The Day After Grace Kelly Died

It is Sunday in downtown Jville New Zealand. I am amazed by the brilliant minds that grokked Blogger. Whoever you are out there in the aether 'I dips me lid to ya'.

You are genii all...

Imagine you invented a system whereby a Blogger such as me can sit in their living room and write to the world and thus the universe. It is Sunday and it is the day to talk to God. It is the day after Grace Kelly died. Appropriate music - Stabat Mater, a kyrie, Requiem, Gregorian Chant, Buddha Bar - will be provided by Youtube, in league with Mozilla Firefox and Google.

And somehow you Blogger site people wove all this magic together. If I want to retrieve a photo of one of my paintings on line in Picasa and drop it in this Blog it is almost an instantaneous act. The ability to edit writing, recast thoughts, and allow the imagination to roam free are your gifts. You allow us to roam free in the universe and talk to imaginary friends, and above all else to our Creator. The art of navigation through the web of Spider Grandmother is not easy and it entails a full understanding of Bell's Theorem of Nonlocality. In essence, you guys write the Lonely Planet guide to the Webaverse. Everything is connected:

The universe is a net of jewels;
In Indra's net
Each jewel
Reflects every other jewel.

I can't help thinking of Ken Wilbur's the 'one taste'. In our quantum reality everything is connected to the source that is our God. It is our supraholographic reality - the fecund evolution from a simple sound Aum and one split photon (the mere seeds of any grand God idea), faster than light, spiralling out, and intertwining, Julia set-fashion, in a Mandelbrot mandala until it all begins again. The Clash support these thoughts of spiralling as they belt out Magnificent Seven from their album Sandinista. [Ed note: they must be one of God's picks for the most influential bands of this small part of the cycle.]

Yesterday when I blogged The Day Grace Kelly Died part of me died also. I thought for a moment that the remnant part of her soul in this realm would be reduced to canisters of films in library vaults and reruns on Classic movies channels. But I know it is all connected. I can begin my imaginative romance with Grace Kelly again, long after her soul soared to 5-dimension, because the jewel she was, always is. Whenever we connect our souls to all around us, all souls intertwined, we have that state of Grace that Jimmy Stewart drawled so eloquently about.

I cling to the notion here that 'past is present is future' as a suitable navigational tool out of this. 'Tat tvam asi'. I look out to the world and ask the question of God 'What are you?'. God answers, concisely and categorically (in Sanskrit) 'I Am That, exactly that which you think you are looking at.' God says desist and my will is subsumed...

Here is a poem from my lady Phil:

Skies Full Of Betty Blue

She painted her lips a ruby red
Said 'Je t'aim baby it’s got to give'
With her bag full of decorations
She’s on her way
Telling you to plant the tree
From Christmas day

She’s a women
A child so much more
She’s a lover
A mother so much more
Your heart apart she tore
Your heart apart it tore

Her skies full of Betty Blue
Fell apart in front of you
Like a sax that kills your heart
She left you dying in the dark

Belladonna you cry out
You’re the drug I can’t
Live without
Now you’re crawling, crying,
In the dark
Looking for the pieces of
Your heart
Well femme fatale
She’s taken them away
She left you to die
In the light of day

Well back to the Blog. Sorry that you are reading italics. The Toolbar won't allow a grab and font change. This could be a small glitch back at Blogger Control HQ. Who knows, and who cares, as it works most of the time. By the time this Blog is completed they may have fixed it. Once it is in the aether it belongs to God anyway.

He's Called Bob!

He's Called Bob, the painting on paper at the start of this Blog, started with a visit to Wellington Cathedral in Molesworth Street on an Easter Sunday. (I just consulted a copy of the New Zealand Lonely Planet that I had worked on to see the exact street location). They had this postcard there - it depicted a collection of the art of school kids - and its main theme was what did they think God looked like. The results were interesting and one of the kids - top left hand corner - remarks that he knows Him and he's called Bob.

It is an amazing thing - almost like Blogger - the imagination of the child. It is now established fact that at age 12 or so their pineal glands (third eyes) will calcify and they will no longer see God in a pure, innocent and unfettered way. When I cut up the postcard, resized it and selected parts of the childhood reflections on the nature of God I did it with due reverence to the innocence of their imaginations. They are all angelic painters in their own right.

What do you know there is still a glitch out there in cyberspace on Blogger with the italic/roman font flick.

Back to Bob. I particularly love the comment that Bob sees everything we do, because of course we are an intrinsic part of the looking. I also love the kid looking through the hole in the fence. And then there is the Baby Factory!

I put this collage together in a meditative state as I wanted to get as close to that childhood innocence as I painted. Thank you to the kids who gave me that 'third eye' experience, through your still functioning third eyes.

Time to sign off from The Day After Grace Kelly Died. Thanks to the chance I have had to pray and meditate as I write this Blog, I was allowed a bit of pineal gland operation and the sight of innocence. The application of paint, glitter and love was easy.

acrylic, watercolour, glitter, oil colour and gifted childlike collage on A4 photocopy paper, 2006

inanga