A wisp of smoke in the summer air

On Sun, Jul 22, 2012 at 12:22 AM, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

>Thanks Dan, i'll write this to all of you(s), in a sunshine colour.
Bit wispy from sitting in the sun, or to be more precise, the garden, intentionally doing nothing 'cept maybe breathing and looking and listening, metabolizing on a cellular level, after a long session clipping, weeding and sculpting the front lawn.
Predictable electric music drifting over the hill from a stage in Bantry square where there's something on for a few days, something to do with boats and pirates and fluttering flags and the town's probably full of drunken sailors running off with all our women.  Good. Make room for some better ones. While i sit drinking coffee minus Tshirt squinting into the glare feeling like a male version of Cinderella on a pumpkin.
Was in town yesterday, first person i saw was a friend who slapped a bold lettered poster on to a telegraph pole, which read:WARNING. TAP WATER IN BANTRY CONTAINS TOXIC CHEMICAL FLUORIDE. This is in breach of European Directives and is a serious potential health hazard.  Please do not drink it.More information available from:   'thenationalfluoridecouncilof ireland.com.'
He also gave me a copy of a poster, the gist of which may be of interest and local grapevine to you all and can be seen at:
'soundsamazing.org'   Somebody i've known a long time doing this.  Fair play to you, and admirable, i said to him later, and he appreciated my response and almost patted me on the part of my back that's healing nicely.
Talking of blogs, with a nice fire, a milky coffee and a roll up.
Not exactly ready to go. Haven't really written anything yet, but for the dream thing which needs typing up and improving and i wish i could come up with something better. My dreams leave a lot to be desired, i'm sure yours are more interesting. Rarely even any women in them, never mind angels or ET's or cellestial otherdimensional vistas. This one's typically sordid and predictably traumatic. What kind of a lightworker am i?
Had almost no emails since to reply to, which, given a receptive perceptive ear on the other end tend to turn into usable articles.
So just at the moment i'm not sure what to say to the people of Earth without being provoked into inspiration except maybe "quit threatening to get your shit together endlessly when the right date arrives, and for once in a million years start inhabiting the planet and give up making endless videos about brutal cops beating up old ladies and waffling about collapsing economy when there isn't any, (economizing, that is), and investing in another take of the gold rush instead of planting anything half edible that will grow, like, beansprouts not greenbacks, worst thing about money is it's tough on the digestion. Not to mention drone strikes and legislation confiscating guns, clubs, gun clubs, spears and rolling pins. There 'are' ways to decalcify the pineal gland but you've only got less than a week to get a tribe together where there wasn't one before they come crashing through the front door without asking for an appointment.
But there are hopeful signs.  Despite total crop failure and toxic pollution of all water.  People everywhere are waking up to the obvious fact that governments are there just to govern and that turns out to mean not helping you water the tomatoes after all and they're disillusioned.  And what will happen when the food additives wear off and how will you explain in a wholesome and joyful way to your children about the birds and the bees when there aren't any?
I mean, what in carnation...? I was (so to speak) born in 'the second world war', (who's idea was it to start counting suddenly?), and three score and ten years round the sun later they're wondering how to arrange a third one and who to invite.
But i'm not too worried, i hear that China just bought america so that, presumably, under new management it won't be business as usual.  'Business', with a capitalistic 'B' is just a camouflaged way of saying 'being busy', busy getting more and more for less and less.  It's called 'profit'.  Fitting if you're a Pro.
The previous tenants didn't do that.  They were all for 'giving'.  And we never forgave them for that.
Even though it's glaringly obvious, even to a slightly 'civilized' creature, that, if  GIVING, is everybody's main activity, then everybody is continually RECEIVING since they are two words for the same process, and so no need for 'life insurance', or banks, or being 'governed', or even the all familiar community-disintegrating divide and rule legal slavery ethic called 'competing for a job'.  I mean, how can 'competitive co-operation', ever, succeed?  Ask yourself that.
No. We lost the plot from when plot-loss was inserted into the script by those who worshipped the profits of old, or gold, or just getting more for less which is properly called  'just taking'. Or theft if you like.  Basically, unless everything is based around sincere and perpetual GENEROSITY, nothing works (except the slaves of course), and you don't have to be a celebrated sociologist to deduce that.  Theories of 'civilization' indeed!
CIVILIZATION.  I look at the definition in the dictionary.  It says: 'To bring out of barbarism.'  (Oh really?)  'Refinement' (!)
'Refined culture'.

No. Sorry. Won't work. If the civilized basic assumption that our natural state is 'barbaric', (and that IS the assumption. Never mind who 'the Barbarians' were), then it follows that we have no sound basis to base our tampering with the natural, on.
What's more 'barbaric', than 'civilizations'?  Especially this one.Did hunter gatherers practice genocide? Democide?  Why are we trained to think that human creatures in the natural state were primarily competitive, and not CO-OPERATIVE? It's primarily a 'civilized' notion.  You know, 'primitive people'!  And what did we do to them?  What are we still doing to them?

Well, we are bulldozing them out of their harmony with the natural surroundings which they very sensibly revere and respect and care for, and dare not pollute or defile. Then we build greedy chemical factories for profit only that poison their water and air. When they naturally resist, we shoot them.
We have never done anything else because we are 'civilized' you know.  The myth of progress is backwards.
Did you ever notice the beauty in the eyes of an uncivilized infant when he or she smiles?  There are no words that convey such alive and appealing innocence.  Would make you wish you had a friend who smiled naturally with such lack of guile, (a word we forget to use), a word similar in meaning to 'guilt'.
Would make you wish your whole family smiled and laughed so naturally. That you were an extended family or tribe so lacking in guile all the while, especially when they smile. That's the beauty of the human soul for you right there.
So.  I coin a new word you haven't heard before.  EVILIZATION.
Or even, 'Western Evilization.'  Though, tell me, or ask yourself, how on Earth can there be an east and a west on a sphere?  And where precisely does one become the other, and when do you apply the brakes?  North and south, okay there's the poles, though they are shifting rapidly.  But east and west?  Keep going and you're already coming back.  So much for western evilization and it's progress.  Back where you started by going too far.  Which says a lot.
All illusions inherently embody the seeds of their own destruction, thankfully, and become dis-illusioned which is a good thing to be.  For us that is.  At least it's a start.
Yet, i will never forget, the light of mischievous but natural innocence, the absence of the burden of civilized guile.  The light in the smile of indigenous child.  Says more than all these words put together.  That being so, perhaps i will have to paint it.
Maybe call it, 'Bulldozers, back off.'  Or  something similar.
One thing leads to another.  Naturally so.
Martin Rainbowmaker.  ><><><><><><><><

www.SURVIVAL for tribal peoples.

art : Moon River Girl, martin law, 1996     (see updated pic of artwork)
       Many Moons Past, martin law, 1990  (see updated pic of artwork)

Out of the wood.

On 11 July 2012 02:46, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

>>>>Just to announce i'm free,
or seem to be.  Out of the maple wood.  Off duty from the ministry of leaf loving.  MOLL.  Approximately 50 hours (i made a note of it) , staring into this woman's face that shape shifted every time i looked.  Scanning for such fine anomalies that i can hardly tell what i'm seeing.  I notice my left eye is a bit sharper than my right, which is funny cos i always lasered with my right for the optical illusion of 3d.  Maybe from so much right brain focus.

Finishing touches , so fine they weren't there.  I felt the process accelerating to a fine bottle neck V point>>>>V; (VV), like those buffalo traps indians used to stampede herds off a cliff, a device called a 'piscin' which is funny cos it's irish for kitten.
Anyway, that's how they got their dinner.
Just going to matt varnish it a second time to take the shine off the minute modulations and so there's no surface sheen to distract from the illusion of 3d which is a fascinating phenomenon and varnishing is such a cool homogenising trip.
So i could email it tomorrow when i go to the launderette not that that's where i do it from that would just be a washout.
But it feels good to be free of finishing touches. Wouldn't want to have to do them every day.  I wonder how Rembrandt Van Rijn and Leonindo Da Varci didn't have a nervous breakdown.  No wonder Vincent kept em chunky.
So i planted 12 parsnips and 24 carrots and transplanted the herbs into a neat little spot, earthed up the onions so they don't go brown on top musta been the damp last year, and decided on a sunny place for the butternuts having googled about them, the nutterbuts. The yellow pepper is doing elegantly well but the tomato, that is, the true tomato is not getting the sun it needs to accelerate despite being in the front east to south window. I diluted a drop of 'tomorite' and gave it a homeopathic trickle
but these M class flares seem to be making earth weather moody.  But shucks i'm out of the wood and glad i don't have to channel Rembrandt every day for a living.  Trees are much easier.
I did listen to Drunvalo Melchizedek, wonder what Lashy thinks about his name. Listened to the three latest Lash navigator satnavs. And wonder how you're getting on, living in the living room, sounds like you've got the right room anyway by the sound of it.  Oh!  I never knew before that if i typed all the way down to the bottom, it would move the page up for me thats very kind or clever i've been doing it by hand all this time.
I've had the phone off the hook while i was in the maple wood and haven't seen too many exciting people, nobody visited anyway perhaps since you were last here or at least since the last Deepa and Carmel visit (see archives) and mostly see people when i go into town but they're mostly a bit strange.
Having beans on toast for breakfast in the Bakehouse today around five o'clock i had the notion society is like a zoo. I mean, so many people are an odd shape and size that i wonder how they lie down without rolling out of bed, and so many people seem to be mentally compromised maybe the water doesn't help. And one wonders, is the 'holy water' poisoned too? And does anybody know?  So yes, a zoo will do. Like 'Fota Park', only this is just' Part of Folk', a 'Folk Park' you might say, a nature reserve in reverse.  Not worth worrying about. Not everybody wants to ascend into their truest potential.  If the internet is any indication, there's a bit of a drought (had to look that one up) of imagination on this planet of what a full potential might look like. As they say, "ah sure, we're only human."  Er, excuse me.  What planet is this?  I was supposed to get off at, er....
And thinking out loud, "it must just be 'the Kali Yuga..." and the person sitting opposite you passes you the sugar....!
Anyway. I only meant to say i'm out of the maple wood. But it was nice in there.  And much more real than the internet. Speaking as an 'armchair traveller' mind you. But of course, we're "only human". And sure, "it's just your imagination."
It's like when 'Gandhi' (a common name i believe) was asked, "Mahatma what do you think of western civilization?" The story has it, that he replied, " I think it would be a good idea."
My answer might be, ' I think i'll just go back into the wood in my imagination.  It's nicer there.'  Maybe i'll buy some maple syrup.~~~~    ~~~~ A telepathic echo thru the trees from me.
Trusting you're all resonating well.>>>+<<< Rainbowmaker.

artwork : a love of leaves, martin law, July 2012

Waking Update.

On 9 July 2012 16:32, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

>Slowly waking update
after a fifth nocturnal nine hour session concentrating minuscule whispers of energy with a fine brush on a 10" by 14" canvas till the orange street lamps blink out at exactly 5.30. And rising at 2.30 after a good eight hour rest with no dreams remembered.
Thanking for your message from the P.R. muse department, nice to know there's another nocturnal watcher out beyond the streets
where neighbours process their televisual overdoses in prone slumber.
Reporting that the painting process, microscopic laser focus of imaginative light, diminutively inconspicuous as it is in the vast scheme of so called things is well and into the fine retuning phase. Faces must be the hardest thing to paint. They change before your eyes according to the light and angle of vision and the slightest sable eyelash whisper of inconspicuous nuance and modification and all is totally subjective and relative to what you just looked at a moment before. But the aim is to breathe life into substance through such silent invisible whispers. The slim brush, (a new one with a fine point) held lightly and weightless between generous thumb and forefingers like the reed of a wand it truly is and ever was. Love and respect for the timeless rudimentary tool, such that whenever i wander in the wild or wood, inevitable that i pick up a small stick or wand of willow, as if to dowse through finger touch the holographic link with all the mind makes in it's impressionistic meander. The sense of touch, of such refinement of gentle sensitivity the world knows little or nothing of in it's bombast bomb blast blind brute force.
More power to a butterfly's wings and the world we wish into being.
Meanwhile, healing continues with the small crater on my back as extinct as i can get it slowly subsiding into the contours of the terrain with a fresh soft dressing and blessing.  And the next door pup yaps out the back and will hopefully let me plant the carrots and parsnips without piercing my ears. Having turned the earth between showers for air and wind, if not sun to dry.
Another session, or two, with paint should do , to bring the vision glimpse to fruition and completion. I will tie it to an arrow and email send when such is so, soon, i'd say, not long to go.
As the preliminary pencil drawing pales by comparison, and need not be incorporated in the next blog.
But 'A Love of Leaves', a small ritual of remembrance, where we see, momentarily, as if through the eye of the hummingbird, the lone indian woman in the maple wood , a clearing in the cathedral of falling leaves.  Spellbound in a soft sun's golden glance, the palomino companion shuffling, breathing the crisp scented air. She, in the moment , gazing beyond time, with an untroubled bonded sense of 'the people' and to 'all our relations'.
Mitakuyeh  oyasin.  Holding the large red leaf by the stem, between generous thumb and nimble forefingers, a banner for the love of leaves, a bright blaze from the heart.
For 'The People'. May they live and thrive.
>>>>+<<<< >>>>+<<<< >>>>+<<<<.     ~ martin rainbowmaker

artwork : Bright Flowers, martin law, June 1997

Muse update break

On 6 July 2012 01:08, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

>Dinner break at 11pm, after another nine hour session with paint.  That's at least three nine hour sessions not counting the preliminaries of drawing and retracing.  I recall saying i hadn't squeezed a paint tube for a month.  Actually it was four months.  Actually last night's session was all evening till 6.40 a.m.  ~  In my element.  Nobody knows or has ever seen how slowly i work or with what microscopic precision.  A snail with a brush could overtake me.  That's just what it takes, always did.
And so methodical. Constantly scanning like a colour coded proof reader. A process like nobody would ever imagine.  More like a seance.  More like a receptive nurturing than a gestural doing.  Everything being brought up to the next stage in unison.  From the ground work to the fine retuning.
Inevitable always, the to be anticipated phases where it's not working and the conundrum of what do you do. That's where it has to go to another level of emerging. Original guidelines are merely an arena for lifeforms to grow and be nurtured. From imagination to three dimensional form and space takes perpetual modification.  Working with a small brush without an actual point, (i just forgot to get a new one.)  And doing the impossible with barely any paint on the brush but always aware of exactly what's in the brush tip, turning it imperceptibly to do something backwards. I'm slower by far than a dentist or any surgeon and maybe about level with a snail.  It gets slower and finer the closer to the fine tuning.
I meant to say,  O! Or to be more exact, 'S', for some sunshine.
Did do bits to the lawn between showers, and traipsing through blogs and updates wondering what the armies are up to behind the fourth of July scenes. Update update hello operator! And did manage to find latest speak from Drake today.  Wading through all the sour grapes of disinformation and sceptical character smears.  Get the impression tactics are flexible to get it right in a kaleidoscopically changing field.  I do still feel something's happening, but that the game is complex.  Certain people have been apprehended elsewhere in the world.  Like, one at a time.  Chess-like moves.  But then, i only play 'snap' or maybe 'lexicon'.
Great if you happen in Bantry.  You could all form a human shield so i wouldn't have to cut up another side street, bits of broken paving stones everywhere.  Barely enough bottled water for a drink think i'll have another peep at the canvas, tis like obsessional compulsion but that's the nature of the game and it's healthy, life affirmative, sane , and rich with the loam of fertile abundance as well as transmutationally transformative.  As well as ironic that i sit still round the clock celebrating the divine female essence in her muse aspect like any self respecting earth poet and dates have been thin on the trees for too many aeonic harvests and all i get is nagged by psychic midges and smothering vampiric leeches all for my own good of course wonder if Robert Graves had the same trouble? And a lot of these people i hear interviewed don't seem to be any better or worse than i am maybe i should interview myself and save electricity.
Eternally creative as a mountain spring~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~RBM

artwork : Giant Boulders, martin law, 1995

A steamy coffee break.

On 3 July 2012 18:01, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

>Bush telegraph reporting,
A diurnal journal. Smoke signals lost in the mist. Resort to gorilla tactics.
Hope your mega bites are healing. Answered the door to a young fella with a clip board.  "You got our letter we would be calling?"  Cork Co. Council. "Oh yes, what's it for? Is it anything to do with money, like putting the rent up maybe?  "No."  Oh that's good, anything to do with smart meters? "No, you can apply for them if you want."
"It's just that a lot of people are moving and we're doing a survey to make sure every house has got what it needs so we can attend to needs more efficiently, i'm not the council i'm just on a 'fas' course. OK come in.
A noteworthy example of how the imagined list of worst case scenarios is so often due solely to a conscientious consensus minded secretary being unable to write an informal  and transparent letter of notification that acknowledges the obvious, that we're both equally human.  Easy to forget that when you're paid to sound as if you're doing 'a job'.
Steamy July, under a mist grey overhang of jacuzzi drizzle and no shadows.   Walk to shops for organics and chat.  Proceed through a string of consecutive synchronistic conversations all on the same page.
First, from a doorway, where i once caught my foot in a handbag and rolled head first downstairs and out into the street totally unscathed and nearly knocking over a passing pedestrian.
From this door steps my writer friend of many wonderful imaginative books.  Most notably, 'Tilly Greenway and the Secrets of the Ancient Keys'.   So we hit off on a humorous rap about imagination and how they covered over our idyllic childhood world with tarmac and forgot to get to know the neighbors.  A most uplifting updraft on a corner kerb in the misty drizzle, bidding a soft day with a mutual turn of dry wit.
Vision is alive  and magic is afoot in wet green munster.
Around the next corner, my fellow friend and Rainbow Warrior , of past medicine circle gatherings, with a copy in hand of his ongoing project book and board game full of colourful diagrams and details of The Medicine Circle and our rambling spontaneous rap echoes mutually where the previous one left off, with simple and obvious practical radical solutions to the dying dinosaur's collective red tape catastrophe.
And we simultaneously notice that, beyond the wet street of shop fronts and chimney tops with the ever present swooping black crows, and in a field beyond the market square, on a green hillside sloping to the harbor is a string of large white letters spelling out 'Bantry 2012' and the 'one' has fallen over!  And we banter about why and how these surrounding fields are not used for growing ample vegetables for the town, so the coke swilling kids with their baseball caps backward and nothing to do but swagger in baggy pants and trainers could happily hoe their frustrated warrior energy and cultivate food free for the taking like they are actually doing in the north of England and elsewhere.
You don't need money to grow food. It grows by itself.
All you have to do is care for what's there.  So i continue on my meander, buying a few basics.  Water for example.  Since what comes out the tap is poison.  Without a single word of exaggeration.  Bleach to keep you white on the inside.  Fluoride to finish you of slowly, lowering your IQ if you've got one.  Producing a list of ailments to keep 'pharmas' in business, ailments all down the list, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, nervous system imbalances called 'normal human behavior', and total amnesia to anything else.
Whether you're septic or just skeptic,  Google it!  Don't just gargle it.
Passing by the supermarket before returning home to a garden full of food to light a fire and settle in to my next native american painting, titled, 'A Love of Leaves'  (13 letters), and sighting a certain person from afar and cutting up a side street, leaving the pieces to fall where they lay, i then see Annie approaching, her broad brimmed leather hat in the rain, who straight away says, "I just got back from California where i stayed with american indians".   "!woW",  says i backwards.  We must get together over coffee and tell me about that.
This is just a shorthand sample from a diurnal journal from a short shopping trip on a uniform grey soft wet day on the seaward side where the rolling folds and hollows of rumpled carpets of lush wet Munster green slope and slide down of course to the sea. The Atlantic sky a distant wash of grey salt mist across the bay to the Beara in a mad scattering of soulful gulls above rooftops.

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artwork : Unknown Planet, martin law, March 2005