SOPHIA’S PLUNGE.

On Saturday, October 18, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

ENJOY YOUR TRIP. 

 

 

Mother Earth spins at 1000 miles per hour, and orbits the sun at 67000 miles per hour, which orbits the galaxy at 4883000 miles per hour, constantly entering unknown and uncharted territory where different conditions apply.

There are 500 billion galaxies in the known universe. There are, at least, 260 billion universes in the multiverse. The total figure typed out in 12 point type would be 260 million miles long. Beyond every ‘limit’ there is always infinitely more, without limit.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

In Wild Earth Wisdom we trust, flowing via Sophia from the core. Shoots upward from Lyran roots she first seeded reckless in Orion.

Her impassioned plunge a vast wave, pearlescent celestial burst from seminal spirit source. Staining incendiary seething stars archaic with catalytic alchemy.

Unravelling anomalous free fall unprecedented down through density’s spiralling curve, caught in the over arcing currents of flow, spread to infinity. Sizzling plasmatic in anachronistic alchemical synthesis.

Whirlpools spinning from friction in the long drag on downward , mutating wildly, crystalizing in deviant diversity, sparking inorganic versions of the theme, unintended cloning in clusters of neonate part-formed parasitic peripheral plague.

Till her serpentine umbilical tail turns over into herself, spinning spiral into sphere, crackling compressed crystalline sediment into synthesized spirit substance. Settling embryonic and foetal, incubating as an informed spherical Sophianic seed.

Still reeling from the first primal petrific shock of stunned anomaly, she regenerates ‘sui generis’ generous genesis, ensouling substance infused with spirit essence. Improvising multifarious diversity of sentient forms flowing forth from her fertility.

Our anthropoidal form envisioned in ‘her’ image, one with the weave and folds of pre-planetoid Aeonic essence, our body the fruition of ever-evolving celestial raiment.

Teeming with outrageous permutations, imbued with divine self-determination and spontaneous wisdom/beauty we glibly call ’life on Earth.’ This sublime self-creating sphere blooms and blossoms exponentially throughout a seam-free spectrum of macro/microcosmos.

She is awakening in lucid dream in the midst of the heat of battle. Signals pulsate through a mycelium of stellar synapses, synchronized through the solar deity in conjunction with massive electromagnetic waves.

The relentless inorganic parasitic hordes are exposed in ever expanding concentric ripples of luminescent organic living light from the plenitude of the central core.

Huge monolithic blockages crack open and burst their banks, flooding to flourish and nurture, tending toward balance and equilibrium. Antagonists overreach themselves, leaving in their wake only ungrounded irrelevance and disintegrating isolation.

The illusion of separation is perceived to be a temporary delusion on the face of underlying unity, which then establishes unshakeable roots culminating in fruitful abundance.

A critical mass regenerates and swiftly supersedes the remnants of irrelevance, which wilt for want of the wisdom of water. The ignorance of arrogance stumbles at the brink of hubris, preceding an ungraceful and ungrateful fall.

All of creation is creative and alive with infinite imaginative intelligence. Perpetually recreating itself in its own image. Seeded by the central source at the heart of all.

Seeds sown and strewn across light-years wide celestial galactic fields. Our precious notions are a pretentious pinprick in infinity. Yet this infinity permeates and perpetuates all our particles, and there is nothing that is separate from the source of everything.

Born in unacknowledged surrender one with all , in Wild Earth Wisdom we trust.

>>>>>> ^ <<<<<<

Martin Rainbowmaker. 

Art: SOPHIA'S PLUNGE, martin law, Oct 2014

 

Footnote.- Refer to John Lamb Lash audios re. ‘Sophia’s Correction’ for full context.

Gaiaspora.org, Metahistory.org and youtube.

AFTER THE STORM. / IN FADING AMBER.

(Improvisation on two songs.)

AFTER THE STORM.~

To be reborn after the storm

when the clouds are breaking.

New light wings of the dawn

eden fields awaking

eden fields awaking.

One breath return of the light

waiting for tomorrow.

Beyond reach of the night

and the waves of sorrow

and the waves of sorrow.

Dressed in white mist on the grass

timeless future vision.

When dark ages will pass

healing all division

healing all division.

Bright star child of the light

silently in waiting.

First birds angels in flight

eden fields awaking

eden fields awaking.~

RBM. 1997.

Dawnwise and rising imperceptibly pale pastel washes brushed gilded and brimming beyond the rim. Gone away the distant thunderous soundwave tsunami and no more bombs in eden long gone and banished forever.

Smoky veils warming softly flushed from beyond the pale blushed paleolithic and dissolving the still dragonish remnants of shade. High feathered flocks of dawnborne winged ones on waves returning in formation.

Dawn like a gentle breath a pale soft spirit face reflecting eyes of aspiration emerging soulful assimilating learning the long ancient journeys through fields of polarity. Deeper than the darkest anthems of experience deepening the depth of wisdom forever.

The antithesis of turgid turbulence and turmoil dewsoaked and redeemed in swathes of freshly washed purely unpolluted Gaelic green barefoot in the grass. Free flowing veils in futurity glimpsed among morning mist cleansing traumas of time spent in samsaric seeming separation from source.

While winged and in waiting the still small silent crystal pinpoint of light emerges from the brink and fall of near void. Rising from the hush the warming gold smiling to arise the birthing chorus. The first primal stirrings of feathered awakenings responding.

Much more immediate than mere metaphor the great central sun the plenitude and pleroma pulsing the planetary body in all pervading spirit essence. Bathing bushy bordered earthly enclosures released forever outside time in kind sublime macro mind burning beyond eons of the long sleep of illusion.

The true mystic fields returning turning the turning Earth into light. It's the song of songs awakening from the moronic mirage into the mystery of being at one within all inclusive of and outside categories and concepts.

May the crystaline ozone dawn breeze wash away remaining ragged remnant relics of rashly delusive and unspeakable atrocity with its guileful rumours of hidden hubris and needless intrigue and be banished into the deep void of the obsolete.~

IN FADING AMBER.

As the day is long and the summer evening fading amber, melting in the west in crimson shades and gold.

As the earth is round its true enchantment long forgotten, and the blackbird song beneath the shady trees.

Till the light returns purple shrouds of night roll over. So the wound will heal the wilderness will bloom.

As the day is long and the summer evening fading amber, melting in the west in crimson shades and gold.~

{ RBM. 2002}

And so flowing industriously in the sublime and turning day and ever after into the farthest reaches of timeless eternity. As the day is long like a song or familiar mellow memory from another age of life.

The long slanting shadows a dazzled glance to flicker and fade like a film in the dreamtime. With the molten solar orb a sinking regal archetypal icon hypnotically emblazoned glinting to glow through stained glass and intricate tracery of black webbed branches.

The image sustains in the last rays of ancient enchantment. Blackbird rustles among crisp leaves in dusky shade under broad and deeply sonorous sleeping trees. From the void the sentinel songthrush parting song.

Slow sailing slumberous sombre shrouded cloudshapes darkening dragonish bringing in the night high above. Realigning harmonizing soothing the past world's wounds from forever with nurture of healing rest. As the day is long and the summer evening fading amber melting in the west in crimson shades and gold.~

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

martin rainbowmaker*

Artwork:
   PRE-DAWN FIELDS, martin law, Oct 2014
           Towpath Vision, martin law, April 2013

A Wood of Dreams Video Feature

A WOOD OF DREAMS.

On Sunday, August 3, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Eyelids shade the high sun's glare, relaxing in high meadow grass. Just a pleasant summer breeze, and time becomes forgetfulness.

Childrens' voices fade away, on the path which leads through 'the wood of dreams.'

There may be mythic dragons there, antique fish that swim through trees. Footfalls on the trodden trail, spaces where the silence rings.

But for a single twig's sharp crack, nothing but bright sunlight streams, through hazel leaves and hawthorn limbs.

Around where willow nestles down, in loosestrife lush and meadowsweet, arteries of Earth's heartbeat.

Till time became forgetfulness, meandered on by contented streams. Deep spaces where the silence rings, with nothing but bright sunlight there.

One might settle here, or there. Manifest a table and a chair.

Something solid, made of wood, grounded in the living earth. Pause a while and take a rest, do what's wise and for the best. One could even build a nest.

Oh, but now what's this ? Thought has power it's clear. Whatever is imagined, instantly is here.

What kind of creature needs such a nest ? It seems rather large, and full of pine cones ! Whatever made it, must be friendly, glad i see no sign of bones.

Pine cones... Pine cones ? 'Pineal', that's it !

Straight from the mind's third eye.

But how in such a world as this, is a soul to take a rest ? I seem to recall somehow a bed is best. Passing through a wood of dreams, with the comforting voice of lilting streams.

When thinking of rest, a bed manifests. Tiptoe on stepping stones and tinkling pebbles to try it for size.

I find myself (whatever that means) on an archetype bed, and it's right in mid-stream.

What i didn't count on when thinking of snoozing, the mattress is soaked with water, and oozing ! I wasn't intending on taking a bath. I better keep moving and follow the path.

Must learn to read signs. But what signs ?

Signposts ? No that's silly. That way looks promising... (feeling chilly). Now i know how Alice must have felt, "curiouser and curiouser".

All very strange !

Signposts. Do you follow the signs, or the posts ? ... "FOLLOW THE POSTS."

What was it, i learned back there ? ' If you really must think, think clearly. Be precise and don't equivocate.' The tree deva says "put your best foot forward."

So now, with that clear, i'm entering a clearing, breaking cover, and there's a post but it's a totem pole !

It's a bit two-faced, looking both ways at once,

which i suppose makes sense when you've lost your direction. It does have an owl on top so i must be wising up a bit at least.

 

 

Wising, or waking ? 'Spaces where the silence rings.' 'But for a single twig's sharp crack.'

'Nothing but bright sunlight there.' ...

Eyelids shade the high sun's glare,

relaxing in high meadow grass.

Just a pleasant summer breeze,

and time becomes forgetfulness.~

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

Martin. a.k.a. 'Makes Rainbows'.

( Special thanks to Wendy for the way which i wended.)