A series of digital images reimagining the Celtic deer who appears near the end of my long painting ‘Druidica Blue: Deja Vu (Cave Art For the New Psyche).’ Here she is reimagined as a ‘double-deer on the river with a blue slash.’
Reimagining the imagined. The Celtic deer discovers herself in a geometric composition with a goddess manipulating a moon symbol, also from the original painting.
Reimagining the imagined. She is reimagined in two-dimensional profile where ‘dry sand is covering reeds and half-buried, disintegrated reed boats.’
Reimagining the imagined. I reimagine her being ofthe sun. In this composition two diagonal rods exit or enter a window in a dome. Diagonal lines connect her to the window.
Reimagining the imagined. She is reimagined here within a defined space. Perhaps an open air temple. I include a section of the original painting.
Reimagining the imagined. I remember painting the curvilinear antlers and feeling the texture of the paper on the floor. In Photoshop I (somehow) created a ‘brass brooch in refracted sunlight.’
Reimagining the imagined. The Celtic deer experiences a sudden buoyant springtime: surging youth & chlorophyll. Excuse the double watermarks. In doing so much layering and relayering I lose track of it.
Reimagining the imagined. Three primary influences (Matisse, Cubism, cartoons) create the sensation of a distant seashore I will only visit in my imagination.
Reimagining the imagined. In this Cubistic image the Celtic deer seems to enter the edges of a reverberaton.
I said frequencies come into view roaring like a whip-poor-will.
To within hearing range.
Within broadcasting range.
Within a marvelous & manifesting zone.
Except I didn’t say tone. I said zone.
Investigate the marvelous:
Track back to
a pulsing frequency
imagined as gossamer,
like that clear syrup you poured on pancakes,
in the air & not even sticky.
Except I didn’t say ode. I said code.
Remember that old song about a tomato,
You say: toe-MAH-toe
I say: toe-MAY-toe…
Except I didn’t say tomato at all.
I said alchemical frequencies.
Dialing landlines into clay.
Calibrate a fine-tuning.
I heard the eyelid open.
How does one hear from such a distance
if there is such a distance.
Track vibrations to their source
to evolving devolution
to devolving evolution.
Morphing into law or code.
Law or code tracked to a source
follow a firefly spiraling.
The source of the code fomenting sound.
A whip-poor-will swooping in a gyre, invisible to the bird of prey.
Remember that old song about a tomato,
You say: toe-MAH-toe
I say: toe-MAY-toe...
Except I didn’t say tomato at all.
I said thrum:
Amber-golden honeybees
pollinate the sun.
I said hum:
Rapid eye-movement beep.
Divining rod-flicker beep.
Levitating hypnopompic sun-stone beep.
Translucent wing-sheath
humming.
I bought a boomerang.
Silence! Hush!
Let you and me (one of us the fool) embroider a spoon large as a tapestry.
To spoof high officials with mock Greek Tragedy: How to SpoonfeedHoney.
To perform the pagaentry with sardonic flourish and redeeming severity.
Except I didn’t say money. I said honey.
I practice hooking my wrist.
At the market, behind seven hanging skins, I bought a boomerang inscribed with carving.
Expect
OM.
Beep
OM.
Amber-golden sun-stream OM
beeping hum, beeping thrum...
I purchase drops of oil annointing the boomerang.
A tacked up handbill publicizes theatrical spectacle of the highest form.
To sound
OM
spanning divinity to infinity.
Eyelid ascending…
A whip-poor-will descending
glides into the window light,
scratches at the stone of night.
OM sounding gyres, OM sounding omphalos
infinitely divine.
Infinity sounding
OM,
One eyelid open,
fingertip
shiatsu beneath the soil.
A silence of soil
in divine science, divine omen
infinitely OM.
A thrumming bluebird, thrumming gnat, thrumming comet,
(infinitely divine)
thrumming the speed of sound tearing a hole in shrouded time.
I conceal the boomerang within the folds of my Turin robe: echo of the divine.
Echo of the divine – tear a hole in time,
hurling, aimed into the mission,
sailing to omniscient vision
& to return
& to return.
In Turin return to shrouded silence,
raise the eyelid,
visualize OM.
In absent space, in disintegration
visualize OM.
OM onward OM in hallucinations of the heart.
Investigate the manifesting:
Track back to
a pulsing frequency
imagined as gossamer,
like that clear syrup you poured on pancakes,
in the air & not even sticky.
Remember that old song about a tomato,
You say:toe-MAH-toe
I say: toe-MAY-toe…
Except I didn’t say tomato at all.
Beneath the eyelid all is silent.
Silent night.
Tomato, summer 2022Photograph in Wikipedia I digitally rendered for purposes of non-commercial commentary.
Philip S. Callahan, Ph.D, influenced this poem, if I may call it a poem, with his unique research, discoveries, and ideas about sound & transmission related to the Irish round towers.
A linocut moon from my ‘wordless poem’ Nevermore Together (2014, The Porcupine Quill’s press – 120 linocut prints). A Spiral Monk digital drawing from a series I did a few years ago. The Irish terminology discovered in the John Moriarty book Dreamtime.
Eachtra: An adventure to or from the Otherworld of mythic, or of near-mythic, strangeness. Imbas Forusnai: Method of divination practiced by seer-poets of ancient Ireland.
Last night I walked home at eleven. Dark and cool. The streets and cafes were busy – lots of children.
Turning left, then right, I skirted the park. On my street I was startled by a sudden voice behind a large bush. A woman was photographing earwigs (feeding?) in the centres of daisies.
I’m taking care of two cats and one decided to make noise at 4:45 am to let me know she expected to be fed. I lay there trying to sleep and heard the phrase ‘in singularity the flowers explode.’ I thought it needed something so added ‘in neon mystery.’
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