LIGHT: (Not heavy.)

On Monday, Oct 21, 2013, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

There's a lot of talk about light. But then, there always was.

Beginning with, "Let there be light," the light of the world, light at the end of the tunnel, the age of light, angels of light, battle of dark and light, cosmic light, speed of light, lights in the sky, light beings, light bodies, the light of wisdom, the organic light, healing with light, surround yourself with light, light exercise, light entertainment, light bulbs etc.

Taken altogether not something easily made light of, and it's a challenge to shed light on a lot of it. Especially as we've been kept in the dark about well, everything.

Not that there's anything not right about light, we'd be lost without it.

But you have to have your wits about you. You could get dazzled to death and be sucked up into a tunnel of light, only to be plonked back down on Earth over and over again, trying to trace back to where you took a wrong turning.

Besides, light's best friend, the dark, finds light easy to mimic, (the false light), aerial holograms etc., but can't so easily fake LIGHTNESS, because his energy orientation is basically too heavy.

Did you know you are in the middle of a frequency battle?

But wait ! Before you expend all your energy in fighting the dark, realize, the opposite of light is 'heavy.' You don't want to get entangled with wrestling with that either, it'll only bring you down.

In that regard, you're better off thinking in terms of LIGHTNESS rather than just plain light. Practically speaking it's more uplifting than weight lifting and eternal migraine.

I mean, look at birds. They had it down to a fine art long before we even started to crawl.

They must think we're just primitive, taking so long to get great chunks of metal off the ground, trying to exceed the speed of light.

What sort of clumsy notion is that?

It's a matter of utmost gravity. Having made a secret deal with less than light, while wrongly thinking might was right. We should have expected there would be a heavy price to pay.

Alleviate your gravity with levity and lightness of spirit lest you gravitate to the grave instead of levitate to lighter life. In short, stop focussing on everything as being so heavy and lighten up.

If any-body is so dense as to keep getting brought down, just remember, your atoms are more light than matter so you're not just stuck with spinning round in circles in a cell.

We're beings of frequency, energy that vibrates faster than it actually matters, or appears to be a something that matters, so what exactly is the matter?

As you think, so you are. Think lightness of spirit. Why hang around on the level where heavy metals can bombard you like invisible hailstones?

It has been demonstrated repeatedly, that focussed intent, verbalized, imprints and transforms even DNA. You could call it a ribonucleic acid trip, if you wish.

Living as love, lightens. Whereas, fear, being a contraction and therefore more dense, suspends the immune system, leaving the whole energy free to either run and hide in a hole or take total responsibility for the situation.

It's all about either contraction or expansiveness, exclusion or inclusion, tension or relaxation, lightness of being. Sustained stress depletes immunity.

'May all heavy energy sent to me return to the sender as lightness.' (13 words.)

If you can repeat that subvocally 13 times without visualizing or vocalizing actual numbers, so much the better. Conceive it as beats, like this: **** **** **** *

As meditation do the same with breaths. One inhalation/exhalation, counts as one, or *, no numbers just beats. Focus simultaneously on the 'finest' inner singing silence you can discern. Ignore thoughts, expect nothing.

Naturally it takes regular practice. In as silent as possible a situation. I find the night best.

Consider it 'just listening.'

If you're still not experiencing lightness,

maybe quit eating so much sugar and refined pastry and lose weight.~

~*~* ~*~* ~*~* ~

Mike Rowave~ a.k.a. Rainbowmaker

Photos:
          Bantry Swans,
                  Action Seagulls,
                          Cork Clouds, martin law, 2013

SACRED MUNDANE.

On Sunday, Oct 13, 2013, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

SACRED MUNDANE.

 

'Live in the sacredness of the ordinary.'

How on Earth can the mundane be sacred?

Well, simply by being. Who can dismiss the mystery of what simply IS?

But we do. We call everything that's familiar, 'ordinary' or 'mundane.' If that's not a rejection of reality then what is?

It must be that we're not really familiar with anything. That means, not even curious about the obvious fact that 'everything IS.'

Before adding any more to that, let's take a close look at the words SACRED and MUNDANE.

First, the word concept SACRED, from the Latin

'sacrum', 'sacere,' etc. Signifying “that which is deserving of the highest reverence, otherworldly, holy.”

(If the concept really defines 'holy' then it must speak of 'the whole', and not the otherworldly to the total exclusion of the world we inhabit.)

Second, MUNDANE. From the Latin, 'mundus'

meaning, world. Implying worldly, familiar, ordinary, commonplace, everyday.

'Everyday !?' What sort of definition is that?

Everything is ordinary every day?

There is only today and only now. Forget imagined tomorrows there aren't any.

Words are just imaginary frames we use, to isolate from the whole and thereby exclude all else. Language is not to be taken literally.

These two words, SACRED and MUNDANE

came into wider public usage during the 14^th and 15^th centuries by way of 'propaganda'

propagated by the politically constructed Roman religion.

They actually invented the word 'propaganda',

meaning, to cultivate a concept, just as one would propagate plants. You could call it an implant of a belief.

The concept implanted ,being: Everything, to infinity, is worthy of the highest reverence,...

except for the Earth !

Earth, and all life, on, within, and around it, including us of course, not worthy of anything.

This is an intentional stark inversion to the universal nature based wisdom traditions that long preceded it. The patriarchal agenda being self evident.

There you have it. The enforcement of an inverted FALSE DICHOTOMY denigrating sacred oneness with nature (everything natural).

Especially 'pagans', a word meaning country dweller. Under threat of 'heresy' (from the Greek 'heresai'), meaning, to choose or decide for oneself.

Being as such, a programme of self denigrating

geo-centricity in reverse, elevated to the level of psychopathy and sanctified by deluded psychopaths divorced from their 'own' nature,

who justify trashing everything for their own 'greater good.'

Piously presented as fake humility under rule of brute law and threat of violent death.

You'd think after half another century we'd have woken up, stood up, and spoken up by now.

Do you see through the deception now? Or is your window still steamed up by the heat of many battles?

Let's get sane. It's all about presenting false opposites as antagonistic instead of mutually interdependent and totally complementary.

The conflict of separation herds people to choose 'the light' over 'the dark' then the perpetrators co-opt the light and present a false version of it which appears light but is heavy, heavier than previously.

The only 'holy' is wholeness, which means 'everything', undivided within itself because genuine wholes don't have 'parts.'

It was just an illusion to make the peasants think of black and white as opposites, when in fact they support one another.

It only takes one bad apple with a lot of clout for the rot to spread.

But, when 'the dark' completely dominates, it by definition becomes background for its complementary to arise out of.

But let's not get snared in dark versus light.

The ordinary IS the sacred. Simply by virtue of absolutely being what it is. Extraordinary but true. If all life is not sacred then what is?

You don't have to be out of the ordinary to know that. Just keep your window clean so you can see through it.

It's also a mirror so be mindful what you reflect on because that reflects back as reality.

Don't be stuck with reflecting on the 'mundane world' as being intrinsically mundane or you'll be bored to death for life.

Thinking that the magical mystical miracle of omnipresent enchantment and wonder must be something 'else.'

Unless you really want to feel separated from all that, “just be ordinary and nothing special.”

Being, is beyond words.~

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~*

RBM.

Photography: 

         SACRED MUNDANE photos, martin law

...just as a fish

On 10 December 2013 04:49, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

...just as a fish knows not of the sea

mindlessly thankful to presently be

none the less a trickle of smoke rises

triumphant as one with the natural cycles

of seasons as i too gaze into vacuity of clouds

above bare branches as autumn leaves

and a trickle plume of smoke in the still air

Cycles safely return  speaking in spirals

and left alone resolve themselves

speechlessness being a long forgotten virtue

just when we thought the trees would

never joy to hear our song again

it bounds out across ancient fields of stone

That there was room in the inn all along

and will welcome an abundance of sacred springs

and no matter that all the world's a stage

i too gaze and gauge the weather

often baffled by equivocating flux

spend the while camouflaged in a nest of grass

till morning sun warms and melts the past
~~~~~~~~~  ~~~~~  ~~~

Hmm... What did i say?  Haven't read it yet. Just thought to echo your smoke in such a mode as may compute.  Thinking not you might be in the inn and that you were most oft not.  Had just listened to a few hours of Gary Snyder reading, as he was then and is now and how i was reading him in the sixties, and despite the madness of the worldly stage sometimes the eyes moisten more readily from such to see such lifelong dedication and even learn he's a Taurus too, i never knew but should have in hindsight. Then to receive your message from the inn straight into this in reading your assumedly unassuming words within as poetry, since i learned from him that that's what plain unassuming conversational speech is and a whisper wordlessly suggested that perhaps that relates to your present process just as the morning sun is melting away the past, who knows, better than the one who knows?

Amazing, there have been 20053 atomic explosions here since i was born !  And i'm still here fit as a fiddle.  So on that note "be glad for the song hath no ending," (Incredible String Band). Just as a fish knows not of the sea, so are we, simply present.

Oh, did i write another 'thing'? I'll alert The Watch man i wrote you.  It's 4.45!

PS. YES, 'The Burren'.  Something else altogether, i.e. Sceal eile....

Stay warm.~~Martin.*

Glengarriff woods in the rain (forthcoming)

On Wed, Dec 4, 2013 at 1:54 PM, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

>>>>>Thank you,

thank you for writing to me. You can have as many sunflower seeds as you like.  I will bring you some, i have a whole sunflower face of them. I know that cafe, i've been in there. I've made a note in my diary.

You see, nobody writes to me. People have an ongoing pattern of abruptly vanishing out of my life. I was just sitting here 'thinking' about it. Despite having written hundreds of articles (hearticles) every month for over two years and all in finely crafted spontaneous poetic prose with new paintings and photos to complement them. All in service to others, the well being of the planet, shared creativity,beauty, and simple wisdom. Out of 13764 views you are almost the only person to have responded. Hence the title, "Thank you."

Not as if i haven't demonstrated i can spend most of my life in solitude and still evolve and share my art.  I previously spent ten years in a sordid substandard claustrophobic dungeon with zero daylight and years of noise of diggers and dump trucks three feet from my window with no views out but blank grey walls. Not that i'm complaining, i'm eternally thankful for the smallest thing (not that there are any 'things').

Thank you for your lovely photos always. I recently walked for four hours in the rain in Glengarriff woods and took 42 amazing photos, still to go on the blog. The week after, i went back there, walked for an hour straight to the boulders below Barley Lake to take shots for an article i had in mind and just as i got there my camera jammed and stayed that way so i have to buy a new one.

After a brief expletive in some unknown language, like "Ah PTF'K!!"* i decided i had a choice as to whether to be disappointed or not, deciding promptly that would be counter productive and just carried on (as you do.)  For someone who spends hour upon hour researching without and within the 'progress' of such a pitiful zoo-like planetary populace i remain remarkably grounded and archon proof. People think Taureans are 'stubborn', what nonsense, they just learn how to be stable and persistent.

Anyway, it's nice to talk to a like minded human, thanks again, i'll buy you as many heisser schokoladens as you can handle in the ever present eternal continuum.

~~~ See you in the present.  ~ Martin.

PS. Always interested to hear if you know any other nice people of the complementary gender and i don't care what planet they are from or what colour i like all colours and i'm going to have to live for another hundred years at this rate anyway or else transmute to a higher frequency i mean a joke's a joke ! *************

SUNFLOWER FACE.

On Tue, Sep 10, 2013 at 09:31 AM, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

SUNFLOWER FACE.

 

A bee sucks seeds in the sun.

Where can all the others be?

But for an abundance of bumbles

i counted only five this year.

Though friends say there's plenty

still busy here in Eire.

A sunflower success.

The tallest of four,

well over six feet.

I planted thirty.

Bold shadows on a lilac wall

beakleaved and dragonish.

Compliments the yellow crown

around sunflower face

spiralled buzzing speaker.

Sat looking from a low wall

up into bowed face humbling

silhouetted in gauzy glare.

Two tortoiseshells take place as eyes

in the round sunflower face,

wings open and close,

a wink.~

}{/.}{/.}{/.}{/.}{/.}{/.}{/.}{/.

rainbowmaker

Photos: SUNFLOWER FACE, martin law

WAY OFF THE MARK.

On Tue, Sep 24, 2013 at 03:26PM , Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

WAY OFF THE MARK.

If you're looking for a way, you're lost.

If you've found the way, you're not where you want to be yet.

If you're not interested you'll stay the way you are and never evolve.

A way that can be described, prescribed, and followed is not the way itself. No way.

What's a way anyway? And who needs one?

( With the whole emphasis on WHO?)

If you don't know who it is who needs one how would you know if a way was necessary?

Or, you might say you've found the way to be just where you are. Impossible. There is no way to where you are.

If you need a way, you must think you're going somewhere else other than here and now. When were you ever 'somewhere else?' I don't mean outwardly. I mean you.

When were YOU ever somewhere else? Where ELSE can you be? Go there and see if you're somewhere else.

How on earth can here and now go somewhere? Why would it want to? I'm not talking spatially. Space is the context that seems to define you, by seeming to be where you think you are not.

Is that where you are? Always in the centre of where you're not.

Is this clear, or is it so damn confusing you'd rather go somewhere else and change your mind? If you've half a mind to change your mind you really will be confused.

Like being two people and one wants to change the other but they're both you, so if you succeed you fail.

But if you let your mind wander it'll fool you into thinking it's thoughts are yours, instantly.

So whatever thoughts occur, that wil be who you think you are, continuously, with never a break.

If you try and stop the process you will think that's who's doing it. Funny isn't it? Or not?

If you decide that it really doesn't matter, how then will you find out if it really does or not?

A conclusion is supposed to come at the end, not the beginning. Otherwise you just have a closed mind.

What's a mind anyway? Apparently nobody knows. Not even scientists, psychologists, biologists, yet we take it for granted and say,”I have one.”

If i say “Show me,” you can't because you've never seen one and neither of us knows where it actually is, no it's not just in the head. So you make a show of giving me a piece of your mind.

“Well of course,” you say, “it's invisible, but i can hear it.” Could just be those thoughts again, tricking themselves into thinking you can actually 'have' what you 'are,' and simultaneously therefore 'are' what you can 'have.'

Are you bored yet?

Don't we just set up situations that define us to ourselves, and they always involve a lot of other people whether we like it or not, and the majority of them are no longer present?

Who would we be without them? Or who are we with or without them? Do 'they' know?

To know your experience isn't it pointless to ask somebody else? Let alone believe what they may say. How, do you think, they could experience what it is to be you?

There's a lot of projection goes on. Everywhere, pretty much continuously. Movies of love and hate, advance and retreat, welcome and denial.

Funny isn't it? Not always. Not usually.

Especially as it's being acted out physically, collectively, against itself.

If you depend on what you're not, to define what you are, you're lost. Or at least can't claim to be independent. “To see ourselves as others see us,” no thanks. Don't think so.

More often than not, we're way off the mark.

But we don't like to realize or even consider that.

It makes us unsure who we are. But who am i to talk? ~

~~ Rainbowmaker/ ? ~

Photos: "Way off the mark", techman-moo for Rainbowmaker

Words For Birds re-feature

On Tue, Jan 15, 2013 at 11:17 PM, Martin Law martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com wrote:

Words For Birds.      ( A Celebration.)

Small words, for small birds.  Common or garden words.
Words worthy of song for songbirds.
Almost empty, the brown paper bag of peanuts under the kitchen sink.

Feeding a small fire.  Down to my last bit of coal, awaiting delivery.
Plenty of chopped spruce chunks though. 
Stand them on end in the hearth, to dry out.

Economizing on the coal.  Fastidious and precise,
the frugal art of getting through, staying warm.
Small things mean something.  Small things matter.
Civilizations waging war over vanishing gold and silver. 

Twin logs hiss in the grate, like rain.  Shift, settle, to crackle and spark.
'Mystic-peach' glow, loud sharp cracks.  Yellow flame.
Black tongues give a gift of coal.












Smooth branchy willow saplings, just a hand's-grip around.
Upsurge from an ivy clump of ground.
A gusty webwork, where, small head-tailed birds flawlessly flit and perch.  Perch and flit from branch to twig, bold punctuations on a musical stave. More new arrivals perch tier on tier.

Nothing ever, quite so Zen, as small birds.
Infallible flitters with a firm grasp.
Weightless, never subject to volition:
I witness many a tight 'U-turn' on an instant in mid-flight.

While my neighbours sit facing flickering football screens, i stand rapt,
cup in hand, in the kitchen.
Fast fluttering flits from peanut beak to branch, with never, ever, a single mistake.
Is that not cause for wonder?

They are more at one with the wind, than a weatherman will ever be.
If you wish to witness miracle, it will cost you peanuts.

When we were "granted dominion", so it is said, was it not meant that we would attend to our 'furred and feathereds’' needs and seeds.
The only 'reward', is endless wonder. 

Willow:  'Saileach', 'Crann saili,' a Taurus-totem tree, to 'the Celts.'
Signifying, 'The Observer.'
Ruled by the moon, and the lunar realm.
Mystical, intuitive, creative, and psychic.
With an understanding of cycles and seasons, (the patience attributed to Taurus).



Bursting with potential, though with a preference to working behind the scenes. It is the power of perception and memory, which allows the true nature to blossom.

I am blessed with a willow in the window, as well as the wind in the willows. A welcome compensation, for a Taurean, who spent ten years with nothing but a blank grey wall in every window.  Previous tenants cut this willow down to the ground four times.
So i'm happy now it's as high as the house.

My most frequent visitors are, sparrows, chaffinches, blue-tits,
(Blue-tits seem to function on a very high frequency.)
Then there may be a blackbird or two, male and female.
Sometimes a sudden band of speckled starlings will descend,
and, a lone robin.

Next in line, when they get wind of the chatter and flurry, are rooks, crows, magpies. Though my neighbours’ two ring-doves usually hear of it before they do, and the small birds don't find them threatening.

Unlike the rooks and crows, warily awaiting their opportunity,
from surrounding lookout posts.
Chimney-tops, guttering, roof-ridges and telephone wires.
Then, they swoop like black-cloaked witches in a raid.

Since they eat faster, i put the peanuts between the base
of the willow and the thorny rosebush
as a semi-deterrent to a direct swoop.

They are also, by far the most wary of human intervention,
and instantly alert to a clack of fingernails on a windowpane.

Let no man doubt their mystical cooperative intelligence however,
commanding respect, admiration.  Forget 'football.'
When we call them 'greedy', we might stop and wonder,
just who it is we're talking about.
So, no questions asked, why i don't have a cat.

A friend of mine was visited often by a robin, which regularly
came in the open door,
almost to the edge of her plate.
Seasons being somewhat seasonally cyclic, she's the first person i've heard of, to have a much-used robin-flap instead of a cat-flap.

Native peoples and others with long experience, say that the birds are
the sentries of the natural world.

They are aware, (naturally) of significant conditions and aspects of
the changing world around us, and signal it in song.
There is a book, on Amazon, i would like to read.  It's called:
'What The Robin Knows.'  (How Birds Reveal The Secrets Of The Natural World.)'
Written by, Jon Young.

Intuitively, i've been feeling something in the robin's song for a long time.
It always sounds like a direct message delivered as if with intent.
Always, uncannily close at hand, and at a specific moment,
and slightly modified within the context of the seasons.
I must pay closer attention, and with a silent mind.

Birds don't have a 'larynx' as we do.  They have a 'syrinx, located in the 'thorax'.  (Syrntax!)
Witness the breast feathers when he sings.
A plaintive, almost wise-sad, tinsel-like ripple
of crystaline quicksilver droplets, dribbled
like a wry timely reminder.


( A wren, apparently, sings about 56 notes per second.
How many do we register from our slower rate of attention?)
I wonder.

I painted ' The Irish Robin' portrait in January 1983.
Alone, in my small caravan, out on The Burren. County Clare,
where i lived for three and a half years.














I clearly remember, working on it, painstakingly.
Sitting close to the window for the remaining daylight.
All those tiny feathers!
It was cold, even with the wood stove.
I award myself a tiny feather, for persistence.

'Robin Redbreast'.  (A robin is not 'red'. though the american equivalent may be.)
It's orange with a hint of brown.  There was no english word for orange till the 1600's.

A twenty foot caravan in a field of cows.  Very remote, very silent, quite alone.
It was snowing. Large soft slow silent flakes.
No 'facilities', such as electricity.  Just gaslight and candle.
My water supply, the river, a field's walk away.  Toilet?
An overhang of hawthorn hedge, a mulch of old leaves.

The painting was photographed two or three years later.
I gave the painting later on, to the youngest son of an ex-partner.  On his request.
He's now taller than i am.
When he was quite young we shared art interactions.
That is, i supplied him with endless paper and he created, the most astonishing things.
One time, with a stack of creations which he explained to me in profound detail,
I said, "Chris do you need more paper?"
"No", he said.  "I've taught you enough for today."

This is a celebration of, and a prayer for, birds:
'Words For Birds.'



{" I am very thankful for birds.  May they not fall foul of 'chemtrails.'}
(I say that, in 13 words, and may it be so.)

True peace, and strength, is to be found
dwelling in the heart, not in the mind alone.

I give thanks, to everything,
without which, nothing would be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~martin rainbowmaker~ Jan. 2013

Photos : Bird Photos, martin law, july 2013

art : the irish robin, martin law, january, 1983
in the private collection of Chris

artwork : digital pan play - photographic image reconstruction & definition, JAN 13 - wfp for moo

re - featuring

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Words For Birds

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A PATH EMERGING.

On Fri, Nov 1, 2013 at 00:36 AM, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

A PATH EMERGING.
 

Nocturnal doodling with pencil and paper. Envisioned an opening into a timeless realm. A long straight path between marker stones. Waves of ochre blond grass. A STRAIGHT PATH to ancient oak woods. A shower passes in autumn light.

From the original drawing only 7”x 5” small. Enlarged and transferred to canvas, only 10”x 14” small. Brought to life as a place to enter into imaginatively.

Photos show stages of the process but not the process itself. If it showed that, you'd see me gazing for hours over a cup of tea and that wouldn't be so exciting for you as it is for me.

Any more than you can observe grass imperceptibly growing but only notice stages of it. This glimpse occurred over a period of five days or so.

Once again, it's not 'just a painting'. Or even merely that concept 'a landscape.'

It's a playful but disciplined manifestation of imagination actualized. An artistic exploration.

Forget styles, eras, schools and movements, it's not in 'the art world', it's outside, seen from within. An inside out process.

Simply A STRAIGHT PATH to who knows where or when. A path emerging in consciousness, and no one knows where that is either. It's everywhere.

Perhaps the world is not so much a place, as a state of awareness, which is what's termed 'non local.' Art is a way of being present imaginatively, and imagination is a priceless human attribute. So this is not 'a commercial artifact,' just the fact of art.

Many people do themselves a disservice when they claim to have no imagination. How could they imagine such a thing? I bet their dreams are equally outrageously creative. It's not as if they were created by somebody else.

This is 'nature' outside the current age. Who in their natural state of being would wish to be defined by the current context of 'historical time', or any time at all?

This is the natural world in its timeless state, which is where it always is anyway.

As we also are, without the superimposition of temporal concepts of perception.

This understanding filters through the essence of each and every brush mark. It's not just that there are no signs or even a sign of telegraph poles or other infrastructure. It's that the organic flow pervading nature is not deviated from as the creative source.

If nature has an ancient look about it, it's because it 'is' ancient, sublimely so, and so is the soul and the human forms it takes on. A fact that so called 'normal perception' typically ignores.

The 'age' we are said to live in is just an optical illusion. So, to impose an arbitrary date or an era on the scene is to miss the mark entirely and not see it at all. It could just as easily be in the megalithic period. Nothing has changed but our perception of what is.

Painting is a way of saying it without words. Which, while they may describe, or even evoke, (if you speak the language), don't depict or demonstrate.

Whereas, imagination flows freely into paint substance and illuminates the land in breeze blown relief. The pictographic language of 'the way of the brush' inscribes the illuminated hieroglyphs of re-enchantment.~

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

rainbowmaker~

Art: A Straight Path, martin law, Oct 2013