Tag Archives: poetry

THE REVELATION JOURNALS I-VII

THE REVELATION JOURNALS I-VII

November 4, 2009

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These are the journals associated in part with The Revelation Painting.

The blogs are rough drafts of sections of the journals which will be published after the painting is released (projected release dates for the journals: 12/2013-2015). I have chosen to publish these blogs and not keep them private as it will give the audience an opportunity to learn and grow with The Revelation Painting in this last year which I term: The Finale’.

The blogs are in no particular order visible to you but they are being separated into their respective journals behind the scenes. These journals hold several mysteries unveiled in The Book of Revelation from the bible which have been missed throughout history and once revealed will change history as we know it. So you are reading history in the making!

The Revelation Painting is created for the people of the globe and for the past eleven years, people have participated in its creation. The overall endeavor is to create visual peace in these times of turmoil throughout the world. It is an opportunity to focus on something beautiful and designed to place the viewer in awe. Please see the blog about the painting at:www.therevelationpainting.wordpress.com

The Journals included with this painting are as follows:

Journal I The Journal of Dreams

This journal summarizes where and how the painting originated, the initial attempts at its creation, essentially the beginning of the work through its completion. Background on the artist, past experiences, current experiences and thoughts, ideas and feelings while working on this masterpiece are captured within the pages of the journal. It contains rare insight into an artist mind while working on a masterpiece!

Journal II The Journal of Visions

Exploring imagination and visually preparing for this huge project, the journal recalls where the vision arose and how it developed throughout the twelve total years required to complete The Revelation Painting. It explores the artist views and personal battles with religion, God, the “calling” as a messenger to complete this massive religious painting.

Journal III Journal of Measures

The Journal of Measures covers not only the grids and precise measurement required for a 12 foot by 40 foot creation, but the numbers and coincidences found throughout the twelve years required to complete the painting. Small sketched works were required to become at times “larger than life”. The journal is in graph form to help facilitate readability and understanding of the creative and sometimes scientific processes required to manually enlarge drawings without the aid of electronics or other artificial means.

Journal IV Journal of Sketches

Preliminary thoughts are sketched and worked through in order to create the perfect scene, exactly how the artist conceptualized the painting upon completion. Starting often times as merely stick images, working through to the completed characters or scenes. The journal also includes required experimentation to create a painting which would be durable enough to withstand the test of time, e.g., the effects of the raw mineral sulfur and its acidic effects on cloth canvas.

Journal V The Stones

In depth coverage regarding the stones of the twelve foundations noted in The New City are covered in this journal. Geological, metaphysical, spiritual and origins are also covered. Stories about global participation in obtaining the stones are also covered. Tools, lacquer, and very significant mystery of Revelation is disclosed in this journal.

Journal VI Truth-The Hemorrhage of Pigs!

The artist reveals the profound change made in the painting in 2009 and how it occurred. Where religion became political and how it forced the artist to find a way to make the painting stay in its original religious state, yet in moments change into a political piece revealing corruption and essentially crimes against humanity! This is the climax behind the story of The Revelation Painting which will shock and astound followers of the series when it is realized that there has been a battle of good and evil within the painting the entire time! The painting bleeds-a hemorrhage and returns to its normal state right in front of your eyes!

Journal VII Journal of Acknowledgement

This is the journal where all participants globally are acknowledged for their participation in the project and completion of The Revelation Painting. A one page advertising area is offered (text only, no photography), to advertise business, make a statement to the world, or anything the author wishes. Contributions can range from a comment, marketing, to sponsorship or obtaining materials. Everyone is acknowledged, some to the point of limited ownership of a random section of the painting!

The journal titles are written in english and subtitles of the journals as well as subtitles of the scenes of the painting are written in random languages. The journals will be designed appropriately and with the highest hand quality a painting such as The Revelation Painting deserves and designed to last more than a lifetime.

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Side Note:  HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!

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The Journal of Dreams 01/22/2010

Da Vinci was a brilliant man and a trickster apparently.  I think he spent a lot of time amusing himself.  Definitely he was ahead of his time.  That is what I am wondering about today.  Why are some people “ahead” of their times?  There is a simple philosophy I discovered some time ago when I tried to understand the who, what, when, where and how of us as human beings.  What I came up with was that we are products of all of our interactions and experiences.  How could we be more than that if we never experienced it or learned it?  In DaVinci’s case it was imagination which allowed him to cross the boundaries of technology, to create flying machines in his mind and apply them to paper.  Of course he had to have some understanding of flight and gravity as well as other understanding of the things he built.

What about poets who write about things they have not experienced and the use of words that they never have used and do not know what they mean?  Where did that come from?  I wonder about the transition between life and death.  Just because we do not physically see a body anymore when someone dies, does that mean that they are not here with us?  What I have learned as a trauma nurse is that a body is a heavy burden to carry.  It only houses our spirit and our soul.  Even from the day we are born, this physical body is heavy for us regardless of its weight.  Imagine if your spirit was a fleeting light which darted from place to place too fast for the human eye to catch it?  It seems right when talking about the bright light of God and that we were created in his image doesn’t it?  Haven’t you ever seen something from the corner of your eye only to turn and it is gone?

What if that is a spirit that our physical bodies aren’t fast enough to keep up with and that our physical brains chalk up to impossible because it does not have the capability to understand it, something like a self-preservation mode.  If it seems illogical, then the brain rejects it.  What is that we see from the corner of our eye?  Also, if you have ever noticed that when you are extremely tired, it is then that those things become more clear.  Sometimes when I am exhausted, when I wake up for the first few minutes when I move my arms, it is like a trail of arms because the mind cannot keep up with the movement.  It is like drawing a picture which changes ever so slightly on the page corners of a book.  When you fold the pages back and let it flip, it creates a movie.

Our brain may be fast enough when it is rested, but what when it is tired?  Do we see the individual pieces which make the whole picture?  How do I not know at this very moment, that there aren’t spirits surrounding me watching me work?  Just because I cannot see it, it does not mean that it isn’t so.  How do we know that DaVinci didn’t sketch those flying machines through a guided hand of a spirit?  We do not.  Often times people say I think too much.  They are only seeing the waking part of my thinking.  If they saw the sleeping part of my thinking (my dreams), they would wonder how I survive at all!  How do we know that we are not someone reincarnated?  How do we know that we do not come back over and over just to experience all the things we didn’t understand the first time around?  Where does Deja vu come from?

Circle of Seven

 Would it be marvelous to save this old and weary soul?

 Shadows dance aimlessly toward its demise. Visionless of what we have and limitless in belief it will never end, we seem to anticipate a brighter explosion of tomorrow through darkness of yesterday’s eyes.

 Mumbling voices echo, hit their knees for the first time. Prayer trickles through empty corridors as a soul begs to be set free. Physical limitations crushing, override the spirit. So it creeps in, this thing called destiny.

 No sadness lingers at lifetime’s edge, no mystery unraveled, or story to tell. Only the tempting call of affirmation and worth when ones standing are left behind, as the soul rises from its heavy shell.

 Shadows move closer to graciously accept, the soul dances weightless within the heaven-bound circle of seven. Rejoicing tears splash on earth mimicking soft rain as the old, weary soul travels gently toward heaven.

The Journal of Dreams 01/16/2010

The Pale Horse according to my theory is the representative of the Mongoloid race which according to the origins of races began in Asia and crossed to the Americas by a giant ice bridge a long time ago.  When I researched the four primary races I was shocked to learn that we in America, who I thought we Caucasoid were actually Mongoloid.  

It makes sense that a hair dresser once told me that I had a double crown on the nap of my neck like people of Asian decent.  I carried that mystery with me for a long, long time wondering about it and my ancestors.  The most I really know about myself only dates back to my great, great grandparents and before their existence in America is unknown.  

I used the website www.ancestry.com and it took my name back to the Scottish people but it was a different name than now.  There is a photo of a Native American woman my father has that he stated was his grandmother.  She was a strong, big woman with long black hair.  My father remembered little about her in the way of facts but remembered she was “an Indian”.  

My father said she had breathing problems and washed her hair with salt because the water would make her sick (whether it was the water or not is unknown).  He said she would rub salt into her hair and make it shiny black.  He also remembered that she smoked cigars.  I wondered how common it was for women to smoke cigars back in the day.  

I had an aunt that had the same big-boned, powerful presence with long, black hair who died relatively young with Lupus.  Often time we inherit the diseases of our ancestors and it may have been Lupus that the great grandmother had which can affect the lungs since it is an autoimmune disorder where the body attacks it’s own connective tissues.  

Long ago, when I was in my early twenties, I remember walking past a mirror and for a split second I saw my grandfather’s face in my face, just for a split second.  I realized that we shed pieces of ourselves through our seeds until we have nothing left to shed; we give ourselves away and never really die, we are within our children, their children, and so on.  

When I was young, I imagined God created people on something like an assembly line and had to draw people very fast.  Sometimes he would forget an arm or leg, or other things that made people “whole” and that was why some people were deformed or died at birth.  It is funny how our minds work when we are young as we seek answers.  

As long as I can remember, I always sought answers to the things I did not understand.  I like to think I have an analytical mind.  We I stepped out of the protection of the small neighborhood I was raised in and into the big city I saw homeless people, the big money skyscrapers of corporate America and there seemed such a mismatch of power.  I began to write poetry:  

Answer Me! 

  

Secrets of a million minds pulling together; a force of one Answers to riddles begin to fall in place
Answers are not allowed here!  

Fear sets in amongst the strong
Confidence corrupts the timid
The world is turned upside down, yet only for a moment
Then sweet, sweet silence… 
Interrupted 
Laughter bellows from the city walls
Dark alleyways summon you by name
The secrets of a million minds whisper softly down cobblestone streets
Answers are not allowed here!  

Sunlight cannot reach the homeless
Towering masses of brick and mortar shadow their existence
Their “mere existence”
Such angry hatred dances on wicked fingertips down cobblestone streets 
And the tear stretches down
Like fire, it burns from the soul
Eyes upturned, begging for answers
Secrets of a million minds, although as loud as thunder
Whisper too silently to hear the answer
For, answers are not allowed here!