Contact Prince Papa Jan
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When I apply the brush to the canvas…
I touch a virgin breast and fly; I become the alpha and omega of all things. I whisper to grass and trees. I descend into the precipice of memory and frolic with nothingness. I expand the universe and create a planet for my dreams. A planet of beauty. A planet where there is no sickness or war. A planet wher I am alone, yet in the company of millions of souls.In a desert, yet in a garden. I shake the foundations of matter and absorb many souls in mine.I perform a magic ritual thereby re-living mankind’s dreams. I carry the vision of a dew drop and of silence, of thunder and of snow,of the newly born and of the expiring, of the snail and the eagle,of the strawberry and the rose, of sea foam and of the invisible lunar oases, of forgotten dawns and of the clouds, of the infinity sheltering in a single heart, of the sunbeam peering into a cave, of the hungry spirit and the fruits of the soul in the garden of wisdom.I am everything and every one. I experience all lived moments with all hearts who have ever lived or are unborn. I dissolve the lava of anger in tenderness and plant the roses of love in the craters of spiritual death. I speed along the highway towards the absolute and dance with perfection. I lose life and win life. I exist to live and live to exist. I day-dream. I build the castle of existence. I crown life and it is my sole master. The one before whom I can kneel. The one to whom I am loyal and whom I obey. The one on whose behalf I can wage war against everything except Freedom…
When I apply the brush to the canvas…
I recall the first sunbeam in my eyes
I adorn time with new space.
I make new clothes for God.
I create a new Credo of a New Faith.
The pupils of my eyes kiss billions of other pupils. My hand caresses billions of hands. The cells of my body become infinite in number. The number of my emotions becomes equal to the number of atoms in the whole universe. I travel in the secrets of all dimensions. I write a billion of volumes simultaneously and sing with the voices of all humanity. I change thirteen-thousand skins in an instant. One touch of the canvas with my brush helps me live through thirteen million years. My breaths make up the bricks of the fortress of eternity. I inhale the scents of all existing things.
When I apply the brush to the canvas…
This is I, though my “I” is not a single “I” but many.
I am a falling angel but also a soul ascending into heaven.
I am a tree with countless fruits.
I am food for the hearts who love to love.
I am wine for the souls that live happily.
I am a road where there is no road for thought.
I create my own self.
I am a game with new rules.
I am the bright side of all human relationships. I am a lover of eternity…
I am the apocrypha of interpretations of genius.
I am the form of formlessness, colours.
I bear my own name but can be called by the names of everybody and everything.
I have my own face but under it are hidden all the faces of the visible.
My memory if the world memory.
My sins are the sins of all mankind and the canvas is the redemption – redemption without pain or bloodshed.
Redemption through a fresh birth.
When I am with a brush in hand I set myself ablaze. I am born of my ashes scattered by the wind.I become bigger. A snake with its tail in its mouth. A line without beginning or an end. The outline of the mirror in which shines the image of love. When I am with a brush in hand I am ancient history. A parable with many meanings. An eternal wanderer in a strange land. Unheard speech, absorbed in the yearning skins of all living creatures. Love, conquering all and giving itself to all.Which IS everything.
Looking for a caress where there is no ash. Feminine truth, love,ecstasy, clothes knitted by the gods – that is me!
That is ME!
My heart is the unpolished and innocent gem of youth.
The experience of my mature years has not made it more sinful but has only adorned itself with its pure brilliance.
I experience catharsis and am a catharsis myself.
I dilute paints and am paints myself.
I weave dimensions and myself become a new dimension
I dream and am a dream myself. I turn dreams into reality and am real myself.
With my breath I wave the flags of time.
Ghostly, I inhabit the towers of the crumbling castle of unadulterated truth.
I search for light and light torches which at once are extinguished, till I myself become a torch and produce light even for a brief instant.
A brush in hand, I am a child who knows he wants to Be and to Possess. I ask myself no questions but spur my horse towards the next battle. I look for the end of infinity, for the brink beyond which lies eternity. And I know and I want to Be and Be, and Be…
I am ecstasy and lunar tranquility.
An emotion approved and rejected by reason.
Many destinies merged into one: mine.
A knot of choices and a spider who knits out of lights the blood circulation of Living Beauty.
A worm in the fruit of knowledge, fattened by fresh questions about old sins.
A seducer with an iron patience who destroys the pillars supporting peace of mind yet I am also that peace itself, endangered by its own temptations.
A hedge-row between Happiness and Bestiality.
Human, yet not entirely so.
A long story begun before words existed which never comes to an end even when concepts are no more.
When I’m with a brush in hand…
Then I am a transmission belt of the engine of life.
A yearning for what has never been yearned for.
A vision of the the invisible.
A thought about things never thought of.
The truth about things which do need justice but love.
The logic of the absurd.
An adventure within an adventure.
And again chemical reactions, living cells and a hand. Eyes full of wonder before a canvas.
A sower in the garden of Eden.
A searcher for God but above all for Man.
A betrayer of a tragic destiny.
A long farewell to old loves.
A passionate Aurora Borealis on a wet and oppressive night.
An icon-painter on the vault of heaven.
Wild, undimmed freedom.
A rebellion of innocence and a fresh guilt.
What will I be if I let the brush go?
When the fingers of darkness rub the temples of the tired sun?
When my breast at my last breath like trumpets announce to the dark that a heart has gone silent?
When the inevitable comes, of which we know but in which we do not fully believe?
When the walls of my memory collapse and it merges with the voiceless?
When the nightmares get tired and oblivion takes place?
When, in a cold hand, the brush gets cold as well?
When the world shuts its gates on me?
No! I will not shut my eyes. I will sneak a glance or two whenever I hold a brush. I’ll sneak a glance at the world from my pictures and will laugh at the stares of all who had lots of money but were not inclined to buy. I’ll be all I have always been. I’ll still be thrilled with my former thrills.Because I have allowed myself to be so many inadmissible things. Because I have dared exist even outside existence. Like the imprint I have left upon time. Like a colour and a thought in which I harnessed the stallions of my breaths of passion.Like a message I have uttered and like all messages I had not time to utter but instilled in colour.Like memories built into the canvases.Like the emotion which I gave to them. Like what I have been -–the person who knows not time which measures his right to live because I have been outside time.
I am familiar with global sorrow but am not sad. I cannot reconcile myself to the thought that at some point in time all will end after having been able to press the infinite into an instant. The instant when I hold a brush. The instant when I have been genuinely happy!
“IF IN A SINGLE INSTANT YOU HAVE BEEN GENUINELY HAPPY, END DOES NOT EXIST FOR YOU!”
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