Ritual Journeys Issue #5 December 2006
(every wiseman's son doth know).
Every act from which we're gleaning,
Every sack that we must sow
Gives rise to tides that make us wise;
Gives humor chance for binding wounds.
Does good these ancient weary eyes
To dance abandoned round the moon.
The Music of Eld.
In olden days they lingered at the edge of evening,
lovers of beauty and players of strange pipes and harps:
although I remember, in my youth, being told
not to listen to the outre songs they sang
for, the visiting Friar insisted,
the Children of the Twilight had no mortal souls or hearts,
- being not of Adam's flesh
nor having tasted Eve's sweet milk,
though just who their primal mother or father might be
he would not say, Pan perhaps or Satan himself,
that fell to Earth on leaden wings
to teach to Man forbidden things...
But being young and holding all authority in scorn,
I heeded not the Friar's words
and often wandered in the hills
at the time of gloaming and dusk
where day's last ribbons linger still
to greet the light the first stars bring...
and oft I sat, my soul entranced,
to hear that weird music ring, mystical and wonderful,
over hillsides thick with shadow
and over my young mortal soul
traipsed such rare and wonderful things
- ancient joys and ancient sorrows
I could not put a name to,
though the Church might call them 'folly' or 'sin',
ters I find as inaccurate today
as I did even then...
Once, enamored of that alien music,
I crept with careful stealth and skill,
through dark glade and o'er dark hill
to where, within a ring of stones
I saw where elfin maidens danced
as goat-hooved minstrels played a jig
on weird pipes and fiddle-strings
and in my breast my heart grew wings
and, alas, my ankles too
for up I leapt to join the throng
but just to see the elf maids laugh
and turn as if to vaporous gas
- though the goat-hooved lads proved solid still
and beat me for my churlish pains
so when next morn a farmer found me
laying in a ditch of rain
I was sore bruised from head to toe
and though I never more did go
and seek to gaze upon that folk,
their music lingers in my brain
and laying in my bed at night
I still can hear its wild refrain
and restlessness comes to my toes
so that I have to grip my bed
with two strong hands and thoughts of lead
in case my wayward feet are led
to follow where the Twilight Folk
sing and dance beneath the stars
where even saints and the blessed dead
might hesitate to wander
if they had seen what I had seen
and glimpsed the face of that fair Queen,
so mischievous and mocking...
(c) Aaron Staengl
I fell in love with you ten thousand years ago
in the infancy of the world,
in the age of common miracle
when the oceans were young with laughter
and the ancient forests green and tender.
We walked on golden sand still warm
with the kiss of the very first dawn,
the birds that flew above our heads
driven to intoxicated song by the touch
of the Creator's hand warm against their flesh
as He molded their breasts and wings
and breathed flight into them.
We saw the dance of the ecstatic rainbow-sylphs
above the glass and diamond cities of the Spider-people
who governed the world when the Deluge receded,
as raindrops like jewels of liquid fire
sheathed the gossamer aerial fretwork
of their fantasies and dreams with halos and patinas
borrowed from the ether
- needle spires of turquoise, ruby, sapphire and topaz,
minarets of black opal and white diamond,
staircases of rose-coloured marble,
balconies of filligreed silver,
delicate windows that opened onto myriads and myriads
of fey and outre Otherworlds
peopled by giant telepathic butterflies,
super-intelligent porpoise or intricate crystals
of cosmically aware salts arranged in
ever-changing mandalas and pictograms of sentient structure.
Today those ancient Kingdoms are written into and constitute
commonplace parts of the genetic code of men and women
and numerous other species scattered throughout the Holoverse
- but in those days they were giant and tangible realities
peopled by the hidden Energies that later came to be known
as Angels, Demons and Djinn.
We played with Christ and Lucifer on the lawns of the Morning
as the stars of Twilight spun above their dreaming cots
and Danu suckled them at her two swollen breasts,
one milky white, the other black as ebony.
We sat in awe and gazed at the soft effulgence streaming
from the face of the Feminine Principle
softly shadowed by the living crown of her hair
wherein a thousand million planets and solar-systems
danced and twinkled merrily;
we listened and marvelled at the music that Her Handmaidens played
on heavenly lutes, flutes, harps, sitars and harmonicas.
We ran with Shiva and Krsna over emerald meadows
with grass as tall as mountains and dew-drops
as vast as life-teeming oceans.
I held your perfect hand in mine as we joyfully approached
the Throne of our Father to receive His Blessing
and be picked up to sit upon His lotus-blossomed lap.
The Gods and Goddesses of a thousand mythologies
were our playmates and companions:
Agni and Artemis, Indra and Hephaetos,
Apollo, Freya, Ishtar and Chrysanthemum.
On a morning that lasted for centuries of what counts as time for men,
we watched the rising and subsequent fall of Mu and Atlantis
and when, at noon of that same day, the bright civilisations
of China and India flowered and opened their delicate petals to the sun,
we clapped our hands and listened in delight
to the songs and prayers of their Rsi's and Immortals,
the haiku of courtly nobles, the tiny jewelled poems of Li Po and Tu Fu.
We admired the cave-painting of early man in his
underground cathedrals of rock and stone
and followed the progress of Michaelangelo as he painted the ceiling
of the Cistine chapel with his vision.
We witnessed the atrocities of Genghiz Khan, Hitler, Pol Pot
and the other little men who tried to fashion the world
in the shapes of their tiny desires and philosophies;
we cried in pity at the white flowers of cancer
burning in the hearts and souls of women and men
even as we admired their pure and ineffable beauty.
As I stood in Ankhor Wat surrounded by a thousand sleeping and dreaming Gods,
my eyes full of burning tears,
I turned to find some comfort in your familiar gaze
- but you were gone!
The monsoon rains fell upon me there as I stood for hours, months, years:
the warm wet tears of thousands upon thousands of deities and divinities,
thousands upon thousands of women, children and men
The endless monsoon rain fell upon me as I stood numb,
amazed, transfixed, astounded, terrified, lost...
Where had you fled to?
where had you vanished?
who had snatched you from my side in the golden afternoon
- was I awake or dreaming;
was all of this creation a micro-thin bubble that might burst at any moment,
a phantasmal film of soapy colour painted upon nothing?
I fell in love with you ten thousand years ago
in the infancy of the world,
in the age of common miracle
when the oceans were young with laughter
and the ancient forests green and tender.
As I sit now in this tiny dingy room
in the delapidated heart of Old Saigon
and listen to the endless traffic outside my window
and the whining of the dirty fan above my head
I wonder if this little dream will ever end
and I try to imagine your familiar voice
calling to me over the gleaming liquid emeralds
of the rice paddies.
I look to the sun between the wooden window slats
but it is shrouded by a dull brownish haze
and there is a ring of black fire burning at its rim.
I hear the sounds and voices of a thousand other worlds
come and go between the squealing of brakes,
the honking of horns, the ringing of bicycle bells,
the cries of food-vendors, the clamour and clangour
of yet another evening.
I lay down upon my narrow bed
but it is still far too early to sleep...
When evening's shadows brushed my soul with their velvet lips
I lay upon my bed of dreams,
scattered with twilight's cushions,
and watched the tiny stars that stole out from the earth
to stream across the horizon
and whisper their familiar tales within my ears.
Who can count the years or tears the many stars have witnessed,
the tragedies and passions with which they regale my senses
as the universe and Time wheel over me
as the active world sleeps
- or is does it also listen to the songs of the stars?
They tell me of the seven white swans who ascended
to Heaven to meet celestial mates;
and the seven bright stars who fell in love
with seven silvery rivers
and threw themselves to earth to woo them;
they tell me the ancient tale of the swarming fireflies
that flew out of the heart of God to become the original Suns
whose children are the stars,
and the dragons and salamanders they slowly incubate in their
white hot, molten wombs before depositing them
in the brains of prophets, poets and children.
They tell me of empires already in their dotage
when Mu first reared its battlements
out of the ancient Pacific slime;
of the Sun that so loved one of its planet's moons
that it bent down low to kiss her
- at which the maidenly moon demurely retreated
and fell into the planet's ocean,
shattering into a thousand fragments
and extinquishing all life upon that world .
They tell me of the race of Elves
who left the Earth in her infancy
to travel to her invisible sister planet
on the far side of the Moon,
forever hidden to the eyes of men
by the darkness of space
and the shadows on their hearts.
They tell me of lovers and poets,
artists and shaman-warriors;
architects, dreamers and gardeners;
sailors on uncharted seas,
doomed voyages and unlikely heroes
- and when the Morning comes
and Sleep finally enters my grey and mortal brain,
when the sordid Sun comes knocking at my door
with his realistic truths and overbright colours,
they quietly steal back into the earth
and the infinite spaces hidden within her breast,
whilst I must dress myself in the gaudy tatters of day
and stumble through this weary waking life,
a comet on some peculiar fitful orbit,
now flaring brightly,
now barely visible against the
bright darkness of noon...
But come the gentle evening again,
then purple shadows brush my soul with their velvet lips
and I lay upon my bed of dreams,
scattered with twilight's cushions
and the flower of my heart opens its petals
to the perfumed songs of Infinity
and the siren blossoms of the stars.
A Love Like That
The rain falls on thirsty ground,
And the clouds do not ask for their water back.
The shadow stretches across the sand,
And the grove does not ask for its shade back.
The tide climbs up the empty beach,
And the sea does not ask for its salt back.
The wind roves over the open dunes,
And the air does not ask for its breath back.
The stars shine in the endless sky,
And the night does not ask for its light back.
The sand pours through the glass,
And the day does not ask for its hours back.
Imagine a love like that, and you will begin
To understand how God thinks of you.
Copyright Elizabeth Barrette 2003
(c) 2006 All International Rights Reserved by Myztico
image and words by Sunomi
I am the Black Star Jaguar Warrior Fool
I am the Gatekeeper of the Unknowable
I am the Shapeshifter
moving without fear through the darkness.
As the sun at midday,
I am the Solar Eagles flying high in the sky.
I am also the hidden sun
who plunges below the horizon at dusk into the darkness.
As you face your challenges and are transformed
I shapeshift into the Black Star Jaguar Sun.
I am the force which resides in the mountains
that gives them their volcanic and transformative power
I am this underworld force of power.
I am the Black Star Jaguar
I am the Gatekeeper of the Void
who gives you the ability to renew yourself
as you surrender the unreal into the Fire of Illimination
in the Temple of your own Inner Sun.
I give you the power to be born anew
bringing heaven to earth, uniting the light of day
with the darkness of night.
I am the Eagle/Jaguar Shield
which I lovingly gift you each with.
Will you journey with me?
I am the Sacred Heyokah Warrior Fool
teaching through laughter and opposites
diminishing fear through humour.
My shield holds the power
to integrate the paradox of opposites.
As the Ancient Power of Creation
I am form and formlessness.
I am the Eternal Flame burning timelessly in all form.
"Face-off" (c) Robert Simon
Non-Interpretive Dreamwork for the Active Body
©1990 Antero Alli. All Rights Reserved.
From the Australian Aborigines' dreaming camps to the Senoi dream councils of Malaysia to Native American vision quests, traditional ceremonies have existed for ages as a way of entering and exiting the multidimensional "dreamtime". What do we mean by dreamtime? More "civilized" cultures certainly know what it's like to go to sleep and dream. In these dreams, we are sometimes aware of a "dream self" engaged in various activities in the "dreamland" it inhabits. Now, according to many native peoples, when we awake the next morning it is because this previous dream self went to sleep (in its dreamtime) in order to dream us into being. Ancient dream theory tells us we are all dreaming and/or being dreamed amidst the dreamtime.
A ritual is any external (kinetic) activity capable of catalyzing, at will, specific internal (psychic) states of consciousness. Dreaming rituals are designed by piecing actual dream remnants together for the purpose of energizing the "dreamstate" into consciousness while awake. Dreaming rituals have been done for any combination of the following four reasons:
1. Spiritual: to know unity between "dreamtime" and "daytime" realities.
2. Psychic: to enter the dream with the intention of stalking movements.
3. Emotional: to bypass psychological interpretation in lieu of catharsis.
4. Physical: to express the dream essence through the body in action.
Those wishing to test their inner sense, or intuition, with dreams may do so by considering the following step-by-step ritual instructions and suggestions. The ritual is kinetic; to do it, you have to move your body. The approach is non-interpretive; it does not require that you know (or try and figure out) what your dream "means". By relaxing the search for meaning, an inherent design may eventually emerge on its own. There is also nothing you need to believe in or disbelieve for this to work.
The Dream Task Itself
You will need enough dream memory to recall a movement. It can be any movement at all... like a windblown cloud... or a slithering snake... or the slightest turn of your head. It doesn't have to be executed by your dreamself; it just has to originate in your dream. The main thing to remember is to select a movement you can physically duplicate upon waking the next morning. This movement will be your Dream Task. By practicing it throughout the day (at least three times), the body can absorb it as memory for future recall to energize, or charge, the actual ritual later on.
The best time to do your Dream Task is anytime. If you're doing it with other dreamers, do it in front of each other. If you do it alone, you may want to engage privately (unless you don't mind expressing socially incongruous gestures in the midst of innocent people watching on) or, maybe you simply don't wish to explain yourself.
As you do your Dream Task, stay as close as you can to the way it actually happened in your dream. This will help contain the power of the dream that activates the dreaming ritual later on. As you perform your movement, it may trigger memories and/or emotions associated with the dream. If this happens, just take a deep breath and continue executing the task. (Breathing is a good way to register whatever state you're in, dreaming or awake.) Remember, we are not searching for meaning here but stalking dream movements and replicating them upon waking without embellishment.
When the day is over ask yourself to remember a new dream movement before going to sleep again. When you awake the next morning, execute this motion immediately before doing anything else. (If and when dream memory falters, lie still in bed a few minutes... listening and paying attention to whatever comes up.) Do this new movement throughout the day, just like you practiced the other one. When it's time to go to sleep again, stalk one more movement and practice it the next day. By this time, you will have three separate movements drawn from actual dreams. They can be from separate dreams or, if you remember more than one, from the same dream. All three movements are associated by the virtue of their common link with the dreamtime. By repeating these Dream Tasks every day, strands of your dreams begin their weave into the fabric of your daily life. You are now ready to combine all three movements and activate the dreaming ritual itself.
On Ritual Preparations
Three movements are used to reflect the mythic, or story, device of a beginning, middle and end. When you have practiced three separate dream movements, you are ready to enter the movement cycle that energizes the Dreamtime Ritual. You can do so as soon as you find or create a controlled setting... any indoor or outdoor place where you will not be interrupted for about an hour or so. Arrange the setting to ensure the greatest sense of privacy and safety for yourself. A ritual works when you can be vulnerable enough to be influenced by the force(s) you are summoning, in this case the force of the dreamtime. Do whatever you can to own the space of this setting and sanctify it for this purpose (sometimes candles, incense and personal icons can help do this). After you have prepared the space, practice each movement separately to refresh your kinetic memory... so your body knows each one by heart. (For details on a more thorough ritual preparation, see principles and techniques.)
On Building the Movement Cycle
We start by "stitching" the end of the first movement to the beginning of the second movement to form a longer movement combining the two. Practice this for about two minutes. Then, stitch the end of the second movement to the beginning of the third to create a new movement combining all three together. Practice this until your body has memorized it. Finally, make a total movement cycle by connecting the end of the third motion to the start of the first one. Practice this movement cycle until it becomes its own dance expressing its own rhythms. Let these rhythms emerge and influence the form and design of the dance. Keep dancing and following its innate waves and pulses... letting them move you towards its own kind of altered state. Allow any dream memory or feeling to come up as you move deeper into its ongoing motion.
No-Form: On Charging the Ritual
Visually and physically, mark a large egg-shaped oval on the floor before you; spacious enough to move freely in. Stand outside the oval while facing its center. Enter a meditative state wherein you empty your mind of all thoughts and allow yourself to BE NOTHING. From this "potential void state", what I will call No-Form, send everything you know and don't know about dreams into the space of the oval setting. Get a sense of the space being filled with "the stuff of dreams." Now, send your kinetic memory of the movement cycle you just finished inside to mix with the dream. Return to No-Form. Relax your desire to control any outcomes and allow the dreamstate its own life in the space before you.
After giving yourself over to No-Form (enough to experience a profound state of receptivity), enter the charged "dream" space and allow its force to enter you. Then, begin the first part of your movement cycle. (Note: Your movement cycle may not proceed at the exact same pace, form or rhythm due to the additional "dream charge".) Allow yourself to be moved through the cycle by the force of the dreaming itself. Do not direct this force but let it guide you. Create space for it to direct you through the movement cycle... over and over again.
The point here is to keep following through with the movement cycle while your consciousness is flooded with the dreaming. Allow any images and emotions to flow up and influence you. Stay with this until you personally feel finished, and then exit the circle to re-enter No-Form. Take some time emptying out... of not being anything... releasing the dream back to its source. When you feel more "neutral" again, i.e. not identified with the dream state. The ritual is over.
Closure: On Integrating the Ritual
If you can, write down your experiences and/or talk about them with others. This can help integrate the more intuitive "depth experience" with your interpretive, conceptual mind. It will also help create a transition from the dreamtime back into the daytime with all of its incumbent responsibilities. The No-Mind state expresses an essential transition between the dreamtime and daytime, without which you may just wander around under the influence of the dreamstate. This is not so bad in itself unless you wish to return to present time and live your real life. It is also not a good idea to drive an automobile and/or operate machinery under the influence of the omnipresent dreamtime.
There are many ritual variations each culture has within its own dreaming traditions and many more versions with each individual response to them. The significance of ritualizing our dreams is highly personal. I believe the actual meaning of the dreaming ritual (and dreams) comes from the dream itself, rather than what conceptual mind decides about it. Experience has shown me, time and time again, that the degree of commitment shown in the ritual preparations determines the quality and depth of the outcome. As we consciously participate in dreaming enactment, a living ritual is born.
(c) 2006 By Terra Wolfe
Pile offerings high on the long table.
Make the candles blaze.
Wine has bubbled over the sacrificial animal,
scented with herbs,
circled with roots.
in the aroma.
Wine spins red lights across the lace.
Observe the ceremony.
Become the ceremony.
with chant and music.
Angular shapes of knowledge,
smooth waves of enchantment
on hot columns of flame.
From the skin of the forearms
dance the sparks
and volume soars.
Knowledge hones its words
Magic hums the ancient earthsong.
Like dust in a rush of air.
cuts the smoky night.
Melody swirls light
Syllables of sarcasm
in quiet urgency.
Steel-tasting colors of fear
Whirl like broom dust.
drift into smoke,
disappear into shadows.
Scent of prince on the morning light
Clings to windows
in finger tracings.
"Figuring It Out" (c) Tantra Bensko
The sound of dishes
In a restaurant clattering
from table to table,
and the sound of my parents' voices
cold in the air outside
full of globed breaths.
It was winter.
A new peace settled in me,
as if I were looking forward to something.
30 years later,
I look backwards,
at the endings--
you walked with me.
I remember your voice
as we crossed the boardwalk,
In the here and now.
"I don’t understand
why I have these afflictions," you said.
single now, I walk
through red, sorrowful days,
my only connections
to books and trees.
half-magical invisible-handed death,
do you know each of us
as we are known?
No one has opened up
the doors of the next world early for me,
to see what it is like.
Will I see you there Mary?
Will seagulls call out
into the emptiness
of their of their new blue home?
So I speak to you,
watch over me,
Call me from the
long stretch of white
where I look forward to nothing,
of far cliffs and humpbacked mountains
where you wait for me still.
(c) Linda Benninghoff
(c) Ian Pyper
Soon I will need all the silence
of this morning to shield me:
snow falling through emptiness,
the last five leaves on a tree, abrupt in the sky,
like five flat hands, gathering whiteness.
I am growing very patient inside,
and I am going far
over some shaking emptiness,
till I can come back,
needing this silent morning.
(c) Linda Benninghoff
Today I come down
to this place with nerves
where last year the bluefish
jumped over the sea.
We threw lines to them,
my father, brother and I,
tightened our backs
and pulled them toward us.
They slid out of the sea,
On dry land ,
they looked up at us
with hardened eyes
sharp fin and tight mouths,
knowing they did not belong to us.
Today the sea is empty.
The crest shrivels
away from the wave,
like scraps of paper
left in a spiral notebook
My brother has moved away,
my father and I speak rarely,
and all summer
the fish have not jumped
even for an evening.
I think how
even after placing
the skin of bluefish
on the dull newspaper
looks like tossed away silver,
is wild still,
and never ours.
(c) Linda Benninghoff
"Third Eye" (c) Tantra Bensko
Let me know you are there-
just a twinkle of your eye.
Your mystery is so well hidden
by the turning of time.
Torment is sitting by the window
I hope for a fingertip of comfort.
You are my awe.
But weave not a melody.
But weave not a melody.
Your magic shatters my heart.
Embarked on a compulsive quest;
I look into space
trying to catch my spell-caster.
A tiny streak of light
hit me headlong and I stumbled.
You are my wonder.
But are you my answer?
You don't exist yet you shine.
I see the child in you; the death of eternity.
I wonder if you are, like Man,
who adores mindless admiration?
I want to tell you so much
that you, are my awe.
Shall Death be a veil for Immortality?
There are secrets flowing in me.
Every night my lamentation
soar and sing,
whimpering about what the dawn
You are my awe.
Fruition Lifting into Muse (c) Greg Edwards
An Angular spire
reaches into the horizon.
A stern finger.
A white-washed cross.
This one’s not so rugged.
A clinical crucifix,
unblemished by dirty grace,
sits with condescending brightness
above the chapel.
rise and fall
within the walls.
Mingle with incense and fragrant offerings.
The collared man
with cloth and symbols,
The echoes roll
through arched acoustics.
An endless repetition through the ages.
In the background,
a lone figure
(c) Anna-Kaye Forsyth 2006
When the summer left
I stood alone
longing for the yellow haired
sunlight entangling in leaves
heaving oxygen, filling
my chest with the love of a woman
whose arms like branches
reach for the blue
blue sky, the rosy cloud,
the great star party of midnight
Woman whose roots reach far
beneath the mushroom family
dining on moss dressed graves
past the corpses fermenting
sweet worm wine
through granite and smoky quartz
spreading open dirt like thighs
to the core of her erupting
Loving a woman whose breath
breathes me into being.
Whose arms reach for me, hold me
closer to lips that kiss me
until when the summer left
I stood alone and
(c) Michele Neve (Kala Snowflower)
Journey to Neptune cc Jude Cowell Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative 2.5
Coming to the Light
My mind playing tricks on my eyes
That golden glow bringing me into
worlds of pumpkin coaches,
Valkyrie in flight,
neverlands that never were,
yet so much more real than
what passes for day to day.
Sadness is beauty brought down by ugliness,
truth succumbing to convenient lies.
Joy is opening all the senses into the
spectrum of beauty.
no convenient structural captivity.
Let the stars be shining beacons
calling us home.
Let the wind be a magical cloak,
the rain an exultation.
Let the cold, dark night be
a treasured, inspiring friend.
Let the night take me forward
Into everfulfilling fantasies
The never empty cup,
the magic wand/magic word,
sprinkled with faery dust,
toasted with the fine bubbles
of celluloid champagne.
Let us, the night and I, sneak off into
Let us learn the secrets of the Moon and Stars,
ancient runes and alchemical wonders.
Let us play upon the backs of dragons,
learning to fly,
learning to breathe fire,
learning to explore the mountainpeaks
and caverns of
our cthonic fears
and spin them into gold.
The new day dawning
it will encounter clouds and hailstorms,
turbulence and destruction.
It will be a day of startling showers and
of unreasoned pain
and empty solace.
It will be a day to try our souls.
But it will be a day of infinite possibilities.
Let my good friend, the night,
join me in play
to help prepare me for the day.
Let the earth and fire and rain and wind
infuse my spirit
that we all be fellow friends
in the new ventures
coming with the light.
(c) 2005 Laurie Corzett/libramoon
"The Coming" (c) Tantra Bensko
Contributors to Ritual Journeys
All of the work (and believe me, it is work) presented here is the property of the individual artists. All of their rights are reserved. So, no lifting without permission. Contact information can probably be found on the contributors' pages. If not, check with me to contact anyone whose work you wish to use: email@example.com
Jorge Myztico Campo
or "Tico" as his friends call him was born on the revolutionary island of Cuba. His Parents fled Cuba when he was less than a year old to escape Castro's dictatorship and moved to New York City. Tico was raised in the Heart of Times Square, formerly known as Hell's Kitchen or more recently as the Theatre District. His interest in the arts began at the age of 5, primarily inspired by his Father, Reinaldo's light hearted drawings of cowboys, indians & assorted NYC characters. Fascinated by how lines formed images he followed his father's lead. Spending hours with coloring books, drawing dinosaurs, skeletons & odd creations, as well as being influenced at this young age by the animated art of Max Fleischer & the Looney Tunes cartoons. He is a self taught artist, musician, filmmaker, writer & photographer. To find out more about Myztico and to see an extensive collection of his art and music please visit his website at: http://myztico.mosaicglobe.com
email address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Lifelong artist, Jude Cowell, currently works primarily in oil and watercolor pencil on paper. This Georgia native's drawings may be viewed online at Cosmic Persona Designs Art Gallery, and at Dreamyfish Art, where postcards and limited edition prints are available upon request. Cosmic Persona Designs is a collection of archetypal feminine images, cosmic-visionary art (some from an earlier series, Children's World), children's art, and more. An astrological influence is apparent, for Jude has been a serious astrology novice for 10 years, and is writer and publisher of the Political Astrology blog, Stars Over Washington. Dreamyfish Art is a gallery of Saturn's realism--botanically-drawn tropical fish portraits--blended with Neptune's watery, illusory qualities--a combination which neatly describes the artist's natal Sun Capricorn-Moon Pisces personality. Fish dream, too, and here you may have a sneak peek into their most favorite and secret dream locations undersea at Dreamyfish Art. Several moons ago, Jude was an art student at Atlanta School of Art (now College of Art) on Peachtree Street, and even now you may detect a Fashion Illustration, Layout, and Design influence in her work, especially in the Cosmic Persona Designs collection. You never know what might show up at Cosmic Persona, but you are cordially invited to stop by when you can...and remember that fish dream, too!
For queries, to offer feedback, or for ordering details, email artist at: email@example.com or firstname.lastname@example.org
Wishing Peace, Love, and Art to All,
http://cosmicpersonadesigns.blogspot.com/, http://dreamyfishart.blogspot.com/, http://secretmoonart.blogspot.com, http://judecowell.blog.com,
http://limslimericks.blogspot.com, and http://starsoverwashington.blogspot.com/
Born 1953, Liverpool. Have worked as a librarian, peanut butter processor, dishwasher and dogsbody in too many hotels to mention. Also an artist - have contributed many black and white third world studies to numerous journals globally, often affiliated with Ananda Marga Yoga society for whom I've done voluntary work in S.E. Asia, including mural painting and work in various social projects. Also worked as a volunteer at a large orphanage in Thailand. Currently making and hand-painting jewelry/ craft boxes displaying fairies, dragons, Winnie the Pooh. Working off and on at a few appalling fantasy novels. Occasionally make dolls houses, castles and rocking horses... A regular contributor to a number of poetry websites.
I have been painting for three decades. Since my childhood, I have experienced live visions, vision dreams, dreams of other worlds and separate realities. Through these revelations of the metaphysical, I have been guided to create the unique art form I call "Metarealism". This is how I describe it: "Metarealism is the externalization of interior realities which are transformed into visual mystic metaphors. I use the process of the philosophic state of polar synthesis. My paintings are neither reflections of the conscious, as in realism, nor the subconscious, as in surrealism. They are instead a visual synthesis, symbolizing the spiritual continuum to which they owe their existence and which lies at the center of their being. (All being, for that matter!) Their being is therefore the personification of thought realities. Thought Forms ... as it were.
Description: What is it that motivates a man to renounce the world and become a monk? The square window which lets us see the body of the monk means his isolation is an intellectual construct. The two yellow bars represent the law of duality which rules the material world. The walls of his "cube" is the universe itself and as parts of his body penetrate through these walls, he discovers his Spirit Body. Transcendence becomes the motivation of our "Monk".
What I love about poetry is that it lets you step outside of the situation and see what is happening in a whole new way. It lets you involve the senses and the emotions and use them as a painter would color and light and shadow. It's the words that do this and they do it by bringing along all of the reader's connotations. So it would be different for every reader to see the same words.
I spent quite awhile studying this; I had some wonderful teachers who showed me new things about words. My background in graphic design helped a lot visually. But like all art, poetry gives one that new perspective.
More recently, my journey into the spiritual and the pagan ceremonies has led me to see how life can be a sacred ceremony.
And then there are the words. Like paint to an artist. You can really mess with them. Messing with the media can give us lovely results.
is seeking collaboration for her Flash Utopian Fiction Project: series of flash fiction pieces around a federation of diverse villages each working out their methods of community life -- little dramatic impacts illustrating creative solutions to social problems. Got ideas?
The "Ritual" poem and "Coming to the Light" are included in Words from the Sky http://www.lulu.com/libramoon
where you can also find
libramoon's observatory (blog)
Kala Snowflower (Michele Neve)
I'm very excited to have just finished my latest book of poems, Snakebite, and currently am planning an e format release of it. A new book of devotional poems is in the works, so far entitled, Adore. In addition to keeping the flow of poetry alive year after wheel of the year, I am now taking my studies of herbal medicine to the next level by growing herbs and preparing my own medicines. Last year I received my third Reiki attunement and I have recently began teaching classes in Reiki and passing attunements. I am enjoying this work immensely and learning so much in the process. My work as a healer and my work as a poet flow from the same source. And I am grateful to be able to continue and deepen my understanding of life and love through my Art and artful living. You can reach me at email@example.com. I would love to hear from you about my poetry, the healing arts or to share in awe over the Beauty of this sweet Earth.
I am happy to present what I find meaningful in our aesthetic community. Art is a touchstone and sign post giving way to growth and hope when Sharing truths of self. I believe that our livelihood and longevity may depend on it. Art is the illusion to transcend illusion "Liberate the Artist" Fractured Atlas has Fiscally Sponsored my project "Catalysts of the Psyche" To read my statement Please Go To: https://www.fracturedatlas.org/site/fiscal/?do=browse_projects&category=Visual%20Arts&letter=c#534 Art Publications for 2006: "The Garden of Three Suns," "Star Light Curves," and "The Lost Sunset" with bio info and Iconography has been Published and Released in Art Book "Unseen Worlds--A Virtual Journey", India '06 for new world envisionings. Poetry Publications for 2006 1. "Enmeshment Reflections" and "Slipping Tripping" 2006, published, League of American Poets: A Treasury of American Poetry III. 2. "Pop Cell Sleepers" 2006, published, Noble House: Songs of Honor. 3. Unwritten poem accepted for publication by the International Library of Poetry, 2006. NYC Gallery Goals for 2006-2007 1. "I am pleased to inform you that your work qualifies for Agora Gallery representation. With respect to the work, I particularly favor the "Resonate Rifts" body of the digital images, although all the work communicates the pathway to spiritual awakening and transcendence..." Agora 2. Nominated for the Sixth Annual International biennial of Contemporary Art, 2007. Arte Studio, Florenze, Italy. Except through this passion to reflect something higher than me alone and to free it, ever-reflecting it through and to appreciable otherness, I have no meaning!!!
I translated The Seafarer from Anglo-Saxon; the translation appears at www.electrato.com. I have published 2 chapbooks The Street Where I was a Child and Departures. You can email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org
Antero Alli is the director of Paratheatrical ReSearch, an esoteric
ritual group based in Berkeley, CA, and the author of "Towards an
Archeology of the Soul" (Vertical Pool, 2003) from which this article
is excerpted. For details: www.paratheatrical.com
I initially started making art as a means of working through all the baggage that I picked up during my childhood. Art as therapy was a very important part of my healing process. I am self taught, dropped out of high school despite being of above average intelligence, and
managed to walk into a job teaching art at a local primary school at age 19. Anybody who has taught kids (especially within the constraints of post-apartheid South Africa) knows how exhausting it can be. During this time I didn't focus very much on my own work. I
had two little ones of my own, and played with art in my spare time. I also began exploring music. My dad played in a bluegrass band, and I grew up going to gigs with him. Writing music also became a from of therapy. Poetry put to song.
I am now approaching my thirties. In terms of therapy I have worked through (almost) everything on my plate. The deeper issues I address with zen meditation and intuitive energy work. This means that my art is open to the possibility of being a tool for much wider expression. Now I can spend time playing, reflecting the world around me, and
exploring new mediums.
You can see more of my work, and hear some _very_ rough demos of my music at http://heartsong.co.za/gaelin/index.htm ( please note the site is still in progress, I am designing it mysef, and still learning some basic HTML skills :)
Cat Whipple is a professional photographer, graphic designer, and artist living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Her artwork tastes include photography, painting, collage/art-journaling, digital collage, and songwriting. She exhibits her work locally and has been published nationally. She lives with her two cats who collaborate with her on artwork when not napping.
She is the creator of the Self-help Healing Arts Journal that promotes the healing power of art at:
Other artwork of hers can be found at http://www.catwhipple.biz
each piece is based on a quote by American
Indian spiritual leaders of the 19th century
incorporated into the artwork
one is called Trees and the quote for that is:
"I have learned a lot from trees; sometimes
about the weather, sometimes about the
animals, sometimes about the Great Spirit."
- Walking Buffalo
the other is called Milky Way and the quote for that
"I found myself flying past clouds and stars, and
what the white man calls the Milky Way."
- Black Elk
I am a muralist from Philadelphia trying to take visionary arts inspiration and aesthetic to public programs. The pieces shown here are: Harbinger 4x6 and Twilight 3x6. oil on canvas
I love to paint each new moon and bring forth visionary art through the Mayan starglyphs along with a few others on tribenet. For the dual-media piece presented here, the painting is under copyright, but the words are given freely to circulate.
You can view my work here:
Elizabeth Barrette writes poetry, fiction, and nonfiction in the fields of speculative fiction, gender studies, and alternative spirituality. She is the Managing Editor of PanGaia magazine; she also serves as Dean of Studies for the Grey School of Wizardry, where she teaches a four-part course on composing magical poetry. Recent poetry credits include Beach Climbing in Strange Horizons and In the Season of the Leaves in If...Journal; plus Visions in the Dark of Light as guest installment of Marge Simon's regular column Blood Spades: Poets of the Dark Side in Horror Writers Association Newsletter. She enjoys suspension-of-disbelief bungee-jumping and spelunking in other peoples reality tunnels. Visit her Website at:
UK Outsider/Surrealist Artist
Jacqueline is a lady living in Singapore who feels desparate detachment from society and obsessive fanaticism with her friends. She plays the trombone and writes songs for Annika Lindberg to sing because she fell in love with her voice. In her free time Jacqueline likes to get drunk or read.
To contact Jacqueline, please email email@example.com at your own risk. Jacqueline takes absolutely no responsibility whatsoever.
FROM THE ARTIST
"Drawing is and has been an incredible escape for me throughout most of my life. I do not draw to create some decorative piece to hang on the wall. There is a compulsion which drives this; I have to do it or my world becomes out of balance. When I am drawing, my heart rate slows down and my mind is focused, though not fixated on any specific thought. Thoughts are free-flowing. Though style and form are clearly consistent, it is impossible for me to draw the same image again. I believe that this is because one's mind never returns to the same place - it's like life, always in flux.
People frequently ask me what certain drawings mean. I believe that art evokes thoughts and feelings that are the viewer's own. To dictate what should be interpreted interferes with what the viewer may need most out of the experience. Each person is free to input whatever meaning they wish on my work. However, a common theme played out in much of my work is a constant battle between chaos and order. There is much about my work that at first seems chaotic and confusing, but, upon closer examination, one sees that continually repeating patterns form a larger entity. I see my art as visual jazz of limitless patterns and infinite combinations with no set conventions to follow."
For other examples of Robert Simon's art work, please go to his website at http://www.mindmuses.com. There are links from there to galleries that are showing his art. Robert wants to impart the hope and motivation to others that they might find peace and comfort in uncovering their own artistic expression, which lies within all of us.
Feel free to contact the artist at firstname.lastname@example.org .
Craig Blair received his Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from Edinboro University of Pennsylvania . The many places that have displayed his work include the Bowling Green State University Planitarium, the Fort Wayne Museum of Art and the Center of Science and Industry in Toledo. His works can be found in private collections in throughout the United States and in Europe. He was the show coordinator (and participating artist) of the International Surrealist Show 2006 in Spencer, Iowa. He serves as President of the Weston Arts Council.
Craig lives in Northwest Ohio with his wife, Alaire, and his daughter, Briana, where he is in the process of restoring a 100 year old house .
Visit Craig's web site at www.surrealogic.com.
Anna is a freelance writer, poet and musician who lives on Auckland's idyllic North Shore. She has self-confessed obsession with water in all its forms and is currently working on a chapbook of poetry, entitled "Wonderment" to be released at Poetry Live in Auckland. Her poems are a juxtaposition of philosophical musings and nostalgic ramblings with a few odd scratchings thrown in for good measure.
I grew up in the mountains of Virginia.I have always loved to draw and paint other worldly things.The mysteries behind the mystery.In childhood I was inspired by many luced dreams,sci-fi,fantasy,and the effulgence of nature.Now I am inspired by deep feelings unfolding from the core of my being.I have been to Indea,Nepal,Singapore,Jamaica.I enjoy painting people and things from other cultures.I've been in New Mexico for the past few years studying Ayurveda and Tibetan painting.Thank's for checking out my pictures.
Surreal art like these is a journey induced through deepening into lower brain wave frequencies, through being the wave more than the particle, by being all things and letting everything dream.
We have different types of dreams, from different sources. Some dreams may be one part of ourselves' interpretations of something else that may actually be occuring in a real way on that astral realm that the other part is inhabiting. We may have a secret life of our dreams, things we are doing on that realm, interacting with other beings who exist on those planes. And we may be interacting with that astral aspect of other people who are dreaming as well. Are we not always dreaming? And perhaps the astral part of us that is always living in the dreamlike associative subconscious that can be reached through meditation, is the more awake and lucid part of us, the part that can fly and see farther.
We may have another life within surreal art, making it, or looking at it, in new settings we have never played in before. But they may echo something that has moved us deeply in some way and let us process it as if in a dream. The image "Figuring It Out" puts the characters in a luscious, organic, visceral, disintegrating, landscape. Part of us longs to speak through the senses, through imagination and stories, playing with the fundamentally accepted concepts of what reality is.
The image, "Third Eye" portrays the yogic ritual methods for reaching the trance state of visions, in the third eye of visionary perception, through balancing the Ida and Pingala, the two astral pathways that criss cross our crystaline spines like vines. As they come to the third eye in an equalized state, through Tantra yoga exercises, for example, which hone the conductivity and electricity of the body, they join the self which operates in the normal, beta brain wave, mind chatter state, and the other self which resides outside of the chronologically, locally, limitedly expressed self. This is the self which knows what's going on behind the scenes. The more we ask it, through art and dreams that speak its language, the more we get to do what I call "Lucid Play."
"The Coming" plays with journeying down below the surface of the self, in the waters of poetic language and washes of feeling in the subconscious. It also brings up questions of who we really are, and who those beings are who interact with us in those astral planes. Is it human? "Human" has been losing its traditional meaning these days as we learn more about our relationship to other entities.
http://Lucidvision.mosaicglobe.com is my Giclee site.