“Orthodoxy is unconsciousness.” ‘1984’George Orwell
“IntraCellular/InterStellar OverDrive” – Gwyllm 2017
Well,
I am changing the format of Turfing, and going towards less of a magazine feel to a journal of sorts. This entry deals with the concept of “Transmission”
Thank you for coming back to Turfing. I am humbled by the love that people have shown for my work, and the appreciation. Time is short, there is much to be done.
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm
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Transmissions
I have thought long and hard about the concept of Transmission. I realize that I have been the beneficiary of Transmissions going back time out of mind. Genetic transmissions (of course), teachings handed down over the countless generations, through thick and thin, through prosperity and poverty, peace and war.
I realize that I am here because of the efforts put forth by those who came before; my direct ancestors, and others who thought and dreamt the future. Without them, and the sacrifices made, we would not be here.
Transmission has been recently given over to the concept of the spiritual side. My Buddhist friends use the term frequently. This in itself is all kind of wonderful, and puts it a bit imo on a pedestal. Transmission from the teacher, the lineage etc. This of course is all well and fine and does serve a valuable purpose.
There is the transmission though of mammalian comfort, of love first of course from ones mother, holding you within her body for 9 months, and then in her arms after one makes their appearance in the world… There are countless ways that Transmission occurs. Little ones are like sponges, picking up the good, with the not so good. A child can learn love, or fear along these journeys, often commingled with countless myriads of conflicting signals.
The transmissions continue through ones life, and I think one has to do a sorting of sorts. Which ones did I accept at face value? Why do I repeat old saws, and are all of my thoughts truly mine? Are these emotions valid, or something I took on?
Perhaps the task is unraveling the various transmission that one tends to go back to, examine them for their validity. What do I want to pass on to those who come after? Surely not the gathered fears, angers, emotions that short circuit my life.
We all are on a voyage, as messengers from a distant past to a distant future. What transmissions do we truly want to deliver?
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On The Menu:
Standing Rock Fund Raiser
The Linkage
Gwyllm Art Calendars!
Morning Dew
Poetry: William Butler Yeats
“Symphony No.9, Boogie” by Matryomin Ensemble
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Help Support The Standing Rock Sioux Tribe!
I have constructed this print in support of the Standing Rock Sioux, and all who have gathered in this struggle for clean water, and for Mother Earth.
All Profits go to The Standing Rock Sioux Food Fund.
This is our time, these are the issues, and we know the solutions.
Stay Focused, Stay Real, Love Will Prevail.
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm
Standing Rock Food Fund Raiser!
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Linkage:
50 Million Farmers – Thanks To Diane Darling For This
People Who Can See Calendars…. 😉
Occult America!
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Whoa! It’s That Time Of Year Again, Calendars!!!
Yep, the new ones are here! First one up is the desk calendar, lower in price, but unique in that there is back history on some of the pieces and it is indeed a piece of art on its own:
Gwyllm Art – Desk Calendar 2017
The Wall Calendar: Sumptuous in size, for the wall of those whose discriminating taste runs to the Surreal, and possibly the Occult!
Gwyllm Art – Large Wall Calendar 2017
Why have one calendar when you can have two?
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Poetry: William Butler Yeats
A Crazed Girl
That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, ‘O sea-starved, hungry sea.’
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A Coat Poem
I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world’s eyes
As though they’d wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there’s more enterprise
In walking naked.
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A Cradle Song
THE angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.
God’s laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay with His mood.
I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown
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These Are The Clouds
These are the clouds about the fallen sun,
The majesty that shuts his burning eye:
The weak lay hand on what the strong has done,
Till that be tumbled that was lifted high
And discord follow upon unison,
And all things at one common level lie.
And therefore, friend, if your great race were run
And these things came, So much the more thereby
Have you made greatness your companion,
Although it be for children that you sigh:
These are the clouds about the fallen sun,
The majesty that shuts his burning eye.
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The Back Story: Theremin Nesting Dolls Extravaganza!
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“A life without love is of no account. Don’t ask yourself what kind of love you should seek, spiritual or material, divine or mundane, eastern or western…divisions only lead to more divisions. Love has no labels, no definitions. It is what it is, pure and simple. Love is the water of life. And a lover is a soul of fire! The universe turns differently when fire loves water.”
― Shams Tabrizi
The High, The Holy – Gwyllm 2013