WATERMARK

It's a beautiful new day in California, and I'm looking for a program to Watermark my Paintings and Photographs. Call me a safety girl, but I've put everything on disk just to protect it. You never know, with the internet. I had problems with my blog being tampered with before, so am just a little wary about it. So, very soon, Watermark City! I send a little Mendocino sun your direction. That area has some of the most beautiful coastline and beaches in the world, and is one of my favorite places to go. Easy enough, only six hours drive. I miss the beach, I need to go again soon. Have a wonderful day, everyone...Rebecca

A CALIFORNIA SUNDAY

Sunday...the day of the week to relax. In California, it's bright and beautiful, and soon I will be off to church to see a very special man, Father Dean, preach. I've liked Father Dean ever since we met...he is a man full of character: loving, vibrant, I'd like to call him hip. In my mind, he's not your typical Priest. He's more like an old friend you'd welcome into your house any time, anywhere. The last time I saw him he seemed to glow with the fire of his conviction, and I respected it so much. Considering that I am not someone who truly sides with religion itself, this man's Heart continually brings be back to Mass just to know what the weight of his love for humanity will bring the next time around. A lovely man.

Anyway, this California Sunday will see me preparing for the week. My book, Beyond Paradise is going very well. I'm hoping to have the entire draft done within the next two weeks. Then it's formatting and self-publishing. I'm also preparing to paint again...a lovely picture meant to grace the cover of my novel. Along with the rest of my paintings (not all of them, but many of them), my book will not only hold some of my Fairy Tales, some of my Poetry, some of my Art, but, most beautifully, my honest and truly loving heart. From Rebecca Tacosa Gray to everyone in the world, have a wonderful Sunday.

THE MISERY AND RAPE OF LOVE

The Misery and Rape of Love. This painting was born of my pain...I am stating this for the Record, since I am posting it on the internet, that it is the intellectual property of Rebecca Tacosa Gray, AKA Sterling Parker in the United States, and is protected by Jurat. My signature lies in the lower right corner, and my thumbprint in the left. It may not be reproduced, copied, or borrowed without express permission from myself.
























The painting is hurt, to me. I had an experience of great pain, so hurtful that it has stayed with me emotionally...I am posting two photographs tonight...one of the painting itself, and one of the detail of my own self in the center. My painter's signature, SP as a heart, figures largely in this painting. A star sapphire falls as a tear from my eye. The four directions, on my arm, represents my own identity and represent, also, the North Star, which I named Indila long ago. It is also, in real life, a mark that truly represents me..a sun, if you will. Please respect this painting...the pain associated with it is great, and I am still working towards healing myself of this pain. I am sharing it with you, tonight. Please understand what it truly means, and lend me your love. I truly need to heal.

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Painting:
The Misery and Rape of Love: Gouache, Watercolor, Gold Leaf & Mixed Media
Copyright by Jurat, August 25, 2007 5:50 P.M. Rebecca Tacosa Gray

JESUS & THE TIGER LILY

I had a dream last night...and although I'm not one to interpret my own dreams, I'd have to say that this particular dream saddened me. I woke up this beautiful California morning feeling as if something had been lost, I don't know why. Please understand that I have no idea why I dreamed about Jesus in this manner, in this particular way...he is someone I love deeply, and this dream did upset me. Anyhow, this was my dream.

Jesus had come back to Earth, to start anew, to begin a movement. He had many followers, and they met in a community of sorts, based on a mountainous type area. I remember a larger man, who spoke with Jesus often. They had many things to do, and were getting ready to go out into the world and make things happen. There were also many women who were part of this community, and they all loved Jesus. He seemed to have his own particular tastes, and had relationships with some of them. Five in particular. In my dream, I remember thinking, How many women does he need to love? and not feeling much respect for him. The dream turned at some point and I realized that his movement had become large. Limousines were used to transport them from place to place, and in the last of my dream, Jesus was in a building and they were preparing for an important night of some sort. The five women, Jesus' loves, were all put together in the Limousine...and they didn't seem to care that they knew each other and been known by him, every one. Jesus was on his way out, to a separate Limousine with the larger man, and he stopped, seeing a woman in a long white dress with long hair sitting by a glass window. For some reason, I felt it was me. I looked like the picture I've posted above, my hair long down my back and shiny, beautiful. I had gently placed two Calla Lilies, they fell in a soft curve to my left...and sat to look out the window. I was so sad...so sad. Jesus saw me and walked over, his hand just barely touching the Callas. At that moment, I felt his sadness...his interest, and his sadness, as if I was the woman he had never known. Or maybe would never have...never be with. He did end up leaving, off to his function, the five women in tow behind him in a second limousine.

If Jesus is up there somewhere...I don't like Calla Lilies much, anymore. My hair is still long, and I am still love. You may not know that, but it's true. You left me by that window without saying a word...and I'm still wondering if you'll ever understand who I really am. I'm replacing those Callas with a Tiger Lily. I may be looking through that glass window, but I am still one of the most beautiful people you will ever meet. If that limousine fills your heart, and the five women are your path, I understand...but will you ever understand what it means to stand next to someone without really looking into their eyes. If you had done so, these Hazel eyes would have looked into your own, and you might have felt a touch you've never known. I'm not sitting next to that window anymore, I'll tell you that. And the Callas are dead, now. I have a Tiger Lily in my hair, and am walking out that door with Beauty in my soul.

THE STARS RISE HIGH

To I.A.N. The stars rose high last night, again. I think I felt a gentle kiss in my hand, this time. So I lifted it lightly, blew it into the air, and sent it off to you. Thank you for your loveliness...

CHILDREN AND DREAMS

Hello, everyone...today I thought I'd talk about my children. When I was a young girl my entire family used to gather at my Godmother and Godfather's house (BigAggie and Tony...I miss you both.)for coffee, cobbler, and a lot of talk about life in their large backyard. There was nothing I loved better than visiting the Chicken Pen and gathering eggs, seeing my Uncle Tony's perfect rows of vegetables, and eating the Grapes, Blackberries and Raspberries right off the vine. It is a tradition I truly miss, and always will.

Anyway, my daughter Isabel, is growing up to be a beautiful little girl. She's three years old now, and loquacious as loquacious could be. She's a cracker, that's for sure. A personality and a half, not a day goes by where she's not demanding one thing or another. She does take after me in so many ways, though. She is so sensitive sometimes, and her strength is a wonderful reflection of the same self-reliance I always exhibited throughout my life. She is going to be a beautiful woman some day, that's for sure. And I will be as proud as a mother can be, I know it. If she takes after her birthday's namesake, Babe Zaharias, then she will knock most men's socks off...


My son, Zachary, is doing very well...he's learned how to use the computer now. I still keep hoping that someone is going to come up with true answers in regards to "environmental triggers." My son had a severe reaction to it that made him lethargic and unresponsive for over a month. As a matter of fact, a little boy at his preschool reacted to it and was taken to the hospital a while back. My husband told me he was so upset. A couple weeks ago, as I was walking in the orchard, I was thinking about shots. Especially the MMR. There never really has been a true study done that would prove, inviolately, that shots might or might not be an environmental trigger. The UC Davis Mind Institute, where my son was diagnosed, came up with information that a gene difference might exist that affects the immune system. The possibility that environment influences might cause problems, even Autism, is being considered. My true wish? That one state, or maybe even more than one, have shots delayed by two years to let children's immune systems mature naturally--China did it to find out about Infant Death Syndrome. They then should have the shots given, one by one, six months apart, as they used to when my mother was growing up. In my experience, babies don't really travel anywhere of consequence when they're that young anyhow. As for the Drug Companies, I assume they'd be protected, since it's a genetic problem affected by an environmental influence. If it is, indeed, true, who could have known that genetics played a role that has hurt so many children inadverdently? I wish they'd at least try. If the rate of Autism went down in, say, my state, Calfornia, it would be proven, and the shot process would have to be re-evaluated. I'd like to know. It might save lives.

Anyway, someone who is most like the Archangel Raphael should do this. He represents healing. He would be blessed to those families who have to handle this terrible affliction every day. Don't get me wrong. My son is more beautiful than I can express. But I, for one, having seen my son suffer, want to know the truth about this particular issue. Doctors disagree on it all over the world. I'd like to see a study, or a set of true studies, prove it or disprove it...and I have the feeling that it would have to be large in order to do so. Let's hope that providence brings something like this about. Just the knowing would make so many families happier, including mine.

So, this loquacious female will leave you with a randomly picked poem...let me get out my poetry and see what comes up.


GIFTS

I gave my first love laughter,
I gave my second tears,
I gave my third love silence
Through all the years.

My first love gave me singing,
My second eyes to see,
But oh, it was my third love
Who gave my soul to me.

--Sara Teasdale


On Earth. May everyone's soul stay happy in your proper original temples. Including mine. Today is my daughter's birthday, so remember that yours are lovely, too. You are unique. We all are.

STARLIT BEAUTY

I took the above photography so long ago. It was such a lovely day and the Almond orchards were blossoming with verdant beauty. I leaned my head against one of the trees and felt so many things...the loveliness of life, the heart of the orchards beating, and myself among them. These beautiful Almonds, and their lovely Geometry so beautifully laid out by human hands, inspired the poem below. I truly hope you enjoy both. I published both on my first blog, Un Grain De Sable, and thought it would be lovely for those reading Un Univers de l'Ange to enjoy it as well. The beauty of this Earth and everything in it always holds me close. Let it take you in its arms and hold you with love, as well.


STARLIT BEAUTY
by Rebecca Tacosa Gray AKA Sterling Parker
Copyright 2006


She floated through fields, a starlit beauty,
Her face all aglow with love’s silent geometry.


In the day, in the day, she walked her own way,
By the fields, by the fields, in the silence of day
On her way down an avenue of black concrete form
Bordered by fruit trees, sweet structures adorned

With millions of flowers like stars all at play
Glowing, glowing, with a rustle and sway.
Their petals a sparkle, they danced in the wind,
With dewdrops of water and a glittering bend.

Singing, singing, they sang a sweet song,
A sweet melody that made her heart long
To dance like a flower on branches so light
To glow under stars that lit them at night.


She floated through fields, a starlit beauty,
Her face all aglow with love’s silent geometry.


Lightly, oh, lightly! She stepped down the rows,
First of the peaches, whose buds all arose,
Aching to burst with a softly meant sigh,
Begging the touch of their sweet passerby.

Next came the almonds, a mass of white lace,
Clusters of beauty she held to her face
To breathe deeply in their natural life,
The scent of their being—the source of their light.

Breathing, breathing, her breast rose and fell
Under the branches she knew, oh, so well,
Wishing that somehow her heart understood,
The beating, the beating, that lived in the wood.


She floated through fields, a starlit beauty,
Her face all aglow with love’s silent geometry.


Further, further down the path of the wood
She walked all afire as a held lover should,
Perusing the miles that stretched right and left,
Acres of skeletons beautifully dressed.

Standing at attention, their arms to the sky,
Like dreamers in dances calling angels on high
To join them in singing their sweet melodies
To the earth, to the clouds, to the rushing black seas,

To join them, to join them, to tremble and laugh,
At patterns of living, universal epitaphs
That ran through their veins in life newly grown,
Exchanging their stories in language unknown.


She floated through fields, a starlit beauty,
Her face all aglow with love’s silent geometry.


Wandering, oh, wandering, she stopped here and there,
To linger and fondle, to gaze and to stare
At the beauty around her which glowed in sweet grace
As sun broke through clouds and lit every face.

No shadows, no darkness, just light lightly prancing,
Amongst acres of fields, amongst singing and dancing,
Oh, how she smiled, not nearly alone!
She longed for their vision of life truly shown!

Dreaming, dreaming she stopped ‘neath a tree,
Invisible fingers caressed endlessly
The soul of its watcher, they gazed at each other,
The light in their eyes not unlike that of lovers.


She floated through fields, a starlit beauty,
Her face all aglow with love’s silent geometry.


The blossoms, the blossoms, they called her so true!
The life, oh, the life, the force which she knew
Coursed through their veins in meandering fashion,
Changing her soul—it filled her with passion.

Passion so deep, it further magnified
As she leaned in its arms, and closed her bright eyes,
Her face just upturned, her chin to the skies,
Love, in true form, was for her love multiplied.

Living, oh, living, she lived in its soul.
Loving, oh, loving, its life force she stole—
Caressing with hands all she saw and she knew
Returning to life all that which she drew.


She floated through fields, a starlit beauty,
Her face all aglow with love’s silent geometry.


And resting, in resting, she saw her sweet face,
Reflecting in light, geometry and grace,
Loving her life and loving her place
Amongst all living things that live in the race

Of surviving without living, and living without end
Of leaving their souls, being tossed in the wind
Like petals forgotten and lost in their home,
Weeping and fading in life’s structured dome.

Would that they saw with an eye, oh, so clear,
To see the bright light and the passion so near,
The lovers who speak to them all through the day,
Calling to life mankind’s flesh-ridden clay.


She floated through fields, a starlit beauty,
Her face all aglow with love’s silent geometry.


In fields radiating out like her thoughts in a row,
Her soulful geometry their brightness did know.
Their love truly given, their love truly worn,
Their lightness— their beauty— their structure and form.
Not unlike her own, she felt them inside,
And felt herself grow, her love multiplied
Into flowers of thought adorning her frame,
A dress brightly glowing, her life all aflame.

She floated through fields, a starlit beauty,
Her face all aglow with love’s silent geometry.

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This poem expresses the heart of me…
For my beloved Almond Orchards,
Who held me in beauty that day.
-Rebecca Tacosa Gray / Sterling Parker


Photograph:
ALMOND ORCHARDS
Copyright 2006, Rebecca Tacosa Gray

THE UNANSWERED QUESTION

Today has been a hard day...I've been revisiting past memories...some of them so terribly painful. I was sitting in my back yard at a table I'm still intending to refinish, and looked at my patio table, a table with four chairs meant to always be reserved for the Angelic Four, should they ever visit. (I had always thought that if Angels felt like resting, they might just visit my small garden.) Unfortunately, the chair reserved for God is broken...I threw it away and will have to wait and find another to fulfill the loveliness of a small spot for God to take a break. That table brought back memories for me. I used to make moon water with my crystal pyramid on the night of the full moon every month. I really need to start doing it again...it was so lovely to see it gleaming in the moonlight from my large glass bedroom doors. An American Moon, an American finding moon water beautiful.

Tonight I thought I'd share something I'd written years and years ago, when I was going to the University of California, Davis. It's a piece I wrote around experiences with past relationships I've been in long, long ago. It's called The Unanswered Question. Don't steal it now...that just wouldn't be nice. Just kidding. But still. Don't steal it. :) Psst. It's U.S. Postal Service Copyrighted, anyhow. Anyway, The Unanswered Question...it reminded me of my one wish in life. To be loved.


THE UNANSWERED QUESTION

By Rebecca Tacosa Gray
U.S. Copyright August 15, 2007


I. DARRYL

The first time she loved, she loved completely. Innocently, and well. He was as young as she, and though it took her a long time, one day it was there, a surprise on her lips. The antiqued together, talked together, learned together...he discovering that passion that astounded her and eluded him. He never quite understood why she loved the moon, the ocean in its subtle rhythms, or the flower blossoming in the slow, sparkling sunlight. For what was sunlight but something to be studied? What was love but want named desire? There was no alchemy to love. It did not float on distant moonbeams in one's mind. It held no mystery. It was words passed from one set of lips to the next, a soft sentiment to deceive loneliness, the loneliness of never really being known by another. And so, he did not know if he truly loved her. His were material measures. Did she have a future? How much money would she make in a year? Would she be a good mother to two, maybe three children? It didn't matter that she would love him always, beyond the world and its measures. And so, his answer to her questions--always of love and faithfulness, of truth and care--were "I don't know." And she did not know, truly, why he didn't love. Maybe it wasn't a question of why he didn't love her...but why he did not love at all. It made her cry. And so, she walked away...and continued walking away, until misty life enveloped her being and enclosed her soul. No more phone calls where every sentence led to an unasked "Why?" There would never be an answer anyway. But she did not need an answer to live her life.


II. JOHN

The second time she loved she loved in vain. He was a proud, sensitive man, beloved by most and liked by all. He loved. And he loved. Poetry was an unspoken breath on his lips and dreams wove through his life a thin tapestry of truth. For what was truth? Not a concept to be held in one's hands...but the stuff that thoughts were made of. Thoughts breeding action always turned into concepts. And she believed in his actions made real, in that filmy breath he lent to her soul. She felt it made her complete. There was poetry, there were letters, there were gifts, there was passion. Her eyes closed in ecstasy to that union which bred fire...which bred love...which bred pain. He was married. Bound by a circle to her left wrist. Hers a hand, his a finger. And through that circle a finger laced itself. For truly, there were three circles. Two female, one male. One loved twice, two loved once. It was understood that there was only one sun and moon. Earth a binding lover around which only two could rotate. And so one spun off, crashing wildly into oblivion, knowing not to which system she fled. It was said she streaked like a comet to the Earth, held by gravity, bound in love. And bound, she confined herself. For what was love, the great destroyer? Illuminator of truth in life. What was love but a Question, unanswered by him. And sitting by a fire, looking at him, she yearned. He was a planet out of reach. She revolved around him, his truth her torture, his love her cage. An eclipse that shielded the sun that could have been, leaving her, still, in search of an answer...shedding fountains of tears that became oceans for every thought. And so, she lay forth an ocean between them both, a question. He answered her question. He wanted his wife's love. "Yes, love, return to that to which you are bound. He called her his love, yet returned to his love. Action made concrete, truth made real.


III. REBECCA

I am the writer. I am the interpreter. I have loved...and yet, love still. Why? Why do I still love, after so much pain? After so much torture? Why do I seek that love that would destroy the pain that searches me out like an insidious eel? Why? Why love at all? The eternal question...why love at all. Why do we live...why do we think...why do we cry, fall weeping to the ground, breaking a small wooden chair into pieces in the glaring sunlight...why. Why do we love?

Where is that indefinable answer that gives us light to live? Where is the reason to love? Love, the truth, the great destroyer, the great creator, does not live to answer questions. As for me, one answer remains consistent, without fail. "I do not know."

As for me, I say this. A part of me dies revolving around that same Earth which floats in love. Love, my center, my being, is eclipsed right now. And I weep. I weep so deeply, with every breath, with every thought, I am a being of love weeping. I weep for the man who wants to be loved by one he cannot reach, that female adorned in money and power. To whom he must gravitate and discover anew. I weep for that soul a thousand or more miles away, who cannot seem to find love. Who searches, searches and searches for answers to questions that have been answered by questions, only to be answer by questions again and again and again. For these, my soul weeps...this human soul weeps.

I also weep for that girl I do not seem to know or understand anymore. I do not know if I do want to understand her world, buried in an ocean of sadness, watching her every move. She was the one who stole to the office under cover of black stars, to retrieve those gifts that had been given. For she was the one who blessed the one that left her. He was beautiful. And in that, he was love.

For what is love but painful longing for life? For that which made her live? Those were unanswered questions that now left her numb, wallowing in the sea of pain that seemed to swell ten feet over her head. For that life which sparkled she held to so fiercely, desperately in the smallest chamber of her heart, refusing to be raped of all that she had been...without love, life held no meaning. She must love, regardless of the pain.

And from my silent wooden stool, I look up and around, at my paintings, my poetry, my life, and see through those eyes that do not want love to leave. I want love to live. I cling desperately to love, singing my own silent song with that gentle breath that moves without and within us all. I must love. I must love. Regardless of the pain...and I ask...what is love. Where is love. How is love. Why is love. When will love find me...when will love find me. Why do I love.

I do not know.

I do not know whether love itself loves. Love, the boundless force that folds us into the fabric of the Universe may not even know itself...maybe love will always be the unanswered question..and there is always just Life. And unanswered questions.

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I wrote this so long ago...I hope you enjoyed it. It's very old...I did change the last paragraph a little...just a reminder, that past and present are still very much the largest part of me. And I do know. I will always love. No matter what.

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Painting:
Into the LabyrinthFemale Mask: Plaster/Fabric & Mixed Media
Copyright 2005, Copyright by Jurat 2007, Rebecca Tacosa Gray

INTO THE LABYRINTH

I just thought I'd share my beautiful, hand made masks with all of you. They're truly lovely, and were made for a Christmas Party years ago at my Aunt's. I put together a Performance Art Piece that hinged around William Blake's Songs of Innocence (To See A World in a Grain of Sand) and the Opera Babes' Lakme H2O. It included many other pieces of Art, including my paintings Ah, Camille! and Universal Love (Love Rescinded, Love Reborn). I also included a very beautiful painting by a friend of mine, Mario Tejada, which I call La Mere Divine. Such a lovely story. I fell completely in love with it at first sight. He thought it was unfinished and I looked at it and told him, "It's done. I'm not going to let you continue. I'm buying it from you." I bought it for $ 175.00. This painting is utterly lovely, and is irrevocably close to my heart. I'll post it at the end of this blog for you to peruse.

Anyhow, the Masks are entitled Into the Labyrinth. They were inspired by my visit to Chartres Cathedral years ago (my one and only trip to France)and the Mystic Spiral. They are lovely, and I hope you like them.

Have a lovely day, and enjoy the painting below. Please tell me you love it...Mario is a lovely friend of mine, and if you knew him, you'd love him on the spot!













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Painting:
Into the Labyrinth: Plaster/Fabric & Mixed Media
Copyright 2005, Copyright 2007 by Jurat, Rebecca Tacosa Gray

A WORD

A word to the one who took the time to have a lovely conversation with me tonight...you know who you are...I.A.N. Thank you, for showing me how much you care about me by sharing your time with me. I cherish you truly, know that.

THE MISERY AND RAPE OF LOVE

Tonight I thought I'd talk a little about the personal side of my life. I have lost love more times than I can imagine. It has hurt me deeply...so deeply. There are days when I feel I stop myself from crying. A way to put away what I truly feel...the deepest dissapointment in the loss of my greatest wish in life. To be truly loved, and loved deeply for the entirety of my life. At one point in my life, I met my Guardian Angel in a dream of mine...and in one kiss, one embrace, I felt true love. I even believed that somehow, in some beautiful way, I belonged to him. I wrote a blog about that moment...I have the original dream that blog was based on put away. It's precious to me. He was lost to me, however, quite a while back...somehow swallowed by the black cloud hanging around up above. Two eels winding stealthily in to steal my love and make my life miserable. I call that cloud Miss M. Miss Misery up there, somewhere.

Recently I met someone at a Poetry Conference I attended in order to push my newly self-published book Love Letters, A Poetry Dictionary. This man was lovely, and a lot like myself, I thought. We both love Science, he was well versed in Philosophy, loved God, and was so attentive when we were actually together. We had a connection I couldn't deny, to begin with...and I thought, maybe, just maybe, this was the man I had been waiting for. Nothing's perfect though. We live so far away, he in Australia, me, the United States. But I haven't heard from him, and have a feeling that we are too far away to truly maintain a true relationship. So many complications... the black cloud still hanging and hurting everything I seem to find beautiful.

It's my dream, you know, to find a Superman who is Honor and Love Itself to hold me close and be exactly to me what I could be to him. When I love, I love deeply. I give all that I can in beauty and trust, and expect the same in return. It's hard for me to be dissapointed. I have been cheated on, raped-both physically and spiritually, and hurt beyond belief in my life. Everything I hold dear I hold onto, I hold on to it, knowing that it is my love expressed...to myself, to the world, and to others. As for love in my life, I am still looking. Looking for that one man that will understand exactly who I am, and who will love and cherish me with every breath. Someone who will support and defend me, and whom I will support and defend in return. I know one thing, the day I meet him, that cloud will die under the weight of beautiful tears at having found, at last, what I have always been looking for. True Love.

In the meantime, my blog renewed. I, Rebecca Tacosa Gray, will share with you my thoughts on this beautiful journal...part of the Four Blogs supported by my central blog Un Univers de l'Ange. Each blog, including this one, is dedicated to a special Archangel. This particular blog is dedicated solely to God Itself and Love Itself. Love Itself is not an Immortal Being, it never could be. No God or Angel could ever be big enough or beautiful enough to hold the love that natural shares itself with us all. Love Itself is that tie that binds, a tie that binds us together in the beauty of life and Universal magic. It is the Universal fabric of the Universe, and we are part of it. As for God itself...God itself is love realized...love touching love. May God itself know how much I truly love him.

So, Sweet Friends, I leave you with love and a lovely, gentle kiss. A Kiss of Heaven, to the best of my ability. I hope your day is filled with Love and Kindness...Rebecca Tacosa Gray.

THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG

Today, California is lovely. The light is shining beautifully and the shadows glow on the walls of my home through the trees. Today, a poem. By Michael Blumenthal. To celebrate the start of this blog, which holds together all of my separate, but distinct, talents: Painting, Writing, and Philosophical Spirituality. Links below and on the side.

Just the Tip of the Iceberg, from me.



Say language really does what it says it does:

That the bird in your hand
is really a bird, that it takes two
to tango, that whoever digs
his own grave will have to sleep in it.
Say you have a fool for a friend,
feckless and dissipated and greedy
beneath the stars, and that it takes one
to know one. Say that might
makes right, that the best offence
is a good defense, that fools rush in
where trepid angels stammer
in front of doormats. Say
that life's unfair, that that's
the way it is, that someone tells you
"Have a nice day" and really means it.
What would it be like: the word,
reticent and calm, urged out
once more toward its true meaning?
What would it mean if "till death
do us part" really meant till all breath
leaves me, love; if "forever" meant
until the tides cease? What would it signify
if "love" could only mean love once more,
not just the tip of the iceberg, sinking,
and in all sincerity.

-Michael Blumenthal

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L'ART D'UN L'ANGE

L'EPEE D'UN ANGE

LE PHILOSOPHIA D'UN ANGE

UN LETTRES D'UN ANGE

THE GARDEN PARTY THIEF

I had the strangest dream last night...I was attending a competition for writing and artwork, almost like a convention. I met many, many friends, all people I have truly known in real life. During the convention, I saw a sign, a negative sign that appeared then quickly turned into a postitive sign. A positive painting, if you will. It was amazing that it changed so quickly from the negative to the positive and stayed permanently positive. I remember feeling truly happy to recognize that the positive painting remained in and was definitive of my own life. During a lull in the conference, I went back towards my room and met an older woman. She had short hair, and claimed to be an art collector. She wanted to show me her collection, so I went to her home. All around her home were art pieces and antiques...some paintings on the wall, some actual antiques, like teapots, sculptures. All things you might find randomly in an antique store. People were putting tags on them as if they were going to be sold. I thanked her and said I wanted to go back to my convention, but I was given the impression I wouldn't be taken back. Instead, she got me into the car telling me she'd take me back, and instead drove to a garden party. We got out and there were many, many people there. At the party she introduced me to someone who looked and felt Aryan. He greeted me with a huge smile and a kiss on the cheek. This garden party didn't feel right to me. It felt negative for some reason. I saw through the open door of the car my purse on the left side leaning against her things, and knew I would grab it and walk back to the convention in the city. I could see the city, not far, from my position in the country. I think I did do it. However, I woke up soon after.

I'll tell you what...my feet must have been sore after that long hike. Never trust an older woman who enjoys garden parties and wants to show you her artwork. She might just highjack you and introduce you to an Aryan looking fellow.

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Painting:
Still Life, Present Beauty: Charcoal on Arches Watercolor Paper
Copyright 2005, Copyright 2007 by Jurat, Rebecca Tacosa Gray

THE RAINBOW HEALING

This painting is based on an experience I had some months ago...I was very, very ill...I went outside to lay on a chaise lounge chair. The night was truly very lovely...the moon hanging lightly in the sky to the right...and I reached up to it. I reached up to touch the moonlight, which seemed to fall in such lovely beams...it felt like they caressed me, their light pooling softly in my hand. I was weeping...and looked up at the moon, feeling the Earth and the sky and the Moon in my whole being. It filled me with such love, and out of that love emerged a rainbow, waving and curling around the earth itself, healing all. It was such a lovely experience, considering my deep and terrible illness. And how lovely, to have thought of a soft and lovely rainbow to glow lightly and lovingly around our Earth, which is in such terrible need of healing itself. I suppose the Archangel Raphael must have been smiling down on us--a Rainbow appears in his lighthouse, they say. I love rainbows myself, especially when they appear after light refracts from a crystal.

This painting documents my experience that night. The necklace, normally blue, is a Lapis Lazuli necklace I wore to protect myself. It, and the Earth, are black due to my deep illness at that time. A rainbow of seven (ROYGBIV) climbs up towards the moon in the right hand corner. A symbol of Love and Peace in Arabic Calligraphy emerges from within me...to show that all religions...all religions...create beauty. I love Arabic Calligraphy. Even though I cannot read it, the beauty and art of their calligraphic work is undoubtably some of the loveliest in the world. Have a beautiful night everyone...and smile at the moon for me. She is so lovely in her soft night garb, and, I believe, ready to heal any one of us at a moment's notice.

--Rebecca Tacosa Gray

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Painting:
The Rainbow Healing: Acrylic and Mixed Media on Canvas
Copyright 2007 by Jurat, Rebecca Tacosa Gray

A SONG

Over the last two days I created a painting for someone beloved to me. We met at a convention over a conversation about the Mandelbrot Set, among other things...and the Mandelbrot set makes its appearance in this painting, if youcare to find it within the patterns. Anyhow, the idea for this painting came to me on the last night spent in my room in Las Vegas recently. I had thought to go to the Bellagio, but, instead, stayed in my hotel room alone with a Margarita and my sketchbook. I'm glad I did. This painting has turned out so lovely, I wanted to share it with all of you. If you have ever been loved, cherished, and held close, you will understand this painting. It is me, being held by him. A Song, for Ivor.


I made you many and many a song,
Yet never one told all you are--
It was as though a net of words
Were flung to catch a star;

It was as though I curved my hand
And dipped sea-water eagerly,
Only to find it lost the blue
Dark splendor of the sea.

-Sara Teasdale


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Symbol:
A Song of Ivor: Conte, Charcoal and Mixed Media on Canvas
Copyright 2007 Rebecca Tacosa Gray