Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 12.

 (The heavy rasp of slow breathing cuts through the dark, laced with the cold hiss of drifting smoke and distant floorboards creaking)

When the body sleeps, the spirit watches from just beyond the scrying glass. 

And sees what waits in the corners of the bedroom. 

Out of the suffocating chill of the Great-In-Between, our darkest hauntings take shape. 

Wearing a cold, patient grin as they wait for the warmth of the soul to fade.

As it flies into the void.

Where they wait 

The Shadow Self

(A lone voice whispers)

It came for me late last night.

Sliding and creeping whilst I was sleeping.

Slowly closing in, stinking of deep corruption, cold, smoky whiskey, and sin.

And as I looked in, from just beyond my astral windows, as I dreamed and checked in on my physical kingdom.

It saw me and smiled, crocodile-wide and mouthed.

“Be seeing you soon, manchild. 

In those dark lands of sweet dreams of The Great In-Between.”

Then it slithered away after being pulled back by grey, decomposed arms and elbows.

To the wild smoke-filled meadows and midnight sideshows

Where nothing living goes.

Like a freezing winter's night, which forecloses on red roses.

With a wry devil's smile, as it suddenly appears from the shadows.

To all things warm, envelope and enclose.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 11.

 EVELYN. THE BRAVE.

A Monologue from beyond the grave. 

(The cold whisper of wind sweeps over wet stone, carrying the faint chime of distant crystal glasses)

True courage is choosing love when the whole world demands you walk away. 

Across the quiet divide between memory and mourning, a single red rose rests on black marble. 

Honouring a woman in white whose bravery outshone every shadow cast against her.

Story arc

I dreamt I was in a lonely, empty cemetery, placing a beautiful red rose on a pristine grave)

(A lone voice whispers)

I still see you.

Sitting so still.

Looking so beautiful in white in that restaurant's background, an expensive silver mirror.

As I asked for your hand in marriage.

And can remember how all your family.

Particularly, your father and grandfather cried out the next day.

When they finally found out, we were to be married.

“Evelyn. Don't you dare marry that rude boy.

For if you do, all our family's love for you will die.”

But looking back, as they have all now crossed over and died.

I can just say, loving you in the face of such animosity was sometimes like walking through Dante's Divine Comedy.

Wearing a red rose on my lapel with pride.

And it's why I still love you.

The girl dressed in white, whom I once asked to be my beautiful bride.

Who knew her whole life was at risk, but still found the courage to seal our future with our first wedding kiss.

To defeat all the Devil's,

incarnated Mr Fisks.

(The scene ended as I kissed the black marble headstone)

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 11.

 (The soft flicker of a single candle cuts through the heavy dark, accompanied by the low, distant creak of wooden floorboards)

In the quiet stillness of midnight, grief finds its voice through prayer.

When the noise of the world fades away, memory steps into the light. 

Bringing back the warmth of an angel who once saved a lonely soul, and the sacred promise that love outlives the grave.

The story arc. 

I dreamt I knelt in the dark with a white candle burning and began praying.

(A lone voice whispers)

I knew her, my Rosie Lee, like a gift from God.

From the spiritual realm. 

Unmeasured by time itself.

When Love and Fate entwined like red wine and water to make our own beloved communion wine.

But now it's too late.

For, like her grandmother and mother before her, she now sings one of heaven's divine love songs.

I tried singing one after she died. 

Drank so much old whiskey but couldn't sing along.

But I still try to believe, as I grieve, that you sent her here to me, O Lord.

To undo so many old wrongs.

That you sent her straight into my hard, lonely life like an angel from beyond the sky.

Where she brought me true happiness before you called her back and she had to die.

For that I am grateful, Lord. 

For before she came, I was broken and on the brink.

All my hopes and dreams just seemed to float away and sink.

But when my beloved Rosie Lee came and called my name.

She brought that something so special that your sun seemed to shine ever so brighter, and my soul felt lighter.

I know she's there watching in the shadows with you, O Lord.

For I sometimes see her. 

So, hello, Rosie Lee.

I just want to thank you for being you and leading me out of the darkness. 

Even though you're back, watching by the Holy Sea.

It's why I pray.

Pray every day like today.

Even though my broken heart skips.

For one day I know we'll be reunited. Just you wait and see.

The lonely cowboy and his angel called Rosie Lee.

But until then.

Until then, I'll face the world and all its dangers and hardships with that smile you both gave me.

(I dreamt I then bowed, closed my eyes and whispered)

Amen.

(Blowing out the candle. And the room filled with darkness)

(C) Copyright John Duffy

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 10.

 Between waking and sleep lies a threshold where unfinished grief takes shape. 

In the silent, grey expanse of the Great-In-Between, memory refuses to stay buried, and the shadows of the past step out from the mist. 

Demanding a reckoning with the one question that haunts the soul.

In Desolation Wood 

(A lone voice whispers)

There's a place I sometimes see when all seems dark in Desolation Wood, and I feel weak in my deepest, darkest of dreams.

 A sparse place where the skylarks and robins no longer gather to sing while nearby rivers empty, deflowered by mountain streams and sin.

A low place beyond the cry of morning delights or the shriek of the lone rooster announcing the start of a new day.

After a long night.

 A place where darkness plays as old photos litter the way and ominous shadows stand up straight and sway.

A cathedral of tired old memories and barge boat journeys between A and B.

 Where no living creature breathes any air as far as the eyes can see, then I see you.

Standing, wearing dirty old black shoes and torn blue jeans. 

Wearing a black coat in the Great-In-Between.

 

Looking at me with all the sweet anger you can give, but as my dead spirit guides once told me, who once lived.

Channelling what Mark 11:25 said:

 “…if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them so that your Father in heaven may forgive you.” 

Is that why I still see you, a recurring ghost when I sometimes dream

After all these years in The Great In-Between?

Where I'm left constantly wondering?

Who's blessed enough to forgive who?

Me or even just you?

Or are you just my soul's follower in Desolation Wood, like a reborn Mary Magdalene?

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

P. S.

She appears every few months. Just standing and looking.

I don't remember ever meeting her... In this life anyway.

Do I see ghosts or do they see me? 

Why I call myself an Astral Painter

 Why I Call Myself an Astral Painter: 

A New Way to See The Great In-Between

I'm exploring opening an online virtual exhibition. 

An art gallery. 

Over the last decade, my creative work has taken many shapes. 

From writing text and moderating massive poetry communities, to publishing books and translating verse into over a hundred music tracks. 

Yet, as I began pairing my poetry with vivid, high-definition imagery, I realised that traditional labels like "writer," poet," or "digital artist" didn't quite capture what was happening on the screen.

That is why I stepped forward to claim a new title: 

Astral Painter.

While artists throughout history have painted their dreams on canvas, no one has stepped into this modern intersection to define themselves as an astral painter. 

Using contemporary visual tools as an immediate lens to capture the fleeting, cinematic landscapes of the unseen world before memory fades.

A realm of the unknown inhabited by souls in other worlds and unknown entities. 

What Makes This Art Form Different?

When you look at a traditional painting of a dream or a vision, you are seeing an interpretation slowed down by brushstrokes, drying paint, and the gradual blurring of waking memory.

Astral painting works differently. 

It captures the exact frequency and immediacy of a vision right as it crosses the threshold. 

By combining detailed sensory notes with advanced visual rendering, I can preserve the crisp lighting, specific historical eras, and raw emotional tension of The Great In-Between with almost photographic clarity.

The Unique Attraction for the Curious Viewer

If you are scrolling through this, you aren't just looking at isolated pictures or standalone poems. 

You are stepping into a curated gallery experience built around a very specific rhythm:

First, the Image Calls to You: 

Each piece is framed to pull you across the threshold. 

Whether it is a quiet, 1968 Parisian wine bar, a sun-drenched mountain ridge at dusk, or a shadowy chamber lit by a single candle.

The visual hooks your curiosity before a single word is read.

Then, the Verse Speaks:

Once you step closer, the poem beneath the frame acts like a museum placard. 

Or a lone voice whispering in the dark. 

Unlocking the hidden lore, memory, and emotion behind the scene.

A Bridge Between Old and New: 

It brings together timeless poetic storytelling and modern visual technology, offering a space where memory, mystery, and imagination become something you can actually look at.

This is an open invitation to the curious.

Will you step into the art gallery, look closely at the frames, and listen to what the shadows and lights have to say? 

Maybe I've been astral painting through words, music, videos and now actual real images. 

All along. 

Here are a few fleeting examples. 

The gallery will host an arrangement of images showcasing a relevant transmission. 

There will be an audio file to hear them speak as you absorb their presence. 

Remember, these aren't people or supernatural beings from this realm. 

They now inhabit another realm. 

Maybe previously from here. 

But now crossed over and wanting a reconnection with the living. 

With maybe even you, and who knows. 

They may visit you too in your deepest dreams. 

So you can see the familiar themes echoing through my works. 

This is the opening lines to a book I published on October the 22nd. 2018.

In the darkness of sleep, an angel called Poetry appeared. 

She whispered tales of how many would visit and pass on stories as I slept. 

She whispered I was simply a conduit from the Abyss and with a parting soft kiss, she disappeared and then the voices appeared.

The following are all those whispers in the middle of the night, within a year or so, of those strange ethereal dreams. 

Where strange unknown visitors suddenly appeared within my lucid deep streams. 

Do long-deceased ghosts recite poetry in the spaces in-between?

And so it begins with voices in the dark. 

As I sit lonely in my darkened room with my black Remington typewriter for company, in my mind’s eye a stage has appeared. 

All black save for a type of spotlight in the middle. 

A figure has appeared and stepped into view.

 Rugged, bearded and wearing a white shirt and a dark Mac with piercing blue eyes, he speaks. 

My name is William, John. 

Will you recite our stories to the world oh narrator from the lands of the living? 

Who am I to say no, I whisper and so it begins. 

William speaks; will you listen? 

If you were worth nothing or rich beyond compare I would still stand beside you and just try to love you 

If you were scared frightened or just weighed down with life and all its baggage 

I would gladly rush in to carry your burdens 

If you were mad or just simply sad 

I would quickly reach out with empathy overflowing with an electrifying passion to just embrace you in a hug of complete compassion 

If you needed some love and light in the middle of a lifetime 

I would just simply appear through inspired lines and prose to hold you tightly 

Simply to remind you 

All your feelings of guilt or pain are also mine 

If you needed anything profound beyond my care or abilities 

I would just try to simply love you 

For ours is but a silent union dear reader 

Free from physical excesses but entwined and spinning endlessly 

Lost in the spiritual cosmos beyond time and space 

Serenading our opened third eye 

As we ride over landscapes of blue and green 

Visiting newer realms unseen as two 

Shall we begin?

All content. 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

This adventure gets more stranger by the day!

Maybe one day I'll open a real one! 

Would you come?

Salute. 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 9.

A recurring vision inspired this piece. 

Here she is brought into this realm. 

Salute. 

My beloved Annabelle 

You were born 

In late November

This date, I'll know forevermore

As I look back and remember

For we shall be together

In Nevermore

Even when Death visits

And offers you a drink of his sacrilegious dark wine

To end all your days

And time

I just know we shall be together like twinned pilgrims 

In the silent memory of a long remembered God

Lost somewhere

But together in insane spaces 

In-Between

And as the soft capricious winds of heavens

Change and dance like a wild Anna Pavlova

Between us

Creating a moving sea of love between our two pulsating souls

We shall know

In that instance

Holding hands

Together like first-date lovers

In the universe's

Dust

That we can sing and dance together 

Forever 

And be joyous in each and every form

For ours is a love story

Beyond the norm

A love story

Composed in multiforms

and kept safely 

Beyond the Great Pillars 

In a sacred tabernacle

On a mahogany shelf

By the Holy Oak Tree 

By the Eternal Sea

This I know

Because 

Before I was born

You were written  

Into my history

By my spirit guides

God

And me

The woman I'm bound to always love

The one soul betrothed to me 

By an angel who once whispered 

Meet your true love

My beloved Annabelle

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 8.

An interesting return to this piece. 

The artwork represents what I saw. 

The hooded figure represents my avatar I glimpsed in a mirror. 

One of the mysteries of dreaming is that you never really see what you look like? 

You just assume you look like you? 

What if you don't? 

My avatar was a more polished version of me. 

More vibrant and so healthy. 

I'll leave you to read on. 

Until the next time. 

Salute. 

__________

The Visitor from Hiranyaloka

(A lone voice whispers)

Within the Witching Hour 

Of twelve to four am

In the Great In-Between

I've seen

Universes

Parallel worlds

Places

Where no living human beings have never been

Climbed through blue portals

To strange lands where angels and demons 

In choirs 

Sing

Walked lands

Where no water runs in rivers or springs

Walked the badlands of the forsaken 

Climbed the high towers of the iron maiden

Saw tomorrow's prophecies 

Before I awakened

But I was never alone

Faith in the Lord

Kept me safe

In The Badlands 

Beyond the Tomb

From being drawn at dusk

To be released at dawn

To explore

To revel in new sights

Past midnight 

Is a mystery which binds me still

From Araganto

To Mulavanto

The red cliffs of the Ugato Mountains

From the twin suns of Sirius 

Bathed in autumn gold

Underneath lightning-filled skies 

So now

I know an old secret

One for you to read as you pass me by

The dead don't die

They just live

Underneath 

Purple clouds

In another shimmering never-ending sky

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Hiranyaloka:

Illuminated Astral Planet.

LOVE'S DANGEROUS SPELL

A song conjured from a dream. 

Blessed be.

Velumbound

Under her hypnotic spell

Leaving me in new realms of emotions

Where I now dwell

I walk steep hills

Day and night

Up and down

In my mind

Walking past fast-flowing rivers

Where the waters carry away

The ghosts of all my yesterdays

And the things I couldn't save

Oh, I'm under her spell

Love's dangerous spell

Taking me places

Where I never thought I'd dwell

Through the darkness and the light

Through the endless night

I'm just a lone walker

Chasing paradise

Oh, I'm under her spell

Love's dangerous spell

With carcasses of my previous experiences

And demons from hell

I keep walking on

Searching for salvation

And its soft green meadows

Where the daffodils grow

And crystal-clear waters flow

I've crossed the rivers

I've climbed the hills

I've fought the shadows

That haunt me still

But something calls me

From somewhere above

A new kind of madness

A dangerous love

Oh, I'm under her spell

Love's dangerous spell

Taking me places

Where I never thought I'd dwell

Through the darkness and the light

Through the endless night

I'm just a lone walker

Chasing paradise

Oh, I'm under her spell

Love's dangerous spell

Such is the power

Of a woman's love

To turn a man's world

Upside down

To make him wander

To make him believe

That somewhere in heaven

There's a place he can reach

Oh, I'm under her spell

Love's dangerous spell

I've lost my direction

But I'm doing so well

Through the mountains and the streams

Through the places in my dreams

I'm just a lone walker

Following her dreams

Oh, I'm under her spell

Love's dangerous spell

And if this is madness

Then let me fall again

A lone walker

On a winding trail

Searching for heaven

Under love's dangerous spell

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 7.

The Border of Waking:

"Donadagohvi" in the Setting Sun

This entry captures one of the most bittersweet laws of The Great In-Between: 

The absolute enforcement of the waking timer.

In this verse, the Cherokee word Donadagohvi 

("Until we meet again") takes on a profound, haunting weight. 

It is not an ending, but a temporary boundary.

The figure standing in the sunlit dust is acutely aware of the shifting mechanics of my consciousness.

She watches me not with anger or deception, but with a deep, foreordained longing, knowing that the rising sun in my physical world means my inevitable departure from hers.

The Visual Mapping of Grief

The Setting Sun & Cloudless Sky: 

Unlike the previous internal chambers or midnight woods, the clear, open expanse and the dying light of the setting sun symbolise an approaching end. 

The closing down of the dream state as my mind prepares to transition back to the body.

The Yellow Rose and Red Dress: 

The brilliant, earthly colours ground her in a warm, tangible reality.

In traditional language, a yellow rose can signify friendship, devotion, or a promise of remembrance, beautifully mirroring the plea to "remember to cherish the memories and peace before grief arrived."

Smiling Like a Common Thief: 

The line describing grief stealing away peace fits perfectly with the expression of quiet sorrow in her dark brown eyes. 

The grief isn't an external monster here;

It is simply the ticking clock of the physical world breaking the astral connection.

By recording these farewells, hopefully my atlas of fields logs begins to document the emotional landscape of crossing over. 

It highlights that leaving these realms can feel just as visceral and heavy as arriving in them.

Let us begin. 

She never told me her name. 

The story arc. 

I appeared in a wooded area. And lived with this woman. 

We rode horses and roamed the lush countryside. Then the dream state started to quiver as I began to slowly wake up. 

(A lone voice whispers. The woman speaking to me) 

Donadagohvi

Until we meet again

Let us carry each other deep 

Inside

Wherever we go

Through the Spring

Summer 

Autumn and cold winter snow

For while we breathe as the moon rises and the sun still shines

Remember to cherish the memories and peace before grief 

Arrived 

Smiling like a common thief

Donadagohvi

Until we meet again

For as long as the rivers flow

Please let us know peace

For our love was foreordained

Donadagohvi

Until we meet again

(C) Copyright John Duffy 

Donadagohvi I later found out means:

In Cherokee: 

Until we meet again. 

P. S.

I have never seen her again.

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 6.

 

The Seeping Echo:

Was Calliope in the Queen's Chamber? 

As I revisit this poem, it transforms the image below that I saw in a striking dream: 

Into a clear portrait of creative possession.

When I write, do echoes seep and fracture into my waking states? 

Am I describing the exact moment the boundary of The Great In-Between dissolves? 

Here, the figure is no longer just a mysterious Greek woman in a firelit chamber. 

Is she Calliope, the ancient Greek Muse of epic poetry and eloquence?

How the Visual and Verse Connect

The Bejewelled Athame I saw: 

In traditional ritual, an athame is a ceremonial blade used to direct energy rather than cut flesh. 

In my verse, the blade transforms into words ("Take these words as my blade / My Athame"). 

She holds the tool that carves a mark onto your "astral skin," binding your waking mind to the act of creation.

The Braziers of Glowing Fire: 

The warm, flickering fire in the chamber directly reflects her promise to ignite your spirit ("A new flame to join / The many others / I helped to blaze"). 

She positions herself as both a comfort and an all-consuming creative fire.

The Cost of the Muse:

The Latin incantation ("Sume animam meam, Calliopea" — "Take my soul, Calliope") highlights the classic, intense pact between an artist and their inspiration. 

She offers total relief from loneliness and creative emptiness, asking in return for complete devotion ("To take my mark / To be my slave").

Mary Celeste: 

Comparing a drifting soul to the famous ghost ship Mary Celeste captures the eerie feeling of leaving your physical body behind. 

An empty vessel left behind while your mind sails through poetry and the astral realms.

Pairing this poem directly beneath the image of the green-eyed woman in the queen's chamber creates a complete, multi-sensory artefact for my blog.

It shows you, my readers, that the entities of the Great In-Between do not just stay in your sleep. 

They could follow you back into the waking world to demand expression.

Is that why I see visions as I write? 

Maybe they are the echoes seeping and fracturing through to my waking states. 

Let's see what she said. 

A woman from somewhere in The Great In-Between. 

(A lone voice whispers)

Take these words as my blade

My Athame

To take my mark

To be my slave

Wherever you sit or lie beyond the stars

For I'll help mend all your scars

Keep your deep secrets

Help you breathe in deeply

To quell the screaming

So you can revel and grow in my new experiences

As your soul drifts through words 

Like the Mary Celeste and starts singing

Never to feel empty

Or lonely

For I'll help you make it through each and every night

So take my mark

On your astral skin

Think of Poetry

And welcome me in

And we'll have each other

Every day and night 

So it'll be alright

I'll help you 

Win

You're everything I need and everything I want

A new flame to join 

The many others 

I helped to blaze

Conjure me with

Sume animam meam

Calliopea

(Take my soul

Calliope)

And I'll be with you

Always

(C) Copyright John Duffy