IMAGICATIVITY.

On Thursday, December 25, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

Why should difference divide people when it’s what everything has in common? Having uniqueness in common we are all unified, like snowflakes. True unity is when the components are not merely interchangeable. ~

~~~~ ~~~~

It’s Christmas, though it could just be my imagination. Don’t misunderstand,

seasonal celebrations are of great importance. I think we can agree though, ‘it’s Christmas’ only to the extent that a majority agree to acquiesce to it’s being a literal reality.

Otherwise it isn’t.

So i’m not about to pick holes in anybody’s Swiss cheese, quite the opposite. Just to say that it shouldn’t be difficult to discern the difference between a consensus agreement, and an otherwise undisputable actuality. Taboo apart, it’s only Christmas to one who believes it is without question. You have until ‘next Christmas’ for the penny to drop.

Put simply, the word (any word), is not that which it refers to, but a coded significator to spark the imagination. Otherwise we could subsist on scraps of paper inscribed with the word ‘food.’

We recognize the difference between the signpost and the road, the label and the contents, the word and the actuality. Otherwise we remain ‘spell-bound’, and starve, going nowhere.

 

The whole point being, that what we call (only) imagination, is actually our greatest asset and attribute. Yet, when not recognized, realized and respected as such, is our delusion and downfall. Leaving us vulnerable to any and all verbal manipulation.

It’s one thing to call a spade a spade, but that’s merely an agreement so you don’t bring me a fork instead. A spade is not really a spade, but only referred to as such for convenience and the same goes for Christmas. Try asking for a spade in another country.

Such is the magical power of imagination and belief, that unless you have a handle on it, it will be handled for you by the handlers of society, and it is and they do. If they were to decree, ‘Christmas is now on midsummer’s day, (for your comfort)’, would you still firmly believe it to be Christmas, and enjoying it, eventually agree? They only have to check on you once a year.

The next question, why is (or was) it called the season of peace and goodwill for only a few days, when it coincides with ‘saturnalia’ and more, the rest of the year devoted to war, business as usual? Why not 364 days of peace and goodwill and a day off to freak out, or speak out? It’s a backward world that does everything in reverse. Which leads to a case in point, or a point just in case.

Multifarious multitudes of millions, bearing banners banning bullies with bombs. Brandishing upside down and in reverse CND peace symbols like sheep demanding their wool back.

Forgetting the tree of life grows up from the ground not upside down. When simply Googling the right ‘rune’ puts it straight.

Such is the force of unquestioned belief. Holding up targets thinking they are shields doesn’t sound like a wise strategy, magically counter-productive.

Wikipedia suggests even the designer himself was unsurprisingly unhappy, regretting what he’d done.

The rune ‘Algiz’ (right way up) protects from negativity, grounding it in the earth, where uranium belongs. Otherwise you could get struck by lightning or at least be self -disempowered. With so much emotive energy and belief invested, it only takes one psycho with a master copy to topple the dominoes, but such ideas always backfire when the intent is anti –life. Be a well-read rune, rotate sunwise and activate the tree of life.

A better bet would be, the symbiotic symbol of Yin/Yang unity, known as ‘the supreme ultimate.’ The ancient and elegantly simple circle-based epitome of the harmonious union and mutually arising complementarity of opposites. Where the existence of each, gives rise to the other. Each holding the seed of the other within its centre as a secondary link, or kingpin/queenpin. There is no better beautiful symbol of peace and unity, and turning it upside down makes no difference.

 

Recently, a friend produced a palm-full of crimson (spell it right) ‘fuchsia’ - flowers and some rose petals, and the deep crimson lent itself to being arranged on paper, a background white as snow. With a photo image to show how delicately it transformed into an intricate line of dancers. When i mentioned to my friend what i’d been party to the creation of, she said “good, i knew you would.”

As for the flaming flowers in the garden, actually being the fire in the grate reflected on window glass and captured accurately, this time, solely by reflection.

Similarly in the flow of the moment (how can a moment flow?), trawling through my photo folders for anomalous and unused shots.

An image that leaped out while walking leisurely in the woods. Scramble at the wayside foot of a pine stand slope, to where a random rounded rock reveals its profile. With a moss-encrusted rustic head-dress and even an eye if you look up close, pause the crack and crunch of dry detritus sticks to do a digital fix of a so called moment in the flow.

Also, closer to home, cabbage leaves envisioned as canvas-worthy, being literally lilac, turquoise, and soft yellow besides brassican green.

In one and the same plot where hydrangeas had bloomed, like soft firework displays muted in modest shade. The interesting intricacy of the ordinary is extraordinary. The flowers making the most graceful in close-up displays of petal-face greeting. Turning to sparse simplicity like Zen butterflies at the season’s turn, breeze-blown soft pastel blue-pink wings in the shade.

Not unrelated, since being a spontaneous sunward shot from the self-same spot, with either a lens flare or digitally purple orb above the sun.

Slumbering in smoky molten gold beyond the peninsula, between dark house shapes and backyard walls. All in a quick shutter’s click of a moment which had already changed imperceptibly, without having for a micro-second ceased to be now.

So how about the Tao, the Dao (the Dow), the largely ‘forgotten but not gone’ original face of the familiar?

Being a compilation, a combination of imagination, image magic, and creativity. I call it imagicativity. ~

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

Rainbowmaker.

NEW WINTER COAT.

On Monday, December 15, 2014, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

It’s not that everything is connected, it’s that there are no separate bits to connect.

~~~~

Small birds flit and flutter in the bare branch back yard web of willow twigs. Fleeting forays foraging from the feeder. Leaves yellowing to ochre scattered on the cold damp ground.

Duffle pockets yet again in need of needle and the black thread knotted in a tangle and lost against the black hooded and toggled coat with sleeve split under the arm.

Imagining and visualizing in moments what kind of coat to substitute whether for wet, wind, or cold of winter. Something loose like a cloak to cover the knees, or even tweed to wrap around like a native blanket without the need for slick oilskin or flapping synthetic plastic.

Backdrop of dusk stretched behind the dark drab street and small town country market stalls dismantled. Another quick look in a charity shop before leaving on foot up the hill.

The theme being the quickening of dream, the imagination, the continuity of visualization, its manifestation neglected as art lost and forgotten as last night’s dream in the self-same seam-free subconscious.

A long overcoat hangs half hidden waiting in the wings of the material realm. Seeming to be the only one in town of all shops of dream remnants and wasn’t there before, but i was confident it would be.

Near closing, the little lady checking the day’s takings helps me into a large loose coat with “oh it ‘is’ a man’s.” Feels comfortable, impeccable as new for just ten euros, and i keep it on round the clock glad of a good winter coat.

Still coat clad later by the fire and curious what i’m wearing, a distinctly well-made garment. Mysteriously shifting between dark grey to brown with the light and a hint of thin stripe, and like fine fur, grows in one direction down for run off of rain.

Label of obscure Europan origin bearing three animal heads, Sheep, Alpaca, Angora goat. With a conscience hoping the animals were unharmed, not shot by arrow from horseback like a buffalo or caged and abused. Checking online to find the creatures sheared but otherwise content, and who with what vibration wore this finely tailored garment?

Realizing the unknown is all for me to heal, and permeate with thankfulness and high vibrations from inside out. I fill the room with sage smoke, wafting with words to the four directions, plus Mother Earth, Sky, Heart, and incense lit.

‘Mitakuye oyasin’, (all our relations) blessed. Celebrate the night by flickering firelight with Spanish guitar and healing vibrations wrapped in a coat of songs.

Wishing only to be inspired and inspire, through the universality of all art. Satisfied the totem animals i wear came to no harm other than a summer haircut, my play becomes a photo shoot before the night is out.

With the product of recalibrated pelt laid rumpled and loose across a chair with silkworm scarf for sky. Improvising landscapes just for fun and this is the result.

So celebrate, lest we forget, art is first of all respect for all nature sacred emerging in mind from the seam-free continuum. Generosity shared in the spirit of gratitude for food, clothing, and shelter. 

 

 

May we all be warm in winter, harming nothing, creating beauty, speaking truthfully, and amending without need for mending, thanks to a new winter coat.~

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

Martin Rainbowmaker.

RIVER IN AUTUMN.

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

Talking of rambles in the wood along the river in autumn and the process of the painting of the same name.

The meandering serpentine long intestine of artistic assimilation of nature’s nutritious

impressions, photographically captured, compared, and contemplated to a refined mulch.

Imagination blending celtic autumn realms with overtones of Sung dynasty landscape scrolls evocative of profound integrity refined, and wild abundance of woods and thickets in the mist somehow weaves through archetypal images along the riverbank.

Being the epitome of the opposite of all brash trash, leaving only calm naturalness just as it is.

Enlarging photos on a screen to skim the rippled water with an urge for soft pencil on pure primed white wove dot grain texture of taut canvas.

Two attempts in a row to freely draw two different things, both duly erased for being not yet it.

Yet somehow organically the scene i’d seen emerged from the leeway of memory and actually manifesting optical perspective.

Thereby spontaneously immersed for two evenings until dawn, carefully coaxing on to canvas with a lean pencil point slantwise.

Pencils are important, mightier than a Mars probe and better for drawing. The pencil is a versatile tool, it does what you want it to do, doesn’t require recharging and doesn’t eavesdrop or intrude in your drawing room.

And more, the un-camouflaged and unedited loose tangle of hair-like windblown lines and soft graphite shading can then be turned to tone, or stone, with just the faintest wish of a wash of a fine soft water filled brush.

Lightly illuminating spaces between forms contained, leaves a web-work tracery like mosaics of stained glass. Linear contour of rock and root mutate in a weave of webbed lines soft as a whisper at first, serving to bring into relief what emerges from smudged anomalies.

Forms following their own uncontrived authenticity either gel, or transmute accordingly. Anomalous brush marks randomly hint arboreal runes of entrance to portals and dimensions.

And like a river in late autumn going with the flow, foibles, failings, fables, and all. Playful and guided by true imagination

A muse, an amusing but somehow unassuming word to use. In respect of cultured discipline, frugal refinement of pine wood smoke ink dilutions, and minimal colour on soft white.

RIVER IN AUTUMN, is a monochrome with muted minimal colour fresh off the brush. Being both painting, and by contrast, drawing, reflecting elemental water wisdom in swirls and spirals.

A pencil has potential and you don’t need stencils, move out of that groove. First we were assaulted by a civilization of boxes only to be bombarded with sacred geometry

So, pause and gaze at the world of all that flows, specific foam shapes swirl in vortices defying rigours and rules, arbitrary structure, gracing the floating world with outrageous circles and cycles of free form flow.

Think of this panel as a portion of pencil poetry in process. Imagine it as being a primal piece of pagan patchwork embroidery. With a blend of hanging bamboo landscape scrolls and Sung dynasty elementals of literary ink. This product is free of all anti-occidents.~

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

Martin Rainbowmaker.

MOUNTAINS MOVE.

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

‘Unless your heart be the size of a grain of mustard seed, mountains are moving.’~

It may be true to say that mountains move. At least, whenever i look i find them to be moving. Better still than moving mountains is to be able to be moved by them. Though many may remain unmoved, and move along lacking a loving look.

It may be true to say that mountains rise up from the earth, and equally true to say they fall down to the sea. They are even seen to be rising from the deep. Diving like leviathans down to the ocean floor, only to arise again as a distant shore.

Peaks are often seen in passing, half hidden by a range of hoary hills. Like diving dolphin fins, or starkly surreal as spectral ships with sombre silhouetted sails.

 

Vanishing behind rising ridges like humpback whales with scaly skin, brooding dark against a sinking twilight sky.

While, on a still and distant gulling cry of day, a blue limpid liquid mirror laps. Fringed by froth and foam of lulling fronds, the slow rise and fall seeps back between singing stones, a line erased to sink in silted sand. The swish and pull of the swaying sea.

Low window view between backyard walls, of a distant peak. A constant kitchen companion, weather warning from the west. When opaque grey approaching rain, blanks the mountain long before a downpour pelts the glass.

A quiet inner affection pervades all such small familiar facets and details of the day. The worldly world of war regards as mundane facts, void of innate significance. Insulating ego from feeling, present poetic beauty in the ordinary.

Naturally, noting such as being signs and promptings for projects of imaginative creation, the mountain called forth an intent, the seed of peak experience. Through days of late November rains.

A new day dawned though i woke late, to a pure blue oasis of a day. Down to the round curved strand and jutting headland. Flat low tide around the promontory point, to see what the sea had to say.

Zooms fall short of the pyramid-peak, rugged ridged with rounded shoulders down, and the island’s tail bearing small green fields below.

Boulders backed by a cleft cliff face, scattering the rock strewn place. Black stones green stained dragged down to where the tide turns.

Spreading outward across a smooth expanse of unprecedented cloud-free cobalt sky and sea, such that adequate words fail me.

The focus of original intent ‘literally’ moved by circumstance or chance, to ‘pan out’ (could that be a pagan term?) the context all inclusive and there may be a lesson there.

Being but an exploratory trawl, casting about for artistic inspiration and netting a good catch, twenty seven shots in all. Many other possible focusses reflected on along the way in coming round to the point.

But what a calm and tranquil sea. Cloud-free sky as blue as blue can be.

A wish of peace in late November.

Images of beauty to remember. ~

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

Martin Rainbowmaker.

Quantum Autumn.

On Mon, Nov 10, 2014 at 12:47 AM, Martin Law <martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:

 

Good artistic quantum hunting day today, Nov. 9. in coillte Gleann Garbh, woods of the 'rough glen', Glengarriff.  Took 22 potshots with my digital bow & studying the results on computer. Quantum (refers to evolution of artistic eye) by stark contrast with a lifetime of spools of many miss shots in the thicket.

 Whatever about planetary raising of frequencies it shows through whatever art one is engaged in.  Enough of a day's catch to step up the painterly input of inspiration for the foreseeably imaginative future, learning a lot of leaps by just looking.

 'Quantum Autumn' now there's a title !  Has an almost Book of Kells illuminated look about it, and 13 letters too, numerically symbolic of quantum leaps, actually. 

Passovers of November showers in light like Constable captured.  Rainbow arc painted on scowling slate sky. Tapestries of illuminated oak twigs etched in white, startling against leaden purplish grey, the leaf fall in antique gold.  Beech browns deluge down thunderous white water over obsidian glazed black boulders shouldering ever green goths of moss and iron cast roots, a sheer drop to fast flowing dark and brackish water.

 Watch your step on shiny rounded cetacean slabs where the slow dark mirror shape shifts into a weir, medieval oak leafshapes collage patterns on gemstone pebbles in shallow pools between clefts, shimmering upside down bare black branches overarching the torrent.

  Rock grey here is dark and wet with Celtic green.  Meandering beech brown mosaic carpet pasted and rain pitted to the path.

At leisure later diving into images with the zoom.  Microscopic bunji jumps on a safe screen, splitting atoms and molecules beyond surface appearance, delving beyond delusive structures, noting how disintegrating dots link up like pearl strings to form the world we walk within, food for unthinking future brush work.

So, turning away as the last looming shower of the day, glazes a paler grey, dimming the illumined face of the frowning peak.  Following along by fast paced waters under ancient oaks.  Down pre

carious steep stone steps to take five parting shots from the lip of a lapped rock promontory at water level in mid stream.

Rehearsed seasons ago from the same spot with a crap camera and now remembering to return.

Shooting straight upstream into the mouth of swirling silken eddies and swirls, overhung with bare black branches and deep green banks.  Bull's eye parting shots where the body of Kerry River water swells out from a distant nexus along a timeless tunnel of oak lined banks, a monochromatic icon of all archetypal and dragonish rivers of vision, dark, majestic, and slow.  So, there you go, on with the flow. ~

~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~

Martin Rainbowmaker.

A SOFT RAIN MOOD.

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

Elusive mystery sublime.

Sombre, soulful, distant, grey.

Far horizons under rain.

~~~~

The living planet has changing modes or moods, that sweep across her surface like the subtle flicker of expressions across a human face.

These ever changing expressions are not simply ‘out there’, in a world separate from ourselves, but are modes of the Earth-mind, simultaneously reflected on the soul-screen consciousness of her sentient creatures.

Timeless, archetypal, and indivisible from the whole soul presence of the planetary Goddess, (being by definition she who gives birth to everything, everywhere, forever.)

 

VISUALIZATION:

While assembling a few specific words to evoke memory in imagination, i also did a small pencil sketch, only three inches square, to make it exactly visual. Pencils are perfect for visualizing.

Somehow, working that small, concentrates the focus of imagination. Feeling from within, softly coaxing and allowing an image which wishes to emerge in form. It’s a receptive, perhaps more than a projective process.

The pencil draws without pressure, on paper. The imagination draws on memory impressions. I feel my way into an imagined place, seeing into the subtle shorthand as if i was really there. Invoking a situation i would like to be in. Pinpointing precise characteristics, tonal relationships.

Most people think rain is a nuisance and it can seem so unless you’re dying of thirst, and that, ‘vision’ has something to do with opticians and short-sightedness. Whereas, what manifested here from nowhere in particular, was envisioned.

FOUNDATION.

Transpose the seedling idea into a larger pot, in this case a canvas, primed to the right degree between rough and smooth, relative to the detail and direction of brushwork intended.

I transferred all spatial relationships from the sketch to the canvas by measured marks on the edge of a cigarette paper packet, proportionately into the equivalent in inches.

For example, it’s important how high or low the horizon is, because that’s the eye level in the landscape. The higher the horizon the higher we are above ground, the lower it is, the closer our viewpoint is to the ground. It had to be exact. An original sketch often has features worth preserving.

Grey: A sober substance that expresses tonal density. Neutral and dispassionate with a kind of dignified gravity, unattached to any particular feelings of colour vibration. The gravitas of tonality. Degrees on the tonal spectrum between the void of oblivion and the plenitude of lightness. Tonality is an emotive factor.

The same applies to the tone of a colour, but with grey it’s not attached to any predominant area of feeling. Grey is like a background foil that serves to enhance the qualities of any colour it’s put next to by being neutral.

Combining neutral with primary and secondary colours has a lot of possibilities. It exercises an element of restraint in the all too common tendency to indulge in too many oversweet colours at once, thereby losing the theme. There are millions of examples of this on the internet.

It’s all about relationships, and ‘too many cooks can spoil the broth.’ Unless you prefer orgies to mutual understandings. I have explored the purest of combinations of primary and secondary colours in abstract and geometrical formations previously. What i’d call naked and intimate colour harmonies. But harmony is still about natural optimal mutual balance.

For anybody who thinks that landscape painting is somehow opposed to abstraction, this one small example is a lead-in to the sensual intuitive science which it is. But it’s about feeling-tone, and memory impressions, and what most epitomizes those impressions.

I’m focusing here on the subtle aesthetic properties of grey by contrast with popular prejudice. Something quite distinct from, ‘grey clothes are boring, grey streets are drab, grey skies are depressing’, etc.

It’s in the perception of the beholder, whether or not you bring love to something just as it is. Or whether you bring concepts of judgement and preformed prejudice.

Rocks and mountains are grey, skies are grey for a large part of the year, many birds and animals including cats are grey and we love to stroke them. So there’s nothing inherently negative about any of that

FOUNDATION (continued.)

So, i painted a neutral grey, positioning everything in its right relationship, and everything ‘is’ relationship. I learn much of relevance to relationship through painting. It’s not as if art only pertains to ‘an art form’ and not to life as a whole.

The truth that everything is inter-related and inter-dependent, which is a whole learning of non-duality, the one insight that can stop us screwing up the world we are one-with so badly.

The fundamental insight that divisions don’t divide, they unify. As in, ‘who’s fence is it, mine or my neighbour’s?’ Silly question, and not one that need cause offence, though it often does, and globally. Who’s national border is it?

Ours, right. We all have difference in common, it’s a mutual agreement. Distinctness is the surest sign of underlying unity. There’s never a ‘this’ without a ‘that’, and being spell bound by the magic of words we choose one and reject the other and think that’s what we are, when it’s a mutual relationship.

ILLUMINATION.

Enlivening the panel of grey sky, breathing life of the memory of clouds into it. From slow moving overcast brooding density down to distant horizons. Creating aerial space in full spectral distance. Softly modifying and blending nuances of authentic atmospherics.

Atmospheric means no harsh contrast must leap out, nothing too arbitrary. Attending to this, watchfully, mindful of distance, forms unfold organically by themselves. Bringing farsighted hypnotic horizons, where the slow motion action is, into full binocular view. Modulating appropriate muted colour tones of far off fields, illuminating tree tops in a rare ray of late light.

 

CULMINATION.

Accumulating layers of illumination, miniscule modification, fine-tuning, following, flowing with, and filling in the filigree of implied underlying organic web work, funnelling down to culmination and completion. Ten hours in all, not counting preparation.

Or the many contemplative tea and smoke breaks. Sipping in sweet silence of solitude, scanning every centimetre for anomalies. Anomalies in the flow, small but glaring glitches, calling for further attention and reintegration. From the viewpoint of a perfectionist squint with a night owl’s laser vision into the sensed but unseen. There’s always more lurking in there.

Till it ultimately winds down, to the relief of let-go, let it be, satisfactory enough to matt varnish, blend and homogenize any subtle glitch or glare to photograph, and leave well alone, looking long, cup in hand.

I wished for a way to share

and say, under clouds of soulful grey,

far horizons under rain.

Obscures a line of distant hills,

merging neutral tones of earth,

timelessness beyond the world.

Fields of melancholy grey,

mystically turn away.

A half remembered ancient dream.

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

Martin Rainbowmaker~

Art:

  A SOFT RAIN MOOD, martin law, Nov 2014

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.