"Sunshower's Art Speaks" -- WHITE SHADOWS

[Sunshower]

White Shadows January 9, 2008


Only the Whisperings of my White Shadows
Felt the woman who now appears
Within my Mayan Walls.
SHE is the Manifestress!

How unusual that I found my beginnings
On the Right, like None before me.
An easier choice would have been
To simply draw and paint a Palm Tree.

Ah-h-h, yes. This was the seedling thought.
We SO love that look, the Tall Ones
Who live in deserts and near oceans
Splaying their lofty leaves high, high above!

It would be fine to turn the paper on the vertical
Draw a Palm from the top – down
Starting at the upper left of the page . . .
Yet there was a knowing – there was more.

“On the horizontal – Start from the Right.
Leave the White of this Sheet of Paper
Over here . . . Right here . . . Blankness
A White Void, from which to draw . . .

From your memory banks
Yes, the Akashic library
You’ve been here before.
Just remember . . . Remember.”

And so it begins – first the Palm Leaf shapes
Lightly, Lightly. Keep it open . . .
Yes, and now your mind’s eye
Seas the Mayan Tiles, horizontally . . .

Making their way across the page,
Earth Tones Walking and Talking
Over to the Left, to the Left.
Leave a space for Light. Then another . . .

Set of Mayan tiles, arranging their Destiny
Speaking in subtle tones of Burnt Sienna
Dropping off, to re-enter the Silence
Of the Palms’ White Shadows.


“Isn’t it fun that We depict a Wall
When indeed, we’ll hang on one?”
‘Sh-sh-sh, don’t mention that yet . . .
It’ll disturb the flow; she’s in the flow.’

And now the crack – let’s give some depth
A great mark to delineate that Time
Has passed, revealing the Ancients’
Desire to cast their Shadow – in Watercolor.

Wonder why everything’s so muted here
In this World that’s crossing borders
Between the Expected and the Unexpected.
Yes, this one breaks the Rules!

It feels as if we’re unfinished, with all that White . . .
“SILENCE”! is the Word.
And behold, an Angel appeared before them.
‘Who are you, please?’ “I am the Manifestress.”

Bring me forth from inspired works
Of one other artist, Erte
Who, with all his whimsical fantasies
Is known for Eternity as the Father of Art Deco.

You know that when you take such delight
From another’s Imagination – that you
Tune in, not only through Resonance
Indeed, you are a “lit particle” on their Beam.

Yes, the laser, the Light Source, as it were.
All of our beginnings are begun Here.
And so, Dear Ones, it’s as simple as
‘Showing interest’ that allows the flow.

Like a spark that jumps from a Bon Fire
We bring our ‘tidbit of interest’ and Show Up!
That’s what created me, the Manifestress . . .
A curiosity that said, “Wonder what it feels like. . .

To be a Deco female with a double pouched purse?”
Romain de Tirtoff, the Russian born fashion designer
Whispers from beyond the Veil, “Just try it. You’ll see!”
Then I was born, a full grown woman with . . .

The Power to Create myself – You’ll sea.
I reach into my deep green velvet pouch,
Pull out some putty (some would call ‘clay’)
And knead it a while in my hand.

My thoughts are on what I desire that moment.
I transfer that ‘spark’ through my Being
Through my Heart, down my arm and fingers
And ‘Let It Go’ with an air of Divine Nonchalance.

You see, my head and gaze are focused
A good 60 degrees from the Direction of my Intent.
This is called Detachment, in its purest form,
Not a fleck of doubt, just the Essence of Assurance.

It is only through Grace that our wishes come true,
Welling up inside, from whence it arises
Like the Phoenix from Ashes, our Feelings
Ignite the Passion of White Hot INTENTION!

“How absurd,” you say, “to look the other way!
Should we not keep our eyes fixed upon
That place we wish to go?”
‘Not if you truly wish to get there,’ I say.

The senses are not to be trusted –
Not in the Ways of Spirit, indeed –
Only in matters of fact do they serve.
Blessed are the Meek, for they shall Inherit . . .

The Kingdom of Heaven – a mere breath
That we breathe – has been ours all along.
When the babe pulls the air in at birth,
Whose air is it, if not a speck of the Cosmos?

And that same inhalation was once something else.
Someone has said “Dust and feathers, every one.”
I challenge you to dispute this . . .
. . . or simply Trust me . . . with a Sigh.

Ah yes, that exhalation – our last hurrah
As we ‘give up the ghost’
And let someone else’s life begin.
All is yours. Simply allow it.