Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 23.

 (The soft crackle of candles burning pushes back the watching darkness, as a soul pleads to be released. 

From a form of spiritual grief.)

The story arc. 

Sometimes I wake in the real world haunted by ghostly figures from the Astral realms. 

Whom I need to exorcise. 

(A lone voice whispers)

Did you once love me, or am I just another darkly lit daydream

Illuminated by shadow, birthing white candles, I habitually cling to 

In my self-imposed darkness, whenever I think of you. 

One where we'll never find true happiness or togetherness.

Did I claim a tiny part of your once unapproachable soul, as you once preached

A place where now no one, no longer knows

For it's beyond their mortal reach 

When on that sad but memorable day in Los Angeles

Where we met in a dream that is so hard to forget

You quietly told me 

Standing by The Four Ladies of Hollywood, to go

Was I just a childish, foolish dream to carry you 

On a crimson stretcher of unrequited love

To safety

Beyond some deep emotional pain you were going through

Am I now just discarded like another drained paper Costa coffee cup 

Since you said your unbearable goodbyes

When you embraced on that fateful day, before we went to Los Angeles

All your family and friends' sweet backstabbing lies 

Will I rise to face any upcoming storms

With the winds of change 

As it blows over my prayers of positive new horizons 

Watching me standing here, at the beginning of the world's many awakening United Nations

Or will I fall headfirst into the blood-red snow of self-flagellation

But as I pause and look back at my life and meditate over its unique highways

I hope deep down, they are replenished with self-growth as I revisit my own, stations of the cross

With a roll of these lucky soul-transforming black and white dice called Transmigration

I now bravely toss

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

Have you been given anxiety by deep, powerful dreams before?

If you have, multiply it by ten, and that's how this manifestation felt.

This piece helped to exorcise that feeling of sorrow. 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 23.

 The story arc. 

I sometimes dream I'm in a relationship. 

Are they past lives that seep through, quietly, whenever I write? 

(A lone voice whispers)

Every clock in here 

These old, faded white wooden ones, hanging on so many burnt-out trees 

That litter my new pathways as they tick, so remind me of you

Every single second

In every single minute, carry such luminescent memories 

Of all the wild but lovely things, we once used to do

As they suddenly manifest, like a magician's trick

Right out of the blue

And if my broken heart could beat, could scream to the high heavens

It would carry drum beats of irreversible revelations, so true

I would die once more

In palpable bliss

If I could write a parable

It would only be

I yearned once for a touch of your silky skin, and a taste of your bright red lipstick

But got distracted by the sweet voices

In the darkness of society, that strives to underpin all good things

And now in here, in my memories, Great In-Between 

My parable 

If deciphered by an illuminated one, would read

If love is offered freely and willingly 

Clasp it

Hold it and treasure it

And it's why now these sparkling twinkling lights, dancing before me 

Reflections of you

Shine so brightly in this ever-hot dust, from dawn to dusk

Showcasing your beautiful image to the empty husks 

Of the Ascended Ones

Night and day

That litter the roads and pathways 

Some in here call

The Lord's Way

Come what may

So while the Baylore energies magnify my thoughts into these words

Like a soft fingertip across your warm spine

I'll see you soon, skyclad in blue, in your deepest of dreams

Wide-eyed, mighty and free

Where we'll be reunited once more

But not like Orpheus and Eurydice

To be snatched away by a lack of trust

But forever, and that's why my love

I still see your reflection in these embers 

In this everlasting dust

In every single second and minute

As these tired wooden clocks tick

From dawn to dusk, for true love can never be crushed 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

It's a strange feeling seeing these actual faces from within my visits to The Great In-Between. 

Slightly creepy, if truth be said. 

Especially now, if they are..... D

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 22.

 (The soft sounds of previous decades wash through the watching darkness, accompanied by the low, distant murmur of a distant crowd fading into stillness)

The story arc. 

A strange meeting in a stranger still dream that seemed to haunt me for weeks. 

(A lone voice whispers) 

Marylou

In a dream, I met you in its dark space

Conjured by my prayers

You wore bright blue with a red rose in your blonde hair

And a soft smile on your beautiful face

Two souls

In a rare sacred place 

Free from politics

Fear or complaints

I still sometimes dream and think of you

But dreams can be but silent heralds and banner men of a soul's starvation

And can lead to its spiritual destruction 

A slow starvation and spiritual destruction 

That can drive you insane with pain

A thought of which there is no debate

As one loses things to say, and prays to dream again

As it gets late

So today 

I find solace in my old Russian friend, Dostoevsky

Melodramatic

Extreme 

Cerebral and drown like a fish in his incredible realism

So I now know

Like all realists do 

Sometimes you just have to let go

No more wandering barefoot in the snow in dreams

But to move on

To wake up even though inside you might hurt and pine

And realise

You just have to keep following life and walking in its straight lines

For sometimes lost and still dreaming of the past 

Can be one of life's secret Rodgers and Hammerstein

Theatrical crimes

(C) Copyright John Duffy

After lighting this piece up like a ceremonial candle.

The need to see her again stopped. 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 21.

 (The soft hiss of a burning wick cuts through the quiet dark, accompanied by the low, distant murmur of a crowd fading into stillness)

Across the silent divide between history and eternity, an iconic voice steps out from the shadows of 1963. 

Illuminated not by earthly spotlights, but by the sacred glow of the Purple Eternal Flame. 

Speaking as an eternal Watchman of the Great-In-Between. 

He calls upon humanity to lay down fear, resist the faceless monoliths of greed. 

And let peace bloom like a red rose breaking through cold concrete.

The story arc. 

This came about in a dream as I watched Politics unfold in America. 

It seems to be about his need to help us shape humanity as he watches.

It was based on our conversations, which once shaped his many historical speeches delivered with such empathy and understanding.

It references key areas of his life and, like most of his speeches, ends with hope.

He was such an iconic figure in history, and many might be interested to hear him speak once more.

So here he is. 

What would you say if this was your only chance to tell your story to your final audience and loved ones?

(A lone voice whispers)

As I kneel before all watching nations

And many of the world's populations

Illuminated by candle lights instead of spot lights

As the common enemies of mankind, and their spiritual darkness

Swirl and dance within your minds

Will you listen to my voice above all tyranny, poverty, disease

 And even war itself

Then lullaby my once beloved name

As you sit still, listen and quietly breathe

Do some of you still dwell in those old memories

Of long-lost salad days before Sixty-Three

When I lived and dreamed everything could be so much better

If I could help so many to truly see

Then take me in lovingly

Once again

Like my own

Strategy of Peace

And with your arms wide-open, hold me real close

As I repeat my New Frontiers

My new report to the watching people

Like in '63

When I could still breathe, filled with no fears

Even though now I sleep

I am reborn sacred and eternal

I am not one of the

Lonely dead

But still one of humanity's cherished pioneers

Standing now in a new circle, so please don’t weep

I no longer daydream

Lost wandering, all alone

Praying for a rendezvous with death

For I have been baptised an eternal Watchman

Amongst many

And I now sit so high

Illuminated and protected by the Purple Eternal Flame

Which burns so bright, within heavenly skies

To catch repugnant secrets

Lies and dark shadows crawling up

The wailing walls of your world’s freedoms

Listen

Today, a war has been declared on the faceless

Monoliths many kingdoms

Like I once said

Long ago

Secrets alive but soon to be welcomed through Arlington’s black and golden gates

Within crimson flames

I sometimes remember those memories from 'Sixty-One

When I spoke too honestly from the heart with wisdom

But to speak truth in that speech

Is that why I was shot with bullets, from all those carefully positioned guns

Now reborn

Though

I will rise forever

Now I am a Watchman

Of the Great In-Between

Here to help you face all the perils

Outcomes and repugnant, devious means

Of all those new or old programs and occult regimes

To help shape the choices that you must now face

To try to help you all

My brothers and sisters of the human race

From in here

I pray you will find a way

To be free through a new

Reconstruction

Not to be seduced by new Administrations

Greed or financial gains

From the great North or the great South

New governments or countries

Filled with secret societies and misdirections

Tonight

Don’t cry and feel the pain of what could have been

Instead, let’s talk about every sphere of human activity and taking

Up the baton

Of individual responsibility

In the face of a common danger

For there is a dark force all around you

All evasive

Beyond any dimension

You can ever see

A dark principality lives

Filled with wantonness, seductive depravity

But in recognising it

The future of humanity

Can be reborn

As a new, renewed call for emancipation survives, and blows its great redemption horn

So a new Camelot can appear

Like the spot where I once stood, in the centre of America

Shining

So brave and bright

It once illuminated all who came into sight

And was called

Our Camelot

There will be great presidents again

More to carry the light

And share the power of

Free speech and freedom of thought

So

Don’t just cry

And feel the pain of my death

For within presidential memories and

Treasured old speeches and

Photographs

I am reborn again and again

Even though now you hear me

As I speak with another’s breath

When my time came

On that fateful day

On November the twenty-second

In 1963

When those cold bullets hit

I still believed in faith and hope

For those things can't be faked and

I always believed in the Lord

The Almighty

In those dark moments in office

Of which there were many

He gave me the courage to make hard decisions

And at the brink of nuclear war

When I thought I had lost the self-belief to cope

Through prayer

I found the courage not to press that red button

And push the envelope

To always try to put people before

Profit and losses

To try to expose those who lie and deceive

He is here with me now

And it’s why I am always so well received

So take in my prayers

Of which I speak on your behalf

As I rest in peace

Underneath your watching eyes

And the soulful wishes of all nations

For I am

Now but a glorious

Being

Living still but

Without earthbound

Limitations

I'm finally

At home with

Jackie and my beloved children

Arabella John-John and dear Patrick

And all my relatives

One day we will all be forever reunited

Like brothers and sisters

Mothers and fathers

And when you too

Finally cross over

My dearest Caroline

We shall meet and embrace on that white finish line

Until then

Just call my spirit 

My earthly name

And I'll try to appear

To help revoke all

Your fearful

Reservations or tears

Like a Greek hero

I was reborn many years ago

Into an eternal

Spiritual Civil War

Between the dark and light

But I'm still one of your

True friends from yesteryear

Still

Trying to help you

Find long-lost answers

You might be looking for

In the middle of the night

On that fateful day

In Dallas, Texas

At 12:30 pm

 In 1963

On

November the twenty-second

When I heard the Lord call me home

For the last time

As the sounds of gunfire

Echoed all around me

In a nanosecond

I closed my eyes and prayed

For redemption and eternal forgiveness

So

Listen to my last words before I go home

To a new Beals Street

In a new Boston

We are all born with a pure soul

Overflowing with real courage

And you must realise you could all be worldwide agents

For the Lord

Whatever you choose to call him

Just don’t ever be discouraged

You could all be beautiful

Bright Lights sent out to fight against the

Dark

A truly united nation of People

Fighting for salvation

All problems are simply not solved

By silver bullets fired by shiny black guns

Hidden from view

And not all battles are easily won

Within any spiritual war theatres

Or political parks

Where no one has permission

To ever run

Today you all stand on the edge of a new horizon

A new challenge of such global magnitude

And in the belief of justice and righteousness

You must act

For you all live on this beautiful green island

And you must try to change just somebody’s

Attitude

Ask not what you can do for yourself

Alone

Ask what you can do for your society

Your world

To help keep the bright lights of hope

And freedom, shining

There needs to be a greater push for

Universal kindness

So no one has to suffer

With depression or loneliness

In isolation or feeling

Abandoned in silence

All this will not be over in the first one hundred

Dog-eared days filled with improprieties

But I pray

You will all come together to understand and

To stand as one

Never to surrender

To always

Fight The Good Fight

For the monolith and its many secret societies

Are huge

I was assassinated for a reason

A reason that did not die with me

But still lives on

Mutually on the sides of

Darkness and Light

Let my thoughts be the start of a new spring

A new song all nations can sing

A new season to embrace your life

To really start believing

And finding a means

To bring to all the citizens of the world

That most beautiful of five-letter words

Peace

By asking them all

To sacrifice their greed

The seductive drive to compete

And craving things they do not need

So

Peace 

Like a red rose

Can grow and bloom

Clawing its way through the concrete

To heal and defeat all fascism and racism

Hidden within every society's

Darkly lit rooms

My old name was

John Fitzgerald Kennedy

But you can all call me Jack

All my closest friends do

I'm just an old soul returning to the world

To speak with you all for a moment

A man who once loved life

Until I was chosen

On that fateful day in

Dallas Texas

When his world stopped

At 12:30 p.m

And his rendezvous with death

Was standing

Like a faceless, smiling jackal

With all his mortal allies

Waiting patiently in the Depository

Or behind a stockade fence 

On the grassy knoll

In Dealey Plaza

Hiding in plain sight

Under those blue skies

On that fateful day in

November in 1963

When God came calling

To collect me

And take me away from the pain

When some of you wept

I prayed to the Lord

In that falling rain

To return again

So here I am

To see with my own eyes

If humanity will still try to choose

Freedom

Freedom from the Monolithic entity

And all its well-bought slaves

Who have sold their souls

For money and power

As they earn thousands of dollars per hour

Their payments for chaining you up with false hopes

 Man-made diseases

To be then cured by their expensive

Useless vaccines

Starting wars for profit

And more and more national and personal debt

Standing forever in the background

Drinking champagne and smoking expensive fat Cuban cigarettes

All the while watching high up

From their privately owned

Castles parapets

Whilst smiling and

Still lying as the dearly beloved

On TV

Cried and wept

One day

I pray these old chains of corruption and

 slavery will burn

So everyone can be free in a new world

Where

Everyone individually takes responsibility

And in doing so

Humanity can eventually learn

Freedom is a universal right

Which just needs to be unfurled

I will pray for you all

 

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 20.

 (The slow, heavy tick of a midnight clock fades into the dry rustle of circling crow wings through thick grey fog)

Temptation rarely arrives wearing horns and brimstone; 

More often, it waits politely at a quiet crossroads with an easy smile and glittering eyes. 

Just past three in the morning, amidst ruined streets and swirling smoke. 

A Faustian bargain hangs in the cold air. 

Until a sudden burst of golden light pierces the dark, forcing the soul to choose between fleeting earthly pleasures and eternal freedom.

What would you have chosen? 

To be rich but held in bondage or to stay free, to be all you can be? 

The story arc. 

After watching Ghost Rider, I retired as usual. 

And woke in a landscape of grey, deserted buildings. 

Stood at a crossroads where a man waited. 

The atmosphere was friendly and light. 

Almost too friendly. 

Looking back, when temptation comes your way, it's not going to appear all frightening, is it? 

(A lone voice whispers) 

Belial came to me late last night, just after three

With Faustian promises of riches and such auspicious delights

But as I prayed while he talked 

As my faith shimmered but never once swayed

A beautiful bright light suddenly appeared and came my way

A soft voice

Spoke gently and held me hypnotised 

As it whispered the tiny molecules of golden light which surrounded its form

Defeated the encroaching darkness 

In every way

Listen not

To Belial 

The Lord of the Flies

But to me

The divine messenger 

From the Most High

Bend thy knee

And pray 

Follow my decrees

Belial might promise you promiscuous sins of the flesh 

Riches beyond all the eyes can see

I simply offer freedom 

Beyond this lifetime 

A rebirth on the silvery shores and golden cities

By the blessed holy sea

Be careful what you choose 

You hold so much which you could so easily lose

As the clocks through midnight ticked

As each soothing voice echoed deep within the many recesses of my mind

What choices I chose in this life 

I'll accept it as payment 

When it's called

In time

For I now know I have something too precious to lose

My eternal soul which doesn’t want to wander 

Forever lost 

in the Bad Lands 

Of the Burning Black Coal

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 19.

(The low rush of autumn wind sweeps through swirling mist, fading into the distant echo of a single thunderclap)

Where waking boundaries dissolve into the black void of sleep, an ancient guide waits beside a lone white picket fence. 

Born of white lightning and eternal storms, Salvatore steps forward from the shadows of the mind. 

Ready to walk hand in hand through the Astral Badlands and awaken the fierce, immortal strength resting within.

The story arc. 

I once met this mesmerising figure. 

Was he my spirit guide? 

Our encounter and conversation are below. 

Monologue of Salvatore. The spirit guide. 

(A lone voice whispers)

I have lived 

Once loved 

Indulged in primordial urges and died

By the sharp 

Sword of Damocles, for a thousand years

For I'm immortal

I've mixed with many souls with a kind heart 

Fierce spirit and a willing mind

I'm the wild untamable

thunder in a storm-filled 

Autumn's sky.

The gentle breeze overflowing eith

Spring's symphonies 

Of baby black birds that cry.

The scent of luscious 

Winters mornings 

Filled with a dash of mildew.

The peace and tranquillity 

Submissively reflected in a serene Summer's sky.

As whispering clouds

Jostle for kingship and quietly float by.

For I am eternal 

Don't you see

Born from the storm clouds, just beyond your sight.

Baptised by giants' hands in The Eternal Fountain

Created by white lightning upon 

Heavens illustrious, deep, mysterious mountains

 

I'm just resting deep inside of all of you until you sleep and then

I'll walk with you hand in 

hand 

Speak words of wisdom, seduce and advise

As we conquer dark dreams whilst lost and 

vulnerable

Walking together bravely 

through Astral Badlands

Only to then wake revitalised

To traverse these dangerous, sometimes soul-draining horizons

Filled with spirits corrupted who just love to criticise

You will see me sometimes by your white picket fence

Standing alone, licking my sweet red lips of salvation

In the swirling mists of 

Time

You will hear me in the 

hidden alabaster corridors, within your mind

For I am your 

Higher Self

Bestowed to you by a higher power

My only task

My penance

My treasure

Is to stimulate, encourage and fortify

Within ever-quickening passing seconds and hours

Behold

I am forever yours

As you are mine

Together we go to war

Every day you breathe

To rage against the

Paradigms littered amongst the ever eroding Sands of Time.

If in me you

Do believe

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 18.

 (The distant rumble of thunder rolls over jagged mountain peaks, fading into the electric crackle of charged winter air)

Beneath bruised, lightning-torn skies, a voice cuts through the gathering dark like a sudden flash of gold.

Standing unbowed against the storm, she calls out to every weary dreamer. 

Reminding the soul of its own hidden fire, and recalling a bond forged beyond the reach of time.

The story arc. 

I had watched a worldwide premiere of a certain female Amazonian woman. 

And when I woke in The Astral Realms, this goddess appeared. 

These higher entities, upon investigation, can take any form they choose. 

Did it hijack an image I saw earlier to communicate with me?

Memories of that encounter created this memorable piece. 

The Ballad of The Recalled

(A lone voice whispers) 

Within a silent, dream-like whisper, 

I heard you call

You whispered

Such quiet, thunderous proclamations of divine truths

Be an Illumination

You said 

The world is still so beautiful, below the dark horizons of bleak despair 

Beneath the layers of spin, broken dreams and sad days 

Where once rapturous hearts unfortunately tear 

For you are still a child 

of a Universe of the Unseen 

You still have a right to dare to dream 

Nurture your strength in cold days of misfortune, and strengthen through faith and conviction. 

Your protective shield to always redeem

For your unrestrained and wondrous heart has always been yours to willingly surrender 

Its virtues, kindness and heroism's, your own mighty defender 

In these days of ever-growing darkness and fading bright lights

Be a beacon within what you choose to write 

Ignite like a Bonfire Night firework

The readers' inquisitive minds as they quietly venture into sight 

Inspire hope and give them an unconscious smile

For them to carry away freely, into these dark winter nights

I listened patiently to her

Trapped and held like a prisoner in her all-consuming singularity, for I am still hers 

Beyond society or notoriety 

Passionate words and rhymes rule our endorphin-filled minds

Beyond judgemental scopes of any mortal kind

For we are eternally young and free

The universe has always been ours to conquer 

And within each silent whisper, when I still feel and hear her nightly calls

Regardless of fears or complex complications 

I always climb over those metaphorical walls regardless of the fall 

I reply, for you could be my predetermined soul-flame

Just hidden in the shadows 

Whispering through written rhymes as my soul is reminded it's being subtly recalled 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 17.

 (The soft drip of unseen water echoes through an empty stone hall, accompanied by the faint rustle of yellowed album pages)

At midnight, grief turns an ordinary room into a sacred catacomb where time stands still. 

By the trembling light of a single white candle, a solitary prayer rises toward the ether. 

Begging the heavens to open a window into sleep, where a lost love waits beside a starlit underground stream.

A beautiful, haunting monologue.

A fusion of prayer, grief, and myth, maybe felt in some way by many.

Something between Hamlet’s soliloquy and a modern requiem.

Title.

The Monologue of The Lost Soul.

The story arc. 

I woke and met an old man in a random cafe somewhere unknown. 

He looked me up and down and then walked into me. 

These are the words I heard and the image I saw. 

Some say the dead don't speak to the living. 

Was this his way of communicating his profound, never-ending grief? 

 

I then saw a middle-aged man.

Unshaven.

Surrounded by old photo albums.

And cobwebs.

Kneeling in front of an ageing shrine to his dearly departed wife.

At midnight. As a white candle burns. 

And heard him pray. 

(A lone voice whispers)

O Lord

King of all Spirits and Fates

Why do I 

With sleepless eyes

Still seek a love that's died

Am I a foe

Seeking forgiveness 

In old lullabies 

In knee-worship prayers

With a broken heart of catacombs

Where fear lives

Now it has found its

Home

As I once reached out

To the Ether

And cried

When she crossed over

To the Otherside

With sullen eyes

Am I cursed to never sleep

To never again know 

To touch or feel her

My sin eater and preacher

As demons and angels 

From past delights

Like Demeter and the old Unwashed Redeemer 

Walk past 

Like pale shadows

In endless nights

And smile

When sleep 

I do fight

On Monarch 

Lord

And King of all that's Right

Pray for me 

Go that extra mile

And open a window 

So I can reach her

In sleep

Tonight 

To see her

My teacher

My speaker

And who like

Mary

Was a true believer 

Who now lives within

Your kingdom 

As she's found holy freedom 

Pray we can wander hand in hand

In The Great Underground Stream

As I dream

Tonight 

In a new

Garden of Eden 

Amen

For

 I'm now so useless 

Without her

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

When he walked out, I awoke. 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 16.

 (The slow, heavy tick of a clock echoes through an empty room at 3 a.m., swallowed by the soft drift of grey smoke)

In the quietest hour before dawn, old idols fall away, and the soul is left alone with the weight of what it has loved. Out of the shadows of grief and memory, a familiar face steps forward. 

Asking whether the deepest truth of being human is only ever found through the ache of letting go.

Does Dostoevsky’s belief that to suffer is to be fully human — that love’s purity is often revealed only through pain? 

The story arc. 

A vivid impression from a midnight encounter in a rundown American bar. 

An encounter with a woman left me feeling low as I woke. 

A voice whispers in the dark at 3 a.m.

(A lone voice whispers)

I'll never kneel to pray anymore because I won't idolise anyone this way anymore.

I can't hold back my souvenirs of fears any longer.

Though my tears still stain this grey uniform I restfully wear, as I continuously look for a new sanctuary to rest.

So my soul can repair. 

I've got to take all those heartfelt condemnations with me.

For with you, I've smiled, shouted and screamed in joy, to last for a thousand years.

Constantly pushed to live the illuminated man's hidden underground dream.

But what I wouldn't do now, just to be with you.

I know I must neglect all those painful memories, and try to go on and find the resilience I need, to let you go free.

Just like a midnight lantern, filled with good wishes and introduced into a New Year's Eve transformational sky.

To fly so high.

To step away and shut that badly worn door, and let my existence go on like Adam, who once loved Lilith, before Eve.

Before they went outside the Greatest of All Gardens, and all his first love for her, he silently always grieved.

Would we be better off if I had pulled all my barriers down, and let you in so totally, and in all my hidden tributaries, swim? 

Maybe, but I reckon we'll never know.

So I'll let go of my claim on you, but you may call down someday in the near future, unknown.

In the falling rain or snow.

For this painful love, which we once beautifully shared, will keep us safe by the binding of our hearts.

Somewhere sacred in the silence of our minds 

For this love, which we once experienced in the darkness beyond the light, will go through a new phase of rediscovery.

Rewriting our tragic love story like a modern-day Fyodor Dostoevsky.

For humanity is sometimes incredibly and intensely in love with all forms of suffering, and love in action is, occasionally, a brutal and tragic commodity.

Whenever and forever described in relation to true love, as if in poetry, or wishful dreams?

For love of any kind is never low-key.

Especially that kind of love we once shared 

That still sets us both free.

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

 

Have you had dreams that, when you woke, left you emotionally untangled? 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 15.

 (The faint static hiss of a dark glass screen flickers in the quiet room, followed by the slow, heavy sound of shallow breathing)

Every time a black screen goes dark, the reflection stares back. 

And something on the other side never blinks.

Out of the soot and smoke of the Great-In-Between, the forgotten dead stand watching through the glass. 

Wearing hollow, twisted grins as they feed on every endless scroll.

The story arc. 

I appeared in a dark city, void of people. 

As the darkness swirled like a living thing. 

A man appeared wearing a crazy smile, saying he'd heard about me. 

Here is the interpreted conversation. 

The Watchers

(A lone ancient voice whispers)

  

You do know we, The Dead, watch everything you do. 

Through all those black scrying glasses we got you addicted to. 

(C)

Copyright John Duffy 

P. S

It makes you wonder who's watching you. 

Many years ago, all the mirrors in the house were covered at night. 

Why? 

In today's culture, we have mirrors everywhere. I bet you have a big TV in your bedroom. 

What if it's true, and they gather to watch you, and sometimes find a way through? 

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 14.

  (A shimmering chorus of distant chimes swells softly through swirling grey mist, fading into a warm, celestial hum)

Beyond the veil of waking sight, an incandescent light pierces the quiet dark of the astral realms.

Floating amidst spinning galaxies and ethereal clouds, a divine presence meets your gaze. 

Carrying a sacred message of hope, eternity, and the inner flame that guides every soul home.

The Angel called Evermore

An inspired dream I dreamt.

In the distance, she stood.

A visceral beauty from empires unknown.

Floating on a cloud of illuminating luminosity.

Emanating serenity of the Almighty and the Divine.

A glorious incandescent everlasting flame of Universal Hope.

As she gazed through her beautiful, twinkling eyes and held mine.

She whispered in soft, dulcet tones as the translucent grey smoke swirled.

"Keep the faith.

Your brethren and you.

For you earthly souls live for eternity.

We await you in the Holy City.

Where no one cries, and there is no pain.

Enjoy this life.

Your earthly reign.

Embrace your dreams.

Believe in the Powers of the Unseen.

Embody your reflection.

Make love and compassion your prime worldly companions.

A secret I recount to you.

A code to enter into our Celestial City.

Sharing your inner flame has always been your plight.

I am Evermore.

A Redeemer of Light.

I watch.

Collate and reaffirm.

I await you.

And the brave and always welcome the infirm.

Use my inspired words and seek to learn."

Evermore.

A deity from a Place Unsaid.

Where we never die but always sing, love symphonies and dance.

Will you heed her words or go another path instead?

She disappeared.

Her flames lingered in the Astral Realms for a short while.

A symbol of a place where no one is ever reviled.

Tales from the Astral Realms.

Of majestic beings sending Inspiration and Light.

Deities to heed throughout life's many carousels.

As I awoke, I was still under her spell.

Evermore.

An angel's tale, I just had to tell.

Are you too,

Willing to embrace her spell?

A wonderful embodiment of divinity.

To always guide you and be one with the light.

An Angel called Evermore

(C)

Copyright John Duffy

Documenting The Great In-Between: Art from the Astral Realms. Part 13.

 (A low, resonant hum echoes off ancient stone, accompanied by the soft crackle of a single flame in the dark)

Out of the silent void where time and memory meet. 

Sovereign grace steps forward like mist rolling in off a cold sea. 

In the quiet glow of a lone ritual flame, old wounds are laid bare before a presence powerful enough to understand every hidden secret. 

And offer the healing that follows.

In The Great In-Between. 

The story arc. 

I woke up in a regal bed chamber. 

Had conversations of the soul with a strange woman of high status. 

I wrote this based on that experience. 

The Dream Goddess

(A lone voice whispers) 

There was something so extraordinary about you.

Cleopatra's inner circle would have wept.

Your inescapable power and grace always seemed to roll in before you. 

Like November's sea fog

While sleeping kings and queens slept.

Like Midhir or Mab, from the Wild Woods.

You just understood where all my deepest secrets were kept.

In the great void where time and deep space intersect.

So this poetic artefact is for you.

The only woman who once opened me up like a can of worms and offered to heal me 

As her white ritual candle burned

(C) 

Copyright John Duffy 

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