HEARTS OF EARTH

On Saturday, September 19, 2015, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Hearts of Earth, don’t be fooled by parasitic archontic tricks. How many rogue asteroids on imminent collision course in the cosmic pool table must a man track down, before you can call him a divinely aligned authentically anthropic organic anthropoid?

With so many conflicting answers “blowin’ in the wind”, all flags are henceforth forever flagged as false and serving only to get the mind in a flap.

When was the last time a stray ball even knocked the moon off course, never mind impacting exactly where you predict? Somebody must be a bad shot, despite having had infinite time to practice. File under maliciously marketed mass masochism, clearly crafted to create schizoid schism. Deconstruct and ignore.

Funny how, contrary to the findings of particle physics, the malevolent projectile, always called ‘X’, implying an unknown negative, promptly becomes a wave, so it can’t be pinned down to any point in space.

I would have thought it was the other way around. That a wave observed becomes a particle (or a planet), but it’s X-rated anyway and i never watch horror movies.

As for predicting exact momentous dates of arrival, how, exactly, do you measure the velocity of an invisible full frontal oncoming wave of totally unknown energy? Perhaps get an equally unknown channeller to say it was told to him by off-planet beings, who strangely always use English and the Roman alphabet to designate who they are. Lying harms lives.

Better to stay focussed and eternally grounded with the Mother Earth. That which gives birth and nurture to everything everywhere forever. Don’t go drifting off, spacing out, willingly boarding astral craft, or surrendering to anything that comes from without. As whatever is in our best interest will come from within, not through the head but through the heart, without ascending anywhere.

Social engineering has done a thorough job of selling ‘rapture’ to the fundamentalists, ‘ascension’ to the new age, and ‘everything X’ to the wishful inattentive. Cynically exploiting everyone’s valid desire for a more harmonious world. While ‘heretic’ comes from a Greek word, literally meaning to figure it out for yourself.

I do however, recommend a heartfelt video clip by Melissa Camper, titled ‘Ignore wave X’. Take a tip from Lily Earthling while you’re at it. Her channel is called ‘lvireb.’ (that’s an L not an i.)

Do it in the only now there ever is, as you’ll be past the point of pertinence to the purported prediction, pending publication of this piece.

Think twice about abandoning ship just because T.V. programming has hypnotised you into thinking you’re on the Titanic and got on the wrong boat. The ‘News’ is owned by archons anyway and they’re freely advised to use the lifeboats if in doubt about Earth’s course or destination.

Which leads me to the contemplation of trees. Not only that i just completed another tree painting, but also as a more expressive example than words, since you can see and feel, of what it means to be earthed. Trees being the best exponents of all time.

Electrical devices have aerials, moths and other insects have antennas, and trees are the largest similar fractal formations. Linking information simultaneously from the galactic centre via our sun, with our planet’s core, growing and adapting accordingly one-with the process.

I can only sense intuitively that must be so, and can’t imagine any good reason why not. Better off talking, and listening, to a tree than to a television. Must be why ‘indians’ used trees for long distance messages.

So, while writing this, i completed a painting of a pine tree, based on observation of a specific spot in the woods, and titled it ‘Rooted in Earth’, Sept. 2015. The painting was created in three long day and night sessions, and i share its progress in photographs.

One way i know if i’m earthed or otherwise infiltrated by any inorganic alien intrusion or psychic parasite, commonly called archons, is by how the brushwork flows and especially feels, in a way i am long familiar with which entails a certain quiet mode of mind.

As you see in magnification, it appears totally random, almost casual. That’s because it is not contrived by intellect, but follows intuition through feeling in the fingers. Uncontrived naturalness being something we are blessed with in infancy, and may lose as we become mechanical, acting from ego which is only self-image.

Not to overstate it though, because natural can’t be faked, which is why it’s of intrinsic value in art. Also a visual hint of what is implied in the word ‘organic’. As expressed in ‘the Tao’, ‘the greatest perfection appears awkward’. Natural as with nature, unadulterated, and not merely referring to a form of nourishment ‘they’ would have you believe you can’t afford.

So if there’s a wave that’s coming, or has already arrived, it’s crucial (as in crisis) to dis-Cern if it’s natural or manmade, thereby avoiding con-Cern that you might be crucified by it and be remotely entrained by parasitic nanobotic particles already at large in the air we breathe.

For further study, clarification, and positive resolution, type in, and listen to ‘Harald Kautz Vella’, a young softly spoken scientist with important insights to share.

In the meantime, stay in your hearts, hearts of Earth, which is ‘her’ heart, and mind the mind but don’t mind it. Stay with Earth and listen with the trees. ~

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

Martin Rainbowmaker.

INDIAN SUNRISE

On Saturday, July 4, 2015, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Sharing some painterly details of an

‘Indian Sunrise.’ Painted in August 2003, completely from imagination and wholly without reservation.

 

The scene took on form by the same process as when feeling clothes itself in words that fit, and emerges incrementally as a poem.

Actually it emerged out of total destruction of an underlying painting that failed. So while you may take it to be representation, it’s really revelation, because it revealed itself.

I was living in a dark dungeon of a place, with no direct daylight and no window view but for high concrete walls. Heavy oil tankers, diggers, and noisy dump trucks would grind slowly up a narrow steep lane, passing within three feet of the window, more than filling the view, dominating the whole room.

Not knowing that when i took the place on, i’d set myself up for a ‘long dark night of the soul,’ and got stuck there for ten years of gloom, claustrophobia, and isolation without privacy.

We do unknowingly set ourselves tests sometimes, and in retrospect they could be seen as initiations. Despite the circumstance and conditions, i continued to paint, and meditate the whole way through.

Even did those pure brightly coloured sacred geometry paintings, some of which you can find here. Had exhibitions, even sold some, one large one for the highest price ever, and painstakingly illustrated a book of castles which was published.

Played ten years of improvised grand-piano music in a stately home, in public for free, with no repertoire or musical training. ( See you-tube videos, Martin Law in Bantry House.)

Yet, no words can convey experience itself, it was a labyrinthine experience. Fortunately, labyrinths have an exit, when the timing is appropriate. A redeeming feature of ‘the past’ is, that it’s not present anywhere.

So in 2003, an abstract painting i was trying to resolve, on the floor by a bare light bulb wasn’t going anywhere either.

It was to be called ‘A Source of Love’, having just successfully completed one called ‘Source of Light,’ always 13 letter titles.

You could say, the ‘i’ was feeling ‘blue’ and ‘browned off’, (colloquial terms). So the ‘i’ mixed those two colours together, knowing they’d express a deep darkness only short of black.

Proceeding to wreak a hopeless, wilful destruction on the image. As the ‘i’ didn’t want to just cease painting, and so, was painting without specific intent.

Sharp, dark pyramid shapes were what was occurring, so there was no sense that they might not be pyramids, and one eye was constantly on them.

So that as it slowly dawned they were tipis, the brown ground around them warmed, redolent of that rust colour so prominent in early paintings by European artists who lived and worked among the ‘Indians.’ As with when the sun is rising, there is no choice but to surrender to the process.

With that as the new found focus, and just as ‘the angel is in the detail’, and reveals itself as each portion is blended and attended to for its appropriate atmospheric authenticity and spatial cohesion.

The blue-grey naturally suggested itself as being the elemental counterbalance to the earthiness of brown, and infused its characteristic mutual relationship, evoking both air and water, with the sun’s warmth still to rise.

And still, the bold brush strokes piled layer upon layer, defining a grounded foundation. A marshy hillside slope of bracken, grass, and rushes.

A few figures commune to rekindle the embers of an early morning fire, as mist drifts and clears across the grey lake.

Brown is a colour suggestive of elemental age, being fundamental and low on the spectral level, as the timeless earth is to sky. The rust colour illuminates as the warmth touches rough tufted hummocks and bushy contours of trees in antiquity.

Broad swathes of morning mist still shroud the far forested horizon of distant mountain ranges on the furthest brink of rising light.

Hallucinatory details serendipitously suggested by the brush lightly crossing textures of the already dried painting layers underneath.

Distant magical places in there, changing as the focus is gently coaxed into clarity.

Pre-Whitmanesque vistas unfolding, the land long before Sitting Bull, before Teshunka Weet’ko,(Crazy Horse), before Hiawatha and Deganawidah.

As yet untouched by the prophesied approach of the people from the east, and ‘manifest destiny.’ With the land still populous with vast roving wild Buffalo herds.

You never know what might happen if you try to obliterate a source of love.

So take heed, with your eyes on those pyramids. You might find, as i did, that it transforms itself into an Indian Sunrise. 
 

<

>>> + <<< + >>> + <<<

MARTIN RAINBOWMAKER

(Written, July 4^th. 2015.)

MY HAND WRITING.

On Saturday, July 4, 2015, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Whereby we lose touch with latent

artistic skills and seem not to care.

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

The pen is mightier than you might imagine, in a press button world full of clackety-clack. While “in the beginning was the word”, but it was without a word processer. Whereby we lose touch with fundamental skills and seem not to care.

Handwriting is an art whichever way you look at it, and if you rotate it clockwise it gets even more interesting. Yet you don’t have to be Chinese to comprehend what i mean to say.

Just as one showing is worth a thousand chattering monkey-minded blabbermouths, therefore one simple image will suffice to illustrate my point.

Distinctly and elegantly calligraphic, ideographic hieroglyphics morphing in free fall down the paper tea house screen door, like cascading cherry blossom shadows in Spring, that sort of thing.

On the other hand, keyboard typing is to handwriting, what classical piano playing is to free form line drawing, ask any Zen hermit. Taoist Monks texting, high in misty mountain retreats with the tip of a bamboo brush.

Far removed from clattering archaic industrial print press workshops being exponentially mutated down to a sub-digital fractal flicker of hand-held holographic megabytes.

Just like every public convenience is a double-edged sword and any instant expedience can compromise or monopolize a naturally maturing spontaneous unity of eye and refined fluid dexterity of the hand. Which would otherwise give total immunity to neuro-linguistic anomalies and sub-lingual parasitic alphabetics.

Or simply: An eye for the informal nuances of graphology will protect you from turning into a robot.

Rotated clockwise, my natural scrawl and script appears more evenly aligned when vertical. Perhaps because we’ve spent eternity being good at not falling over when standing, without having to even think about it.

Furthermore, the more you zoom in on these now unfamiliar ideograms the more distinctly Chinese they get. As of old, with the much favoured informal seeming, uncontrived and flawless childlike excellence of unpremeditated naturalness.

It’s in the marks themselves, decisively fluid and unhesitant, dancing with cellular memory of a thousand generations and more. Out of hoary eternities and flowering afresh in the ever present continuum. Just for the joy in forming information, but the hand knows more than the eye sees.

So the assumption that all this is being written in the English language, is only true when read horizontally. When viewed from another angle, this left-brain logic no longer applies.

It is now a right-brain body language of coded gesture and flow, which, just as in music and dance, refers to no meaning other than itself. Therefore, uncontrived artistry is what is apparent.

This is what’s happening regardless of what language it may be called, or whether it’s read conventionally or not. It could be called body language without a head. That’s a significant shift, to read without a head that continually refers to itself.

The hand, writing, is forming and following a fluid flow of familiar shapes, as if by unthinking instinct which is its own magic. Because it’s just happening, by itself, which is actually true of everything.

In a way, there is more direct participation in that, than just pressing a button and expecting a standard result. Which is what a button system is designed for.

Like on ‘in your Face-book’, where it may be assumed you can ‘friend’ somebody, by simply pressing the appropriate button. That’s quite an assumption, depending on how real, friendship has to be, before it can be said to exist.

If intimate contact is the point, perhaps it would be better, just to write a letter. The one who receives, to turn it on its side, and enjoy all the intimacies of body language, where the true unspoken character and intent of the hand that writes, is fully revealed, and both can say they are equally in touch. ~

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

Martin Rainbowmaker