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Posts Tagged ‘PRIVATE RHYTHM: BE MY LULLABY Catherine L. Johnson 2009; CATHERINE L. JOHNSON;’

Please note:
My entry does NOT refer to the apocalyptic wildfires in Northern California.  
The devastation of the wildfires in California is real and harrowing.
The “fire” I specify and allude to is a poetic internal metaphor
not the apocalypse,
horror and grief that those effected by the wildfires are experiencing.

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RESURRECTION/EXODUS (1 of 5 paintings)                               Catherine L. Johnson  1996

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PRIVATE RHYTHM: MYTHROATSINGING                                Catherine L. Johnson 2009

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“We are created in rhythm,
kept alive in rhythm,
evolve through rhythm.

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Tides, breath, and blood flow in rhythm.

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HEARTFIRE Triptych                                                                       Catherine L. Johnson 1998

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We are born into a universe of currents,
and

our heart is

the great conductor of the body,

orchestrating

our

flow.”

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HEARTFIRE                                                                                          Catherine L. Johnson 1999

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The legacy of the

HEART FIRE

is more than eight hundred thousand years old
—and in our modern world,
we need more than ever to consciously reconnect
to the

RADIANT FIELD

that transcends
time, space, and culture.

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The

direct awakening

of the heart
often happens when we are at a

crisis point,

when the armor of our heart

has to crack,”

writes Shiva Rea.

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“Let us return to the

POWER

and

MAGNIFICENCE

of our

HEARTS

as LIVING

FIRE,

as INTELLIGENT

ENERGY

and

as ELECTROMAGNETIC

RADIANCE,

and

as our

ILLUMINATING 

guide

toward

LOVE,

CREATIVITY,

and

deep knowing

of our

TRUE

SACRED

 NATURE.”

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In our hearts there burns a fire…
That burns all veils to their root and foundation

When those veils have been burned away
Then the heart will understand completely.
Ancient love will unfold ever-fresh forms
In the heart of the Spirit,
In the core of the heart.
– RUMI

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HEARTFIRE                                                                                          Catherine L. Johnson 1999

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https://artpredator.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/rumifire.jpg

YESUAWCUKNOW

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GoldBirdSONG 

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Please click for further information:

http://www.mnartists.org/artwork/goldbirdsongs-1-7-2016

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The works resonated with
spectrograms of bird songs:
 graphs that show you the frequency, or pitch, of a sound,
its loudness, and how these change over the course of the sound;
 electrocardiograms of the heart: 
recordings of the electrical activity of the heart
over a period of time 
and
polygraphs of a lie detector tests that records:
the person’s breathing rate, the person’s pulse, 
the person’s blood pressure and the person’s perspiration. 

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PLEASE CLICK ON EACH IMAGE TO ENLARGE

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GoldBirdSONG_#1_2016_CATHERINELJOHNSON_edited-1GoldBirdSONG #1                                                                         Catherine L. Johnson  2016

 

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GoldBirdSONG_#2_2016_CATHERINELJOHNSON_edited-1GoldBirdSONG #2                                                                      Catherine L. Johnson 2016

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GoldBirdSONG_#3_2016_CATHERINELJOHNSON_edited-1GoldBirdSONG #3                                                                   Catherine L. Johnson 2016   

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GoldBirdSONG_#4_2016_CATHERINELJOHNSON_edited-1GoldBirdSONG #4                                                             Catherine L. Johnson 2016

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GoldBirdSONG_#5_2016_CATHERINELJOHNSONGoldBirdSONG #5                                                                   Catherine L. Johnson 2016

 

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GoldBirdSONG_#6_2016_CATHERINELJOHNSON_edited-1GoldBirdSONG #6                                                                 Catherine L. Johnson 2016

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GoldBirdSONG_#7_2016_CATHERINEL.JOHNSON_AGoldBirdSONG #7                                                                       Catherine L. Johnson 2016

 

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BREATHING.

LISTENING.

HEART BEAT.

NATURE.

SENSORY/ SENSUOUS.

A/LIVE.

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https://catherineljohnson.wordpress.com/2016/01/04/the-writings-herhymns-be-brave-lullaby-i-thou-poem-a-lullaby-for-a-lover-catherine-l-johnson-interdisciplinary-artist-humanly-possible-the-empathy-exhibition-instinct-art/

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12:32 a.m. 091211

I wish I had been still, silent,

when you suddenly re-appeared

 as a call in the night

of the full moon.

To hear your voice, it’s lush and sultry

lullaby, took me back to the time

long ago: when I was awakened.

Quietly, I sensed your presence, palpable, at midnight.

A distant sound of your heat coming closer.

Your call at 12:32 a.m.

was the cresting-

 casting our breath,

the call and response of life,

as a pendulum

 between us.

A quiet metronome calling in and out the tide of a calm and alert heart beat.

My fast delight in you astonished me.

Its rainbow colors had not paled.

The roses’ flush had not faded.

Eleven months ago was the last shore

our voices and breath

  had swept upon.

I had sailed small ships to you,

rhythmically,

in the interim/the pause

carefully crafted ships that

could be held in your palm-

weightless amulets for you,

as  I knew your burdens

were powerful and heavy

demanding

  the strength of Atlas

and the

the faith of Job

and

the abiding care

of  tenderness.

No sounds, breath nor words echoed back from you.

I knew you were a king,

a  lion heart warrior,

and I know

you own multiple suits, hats, masks and masquerades.

I believe in you.

The measure of you as a man is:

a good man,

a genius man,

a grace man

You  navigate a relentless,

unmerciful, turbulent sea

with

fortunate tastes of heaven

along the way.

I have faith

in your fortitude,

in your resilience,

in your laughter.

I wanted to hear the story of you.

I believe in  real experience,

the  dynamic storytelling,

not quotes of a life-

that is fiction.

I asked you about the beginnings,

the markers, the coordinates, the constellation, the compass

to enter your world gently,

 to trace and create a new map,

since

 the last sweet note of your voice

intertwined with mine.

I needed to know your True North.

I had found a reliquary of joy,

a captured memory of a  beloved life

that left the earth

yet, forever

  lives in you.

I found it in the week of your grief.

I now told you of its existence

for you.

Insensitive you spat and declared me.

I knew then you heard me as noise and as a rogue wavelength not listening  and responding to you in kind.

Warmth turned to ice, frozen ice.

I was gliding and now I was paralyzed with your responses.

I wish I had asked for you

to take the lead.

My quiet inviting you

to move the world forward.

Your call at 12:32 a.m. on 091211 was the authentic capacity of your world.

No words.

No stories,

No information.

Simply breathing together was the music, the exchange, the reverence of a secret harbor.

I understand.

You told me:

Do not talk about the past.

I need to move ahead, move forward.

I listened.

I heard you.

You told me:

Do not talk about the past.

I need to move ahead, move forward.

I listened.

I heard you.

I too need motion, forward motion, real motion.

I needed to know the motion of your True North at this moment.

The past had closed and exist as still photographs of remembrance and points of departure.

I wish I had asked for you

to take the lead.

The quiet inviting you

 to unfold in your rhythm.

I wish I had been a soundless presence

explicit and naked with milk and honey.

Hushed.

I wish I had been a reflecting pool

a meditation of resonating care

with flashes of silver on blue.

I wish I had been water reflecting

 the haloed light

 of the full moon’s splendor.

Slowly, I felt blindfolded

and placed in a maze, groping

 for an exit.

Suddenly, I was on a high wire.

I was terrified.

The words I spoke shaped questions of your past year,

I sensed that you heard my questions as spears,

as  barbed spikes to injure you.

You did not listen to their true caress,

and  you chose to step away

and

watch me fall

and

fail

to comfort you.

I was losing my balance.

My delight became unmoored.

I felt trapped and unable to breathe.

And then you hung up.

Harsh.

I reeled,

staggered

in your choice of direction.

Your blow was  shocking, severe and searing.

And  yet I understood.

I called back.

I cannot live backwards and in fear.

No. No. No.

I need the scent, sound, sight, taste and touch of  fresh and engaging lush and sultry lullabies.

I need  love’s freedom in forgiveness

and  love’s responsibility of forgiveness.

Forward motion not movement.

Alive.

I wish I had asked for you

to take the lead.

I wish I had followed only your breath.

Following your breath as the lead.

Reflecting back in silence.

Opening up in silence.

Giving you a nest in silence.

Giving me a nest in silence.

Swinging the breath between us,

 opening, improvising, creating

a new rhythm, a pure music

of adventure and renewal.

The night became a cry for me.

I looked  down at my scars as rips and tears.

I felt like I was positioned on a game board as a piece – not a person.

I am a woman of amplitude and honed sensibilities.

I am not a manufactured game piece sold over the phone.

I felt the cruel quicksand drown of humiliation.

I felt like an iron shovel was thrown into a delicate garden.

Awkwardness swallowed my happy elegance upon

hearing your voice once again.

My care for you was kept in a hurricane lamp.

Safe and sound.

The sun rises again, a new story

is in every breath,

in every motion forward-

thought and chosen action,

and, even in my indignant and bruised cry of that night.

I choose to welcome this crossing as a discovery.

I am supple-not servile.

I am responsive, dynamic.

Rigid rules, bitterness, unresolved wounds and unspoken agendas kill.

The past can hold  the present hostage

by turning away, and

burrowing  the wheels of  past grief, hurt, rage and betrayals

into a deep hidden caverns

and gradually the rancid energy

wires  the heart and the spirit shut.

It has the power to become an unconscious leit motif,

a conditioned involuntary reflex

and  becomes a familiar home

 seeking  its mirror, its counterpart.

Stuck- a phonograph needle caught in a vinyl valley, an obsessive looping of the same.

Rolling  the boulder up the mountain and then the boulder rolls down over and over.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Until one can imagine beauty, deliverance and liberation,

stare down the cannibal of fear and voracious demons,

and

 venture into a new world and break open a new life

with

uncharted music and  unknown choreography,

the boulder will continue to tumble down-

shackling one to punishing patterns of the past.

Yes.

I know this because of the winter of my winter’s winter-

my dark night of the soul

You did not know of  this season.

Your stony heart will break open into flesh and blood once again.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

I know the joy of you.

I am here for the full extent of your humanity

as you echo

your care about the full extent of my humanity.

Be still  and in motion.

My word

is the full moon

shining

flowing

every

night

into

dawn.

Luminous.

I need infinity

and

divine breath

to live

love

my

life

and

  to invite and welcome

a beloved.

My beloved has wings and sound that are as wide, broad and deep as the universe’s sanctuary.

My beloved sustains the capacity,

and the courage

to acknowledge

that truth and freedom and love

co-exist and are simpatico-

syncopating

the beats, rhythms and notes

of

alternating, simultaneous melodies of:

breath and breathing;

joy and sorrow;

trust and respect;

 silence and sound;

presence in presence and presence in absence;

endings and beginnings;

patience and forgiveness;

composing and creating;

design and improvising;

strength and vulnerability;

deepening and refining

intimacy.

Moving forward the rich, vast and textured sounds and exclamations of life

and

moving in the direction of  greater authenticity and truth telling.

Living truth. Living freedom. Living love.

An honorable relationship is not a possession, it is sacred vehicle of extending the possibilities

of truth, freedom and love between beloveds.

The very life of life: falling and rising in forward motion.

One cannot create, search nor find one’s anam cara-

it finds you and unveils and opens

the sacred and joyous offerings of the Divine within-

slowly and/or suddenly.

Revelation.

The life force is pure music- an overwhelming,  spontaneous mystery.

It is breath and breathing.

It is revolution.

It is is:

PRIVATE_RHYTHM_BE_MY_MY_LULLABY_2009_ZELICKSONACQUISTIONPRIVATE RHYTHM: BE MY LULLABY                                Catherine L. Johnson    2009

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1+2+3+2 =8

Infinity.

Prana: divine breath.

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FOR N.A. P.

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CATHERINE L. JOHNSON ART

THE ART of CATHERINE L. JOHNSON

Michele Needs a Kidney

How can someone help?

CATHERINE L. JOHNSON ART

THE ART of CATHERINE L. JOHNSON