ETERNAL SUMMER.

On Wednesday, July 2, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Despite the war on life,

small wonders of nature,

untroubled.

~R.B.M.

Miraculously (all things considered), it's Summer ! Well, it is today, and as i recall, it was yesterday as well. But that's neither here nor there. Where is yesterday? Neither here, nor there.

'All things considered', being 'The War on Life',

which only a total ostrich is unaware of. A state maintained by 'Ostrich Television Trickery', O.T.T. (i hate abbreviations) which pours out fictional censored dramatizations

(read 'propaganda') of the war, so you'll think that by contrast, the world outside'the box' is normal. But as you know, O.T.T. Is over the top.

That's a condensed rewrite of three lengthy paragraphs laboriously proving the obvious, that a war on life is prevalent on all levels.

I decided a bit of levity was more appropriate.

An ostrich in this instance being a person afflicted with a will to ignorance, hopefully an endangered species. Besides, it's futile explaining anything to an ostrich, never mind pointing out what the contrast button is for, and a head in the sand is the most vulnerable position on earth.

So, 'miraculously, it's Summer !' This is a celebration, which implies a sense of gratitude.

Eternal Summer, though changing from moment to moment even as i write.

You might have a judgemental reaction to the word 'eternal', thinking it's either something sentimental or something to do with religion, neither of which is relevant. Eternal is just the natural state of the universe.

The dictionary defines 'eternal' as being "without beginning or end." But wait !

It's not possible to define 'eternal', because to define is to put a boundary round a fragment.

Eternal is the infinite whole without boundaries. Do you think you can put Summer in a box ?

If time was a natural state, animals would need to wear wristwatches. It's we who are the captives. Willingly surrendering fully present awareness to the most unquestioned concept on Earth: The forward march of time.

Whereas if you're really put on the spot by a situation, time stops, or rather, ceases to be.

That's partly my understanding of eternal, eternity, timelessness. The dictionary doesn't have the last word on anything, it's not a sacred text. Just a rough guide, and who needs to travel with a rough guide ?

Free exploration is not a conveyor belt. Imagine what a truly eternal Summer would feel like. Or remember childhood before you learned 'to tell the time.'

Those who say "i haven't got time" have nothing but time with no relief. Time makes you a central character in an ongoing story.

The sun reappeared from behind a cloud (so to speak) as i wrote that. At least from where i am, it's relative. But nothing really did anything, it just is.

It's just Summer (so called) NOW, and 'now' is not a moment in time because nothing is going anywhere. Just eternally changing.

So never mind the past, it was never present anywhere. Nor the future, it's just an imaginary version of what never was anyway.

So how can now be a moment in time ?

It's always NOW and you'll always find it HERE.

Except of course if you try to grasp it. While at the same moment believing firmly that it's just gone. To reach for 'the next moment' is to deny the ever present. When were you ever present in a 'next moment ?'

The feeling of past, is just re-membering, putting it back together in imagination, in the elusive 'now.' But that doesn't make it a present reality. It's just a thought, obscuring what is. The same with future.

So how can there be a reality between two things which never exist except in imagination? We are collectively 'spell-bound' by language, mistaking the symbol for the reality.

A bit like these grey clouds temporarily (presently) obscuring the sun, which never goes anywhere either.

A bold blackbird (could be the same one) repeatedly returns to the crumbs on the bird table in the sally (crann saili) willow, only a few feet from where i sit writing. The sun bursts through a promising patch of blue, playing hide and seek with my arbitrary preferences. Or to be more exact, it's the preferences themselves doing that.

Then, in no time at all, out of the blue comes an invasion of ragged ominous grey from the South-West. Settling in and transforming all distance to a uniform opaque blanket, squeezing out all trace of blue.

This is Ireland, not Australia or Arizona. A climate conducive to a mutable philosophical temperament which, when thankfully bathed in solar blessing, circumspectly says "But will it last i wonder" (it depends on how long 'last' is present), "and anyway we'll see."

Climate change? Mad scientists apart, when was there ever a period on Earth when climate didn't change ?

Crows on roof tops grow restless and vanish for cover. Neighbours, hands in pockets, briefly exchange comments from doorsteps and disappear indoors. I bring the chair in and put on a woolen sweater.

In memory i recall how nice it was when it was nice. The clear hot blue and bright light bathing the street in sultry heat. Everybody saying " Isn't it great ! But will it last i wonder." Imagining the future. With the inevitable "Please god", implying ' are we redeemed enough yet to deserve a little pleasure without subsequent punishment ?'

Whatever it does or doesn't do, it's eternal Summer in eternity, not to be compared with any other place or time, there isn't one, not here anyway. Better not spoil it by worrying what's next. There never was any such thing as a next.

The plants will appreciate the soft drizzle if no-one else does, they look well and happy. Sun and rain go together like up and down. Nothing causes anything. Everything is every-thing (and i mean Everything). Continued in the eternal continuum. ~

Makes Rainbows.

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

FULL TO THE BRIM.

On Monday, June 9, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

"The highest good is like water.

It nourishes all things but does not lord it

over them."
~ Lao-Tzu.

Woke to grey veils of rain off the bay

and the round moat full to the brim.

Running off the roof with barrel overflowing.

Wind blown leaves a flurry in the

drenched green garden.

All of this is just a preambulatory excuse to share some photo images. The way it looks is what most interests me. Apart from being one of those typical niggles that occur everywhere every day.

People grapple every day with mundane conundrums, inconvenient glitches and head bangers. Sludge pumps, cracked axles, blasted gaskets, leaky carburettors, dead batteries, fickle fan belts. Not to mention broken homes, broken bones, broken hearts, house fires, flash floods, mud slides, car crashes, earthquakes, explosions, tsunamis, plagues, aerial bombardments etc.

I'm blessed with being spared most of these things in the experiential present. Doodling with word shapes and liquid linguistics, to momentarily express something minimal and unmomentous. If ironically typical enough to be mildly humourous from a detached perspective.

Just a context for some recent photos, expressing artistically an ordinary experience of water.

So, here we go, lovers of the liquid illusions of wordstreams and water. Long story short, not forgetting to dot my eyes and cross my tease.

After a moment's due deliberation of process and a contemplative cup of tea, on a dappled bench where pussy willow pollen falls softly through flickering sunlight.

Bow-saw grasp, cut the black plastic down-pipe by the water butt, "kark kark" (the rasping sound of saw teeth through plastic.)

The offcut piece half spliced to wedge fit and slope. A chopped pine chunk to hand, a neat wedge fit between butt and ivy clad stucco wall, supports the makeshift elbow joint.

Outflow end yanked up tight under barrel rim.

Knotted length of coated wire flex draped over and out hangs down. A handy plastic flower pot weighted with a palm size stone. 'Gravity feed'?

Perfect. Solid. All plastic and not a penny spent. Technology reiterates ontology,or something. Taoist solution to the way of water. The answer close at hand. Simple, Lao-Tzu would nod.

Worked well and why wouldn't it? Then the rains came. Freakish for June, unrelenting for grey wet-blanketed days on end, a wall of grey across the bay, Atlantic and westerly.

Chorus:

Woke to grey veils of rain across the bay

and the round moat full to the brim.

Running off the roof with barrel overflowing.

Windblown leaves a flurry in the

drenched green garden.

Due to go into town, Friday being market day in wet green Munster. The odd windwrecked umbrella passing fleetfoot in the street.

The guttering out front too, sagging and clogged with falls of crowpecked moss balls.

Rain spills sporadic, splashing and splattering on concrete before the front door.

Flooding the drenched and drooping lupins.

Two heavy wheely bin-fulls of rainwater in a row, barely a stopgap.

Never mind bailing out the banks, mine are full to the brim, threatening to overflow, right where the onions grow.

Black plastic bucket grasp to handle it. Bailing bit by bit to swoosh and dump down the drain, lowering the level of in-pouring rain. First cast the moat from thine own eye.

 

Around a hundred bucketfuls it took. Rain down the roof, flooding into the garden never mind the pipe, brimming ripples down the barrel sides too. May day May day both hands on deck.

Later, on reflection, with a ladder, having tackled the mudclogged gutters, and out back, the downhole blocked with crumbling dirt. Tearing away wet ivy to plunge elbow deep in the mud silted pipe, face down many times between showers until almost got it clear now.

Grasping and groveling to feel to find a U-bend, that dull hollow reverb sloshing sound underground. Acheived at least a slow soak away in case it comes again.

And since then, been out to buy bottled water more than once ! Ironic as rusty old pipes, and there's talk of extra water charges ! In a land like this where water is in abundance free !!

While, underground, below pot-holed roads

"Oh Danny Boy, the pipes the pipes" are crumbling and what comes out the tap is toxic poison.

While my barrel runneth over, full to the brim.

Hush ! ... The sound of rain !

//// //// ////

Makes Rainbows / RBM.

ANCIENT SYMBOL.

On Thursday, June 5, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

If i ever run out of paper i have a lot of experience to draw on.

RBM~

 

Ancient Symbol. Ancient; it comes from long before human memory. But it still lives,in the present, in cellular memory.

I remember well its emergence in conscious awareness. Teenage years in art school. I recall being in lettering class, also typography (which i found burdensomely left brain and tedious, like arithmetic.) I would always doodle on the side of the page for relief when my calculations didn't add up yet again.

I never lost touch with the intuitive hemisphere, it was a matter of survival. Art was always my world, i came into the world like that. I came through the trauma of school with my natural creativity intact.

Art school saved my soul, it was a time to reconnect with the thread running through childhood. A time of private introspective emergence, significant subconscious re-emergence, if still quite traumatic on an interpersonal level.

Doodling is important and not to be lightly dismissed as trivial. It's a direct channel to creative source, underlying superimposed consensus rational identity, which allows uncensored expression of what you 'actually' feel, as doodles do.

So i was obviously always very receptive and vulnerable to impressions. Rather than peer pressure induced ego projective as boys most often are. Though i was scapegoated for it even in college, which was a learning curve in itself. But i didn't lose that link with early years, the magic of ordinary things if you like.

Being impressionable to what other students and artists were doing was very formative. Particularly with regard to archetypal meaning of shapes and colour in a deep subconscious sort of way. Which retain a matured conscious significance still evolving after decades of nurture.

Instances of being moved on a subterranean level by large abstract paintings are as alive and present today, even though i was on a graphics course. A very informal, lenient, and helpful one at that time. I assimilated a sense of the significance of primal elements as if by osmosis, and a lot more besides including manual and perceptual skills, and it sustained and remained my primary focus of being.

Plugging in to the universal wellsprings of the timeless world of the world's art, actually since the age of four, when i was much encouraged by having a drawing published in a magazine, thanks to my humble and well-meaning working class parents.

Solitary retreats into the college library, discovering revelatory impressions precisely imprinted in memory, otherwise insignificant details of moments still easily recalled in the still present.

Receptive as a dry sponge. Even if it was all i could do to push the heavy library door and walk in without feeling i might faint in public from so called 'self-consciousness'. Still hadn't formed a self assured social 'identity.'

I'm fond of this symbol and others similarly related to it. I have a personal/impersonal relationship with it. An innate ability to read such signs by instinctual feeling, it's a timeless language written into the human psyche of the planet herself, by herself.

It's also literally written into the rocks and stone all over the world. As one might expect, here, in a 'Celtic' country, only a few miles away, variations of this shape are profusely carved on a flat expanse of rock, previously overgrown with a thin layer of grassy tufted turf and carved before formally recorded history.

I spent one sunny afternoon running my fingers along the cup and ring marks,(this symbol.) So much for time.

Symbols embody and invoke many interrelated layers of meaning simultaneously, in the most succinct form possible.

This one embodies many references, including:

Primal containment and gestation, whether by womb of the Earth Mother, or human home and hearth. It's both, sexual and biological, and identical with a floor plan of ancient dwellings.

The centre circle is Sun, Spirit, Source, unfertilized egg ,and embryo, the soul in utero.

So i celebrate it, suspended and brooding symbolically in a suitably ancient setting. The pyramidal mound with beacon pyre-amid, while being male, projective upright triangle, is also androgenous, being a bosom of Mother Earth. The two interelated, invoking fertility.

I'm pleased to see the annual crop formations manifesting again. Prior to June 1^st, some of the early ones seemed to be of questionable origin, as the authenticity of non manmade ones is subtly discernable.

This particular symbol has occurred many times in genuine crop formations in unequivocably clear exactness. The latest one, recorded on June 1^st in Dorset. England, has this same form again, ingeniously depicted in one continuous line. Enclosed within a diamond shape (also female), within a circle (Spirit.)

Curiously enough, that same pattern was forming itself in my mind on the same day before i discovered it, and that's not the first time that's occurred, by a long straw.

I've even painted a complex design (Rainbow

Embryo. October 2007) and then discover on the internet the same theme had manifested in the fields around the same time, on the other side of the Irish Sea.

One very instructive instance of this kind of synchronicity only in reverse, happened some years back. A formation appeared in Wiltshire, consisting of a triple armed swastika (an ancient sun symbol) neatly integrated into three sides of a cube within a circle.

I did an accurate drawing of it as it seemed a bit of a puzzle to construct. Much later, drinking tea at a friend's cottage and while leafing through a very old book of Tibetan Buddhism, a surprise happened.

At a turn of the page, there was the same symbol, illustrated, and i mean identical (i'm into precision.)

The text explained it as being, an esoteric 'yantra' (visual mantra) used for meditation and known as the Antakharana. It further stated that it can only ever be used for benevolent purposes.

I doubt that anyone with a low level intent to hoax and deceive would have also known that.

Unless of course UFOs are full of ancient Tibetans.

Many crop circles have consisted of esoteric symbols from long ago not known by anyone but a most studious scholar of civilizations.

Some years ago a very strange thing happened. Studying the latest crop circles on the library computer, i distinctly saw, studied, and drew acurately, a complex twelve pointed star formation. Shown in a series of clear photos on 'crop circle connector' website. I can still recall the atmospheric feel and perspective of the photos as it made an impression.

Most impressive was that it was identical to the design on the cover of Patricia Cori's previously published book dealing with twelve stranded DNA. So i sent her the drawings and drew her attention to it. The book was written long before the discovery of these crop circles.

Well, we both searched the web, including the other circle sites, and any such photos were nowhere to be found. They were never there.

But i saw them, or else how could i draw them, complete with small additional details?

She promptly and warmly replied: "The Siriuns do that sort of thing you know."

There's far more to form than meets the eye.~

>><< >><< >><<

> Makes Rainbows.

Artwork:
     ANCIENT SYMBOL, martin law, 2014

BLACKBIRD RAIN.

On Saturday, May 24, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Now, where was i? Briefly dozing by a fireside on a low moist grey day. Memory traces taking a long steady curve. Upfront and barreling down a patchwork web of backroads under overarching trees drenched and dripping in runnels on the rough road bend.

 

Musing and mumbling for months about May Blossom, while bailing bucketfuls of rain from the moat to the drain.

Backroads of the subconscious fertile mind and body of Earth. Elemental glimpse of vivid green and a dark shrouded lake below a mountain flashing through, obliterated by fly-by branches, shaking rivulets of rain across the wing mirror.

 

Momentary far naked eye glance, too 'in there' for the zoom. Retreating rain in loaded veils of Chinese grey, far away, atmospheric and insubstantial. In sullen soft and muted mood, primal wash across distant dark conifers.

The monochrome evening sweetening the green, impasto painting the portions of the pagan patchwork. Tough tyres along a short straight and narrow grey gravel road.

On an elevated terrain, trucking like a train into a station, or otherwise designated destination, and pull in to park beside a wild garden gate. Bright pink flowers straggle down the blue water barrel's deep reflection.

Rich leaf mulch mantle a warm cloak for flowering and edible beds, where there's wild abundance and fertility there's a way, and anyway it's the month of May.

 

A feast of food on the table in the flicker of candle flame, what better? Parlour shrine of cushions and vine, sofas, yantras, mandalas, and gongs, the backroads of the fringes of time. Bodhisattvas sipping tea in bamboo cabins among clouds of unknowing.

Softly we sang to the drum and the gong, the song and the strum, in the mode of muse and vocal modulation.

There is a certain resonance, what more can i say? Heartbeat pulse of the planet herself. Blessed in casual calm and harmonious humour of warm laughter while fine-tuning the flow and regulating the resonance.

Sometimes a timeless voice comes through, surfing an ancient wave of feathered primal song as it always was. And where's the tribal sense of wit or wisdom in trying to describe vibration when it can be sung?

A very simple sense of wonder is fortunately in my face and favour. While well aware the world is war torn, i am moved toward the blossom of the hawthorn. The essence of omens of warm, of freshness and purity of a sudden flourishing in lace-light, cream snowy abundance.

As if that could express when a breeze blows and petals fall, each one in its rightful place.

All within a kaleidoscope of rainbows over bright fields in the rain. Or you can focus on the grey, and forget to dream of the redeeming sweetness of green, with the neutral perfect compliment between.

Then my doze was syncopated by three coal bags by the door, later by lupins and a tray of pea plants delivered in the box of pots i'd bought. Then a startled blackbird call finds me at home in the hushed garden.

Such that i revived revitalized from momentary barometric slumber. To fine-tune things like rhythms and strings. Which reignited the artistic spark, and with blunt soft pencil freely scribe these shapes of words in snail trail printed moments like a true impressionist.

There are no words at all for the all, the all which is beyond all imaginary division and all classification.

Just this, blackbird in the rain and nothing else.~

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

Makes Rainbows/ aka RBM

EDEN REVISITED. (Revisited)

Round the long curve of corridor softly without echo.

High arched walls, ceiling, padded with soft leather-like sheen throughout.  Neutral tones, cork flooring good for bare feet.  With a lightness of gravity adding a spring to each step.   Passing by many equidistant sliding doors, pearlescent and enigmatic.

 

A left turn, opening into a vast high superstructure.

A huge streamlined starlit hall, softly lit also from below, so those in the balcony above can view the stars.  A gathering filled with the warmth of greetings and meetings, suspended somewhere among millions upon millions of stars.

Similar in some ways to an airport terminal, except for the awesome awareness that there is no ground anywhere nearby.  An upper semi-circular tier or deck, where people mingle among refreshment tables.

This place is huge, as if it was a palace built by giants.

People passing through en route, in a casual and leisurely fashion with no haste.

The various groups gathered in conversation display an intriguing diversity of colourful appearance.

Soft robes and casual wear far outweigh familiar dress.  Ethnic origin seeming to have as much to do with the rainbow, as any easily identified racial complexion.  But with some noticeably recurring items of adornment held in common.

Moving through, with two companions in the general direction of a gently sloping ramp.  Into a lower area with the typically curved corners.  Among a profusion of potted palms, semi-aquatic plants and extra large lily pads.  With a glimpse and flash of brightly coloured birds.

We find the suitably secluded canopied cubicle kiosks, bearing the recognizable symbol for 'TELEPAFONE', a wavy line between parentheses.

You sit on a soft seat and enter your connection.

From a round disc screen emerges a hologram, a life size facial projection of the recipient.  The process works both ways simultaneously.

This is not so much a technological electrical device however, as an area of magnetic sonic enhancement to amplify and direct natural telepathic attunement to any specific point, planetary or beyond.

Gazing momentarily as the successfully completed call, phases through introductory vistas and features of worlds unknown.  Star maps, diagrams, data of civilizations, returning to floor plans of "you are here, X.  With barely a flicker and into a soft fade.

         A BEAM-SHIP TRIP.

Out from under soft clouds.  In the cabin of a Bluebird disc.  Planet surface features flash into full focus.

Graceful concave arc into full fast forward.

Seated right behind the crew of three.  Two men and one woman, 'man' the crystal control desk.

A front row seat, nine other passengers behind.

The woman in turquoise, the men in metallic green.

Smooth loose clothing, rounded widow's peak skullcaps with headphones built in, hers sprouting wispish white blond hair.

Palms snug in the crystal gold-laced hand shape hollows.  Flickering neon bright fluorescent colours around the panel.  A faint static crackle of the inner ear in the sun-filled disc.  A violet to lilac tinge of sky to the far horizon in the panoramic forward crescent window.

Flashing out under billowing white cumulus into vivid light.  A silver craft  passes through swiftly on its return flight off to our right.  Acknowledged with a knowing amusement by the crew and a signal bright light on the panel.  Sidelong blue-eyed back glance from the woman pilot with a wry hint of humour.

Distant blue mountainous horizon line in the shimmering heat haze.  Cruising above rocky rust red desert turning to waving savannahs.  Wide salt flats where seabird flocks rise and settle like windblown blossoms.
 

Onwards over serpentine green winding waterways, fringed along its banks by ever expansive flourishing fertile forest.  Blossoming nut trees in full bloom, glimpses of scattered white domed dwellings dot the deep foliage below.

In the hot lilac blue, hallucinatory space flowers blossom.  An all pervasive inner knowing, that this bright realm, this sublimely timeless land, is bathed in health and peace, for the past thousand years and more.

 A GARDEN PLANET.
 

                  

Long silent avenues of huge high hedge windbreaks, extending over a rise beyond the field of vision.

Where bubble craft sail slow, some alighting like butterflies on the soft grass.

A quick flick of a hand held device, and the force field evaporates.  Setting the occupant lightly on solid ground.  That can only happen when in contact with the earth, fortunately.

Propulsion and guidance is by amplified modulation of magnetic fields via the small hand held device.

Ley lines and earth energy points play a part, as well as the compass points of the planet.

No need for parking spaces, just vapourize your vehicle.  The bubble of energy can be recreated when needed.  No costly material or spare parts to worry about.  Alight and exit through a gateway in the hedge.

Follow footpaths to cross over arched wooden bridges, that span the slow winding curves, all along the serpentine green nut forested waterways.

Clear emerald water such as can be seen in Provence.

Follow the paths through acres of aromatic orchards in blossom.  A maze of neat hedges and lawns, gardens of horticulture, permaculture, aquaculture.

No need of harsh roads and infrastructure, shops, schools, industry.  A culture of primarily, natural horticultural sciences.  Serving, both nutrition and medicine.  Cottage industries, arts, crafts, skills, researches.  The reverence for which, being its own firm spiritual foundation and discipline.

With the mild and settled climate most activity is outdoors.  There is a creative diversity of small and often temporary shelters used as meeting places, eating places for people on the land.  Functioning as extended families with no discrimination with regard to 'age.'

Ownership laws, monopoly rights, are unheard of here.  Being beyond collective memory and the end of 'the age of iron.'  Abundance abounds naturally, cultivated by the many for the shared experience itself.

Competition is unthinkable.  It is culturally known, that competition is dualistic, divisive and hierarchical, and hardly enhances voluntary co-operation.  There is no division between 'work' and leisurely social communication.  People naturally enjoy helping one another.

Clusters of domed forest dwellings, close to the earth.

Shared home schooling, including home medicine, crafts and skills, close to the earth and mostly outdoors or semi-outdoors.  No structures taller than the average tree, and no non-biodegradable inorganic synthetics.  With reverence for nature, styles of innovation tend toward ingenious rustic.

Hence no hierarchy of self proclaimed parasitic resident invaders, whose illusion of authority is nothing but brutality and greed.

           FLASH OF DEJA VU.

Continents can be traversed in comfort in no time.

Directed gravity craft transporters render roads obsolete.  Teleportation is well tested and refined, needing no large intrusive infrastructure.

Free energy is available to all, at zero expense of course.

Families and individuals like to use bubble craft locally.

Many people ride horses, the avenues are perfect for that.  But living in the midst of shared abundance there is hardly a need to walk very far, since what you may need is where you are.

In such a nature based culture of nurture, with no monopolist intruders to re-establish the crime of hierarchy, that lesson having been learned the hard way long ago, before the universal raise in awareness,

all people are freely encouraged to evolve in what they love.

Having the wisdom in common ('common sense') that to freely give from mutually created abundance, is to freely receive.  The only 'currency' being voluntary sharing among kin in the widest sense.  Coincidentally collective and inclusive of whatever small measure and no more exacted than giving a birthday gift to a friend.

To horde or monopolize being genetically considered to be an anomalous regression.  A rare condition commonly remedied by voluntary wise counsel and natural healing prompted perhaps by caring peer pressure.  To harm the natural balance of nature is universally known as not sane.  Living in the spirit of nurture, all are nurtured by the whole.

In the ancient texts and oral archives, this planet is sometimes said to have had many names.

Varying from tribe to tribe, language to language.

Some still refer to the planet as 'Edinia', or even 'Eden.'  While some call it 'Terra Nova', in whatever local tongue.

Rumour even has it, that long ago,
in terms of what was called 'history',

that it was once called 'Planet Earth.'~

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

Rainbowmaker.~

Curiosity

On Mon, May 26, 2014 at 4:24 PM, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote

Dear friend,

feel free to express more expansively, maybe take a mega bite.  Like, what's 'work' and why would i want some?  Does it have to do with money? That sounds funny and could be runny, living in a land of goat's milk and honey. I hear a lot about that stuff and off the cuff, change piles up and enough is enough.

 

The only labour i'd vote for is a labour of love and gifts are for giving, especially creative ones. I must have written around four hundred articles and touched over 18,000 people around the planet with the fruits of the play ethic. Posts continue to go up and never cause a fence. All my latest 'work' goes on the blog instead of going on on the bog. It's all free, every home should have one, i might be a bull but i never charge anything.

So i warmly encourage everybody who thought they knew me to at least have more than just a glance, a read, and a listen while i keep emptying out this cornucopia which keeps overflowing sure what can ye do!  No one need be stuck for prints or gems of inspiration and i don't need to make another exhibition of myself everything is art anyway (mARTin stuArt is on the right side of the Law, well the left actually.) So i've got some work for you if you're really interested and it's in Ballydehob.  Help me bail out this cornucopia by giving everybody in the Ballydehobbit tribe a benevolent and gentle nudge to overcome past paradigms of apathy and simply google 'martin rainbowmaker' (it only takes a second) and there's almost three years perpetual outpourings there and you know that thing about Taurus and generators and whatever roll i happen to be on is guaranteed fluoride and gluten free and contains matured seeds of hidden nutrition not to mention the distillation of poetic elder flowers between the lines, so to speak, and help to leave the world a better place than we didn't find it.  But don't mind me, i only blow my own trumpet because i was born musical and i still have two hundred impeccable CDs that everybody seems too broke to peck, speaking as a seed sower with more of an ear than Van Gogh so on and so forth.

Anyway, thanks for the thought, do feel free to share this free sample megasoundbite with the tribe and print off anything you take a fancy to and say hello to anybody who vaguely remembers me as they imagined i used to be after all it's a free universe, not sure about the Earth, Gaia Sophia needs all hands on deck and i'm just stirring the blog's pot pouring in an additional dose of of the antidote to war, the illusion of separation and needless domination and it's about time the yin and the yang copped on to acknowledging a complement.  It's late in the day and i should have breakfast....

PEACE ON TERRA ~~~~
Makes Rainbows ~

aka 

Deanthoir na tuar ceatha ~

aka RBM.*

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