clockwise calls down. thank father sky/ from heart/ ground in earth. gratitude. read aloud 13 times. unwind in reverse, thanking each for being present. an additional inspiration: (hadn't yet thought of "suspended sentence") but bluetacked the "sentence" "suspended" above my pillow. (so in sleep, anything astral could read what i wrote, while my sleep self could remain in resonance.  6am. went to sleep. woke abruptly at 10. got up had coffee! slept again till about 3.30. ****   got up to find a joyful email of thanks. no jail. just a "4 year suspended sentence"! she had already totally revised and cleansed her lifestyle of virtually everything anyway.  i emailed and queried the 10 o'clock thing, "is that when it was"?  and it really was. but postponed till 1pm. so, i don't know. who knows? but good!  wah sh'te!(lakota for "good")  ~~M.