Summer Solstice; Arthur Rimbaud dancing through the seasons
A Solstice message with a truly cosmic twist. I've poured my blood and guts into this celestial composition!
“I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple; Garlands from window to window; Golden chains from star to star … And I dance.”
Arthur Rimbaud 1854-1891
Bursting it’s glittering and shimmering power endlessly across the cosmos; fleetingly brushing past moons and stars; and into universes, galaxies, and celestial landscapes stretching far beyond the sable atmospheres.
Poetics for Solar displays.
Summer Solstice heralds the celebration of the Sun, and the radiance it brings to all life. As it’s emanations illuminates and enriches the hues and tones of the plants and flowers. And thrusts everything into full bloom.
The Sun is LIFE!
Those connected to the rhythms of nature can feel this, and relish in paying homage to the Sun.
Many people flock to the sacred and ancient site of Stonehenge every Solstice to embrace the arrival of summer.
This year though, on the eve of solstice, a pathetic act of vandalism was carried out by two Just Stop Oil activists.
This vile and despicable act was perpetrated by two moronic and brainless dupes of the climate cult agenda.
The Climate Change cult is dichotomous to the Sun, for they are devoid of spirit, joy, and life.
Those who serve mindlessly the globalist agenda ( which fabricated the story of climate change) attack what’s good and wholesome. They hate everything that represents and expresses a sense of life and joy.
The Woke movement attacks and demonises carbon dioxide, the gas of life. They merely serve as willingly dupes for the cult of death.
When summer arrives they scream: ‘‘It’s climate change, it’s a dangerous heatwave and we will all die unless we stop using oil and other fossil fuels.’’
Funny, as I write, the sun shines brightly this morning. I’m feeling great and alive. Moreover, the trees and flowers seems to love the sunshine. So where is the danger?
For so-called lovers of nature, the climate cult sure do hate things natural. They want the world to eat fake GMO food, they want everyone synthetically mutated with vaccines, and they want fossil fuels eradicated.
These fossil fuels are natural, they were caused by natural processes. I view it as though they were put here on Earth, placed here for us to use as energy, so we can live greater lives.
Despite the hideous woke-climate cult’s efforts and propaganda campaigns.
Life will continue. Stonehenge will stand strong and valiant.
No matter what happens, the good will always conquer the evil.
The sun will rise again for another day and shine down on us all.
Today, on solstice celebrate the magnificent radiance of the Sun, a powerful source of LIFE!
Solstice sweeps in a change of season. And one example of an individual who relished the changing of seasons and passages of time, was Arthur Rimbaud.
He embodied the essence of the Sun, he was alive and ebullient with spirit. He transmitted and expressed this living energy into his art.
Arthur Rimbaud, the libertine and surrealist poet and writer, created a vast plethora of literature, in the form of vivid poems, elaborate essays and decorative letters.
His creative endeavours were enriched and layered with celebrative imagery and dynamic symbolism; that were entangled and blended with wildly imaginative metaphors.
Some of the wild, expressive, and surrealist poetry he dramatically wrote pertained to the theme of seasons. His work was inspired by seasons.
As a corollary, he viewed life as a continual shifting of seasons in space, time, energy, and emotion.
A marvellous shifting of seasons, where a metamorphosising and overlapping occurs with other seasons, and other dimensions of space and time.
In some ways, He saw each season as a new and spontaneously forged passage of space and time, which possessed its own uniqueness, distinction, definition. Enriched and pulsating with enlivening qualities and rhythms.
Rimbaud perceived life, reality, consciousness, from a multi-dimensional and infinite point of view. He saw reality far beyond the material.
Rimbaud stated once: “Come from forever, and you will go everywhere.”
He perceived reality as something which moves and flows in infinite directions; which are expressed with fluidity. And what permeates below the surface are multiple realities constantly fluctuating and evolving.
And therefore, life is motion. Poetry in motion.
Rimbaud’s tumescent perception bled profusely throughout his entire psyche and transmuted into a deeply iron clad conviction which he fully lived by, and poured out through his artistic expression.
Rimbaud lived and danced dazzlingly through life intensely, with sparks of overflowing electricity. And his creativity shattered the banal illusions that reflected in the ideological glass ceilings of a shrunken culture.
In the shattered shards of glass flowed the pulsating currents of his electric creations that sparkled and crackled with vitality. His glistening poetics shown into his audience’s faces; revealing to them glimpses of infinity.
Through his art, he Illustrated that poetic consciousness went far beyond the fragile structures erected by a society becoming ever-increasingly industrial and mechanical.
The omnipotent pillars of materialism which buttress human existence are revealed as shaky when struck by every piercing word and explosive image he conveys on the page for the reader. Structures crumble from the sheer force of his bold and adventurous writing.
He thrived living life beyond standard survival response mechanisms – that many are welded and wired so tightly to like Pavlovian androids.
He lived the creative life. He was iconoclastic, and he rejected conventional ideals, preconceptions, and terms that the collective consensus upheld.
In the face of rationalism and mechanics he embraced uncharted spaces and frontiers of poetic consciousness, and lived there as a true cosmic explorer.
Through his unique form of art, he demonstrated to his audience and peers- the dangers and ludicrous insanities of an excessively mechanical culture shifting ever greater towards organisation and materialism; which would eventually enslave humanity.
Through his profound art he was illustrating the power of imagination and poetic consciousness by using wild and surreal imagery and metaphors that appeared absurd, but felt so real, felt so alive. And every time his words are read and spoken they burst once again into life.
His poetry alerted his readers, to stand up against a dry mechanical culture becoming alarmingly robotic and detached from its innate poetic nature. While simultaneously highlighting the natural and spontaneous creative capacities and impulses which lay dormant and suppressed within them.
His desire on one level was to show people to embrace and liberate themselves through poetic exploration of their own imaginations. For the individual to seek and bring forth the hero, the god, the magician inside their being.
In this age of insanity, his absurd, spectacular, and utterly surreal creative exploits appear ever more poignant and relative.
Rimbaud’s creative impulses were not shackled, and he unleashed them with intense vigour for all to bare witness.
He delved into poetic realms and bathed submerged in their galvanizing elixirs. There he washed himself in the violent and tempestuous currents and streams of the free-flowing rivers, that gushed forth from the fountain of his imagination.
Peering into his mind by reading his magical words, I sense he would have revelled in those dynamic and undulating streams and currents and came to the profound realisation that poetic consciousness hooked up with imagination, can revolutionise and liberate the individual, the soul, at the very core of his being.
Perhaps he laughed hysterically as he saw in free-flowing rivers of poetry and imagination, how the dense and oppressive mechanical and materialistic nature of Earth culture is a mere joke.
And that it’s established consensus of ‘what is’ and it’s tightly bound parameters of existence (defined by ruling elites) – is just a fragment of reality, a minor fraction of endless universes.
Merely a construct, a pseudo-reality manufactured by the ruling class. Which is sold through telling stories, that are filtered down through authority figures, who are installing propaganda into populations.
Hypnotic propaganda designed to box and coral the free minded and spirited nature of people. To stamp out and crush any imagination and independent feeling and thought.
So, that individuals will surrender their individuality, their uniqueness and creative impulses. And exchange down for the tyranny of collectivism – that flies under the false banners of ‘ for the greater good’, ‘ Diversity, Equality, Inclusion’ and ‘Unity for a better world’.
I reckon Rimbaud saw this as the ‘silver surfer’ traversing through the infinite streams and waves of imagination.
And he saw what is deemed ‘absolute reality’ dissolves away in the relentless rivers of imagination, which acts as a solvent eradicating the limitations and illusions.
Here, I present a brief insight into his mind, by parlaying a few words he spoke of regarding the nature of reality:
‘’…For a long time I boasted that I was master of all possible landscapes– and I thought the great figures of modern painting and poetry were laughable.
What I liked were of absurd paintings, pictures over doorways, stage sets, carnival backdrops, billboards, bright-coloured prints, old-fashioned literature, church Latin, erotic books full of misspellings, the kind of novels our grandmothers read, fairy tales, little children’s books, old operas, silly old songs, the naive rhythms of country rimes.’’
I dreamed of Crusades, voyages of discovery that nobody had heard of, republics without histories, religious wars stamped out, revolutions in morals, movements of races and continents; I used to believe in every kind of magic.
I invented colours for the vowels! A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green. I made rules for the form and movement of every consonant, and I boasted of inventing, with rhythms from within me, a kind of poetry that all the senses, sooner or later, would recognize. And I alone would be its translator.
I began it as an investigation. I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.”
I’ve no doubt Rimbaud, through expressing such statements attracted and experienced his fair share of ridicule and mockery, from the educated and political classes and intelligentsia; who themselves were bounded tightly to a pervasive and hypnotic propaganda; which was ever-increasingly fused and imbued with a scientific, moral, and mechanical bent.
His contemporaries most likely declared him either a dangerous lunatic, a naïve idealist, or a deluded dreamer. Maybe all three labels they endeavoured to slap upon His name, His reputation, His art.
Whatever criticism and attack he encountered, most likely he responded and dealt with it by dishing out a brief remark such as: “I’m intact, and I don’t give a damn.” Which he was cited to have said once in regard to an literary critique.
Rimbaud never succumbed to any social pressures to conform, nor did he pander to what others thought. He lived without that fear and pursued his own creative ambitions. He never allowed the collective to stop him exploring his own unique imagination.
Despite the tide of ridicule, from establishment consensus gatekeepers. Rimbaud had his admirers, whom were the open-minded and independent individuals who could recognise and resonate with his expressive and free poetry and writing. And could gauge the vast and expansive space from which Rimbaud was expressing himself from.
Because that space is beyond the material world and what society deems to be all reality. It’s a space of infinite imagination.
The frontiers of imagination have been explored by many artists. Rimbaud was a trailblazer, and his creative endeavours and legacy forged and showed a way ahead, for those who dare to imagine a world beyond this world, beyond the status quo of lowest common denominator set by weak and malevolent collectivists.
He was an escape artist who showed a way to exit the reality asylum.
As Rimbaud eloquently described : “Life is the farce we are all forced to endure.”
A farce he envisioned to destroy through the poetry he created.
Here is another flicker from the flames of his burning imagination:
“The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire. He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back from beyond has form, he gives it form; if it has none, he gives it none. A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colours, thought grappling with thought”.’’
As the poet he was Prometheus stealing the fire from the gods. And then using the fire to create a colossal conflagration to illuminate souls standing in the dark shadows cast by an overbearing ruling elite. His poetics has in moments, burnt to a cinder the fabricated material world designed to enslave humanity.
His creative fire engendered what he described as: “A thousand Dreams within me softly burn…”. Those words encouraged and evoked souls to liberate themselves from the oppressive shackles of consensus reality.
Enabling them to see in the pile of ashes, the burning flecks of their creative impulses.
His promethean triumph made a profoundly deep impact upon so many artists. His artistic endeavours heavily influenced many to pursue their own creative ambitions.
Jim Morrison (who found writing poetry more fulfilling than creating music with The Doors), Bob Dylan the prolific songwriter, Richey Edwards (wherever you may be now), and the much reviled but tremendous writer Henry Miller, are but a few names inspired by Arthur Rimbaud.
Artists inspired, who dared to dream ‘’ a thousand dreams …’’.
I count myself as one those artists.
Are you an artist who dares to dream?
As solstice is upon us, Rimbaud would see this as more than a passing of seasons, which merely relates to an astrological viewpoint.
He would have felt it as a poetic metaphor and an opportunity to embrace: the new, the unknown, the alive.
He would embrace the shifts in rhythms and currents, dance and sway with the revitalising essences of nature. He would tune into it’s electric beats and capture the radiance of the Sun in his hand.
Then he would throw it’s rays in our faces.