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GRACE
MILLENNIUM
SPRING 2001
MOMA DE LOUVRE
COVER ARTIST
Indigo
Series painting entitled “Innocence”
by Moma De Louvre
45” x 53”,
Acrylic and oil on canvas,
#MDL980005013, © 1998 MD
Indigo
Series painting entitled
“The Founding Twins”
by Moma De Louvre
45” x 53”,
Acrylic and oil on canvas,
#MDL980005111, © 1998 MDL
“We
contact the creators whose souls are open to our paths
and longings to be an inspiration to our lives."
Indigo
Series painting entitled
“Sai”
by Moma De Louvre
45” x 53”, Acrylic and oil on canvas,
#MDL980005010, © 1998 MD
"There
is the mystic born each second to recall the longing
to be loved.
It is us in this chorus of creation."
Indigo
Series painting entitled
“Golden Perceptions”
by Moma De Louvre
45” x 53”,
Acrylic and oil on canvas,
#MDL980005012, © 1998 MDL
"All
light is but a chance to meet.
All love is but a chance to change."
Indigo
Series painting entitled
“Presence”
by Moma De Louvre
45” x 53”,
Acrylic and oil on canvas,
#MDL980005113, © 1998 MDL
"Our
freedom becomes more
as our form progresses"
Indigo
Series painting entitled
“Indigo One”
by Moma De Louvre
4’ x 5’,
Acrylic and oil on canvas,
#MDL200015, © 2000 MDL
"We
shift our shapes as we come
closer to this destiny."
Indigo
Series painting entitled
“Conscious Conception”
by Moma De Louvre
4’ x 5’, Acrylic and oil on canvas,
#MDL200016, © 2000 MDL
"There
is the mystic born each second to recall the longing
to be loved."
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The
Indigo Children
Statement by
Moma De Louvre
This
form of writing . . . between regular thoughts and
sentences is a staccato like stream of Morse code
. . . unable to have full sentences as it does not
tell the tale. . .read as though messages are coming
through the clouds. . .divining space. . . . And
making a whole.
I
am alive with these paintings. I speak to them and they
speak to me. A rich dialogue occurs that makes me want
to be a painter.
In each painting there is an interview with a soul about
to decide on an adventure to Earth . . . this is a life
in progress . . . an awareness of where to be in the
cosmos . . . a blasting forth to manifest here for a
split second and then be off in a balloon elsewhere
. . . This has no significance . . . and yet seems very
significant .
A meteor splits a planet in two and an idea is born
. . . the irreverence for the earth is an extreme duress
. . . a planet here built for only one hundred thousand
of the lizard predator Homo sapien species . . . gone
awry . . . desperate measures are needed. . . new species
are introduced to handle the run-a-ways . . .
One viewpoint is that this a planet inhabited by pirate
run-a-ways from far galaxies . . . bringing their trade
to space . . . a remembrance that the earth cannot hold
. . . here is a story of a desired fragment of respect
and the nurturing hold of a buttercup overfilled with
gold . . . Get with it folks . . . hold onto your hats
as a new breed is born . . .
The Children say, “We are coming from. . . the
seas of Tasmania, the far flung galaxies of Peronidas,
the Wings of Pleiades, the Interconsolidated Space Channels
of the Morigy, The Breath of the Dragons from Time Ever
Remembered, The Fleece Folded Tribes of the Neath. .
. . The Radical Right Breast of Hermes, the Tongues
of the Neanderthal Night, the Imagination of the Whispers
of Delight. We come from all beings and all directions,
species to merge with each other to hopefully last here
a while. . . to do a job... to roll up our shirt sleeves
and clean up this spiritual mess. . . Who ever heard
of a crusade where half the planet is killed? Co-creators
will clean up history, herstory . . . . Just the right
number to do the job.
However there are a few rules. We are all renegades
until educated by someone about something . . . this
takes only a few days. . .until the spurious energies
of forever’s hope are blasted into a form or a
structure that means recognition. . . . Oh drats, we
have lost again. . . . Was it Patrick Henry that said
give me liberty or give me death?
Born on a Lightbeams bending around the Cape of Good
Hope. . . . Indefatigable in our intentions . . . .
as the earth changes from a sphere to a real energy
unseen as a geometric form. . .a moving desire magnetized
elsewhere in space to her new sun or her as a sun with
houses of adoring moons behind. . . . Fireworked into
a new array of color and space for the new races to
emerge. . .unsung songs of imagery beyond the realms
of any imagination here or forever becomes the name
of the earth now . . as seen with new eyes!!!!!
We are here now in great numbers and the rebirth of
insight, oursight, yoursight is imminent. . . Your Pope
among others said that the Earth was flat, Columbus
proved it was round, Plato said it was a sphere, Copernicus
said it was globelike and revolutionary. Guess the answer.
It is a driving test of chance and none of the above
. . . . it is definitely not round, spherical, or any
geometry at all . . . this being the basis of another
illusion . . . . . . look with the heart and its real
form is manifest . . . .
Ask us and we will tell you the answers, but catch us
early in our days.
A common thread of bonding of us to each other and all
is the law of love . . .we are here to help with the
desire for all to have love . . . . There is no other
rule . . . . We recognize . . . No desire on the wreath
of life but to benefit all with our love . . . all others
may be us. Look deep.
We are here on a moonbeam of hope.”
Moma De Louvre, “They tell me when they are coming
and I paint them a space to get through this atmosphere
. . .”
“We have the energy of all time as we catapult
conscious through the spinning vortex of conception
. . . we come and whisper in our ears our stories of
how consciousness made us come here diverting our path
by a zillionth of a degree from somewhere else . . .
. Each has our own story divided by conception . . .
a bit of heart can move conception beyond desire to
magnetize the breath of this light . . . . to this new
form of being . . .we are in communication about all
this. . . . . many are finding out . . . .
What more can be said. We have come before but not in
such numbers careening through the universe and landing
with an identifiable jolt . . . . all eyes and cells
awake to the rays of the light and the sound of the
universal heart . . . . Who subscribes to such freedoms
of consciousness that we are born again and again in
different form . . . . Rendering our final form to Moma
De Louvre to give to you but an afterthought of the
original communication . . . ."
Chorus
Sung by the Children of the Future
by Moma De Louvre
“There
is a time in the future that the hills here on the earth
are bright with the fallen dew on the meadows breath.
There is a time when the snow has turned to dry air
and the adventures of the heart deliver a surprising
roar . . . the sound that beckons us to a new age of
action and becoming. Let us hear a dew drop fall as
though it is the voice within the current of the time
passed.
Only being here has brought the needing
expression of a lifestream of so many to our knees.
The bear walks in the forest over ground brown rock
picking a choice tidbit for a steak. The fox sits by
the bear and shares the meat. This is an unlikely scenario.
All that has passed is a story of conflict and forging
ahead for freedom in ages of suppression. The onward
struggle of gravity for dinner. The longing for the
body to have its way. To be just. To believe such a
thing can occur.”
“The inspiration of our time of power in struggle
is only seeing part of the story, only working out part
of the scenario. Supposedly, the rats carried the plague.
I often think why the rats were blamed for carrying
the plague. Did no rats or animals die of this disease
in the middle ages? Today one looks at the skies and
sees the trails of industrial waste strewn about making
a garbage dump of the air. If one looks closely more
about the air can be seen. People fainting and choking
and losing their balance because their oxygen is highly
suspect without their knowing. The chemical imbalance
in the air is tantamount to the announcement of silent
plagues today. The animals and birds still seem to exist
so there is no danger we are told. There are no cures
for the diseases of imbalance of the desire for revenge,
power, and the enjoyment of the pains of another, of
a whole world, of a whole planet watching in our midst
of disbelief. Two minutes without air and the human
race is gone without a breath, a consciousness of struggle
that is no more but a second of suffocation brought
awry.”
“It is a time when one has to ask oneself how one
can continue on the same path as last year? It would
seem that one must fulfil a life’s purpose amidst
this scenario of terror and heartbreak that is in our
midst and still is perceived as an embryo that may not
be born.”
“The beauty of the earth fades into the background
and the displacement of human sorrow takes a primary
position . . . to this we have been metamorphosized.”
“A time when it all can be changed. A record is
spinning and it only takes the slightest jump of the
needle to change its course that it not be heard at
all. The slightest disagreement with this reality and
it can cease to exist. The light in the harbor goes
out and the ships lose their way. The cities at night
simply turn off their lights and the companies pay.”
“A wind chime in the harbor of the Straits of Gibraltar
sounds with the echo of intentions felt to balance the
time, and we are beckoned in to fulfill it seems not
our destiny but the destiny of others.”
“We have come with willing hearts, our thousand
arms as vessels pulsating from our centers of communication.”
Our voices are heard, our eyes are recognized in this
seeming sea of plenty. We write, we record, we dance,
we sing, we make films, we do the motions of the dance
of life hoping not to feel the pain and take on the
destiny of the desires of gravity.”
“We cry out not to be coarsened and hardened by
it all as we go through the motions of survival. We
have to have remembered a strength of purpose from the
beginning to carry us through. We must keep the straying
fragments of illusion from the doorways to our souls.
We are equal in our desire to be the ones not to fail
from survival and heartbreak. We are here not to conquer
worlds and lands but to mould souls to another civilization
of seeming consequence that we as yet have not a glimpse.
We go by faith from the remembering heart. There is
a sequence to this rhyming.”
“There
is the mystic born each second to recall the longing
to be loved. It is us in this chorus of creation.”
“To
this chime do we make ourselves real and know before
we arrive. Sending our messengers before to create a
welcome channel for our being before being. For our
arrivals before our arrivals of conception to be here
for now.”
“We
contact the creators whose souls are open to our paths
and longings to be an inspiration to our lives.“
“We
see the fact that we are on our way. A comet knows how
many times it will pass through and which centuries
and eons it will arrive at certain known points as all
are that. We in the same way know our destinations here
and beyond our world now. We are the dolphins of the
deep spaces of consciousness that take on a form of
twinship with the posers that be, to awaken our breath
of life. We call to the night tide to remember with
us a rose of beauty. We are here to reconnect with the
creator and play on the team of creation. There are
no teams to play where we are, and so we take them on
as though there is no contest. There is no times apportionment
for this.”
“The crocodile lifts its head of crooked teeth
high to the air until it bites the belly of the plane.
The fumes spill out that are conceived of the purpose
to kill and maim, and we eat them with our fiery tails.
We as dragons know our power to transmute the cold streams
of heartlessness. We have been the purveyors of transmutation
forever, known in the hearts of man as fear, to be dreaded
we know our perturbations so well.
“We
shift our shapes as we come closer to this destiny.”
“Conceiving the necessities for arrival in our
basket of dreams comes some wild reality packs. We will
need them.”
“Then finally we take a swoon of squeezing our
dragon universal comet planet sun star and moon deep
space bodies. We have contacted thousands to greet our
arrival and we become nothing in the face of remembering
for quite a while. A feat of not bringing our notebooks
to school awaiting the tremulous birth into the chrysalis
of our life’s purpose thanking those that have
received our way.”
“The drama of the souls breakfast is a path to
neglect as we stay forward. Pressing with the force
of timing present in our consciousness to be there in
the moment of oneness.”
The
Indigo Child
Poem by
Moma De Louvre
“All Light is but a Chance to Meet.
All
Love is but a Chance to Change.”
(I suggest that you read this poem without
using the mind . . . let it flow without judgement
into a special place that it will find with
you . . . you may not even know you are reading
it and you will most hopefully find yourself
in your own unique dream experience . . . .
that will open more your own soul and its being.)
The waring word
of the complete waste of the want becomes the
air of chance,
A chalice, a garden of the heart, went and gone
a wilderness, laid out to rest...
Hear of the days of the night that we call out
for the wolf and the dawn.
Let my pleasures rest the time of naught that
the sailor of the seas at night
Hears the mermaid’s call to his home planet
amid the dress.
Given the raven’s warbled screech, we hear
the call to paradise, the door of all.
Listen to our
cells opening to the whole, the sound of sailors
dream is lost.
In the beginning that never was is the door to
perceptions wait.
Hear how we want to hold the downward dawn.
The heart crying for one to hold a small touch.
The sunsets’ roar of the day of blood signals
in our veins the love of life.
The life force pulsing towards the death opening
its mouth to lick the dawn.
Bemekoning the last horizons as they reverse the
poles to the new birth.
A conscious cell awakes to make its own reality
a precious howl.
It calls to you to come to it. It wears the shawl
that drops the pearls and jewels
Of frequent loves.
Experience the places gone anon. The Arabian Nights
Magic Dream.
The chance of the not forgotten life to lift a
dream to begin a time
Of all knowing all that is
So that we can release the pain creating a small
body for the fingernail of chance.
The Chalice lifts
to the lips of love. The grinding halt of the
wagon of time
Is around the corner of your fate as you are born
again.
Give me the life of the baby’s breath that
I may see its inception for what it is.
Disguise not the breath of this new day and pretend
that it is the all-creating force
Of nature’s wind chime in ode to the sky
of enveloping the flowers fumes
A regal moon.
Touch to the hearing heart.
We come to the breathing dragon with the beast
of the lost continents
Of the shadow of time over our shoulder.
Amidst our summers
play we conquer a time rumor of delight, a laugh,
a light play
That calls your to me. How can there be a misunderstanding
or
A disagreement amidst the splendor of all that
is.
Clear the gangways of fate for the fathoms of
freedom walk whole and free.
Bare the tides in time as you leave the water
going out. All is clear.
The water disappears across the angel’s vest.
All you are is there for you and consciousness
to see.
The disguise of layers of disappearance gone .
. .The shells a discourse with the night.
The tide is gone.
Your soul that
never was is seen to be.
Your heart that is not here still beats
To another’s song wandering in the flow of
chance.
A leaf beckoning to the snowflakes
Dawn is a small seed to the beginning of the
Dream.The love of your life has set. The sun rises
again.
Who has held your heart in the night and day
While your supposed sleep?
You read your poem’s farewell.The inkling
of the game
Of your supposed look of life glances at itself
to turn the dawn.
All light is but a chance to meet.
All love is but a chance to change.
Meet me in our
farewell to the passage
A glimpse to finger out fates
As but a pawn to what we think is here.
Make the day your own with love
Towards the creation of all the bliss you have
ever known.
Who can know as we proceed in giving
The last second of our blood of life?
We come to a frequency of the last of the barriers
of disappearance
As we wed the moonbeam. It slips by us in its
haste to find
Another nothing dance just to light a face.
We glimmer a song
so strong a night where there is a sparrow
Longing for her love and his.
Come the brother’s laughter hears a beat.
A mother’s heartbreak is a call to the newborn.
We drink a passerby is chance to meet.
To greet the life that we supposedly
Plan to go away, the lessons of the heart to survive
from night to day.
There is our midst a light appears
And seems a soul a rest and not of ours.
We see the speck and grab the sound as though
we are not it.
Why some do cry
and weep and others joy of our hearts content.
The beauty of the creation of the day of days
as everyday is magic
Foremost love of Hearts appreciation at the dawn
of night
The slightest surprise.
Grab hold of the day its here. A bit and gone.
A complaint is a war in the universe that you
have made.
Begin now a new day of the cell of being, a sunstream
to
Find our day in the womb of the warmth, of a touch.
A healing glance, a note of bliss. An exchange
of comprehension.
Who takes the
time to understand the structure
Of the real world of fate and surprise?
Most the structure not created to please
But to distract is present in this world of want.
Leave this place and make it anew.
Call to the ones that are coming to bring it there.
Hear with your heart and your love and let them
be there
To tear down all you have known to start again.
Moma De Louvre,
2001 |
Moving
Museum Series
entitled “Space Ships”
by Moma De Louvre
2’ x 5’,
#MDL20010002
100 K © 2001 MDL
The
Madonna Series
entitled
“The Strength of Perception”
by Moma De Louvre
2’
x 5’,
#MDL20010001
100 K © 2001 MDL
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