A Birth Dream Frees The World Soul With Visionary Art

Birth Dream by Johfra

A full exhibition of Johfra's monumental career of works can be found on Visionary Revue, a publication by Laurence Caruana devoted to the history and future of Visionary Art. The most well-known Visionary Artist in America is Alex Grey. His artworks spurred on my fascination with this new wellspring of artistic creativity. A break from surrealism, visionary artists utilize all triggers available to the human body and soul, toward transcendent & transpersonal spiritual unity. The Birth Dream ignites the power of noetic states to trigger the breath of novelty into the mind of the seer. Completed in 1945, this painting marked the very beginning of Johfra's career. He is today known as the principle pioneer of painting techniques that today are the impetus for creative gatherings of all kinds, celebrating the breadth of wonder that the Visionary World Soul inspires in and through us all.  

_________

I hid in triumphant bedrooms of young fear and coarse humor, watching my love’s eager tongue, to lick night’s end with a tearful silent dimming of conscience and the earth’s bounteous tune of motion, she stopped and looked at the drug-stung gang of princely wealth. 

The Mahant Offers Child Birth Medicine to Elokeshi by Unknown

They passed around a newly synthesized batch of 2C-I, a wrongly attributed artificial form of mescaline, and into the innocent palm of my blue-pill eating love. She sang in the company of the greedy minds that drank Smiles in a worshipful torrent of a sleep-lust rush, yet I knocked the beady teardrop-shaped tablets from her hand and mind in an instant of tough self-worth. 

A Portrait of Frankie Howerd by StuartHampton

I drew her character near, and as dawn waded in the shore-sent horizon, I pointed outward, to an island off the lakebed shore, where the upstairs cottage-lights roamed out onto the moonlit waters, faintly giving way to the sun’s scintillating swarm of heat and meaning. We walked, silent as the ether out onto shore, and for the first time, I saw her swim. 

Shore Landscape by Fanny Churberg

I witnessed her smooth body glean the uncanny movements of a dolphin’s glowing visage as her inward celebration of life met with my dusty ruminations on the natural way, the right road home, without minding the needful eyes of that ghastly rush that now lay strewn over the colonial walls of a midsummer cottage, alone in the wilderness of one natural hallucination. 

Painting of Sohni Mahiwal by Unknown

The samsaric fish swam with the mermaid intelligence of true human pride, and I saw her, she knew as I, that the metaphysical dome of the potent seed can dry out the natural host of our musing otherness already freed by the practice of our unique and artful sanity. 

_________

"with true knowledge of her leaving,

the door closes behind you twice,

            without word,

            in absolute Love,

a vacuous throat

                        shaped by the corridors walked

and now stared through

            sitting in the awesome lesson of the moment’s own home,

                        a dream over 10 years,

                           that this cave is positioned to open towards a passage,

                                                one’s only point of departure

            and perceptual environment is no more or less than passage,

                                                whether through the mixed celebration

of alcohol and music

in Iquitos jungle vibrancy

on the neon drug night

of America’s wandering life"

excerpt from "Blakean Consciousness on a Rainy Day"

Dream Music and the Creative Breath

Hear my beginnings on Xaphoon, a modern woodwind instrument.

Also, listen to Vi An's ambient, new single, "Souls of Flightless Birds" to hear my initial touches on Shakuhachi

To hear my more percussive beginnings see my earlier posts Busker's Gamble 1 & 2

________

My elementary school music teacher begins the session with an arcane eye, emitting positively unintelligible sentiment into the classroom. The entirety of the students’ awareness is razed in a moment of ineluctable meditation at the front of the room. The teacher is absorbed in trance, unable to begin the lesson. Then, she takes up an oboe, and begins a hypnotic hum, playing without her fingers. She bends her lips to the visionary yonder, bespeaking a ghostly insight into the sonic membrane of harmonious mystery. 

Three Black Women (1912) by Nicholas Kalamakoff 

As the hum begins to rise, a crack in the doorway spells fear in the eyes of my fellow students, watching as a three nude black women gracefully dance their way to the front of the room. Their light steps are unmatched in delicate beauty. The warmth of their presence is charming as the teacher begins to lather up and down immense, powerful scales. The dance heats with inner vivacity. Without fully recognizing, I have been completely entranced, alone in another room, seduced by the mad eyes of the superhuman subtleties emerging of the dance of sprites. The unity of music and dance is embodied in the untouchable, ebony enigmas. 

________

Sculpting our Music

to empathize with space,
emptied learning
devoid of causality,

to exist in nonsense happily,
with or without means to find the light to continue
and realize that meaning prevails in the ability to emancipate need into desire
and transform desire into being,

to see you,
in the flap of a wave thickening
in a sky filled with stars aglow
in the insect's wing,
eaten then,
raw in the toothless humanity
forming on the tip and base of the tongue
with each word-stopped breath of compassion

stating,
"subsist without things,
yet do not merge one with sheer being,
there is no escape from right,
take time to see,
play aloud to the soft distance
in each touch
on the eternal book
resting coolly
on the back of every pulse
moving through fingertips pressed over reality."

simply unlearn doing
by giving into the peace already;
know your surroundings,
truth does not move,
yet there is mystery in sound's effortless becoming
around and within the hand that pulls time into the heart
and plays breath
in tune to the sun's round birth canal of thoughtless entry
into an orbital law,

a return to archaic wisdom
in ancient instruments
and the rare music of inward listening
that shares all in the act of creative wondering

to explore the mind without friction
against the beat of our one heart,
drained now by love's unknown pleasures
offered to the inescapable friend,
who appears as death at the beginning of night,
freezing time
for a moment's celebration of temporal freedoms
grinning out of sight