~ Shifting Perceptions Emerging Visions #15 June 2009

"Tat Tvam Asi" (c) Vincent G. Madrid

"Luminous Olias" (c) Daniel B. Holeman


Out of the scope of words'
static definitions.
Immanent realms.
Feel all around/within an expanding
amorphous frame.
Travel a chosen lightbeam,
branching out into
another and another.

No time, no space, no box.
Take a little trip with me.
Loose everything.
Float, swim, tumble, dance.
Paint the image
Within your own frame.
Step back. Enjoy the perspective.
Step back into the painting,
Strolling past the point
The eye has learned to see.

(c) Laurie Corzett Jan. 24, 2006

"Our Journey" (c) Gaia Orion

"Chalice Prayer" (c) Qahira Lynn

Woman Who Danced with Rainbows

There was a woman who danced with rainbows

There was a man who was a black and white TV.

The woman painted her dreams
in moving colors
and gave them away

to keep them.

seemed impossible.

She understood
the flowing of light.
taught the woman to move
and made her free.

The man who was a black and white tv
looked at her rainbow clothes
and her rainbow hair
and his vertical hold let go.

The woman saw
his contrasts and cadences
they interested her.

She liked
the shapes
of his light
starkly reassuring.

“That brightness could give substance to my colors,
how much we could paint together.” she sang.

Then she danced to the tune
until the rainbow
wrapped around her
like a sari.

She gave a bouquet of her favorite colors
to the man who was a black and white TV.

He seemed pleased
and turned up his volume.

He looked for a place to put them.
But there was no place in his paradigm
for colors.

So he turned up his volume.

Her dance
was not
so graceful now
It was harder to hear the music.

She loved the idea of him.
with her dreams of black and white with rainbows
kept her reaching for a combination of colors
he could understand.

He had no tubes or circuits for color.
They wrapped around his controls
and confused him
carefully into himself
and saw no colors.
There were no colors.
without colors
her dance was madness

her dance was alone.

He turned up the volume
until there was no music
She couldn’t dance
as the rainbow slid away
she wondered if she existed.

“All there is,” he stated,”is light and its absence.
I see that nothing else exists. I live by these rules
See my sensible patterns.”

The woman who danced with rainbows
still liked his bright motion.
But she still saw colors,
no matter how she tried
to discipline her eyes.
There they were.

He was disgusted by her lack of perception
and turned off.

when the patterns stopped
and it was dark,
she felt the edges
had been pulled from the earth.
Those beautiful, reassuring edges.
She was afraid to move
she clung to his cabinet
but without the light
the cold burned her skin.

She slid away
and held very still
for a long time.

(c) Adan Del Bosque

from the silence
there was music
colors flickered
rainbow invitation.

Carefully, uncertain, testing
she began to move

the world seemed strange
without edges.
She is dancing again
with rainbows.

she paints
with more intricacy
her own edges.

The woman who dances with rainbows
doesn’t give as much away now.

Though her dreams
have more form
and the gifts have more value
she seldom keeps them now
after she gives them away.

she can

(c) Terra Wolfe

"Luna Sorella" (c) Vincent G. Madrid

"The Joy of Melting" (c) Ken Shapley

The Rukesayer and the Dragon Path

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Traveler
teller of Tales

She doesn’t like this Dark Path
Doesn’t like the Wind
Doesn’t like the Sky

But if she lingers
Drags her feet
The Traveler might leave her
And somehow that is worse . . .

Home . . . its just a memory to her now
And . . . she’s no baby . . .
Well . . .

Dragon Path
he told her
Now she walks the Dragon Path

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Rukesayer
teller of Tales

She grew up a
Healer of the ill and the sad
But there were so many
And they just kept coming
Then he appeared
like a teacher
like a lover
And without asking
He opened the East gate and
let her follow on the Dragon Path

She doesn’t like this Dark Path
Doesn’t like the Wind
Doesn’t like the Sky

But if she lingers
Drags her feet
The Traveler might leave her
And somehow that is worse . . .

He hasn’t spoken
and yet she knows his thoughts
Hasn’t touched her
and yet he knows her heart
But by the fire light his eyes danced
As he spoke the way to the Far Places
Where as a hero she’d stand
This the Path
Where Beauty met the Beast
A Path ruled by Magic
Her soul longs for a future
Down the Dragon Path

All her life
Music from the Deep Forest
Has found her
Telling her there is more to Life
Than is provided for in the philosophies
of her Mom and Dad

Songs of sirens
in deep blue waters
Dragon-folk are calling her . . .
Chygon the Traveler
teller of Tales

"Volatus Corvi" (c) Vincent G. Madrid

Colors in Darkness

There is a color . . .
I mean the path is dark
But she sees a color . . .

A phosphorescence . . .
In the leaves . . .
Maybe it was always there
And her eyes have started to adjust
Maybe he is calling this into existence . . .
No somehow that isn’t right
She has always seen this
But now it is getting brighter

And the sound
She feels . . . hears . . . knows
This . . .
this vibration
A gentle hum thrum
of harmonies not quite heard
But . . . I don’t know
somehow connected
She has always heard this
But now it's getting . . . not louder

She knows the Dragon Path
As much by feel
as by sight
And the Traveler . . .
he glows
A focus of star-light and forest-song

And she laughs almost hysterically
Because she sees her own hands
Glowing . . .

copyright William C. Burns, Jr.

“I Have A Dream’’ (c) Gaia Orion

When I was a boy, it was an old Father in our village who told the story. "We used to walk to the Sun. We would bring back gifts for the grain. Everyone was happy. Today, no one walks to the Sun. No one tends the grain. No one is happy."

Lately, I understand that it was not the actual Sun in the sky of which he spoke. It was that shining place in the soul that lets us know how to do what is right.

I’m taking a walk to the Sun; want to come along?

"Midsummer Night" (c) Zsuzsa Mathe Art Management

Stone Woman


Sun, my center
dances to release the wind you warm
forward toward the stream
where we sparkle over stones

where we brace face
the new world
holding ourselves within
pillars of pure light

where my thighs hold
the secret.

Do you want to know and unfold

I have this gift to offer:
I do not need, I love.


In between grass blades, crazed ants
search, for hunger drives them
up larger hills and greater feats,
into dragging the King Kong
of insects over hills
down canyons toward

where we are going, with hunger
on our backs, held in our teeth,
moving over mountains to the bottom
of the ocean to find the place we remember

where lover scented sheets
await us
and the taste of the Earth awakens
us to choose, now transform.


Thousands of years ago
I held you in my arms.
Here I am again holding you.
That will never stop.

The sun on our shoulders
reminds us to be still,
bellies to the earth
reach down into miles
of dirt, crystal, stone,
reach and reaching

she reaches with her molten
core into our center.


Playing with light
mesmerized by the healer
his table holds my cheekbones
his hands fill my pores
with almond oil and cedar.
His fingers take away
what I held for so long.

Through the window, clouds unburden themselves
of long held secrets,

speak of the ice storm that took the lover down,
tearing away her arms and legs,
falling into snow.

It is spring so the broken branches float now
on the marshes, sink into the wet earth's hunger.

The tree does not mourn
what is not loss, but shakes its body
lighter now and breathes bold blood into bud.

copyright Kala Snowflower

"Birth Waters" (c) Qahira Lynn

(c) Adan Del Bosque

Padded Carpet

by Dalton

Dawn does not have the magic it had last week. Are my keys and wallet in place for the walk? I appreciate the top pocket of the jeans for the keys. My eyes are wide open, focused, and I hope today's work fetches at least most of the rent.

Half a mile down the road I become afraid. Is it a dog not being let in because it caught a cold and got dirt on its paws? There the animal is, sure enough, and furiously barking. Glad there is a fence.

How am I supposed to get my mind off the panicked dog without a cup of coffee? Yes, the temporary agency has this benefit. "Hi Chuck", I said, looking at his blonde mustache and glasses behind the counter. Chuck is easy to talk to and seems like a construction wizard. I've even seen the man service the xerox machine with nimble fingers.

"Today's work will be unloading a truck, Brian," Chuck said as the work ticket printed out. I reason this will be difficult but at least not a lot of explaining to do. I don't want to talk to Chuck about my issues about the water but please, twenty ounces in my knapsack isn't going to get me through carrying things up six stories of stairs. Perhaps this one will be an easier, more cooperative day.

The coffee bar is mine. Yes, a rare, quiet moment. No one is up on me so I can stir my creamer and sugar substitute in to perfection. I appreciate my fellow laborers giving me some space, or does this absence signify I have some unwanted job to do?

This whole place is talking, but talking about what? It's as if they are continuing a conversation from weeks ago that makes progress but much of the subject matter is forgotten. The main speaker is depressed every time he reminds something that is supposed to have weight, as if to steer the conclusion.

"Don't ever work for Neil."

"Does that mean a specific day where the sun shines just right and the squatty man's hairy arms look strong and fearful?"

The guy gasped as if I set him free finally. Two long haired guys, the recipients of this information, smiled, almost laughed as I sat near them and got ready to drain my cup.

Something smelled sweet and pungent, mixed with car exhaust.

"He's over there, Brian," said Chuck. Chuck beckoned Brian with a finger. Abandoning a coffee after two sips into it is not pleasant. If I'm good at anything it is not missing a step when my creature comforts are over.

On my feet, I set the cup down. "Did you bring a lunch and water?", a short, broad shouldered man asked. He was swarthy, as if he had spent a lot of time laboring out of doors.

"Three sandwiches and no crumpet cookies. Hello, I'm Brian, and yes, also water."

The man inhaled with an unexpected smile. "I'm Phillip." Phillip put out his hand for a handshake. Of course I held hands with Phillip but I did not forget my promise to avoid handshakers. Good try to the bozo who proclaimed handshaking is American; I'm not buying it. After a brief shake, I knew Phillip knew this. My stamina for carrying things was thus reduced only marginally. I'm dainty, I know this, and every day is day one with temporary labor for the most part.

"Good to meet you, Phillip. I'm without a vehicle but I'm a safe passenger. Chuck, you probably told him I need transportation, right?" I turned to Chuck with this question to get the obvious out of the way. I'm not the type of man who likes to work more than eight hours. Sure, I get enticed by rewards, but that's it. That cheap twilight of "works almost over so we get playful" I sensed in Phillip, but if its just he and I for today, maybe I will get a check in my hand.

"I'm parked in the white van".

"Meet you outside," I said, sensing Phillip and Chuck had some closing words. Out of doors had a dry dawn. The summer sun illuminated oil spills, radiator fluid leaks, and crumbling asphalt. Chuck should enlist someone to detail clean this lot, I thought. But would they have the knowledge and skill level to do this?

Phillip walked out and opened his van door. Using a power lock switch, the chrome knob came up, and I settled into the seat, placing my knapsack at my feet. This was a clean, well-dusted ride.

It was pleasant in motion and Phillip chose air conditioning. I appreciated the stock radio player. I assume we were in a ninety something, driven well.

"What kind of music do you like?"

"I like XM radio." People seem so investigative lately. I'm new I suppose.

"Oh, uh, what are we going to be moving today? I didn't bring gloves, so."

"You should be all right, some rolls of carpet. You see there in the back? Eleven rolls and some buckets."

For Phillip to fill me in was outstanding. To not be treated as trivial is what gets me through a day. He seemed straight up about everything but why do I have a feeling he might practice his "elves are real" act?

It felt good to be this far out on the highway. Which way were we going, east? Plains were on each side of the road with mountains and hills at the horizon. Pity if it is a long drive, only to get this moving job done in four hours. I'm not making any for driving time.

Dawn til dusk for a little check? How long can I hold out now that I'm behind on rent? Guess I'll enjoy putting my back into it until I have a talk with Ann, the owner of the studio.

Past the city limits Phillip slows for a right turn. Don't feel numb, Brian, I think to myself. This next couple of weeks is where luck plays a part. How much does anyone or anything want my existence?

Phillip followed the road at a comfortable speed. I found his driving to be commendable. Peeking at my watch, we were one and a half hours into it. The space-time thing works to a driver's advantage when one drives at or below the speed limit I suspect after watching traffic from standing.

We arrived at a large parking lot. I only noticed twelve vehicles or so. The asphalt of the lot was new. Phillip brought the vehicle to a park after reversing it towards the building's entrance. The stucco was light brown and I liked how no signs had been installed so it felt like a remote fortress.

"Here we are, let's go in," Phillip said. We both stepped out of the van. I eyed the carpet rolls and tried to estimate the weight with two of us carrying the things. They look plush, dark red.

Briskly, we stepped towards the entrance and entered a glass door. Immediatley I felt perfect air conditioning. People were everywhere. Various shops, cafes, and markets were about. It seemed like some mall or casino. I kept to my style and kept my head looking at my toes as I followed Phillip.

As we kept walking I realized this place is vast and extensive. For so little cars, there are multitudes of people. An older man, tall, grey hair, and graced by the sun steps forth. His features are smooth. I've seen this face before and the person seems agreeable, except for how his mind works. His garb looks comfortable, with golf shirt and pants. Golf shirts look okay to wear, except for the embroidery.

"Hey Phillip," the man says with a smile. This person had an unnerving expression. He was proud of his dental work, showing me his teeth. They looked thick, I'll give him that.

"Hi Roy, meet Brian," Phillip said.

"Hello," I said.

I followed Phillip to a set of wooden double doors. The doors had large handles. I could tell the doors had weight as Phillip slightly stepped into it to open it, and it rested still when he was done pulling it.

We stepped out onto a platform. There was a long set of L shaped stairs. The stairs were carpeted in red, similar to the stuff back in Phillip's van. The lighting was dim and comfortable. Looking around, I saw that no expense was spared. The construction was immaculate, almost an illusion, where size and depth cannot be immediatley perceived. I usually hate places like this, especially dressed construction casual with a lunch on my back.

Down the stairs we were in a cafe. There was a bar. A couple patrons sat nearby. At the end of the cafe is another set of stairs going down. This time straight, about twenty steps. This one looked like a utility space but the red carpet was still there. The ceiling was low and it felt like descending into a cavern, probably because the light was dim. I imagine this will take all day.

Turning right at the end of the stairs, we entered a wide hall. I liked how the carpet was now on the ceiling, walls, and floor. Circular lights were overhead on dim mode. At three levels down, I noticed the lights were gradually dimmer. Bumping into walls would not be an issue.

Indicating a door, Phillip said, "Go in and look it over."

A couple of people were watching us. In the corner of the hall were two elderly women. The glasses upon their brow magnified light blue eyes.

The door was numbered 203. It was wide, so furniture and carpet could be brought in easier than usual. I figured Phillip had a conversation to attend. I think working for Phillip beyond this job would be great. No, let's keep this as a one-time job.

Inside, the place had light brown carpet, also on the walls and ceiling. It was a bit brighter and I liked the details of this one bedroom place. Nice shower, the shower had tiles. What's back in the bedroom? Wait, this thing is occupied. I see furniture and clothing. Why would we drop off the carpet here? I like no windows. Look, a recessed square in the wall carpet, honoring the memory of a window.

I stepped out the door and no-one was in the hall. What an inconsiderate person, I thought. All my energy for moving carpet rolls left me. Maybe I should just lay on the carpet like a cowboy with a backache until Phillip returns. No, he went this way.

Down the hall I noticed many other doors and apartments. None of them seemed ajar so I guess he was further down the hall, or did he go back up the stairs to the cafe? Probably in the next apartment over, wiping his hands. That Phillip, if he's willing to take me on a road trip to work, he better explain himself.

The end of the hallway elbowed left. There was no light down this more narrow hall. I wonder how far it reached? Maybe I should shriek like a bat to find out. In front of me is a steel door. This seems like a better place for carpet. The place with the power meters or what?

I opened the door and stepped out into sunlight. The outdoors were warm and breezy. I closed the door behind me and stepped onto a little landing. There was short grass. In front of me, but ten feet away, was a mountain face. It was near vertical, I thought, as I looked up. I guess I'm in a canyon. The grass and building curved to the right. Tempting, but I know Phillip would not have gone this way. I'll go back in and stand by apartment 203 until Phillip comes around.

No, it was locked! I am not in the mood for panic. The decline of etiquette is the decline of work being a simple chore. I consider myself to be on the clock as of now. I found my watch in my knapsack and decided, yep, I am fifteen minutes into it, and Phillip is going to pay money for all time spent here until we get back in his lousy van.

I rapped long and steady on the steel door. Hopefully someone in there will open it. If I am lost to Phillip, what is he going to think?

Immediatley the door opened. It's the golfer I remember back near the entrance. I liked his smile this time. One would have to floss good to have thick teeth like that.

All Rights Reserved (c) Dalton

"The Sentinal of Edinburgh Craigs " (c) Ken Shapley

"The Rainbow Ice Bear (c) Ken Shapley

shifting collective perception

overtime, stored in Nature’s energy
information resultant of thinking
by way of reflective consciousness
causing reflexive thought to be held
within a recurrent process of memory
amassing a stockpile of knowledge
founded upon varying perspectives
cognitively, intelligently progressive
subtly initiating a critical mass effect
adaptively creating systemic change
truth once thought relevant, now old
enlightenment holds new relevance
shifting overall, collective perception

~Keith Alan Hamilton~

revealing the void

mentally perusing the void where physical reality appears to emerge
human reflective conscious process subtly unfolds the hidden enfolds
systemic interconnectivity and interdependence with all else exposed
spiritually bringing forth a felt sense of Nature as fuller than empty
revealing the void as a state unknown rather than being nonexistent

~Keith Alan Hamilton~

perceptual vortices

perceptual vortices
spiraling, whirling
within space-time
saturated with
vaguely illuminating
parallel realities
echelons of multiplicity
embodying and
embedding insight
by magically unveiling
the hidden, the sacred
through the mystical
or spiritual process
while progressing
intelligently within
shifting perceptions

~Keith Alan Hamilton~

"The Clouds Gave My Soul an Idea" (c) Flora S. Bowley

"Unfolding Heart" (c) Flora S. Bowley

In the garden
rags and broken bits,
trailing paper ribbons,
shards and excrement,
weave a picture, a scene
a thumbreel of protected vision.
The garden grows
though abandoned by light
and conscious thought.
Tangles give way to magical gates.
Imaginary flowers bloom,
twisting absurd
mangling shapes,
evoking scents
unknowable in common categories.
Once the garden was ripe and lush,
fed legions,
earned prizes in the canons
of great literature.
If other gardens vied in performance,
it was for the grander glory of gardenhood.
Lovers trysting
Children's play
Old philosophers walking,
speaking deliberately, deeply,
breathing in heaven.
A garden of substance,
tradition and grace
where sore of heart might
find tender comfort, growing wild
in sweet evening breeze,
a calming call to prayer,
mending meditation
on the ways of Earth and sky and rain.
Walking the garden,
old, papery, withered of breath,
dreaming yesterdays, tomorrows,
screaming silently
a hope too desperate to speak
for vibrant new seeds
to take root.

(c) Laurie Corzett/libramoon

(c) Gabe Marquez

"Reaching" (c) Qahira Lynn

Adan Del Bosque
Alterations Zone
Robert David Michael
06/2009 RDM(C)

There is a zone that lives
twixt the white-hot pouring stream
of each molten day's light
and that extremity of dark
where fangs of ice breed
and darkest mind-gulfs howl...
There are many names to mark
such compromis'd environments:
false-dawn; the twilight zone;
evening's blue hour; mirage country;
the realm of shades; shadowland;
darkside; never-never;
the realm of faerie; more--
border regions; frontiers;
places where all states
and energies restlessly shift;
and even subtle Change walks fearful...

Nothing there's solid, simple,
nor staid, obedient, complete,
blithely unaware nor tranquil...
Elsewhere, laws, Nature's decrees
(cause and effect) stand straight
as tow'rs of illimitable steel.
Here, as in rimworlds,
nothing bulks quite real.
It is as if its being
had drunk an eldritch drug
or some shape-shifting potion--
and all that's seen
Reaches out tendrils to absorb
some next dimension's strength:
Here, one knows stages of doubt
nursing the wellsprings and founts
of Man's strongest fantasies...

What may not find birth here--
once rules are cancell'd,
once insouciant expectance
is made the ward of Whim
and Ideal is raised from nether realms,
introduced into spatial persistence?
You see? That which cancels
unreason's long captivity
does more than free supposition
from its age-old chains;
it also raises Perspective
lending it full equality
with the hard-and-fast,
the eternal, inescapable Real.
This is a red-shift, potent as Time:
the annihilator of worlds, dimensions,
probabilities: transcendence turned rich wine...

"Inbetween Hands" (c) Qahira Lynn


In the season of wither when all that is living falls to the earth and dies, the Almighty Word of God went out to Tixen in the wilderness countryside and was spoken by his angel saying, "Breathe in with a deep breath."
And when Tixen had done what the angel instructed, he then said unto him, "Now let loose your breath out over the face of the earth." And when I did, there straightaway blew a mighty strong gale over the face of the earth, insomuch that the trees from the North to the South and from the East to the West were heavily shaken.
And I looked, and behold, the leaves off the trees were turned into beautiful Living Butterflies: So wonderful to gaze upon and of many fantastic colors and I was bewildered at their beauty.
But the angel turned quickly and rebuked me saying, "Be not deceived such as the ungodly of the earth are, as you shall now see." And I looked and saw the ungodly of the earth, who were made gay by reason of the splendid colors of the butterflies. Yet were blinded by their hallucinations and thought themselves to be in paradise, but were deceived. And they commenced to sing and dance around merrily in circles, engaging in all manners of lust and fornication. And were made exuberant because of their drunkenness.
And I heard the angel again say to me, "Breathe in with a deep breath." And immediately the winds ceased and leaves were no more shaken from the trees. And those that turned into Living Butterflies fell to the ground and choked in the burning heat of the sun. And I saw the ungodly of the earth who were buried up to their necks. And many therefore starved to death because they could not find a place to prepare their meats.
And I heard the angel declare with a loud voice, "Let the ungodly of the earth remain always so: For they are fools to believe that the Lord would spare them unless they repent of their deeds. Or to think that they should be found worthy to come into heavenly places by way of their ungodliness.
"But rather, because they are blinded by the bright colors of the butterflies, which are now brown and decayed, and driven by their lewd desires, and of their exceeding drunkenness, shall scorn with hatred the Lord God their Creator evermore. And be cast into hell and tormented with fire, save a few who shall quickly repent of their adulteries, whom of which I shall show you afterward."
After this there came up from out of the earth and from out of the caves armies of winged rodents. And scurrying about with razor-sharp teeth, they began feeding on the rotting meats that the ungodly of the earth had left behind. And they became infected with many horrible diseases and driven into a mad frenzy. And they began to eat the flesh of the ungodly, both living and dead, and many more were made sick and died.
But the rest cried out with a loud voice saying, "Lord God, have pity on our wretched souls!" And as many who were found worthy were saved.
And I heard a voice like a thousand rustling winds answer and say, "Not so: For the ungodly of the earth shall not confess of their sins. Neither shall they give glory to God or submit to His Will."
And I heard the angel say unto me, "Now let loose your breath out over the face of the earth." And when I did, half of heaven and half of earth were filled with a foul stench:
So wretched and so vile was this stench that even more became nauseous and gagged to their end.
And I , too, would have fainted when I heard the angel answer and say, "Arise and stand tall, O you servant of Christ: Have faith in God and no harm shall befall you." And looking around I saw that the plague of winged rodents the Lord had sent to infest the earth had passed away. Neither was I affected of that foul stench which the Lord God had brought down as punishment against the ungodly of the earth.
And I rejoiced with exceeding gladness because of it. And falling on my face in gratitude, thanked the Lord God Almighty.

copyright David Harrington

(c) Ken Shapley

Contributors to Shifting Perceptions

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: libramoon42@mindspring.com

Vincent G. Madrid

As a young boy, I always had visions. Visions of what seemed at the time to be simple flights of fancy… The usual fantasy world of demons and wizards and flying horses…
My father used to take me to the park and set up an easel and do still life paintings while I played on the swings. I never really paid attention to what he was doing at the time, but that simple act was to have a huge impact on me in the future…
I grew up in a suburb of Los Angeles where I attended Catholic school for 9 years where the theatricality of the rituals, ornate décor and candles with stained glass windows all provided more fodder for my imagination… As soon as I graduated high school I decided to become a musician in a band… At the age of 21 I moved to London, England to find my fortune as a singer in a band… I worked with 2 producers there and procured an agent… But after only a year there, I got homesick and came back to L.A. before anything could come of it… I immediately put together a band here in Pasadena and had some success here in the L.A. area… However, after 10 years of weaving the images in my head into lyrics for songs I had this overwhelming desire to pick up a paint brush and start putting the images on wood and canvas… I immediately found my ‘voice’ and, to my surprise, it wasn’t in my voice!!! The visual medium is where my particular insights find their best expression… So now I’ve spent the last 10 years teaching myself how to paint and actually held a job as a paint instructor at a small art school in Monrovia for a bit, until I realized that teaching requires more patience than I’ve got... And I can’t help but remember the times in the park where my dad would paint for hours while I played and how prophetic that seems to have proven…

my web site is
http://www.vincentmadrid.com/ and my email is tiberiuswcov@aol.com

Daniel B. Holeman


Laurie Corzett/libramoon

seeking outlet for those crazy thoughtstreams, is always moving into new (or resurrected) projects, including Emerging Visions, visionary art ezine, Seers and Seekers Yahoo Group; The Healing Dance Network Yahoo Group; Visionary Arts and Minds Tribe; anthologies of her writings; an experimental metafiction, working title: Something Sacred http://caelastory.blogspot.com/; a (envisioned as) graphic novel (anyone want to do the graphics?), Acts of Desolation: http://www.gather.com/aod, as well as her Utopian Flash 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: http://tribes.tribe.net/uff.

check out my book: Words from the Sky: http://www.lulu.com/libramoon ; then, there's lunar ramblings http://lunaramble.blogspot.com
email: libramoon42@mindspring.com

I dedicate "In the Garden" to Peggy Chestnutt ~ may your spirit dance in eternal bliss

Gaia Orion

Artist Statement:
"Sacred and ancient forms of art from various cultures throughout history have always fascinated me. With beauty in their simplicity, their strong lines, vivid colours, and images transcend time, though feel like 'they have always been here.' To me these images have the same power as the beauty we find in nature. The more connected we are with our own true nature and the natural world the greater harmony we feel. This understanding presents many challenges and life lessons! It is here that I find my main source of inspiration: in being sensitive to body, mind and spirit in the quest to understand life. The gift of artistic expression allows me to explore my own personal healing and spiritual themes and to further share these natural, symbolic and archetypal images with other individuals and connect with the world at large."

Gaia explores healing and spiritual art themes that manifest in symbolic and archetypal images in her artwork. These images arise from her quest to understand life and her interest in ancient and sacred art.

With her creativity she has found her way of sharing with the world and connecting deeply with people.

Focusing on living a simple and healthy life allows Gaia the time and space to be sensitive and express the inspiration that arises.

Gaia originally hails from Paris, France, where she studied and graduated with honour as an architect from Ecole des Beaux Arts in 1997. Gaia, along with her husband and three young children, reside north of Toronto (Ontario, Canada) by a river in the bush!

Our Journey
Watercolour and Gouache Painting 22”x22”

When I was a kid there was an old lithography at my grandparent’s castle in the washroom. It was about life and its different stages. Steps were going up to the age of 50 - Age Of Maturity it said – and then the steps were going down to the Age Of Decay (90 years old). A couple was shown on the steps at various stages of their life cycle and at the end the old couple, at 100 year old were lying in bed in the Age of Infancy and Imbecility! A Last Judgment picture was right in the center depicting in detail heaven and hell with details … Looking at this picture growing up was amusing but also daunting. I thought that there must be a different way to see this life journey.

Today I see life as seasons passing and returning. There are stages of maturity and gaining wisdom along the way; though a 100 year old can feel like a child at heart and the natural wisdom of a child is pure and powerful like the old sage. The natural slowing down of the body as we age gives us opportunity to slow down in our activities and have more time for reflection. Just like winter is telling us to rest and look inward every year. When one lives in tune with nature life is a cycle following the seasons.

Where does it really start? When does it end? When the caterpillar ‘dies’, it has no idea that it is initiating the birth of a beautiful butterfly.

“I Have A Dream’’
Acrylic Painting 36”x36”

This tree mandala was inspired by Barak Obama when I stayed up late to listen to his speech on election night. Seeing this man triumph - the personal, social, and political challenges he overcame and what it represented historically - brought much hope. His integrity is like the bright sun leading us toward a flourishing society

This event shows that things can change very quickly… and that we all have the opportunity to build a caring society.

http://www.artbygaia.com/ gaia@artbygaia.com

Qahira Lynn

Visionary spiritual artist, is a mystic muralist of
the dreamtime.
Her images evoke magic…spiraling and emerging through the sacred
symbology of the divine source, the great mother, the One...and a
passion for reaching into essence to what is deeper than words, making
pictures of what is beneath the surface, behind the veil, healing what
arises from the depths of the world soul, activating the powers of
intention, creating magic and revealing transcendence.

“When doing a mural (or any other artwork) for another person -
especially in their private space – it is my intention to become a
conduit for that person’s vision, feeling an essence to come through.
My dream is to travel the world painting murals and creating other art
pieces, I have much to learn from other places and cultures.”


Terra Wolfe

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.


Adan Del Bosque

I hope you enjoy my visionary art.

Ken Shapley

My work is best described as a digital photography exploration into the hidden forces of nature as revealed through mirror imaging. The Chinese word “Li” best describes what I love to photograph and weave into story. Li is “a blend of the interaction of the invisible “Chi “ or life force pushing through the dynamic growth structures of form to produce the evolving patterns in the visible world.”

My mirror image photography reveals the faerie like hidden worlds within the patterns in nature. There is an ancient voice hidden in the stones, an archetypal totemic edge to the clouds. Light tricks us in glances of particles and waves, only showing us half the story at any one time. My photographic style reveals the world in a whole new way. When we see the world anew our reverence for it expands and we are moved to create a more harmonious relationship to our environment. I am simply amazed by the beauty of the world, from micro to macro, and wish to share it through my photography. I am currently exploring printing onto a variety of silks to create wearable art and 3D ways of sharing my unique images.

The next stage in my adventure is to meet a great marketting person to work with and get the images out there in the world.

The Joy of Melting is a Giclee print on 300g acid free paper available in A4 or A3

The Sentinal of Edinburgh Craigs is a simple mirror image of 340 million year old rock, so tell me Mr Darwin why do the forces of nature conspire to produce such half seen beings in the rock?

The poem describes my world.

I have an exhibition waiting to show and 200 gigs of images to work with. Commissions undertaken.

www.mirrorcoolimages.com for more

William C. Burns, Jr.

Quixotic as ever

may you learn from every conflict
and may all your transitions be upward . . .

Zsuzsa Mathe

Just as Renaissance was the art of Realism, Transrealism (meaning "beyond what is real”) shows the actuality beyond the physical reality. Attila Jozsef, a great Hungarian poet who inspired Transrealism wrote in his poem, Welcome to Thomas Mann (1937)

"... You know this well: the poet never lies,
The real is not enough; through its disguise
Tell us the truth which fills the mind with light
Because, without each other, all is night. …”

I want to show the “truth” not the physical reality. There exist more “faithful” media to accomplish that.

In Transrealism, style can not be binding to express the essential reality. Hence comes the mixing of styles, even within the same one artwork, for a style in itself has a force of expression and serves as a tool of communication.

Man must be addressed so as to communicate to one; and to gain one’s willingness to listen to the message one needs aesthetics. There is no shadow without light and no light without a shadow. Here aesthetics is light and shadow is the lack of such. Aesthetics can not be exiled but our message can not be flooded with it either, because if a piece of art does not include both “light” and “shadow” then the potential in life fades away and the message becomes shallow.

The task of today’s fine art is to take in and integrate today’s world with all of its elements. That cell phones, advertisements, satellite internet and many other things are part of today’s world is a well-known and accomplished fact. There is no point in protesting against it, turning it into a manifesto or “calling it into one’s attention” – we have known it for a long time.

Today, at the beginning of the 21st century this is our life, not less than man of old times had his own surrounding life that was than captured as natural. This, today’s world must be communicated not with the art of protest but with the tools of art in harmony with life, to man in a quality and level that was done by the classical masters of fine art in their time. If not with the same tools, but no less immortal, it must be given about today’s life.

Biography, Zsuzsa Mathe

She was two years old when her father, returning from a business trip in Switzerland, brought her a ballpoint pen as a present. Ballpoint is a tool that can not be erased and thus one must be able to draw a line right the first time over. Thus her education in fine art began.

At primary school she attended high-school drawing classes and art history. She was advised on various subjects such as anatomy and the likes.

At high school she attended the prestigious Ferenczy Circle, a highly esteemed class on drawing and modeling for the nearby Academy of Fine Arts.

After graduating high school she attended and graduated a special collage on print shop work, thus learning the basics of additive and subtractive coloring and all other details that makes one a fine print-shop retoucher.

She was 20 when, in 1984, her first exhibit, The Gate Between Within and Beyond opened.

At the same time she got involved in Duna Circle, an alternative environmental protection group opposing a water-dam over the river Danube. This, later earned her a high spot on the blacklists of then still Communist Hungary.

Despite being blacklisted, and secret agents were regular visitors, the following years each brought feature exhibits: Withdrawn Promises (1985), Le Malade Imaginaire (1987), Shipwreck (1987) and a joint exhibit with the master course of world-known concert pianist George Cziffra.

As her mail was torn, telephone eavesdropped and conditions became unbearable to express her disagreement with the regime, she left Hungary in early 1988.

Having learned the local language in 1990 she was accepted to the world-famous Bezalel Academy of Art and Design.

Today, after adventuring around the world trying herself in various fields and professions, she is back in Hungary, painting again.



Kala Snowflower

Pure Joy is the title of a recent book of my poems and this best describes the state of being I have been living in as I explore a life of close community living, open hearted loving and getting in stronger touch with the core of my strength, my beauty and my compassion. I am a Reiki teacher and practitioner and find that my work as a healer and poet flow from the same source and inform one another to create a strong and flowing practice of staying in touch with my feelings, the feelings of others and the energy of the earth, sky and cosmos. I am currently working on three new books of poems and a book of prose poems. I feel my creativity flowing strong and sure these days. I am so 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 kala@happyvalleyreiki.com.


"After my time on the internet, I consider myself to be among the upper percentile of all expression. Underestimating myself is a thing of the past. Enjoy this story, this e-zine. I can produce a short story or an article for any publication. Paid or unpaid. My Dad put me through writing school."
Dalton can be reached at Jay.Dee66@yahoo.com

Keith Alan Hamilton

"I'm a mystic individualist, who is a psychic thinker, a Nature-itarian and
a wannabe writer/poet; who obscurely and artistically expresses through
words of thought, intelligently progressive and transitionally perceptive
insights; apparently all this is directly related to the effect of My
Abnormalities Normality upon me, with its empathic sensitivity."

Read more about me at http://www.keithalanhamilton.com/

My email is kah@keithalanhamilton.com

Flora S. Bowley


It is my desire to honor and celebrate the natural world by creating timeless and magical new “landscapes,” rich with color, soul and imagination. My paintings are created through many layers of intuitive mark-making, bold experimentations with color and careful rendering of organic forms. These “characters”: wings, sprouts, hives, branches, petals and pods, morph into semi-abstract forms and co-mingle with color fields to create new places born from the painting process. I leave “windows” into otherwise covered layers of paint to draw the viewer deeper into the landscapes, while etching, dripping, stamping and “dotting” enliven the forms and highlight their connectivity to each other.

Ultimately, I find purpose in the very act of observation, relating forms and colors to each other, and allowing new stories to unfold before me. My finished paintings are not meant to be conclusive; rather they are a celebration of the present moment, chaotic, subtle, and beautiful, mystical and ever-changing.


Flora S. Bowley is an emerging Northwest painter known for her playful and continually revealing compositions of semi-abstract forms, as well as her vibrant and unpredictable use of color. Bowley lives and works full time as a painter in Portland, OR, where she is surrounded by beautiful gardens, magical forests, constantly changing seasons, and a multitude of tiny living things. Other sources of inspiration come from traveling the world, dance, yoga, Burning Man, and connecting with other creative souls. Bowley’s work is represented by numerous galleries across the United States. Currently, Bowley is working on a large-scale commission for the prestigious Escala Building in downtown Seattle.


Gabe Marquez

The artwork of Gabe Marquez stems from a fascination for the other-wordly creatures and objects within his imagination. The architecture of these creatures is deeply rooted in symbology and color. External influences include astronomy, nature, sci-fi movies, design, architecture and literature.


Robert David Michael Cerello

was born in Glen Cove, Long Island, New York, and presently divides time between San Diego, CA, USA and Europe. He is an Objectivist philosopher and author. He graduated from Sayville High School, Pomona College, Laverne University's Teacher's program and holds an MA from the University of Virginia and an ESL certificate from S.D.S.U. He has written plays, novels, short stories, songs, screenplays, criticism, non-fiction, verse and poetry for forty years. He aspires to be a scientist of the arts and is well-known as a lecturer, actor, singer and teacher.

David Harrington

I currently reside in Portland, Oregon with my wife Dawn and two sons. I have lived here for nearly twenty years now, but am originally from the East Coast.

The piece here is from my collection of short, spiritually-charged allegories written over a twenty year period. These stories are rich with symbolism and strong characterization, but are both figurative and literal.


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