(«El viejo»/»The Old Man«/Original Art Digital by Francisco Bravo Cabrera/All Rights Reserved)
“Even to your old age…I am he…who will sustain you…and I will rescue you” (Isaiah 46:4)
Although my back’s not as straight any more, and I don’t walk quite as quick, I am still what I was, though my hair’s not as thick…
In fact it’s all gray with soft traces of white, and I’ve left my beard grow, I must look quite a sight…
Although every morning I sit and I read my newspaper, by the end of the day what I read I can barely remember…
Every day, more and more, I see ghosts In the streets, Are they friends from my youth, These strange phantoms I meet…
Yet I spend hours now thinking of those that have left, remembering places feeling most bereft…
And now I don’t wander too far from the house, my eyesight betrays me, my knees may give out…
I am lonely, quite tired, and longing for rest, fearful of eternity, alone in my quest…
And in silence and truth I pray to your ears, I hope you will hear me, I hope you are near…
Even when I am old and gray…I (will) declare your power…to all who are to come. (Psalm 71:18) (C.2024, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 09 JUL 2024, Ilica, Turkiye)
(«The Speech»/AI Generated/Francisco Bravo Cabrera/All Rights Reserved)
Political assassinations have probably began when politicians began exposing themselves and their ideas before the public. I cannot think of how many emperors, kings, satraps, and other political leaders have been assassinated throughout history. From Julius Caesar to JFK and now to the attempt on Donald Trump, assassins, or would-be assassins, have decided that their way was the way of getting rid of a leader and have taken their best shot.
I don’t agree with them, but it does not matter, it is part of history and one cannot change the course of history. Recently we saw the attempted assassination of the Slovak Prime Minister and not too long ago (2021) we saw the murder of Haiti’s president, to name just a couple. And now Trump becomes the target. Ironic…
Trump, who thinks everyone in the US should own whatever type of gun (firearm) they want, no restrictions, who is heavily endorsed, and financed by the NRA, who has incited so much violence and created such divisions throughout the US, now becomes the target of a lunatic, twenty year old, with an AR-15 assault rifle. A man with no regards for human life for he fired at least eight rounds into the crowd, lamentably killing one man.
There is no condoning the barbarous act of cowardice committed by this young, would-be assassin. However, one has to think that his would-be target, who has espoused hatred, has offended his rivals and many, many others, has dehumanised immigrants and demonised political opponents, might also stir up the same sentiments in someone completely on the other side of his politic and of sanity.
People look for motives, but motives for crimes are not important in criminal law. This shooter committed a grievous crime and whatever motive he had is really not that important. What motive can rationalise such a brutal act?
(«Art is the Search»/by Francisco Bravo Cabrera/All Rights Reserved/Derechos Reservados)
Ok, so I have always said that art is the search, and I think I have mentioned quite a few times that I search and find. You must always find something in art. I would like to know if you agree with me. Is art the search for you? And if it is, what are you searching for?
(«Chamán» – Original Art Digital by Francisco Bravo Cabrera/All Rights Reserved)
HALLUCINATING?
This happened in Miami, during the autumn of 1989. At that time, I had just finished reading a smashing good book titled «Many Lives, Many Masters» by Dr. Brian Weiss. The book, published in 1988, instantly became a bestseller. In essence, the book postulates that reincarnation, and Dr. Weiss says we have all reincarnated several times, is real. The book also seeks to remind us that everything comes to us in its own time, and that we never truly die. I know that to many people the idea of past lives will seem absurd and that some have no notion, nor will ever have, that they have lived other lives. But some do. I, for example, had an experience where I did recall fragments of a past life*. And now I will tell you about a mysterious encounter that I had, which could have been with one of those «Masters» of whom Brian Weiss speaks.
The theories of Dr. Weiss, in those years a psychiatrist at Mount Sinai Hospital in Miami Beach, Florida, intrigued me and left me hungry to know more, not only about reincarnation but also about all things esoteric, metaphysical, and the occult. After all, if you delve into the occult, it’s because you enjoy the search, and I’ve always said that you have to search, but make sure you always find. A man does not live only because he breathes. Humans have to go beyond the mere physical and seek the spiritual center. We must grow in body, vertical growth, and in mind and spirit, omnidirectionally. This is how we demonstrate that we are intelligent beings.
So let me now take you to the day I possibly met one of those ascended masters that the Miami psychiatrist talked about. It all occurred at the baptism of my wife’s friend’s daughter. After the mass, all of us guests went to the couple’s house to celebrate the occasion. But since I didn’t know anyone, I went out to their garden to smoke a cigarette. As I was heading towards a bench in the yard I realised I had left the cigarettes inside, perhaps in my wife’s purse. When I turned back, opening the door to go get them, there stood a man, tall… very tall…American Indian looking, but strange, with very long jet-black hair, and eyes of the same color that were looking at me with tremendous intensely. He smiled and extended his hand, offering me a pack of Parliament cigarettes.
«I think this is your brand.
«Yes, well it was, not anymore. How do you know that?»
«You smoked Parliament cigarettes, lieutenant, when you were in the Army and deployed to Central America. Now, can we have a chat? Perhaps we can sit on that bench over there?»
«Is that where you know me from?»
«This is the first time I’ve ever actually seen you, Cisco.»
«And that’s what they used to call me in those days. Who are you and where do you know me from?»
He kept silent.
At first I thought he was a friend of my wife’s and that she had told him those things about me. But no, I realized it couldn’t have been her because she didn’t know anything about those things. So this was getting really strange, but also interesting. My detective’s mind began to salivate, like Pavlov’s dogs. I needed to know more. Although I kept asking myself, who the hell is this guy…
«Fine, let’s sit.»
I agreed, letting him get by without answering me. I’ll get it all out of him little by little as we spoke. So I thought.
As we sat on one of the garden benches, he asked me was if I had read any esoteric books lately. Damn yes! I had just finished Dr. Weiss’s book! I told him and smiling, he said he knew of it. Then, with a very serious expression, he told me that I was not born for the life I was living. He said I was fighting against my destiny. That, metaphysically speaking, I was stretching the fabric of my higher reality too much, meaning the space and time that belonged to me was far too strained. He said I had to stop swimming against the current. He warned me to be careful and to find a way to change my life.
I listened to everything he said with great attention and interest, and concluded that he was bang on right. My life in those years, although outwardly happy, was not fulfilling to me. Spiritually I was not happy. I liked my job as a police detective, however, it was not what I really wanted to do. But I had no choice, I had to support my family, provide for my kids, make sure we all had health insurance, so I had to suck it up. After all police departments in Miami paid very well and offered many benefits and a substantial pension.
«What’s your name?»
He didn’t get a chance to answer. As always, when things get interesting something happens that ruins everything. At that precise moment, everyone came out of the house bringing the party outside with them. The happy couple came outside with the newly baptised Christian baby and a cake. The baby girl didn’t have a clue as to what was going on. She was, after all, only one year old.
This changed the whole scene for me. My wife took me by the arm to introduce me to the baby’s parents. When I was able to return to the bench, hoping to continue talking to the Indian, he had disappeared. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Has the earth swallowed him up? Good grief, a man so tall, standing head and shoulders above everyone else, and looking so weird doesn’t just disappear from such a small garden.
In any event, as soon as I could I headed towards the bench and noticed that someone had left a matchbox in the place where he had sat. I opened it and found a note. It was his name and phone number, along with a message that said, «You’ll know when you need to call me, and you will call.»
I declare to you that this happened just as I have told you.
+++++++++++
The rest of the evening I spent drinking and dancing with my wife and other girls, and when I got home, I had already forgotten about the Indian, his prophecies, and advice. I don’t know why or how, but everything related to him had been completely erased from my mind. The only thing I do recall was that I wrote down his name and number in a little notebook where I kept phone numbers, nothing else.
A few years later I did remember the Indian and what he had said. But when I went to look for his reference in the notebook, it was no longer there. The page where I had written it was now completely blank. Could it all have been a dream? No! Darn it, I know it happened! Besides, the Indian was right; my life was in art, not in the police force.
I had already gone through various stages of life. I had been a soldier, now a policeman. When could I be a poet? A painter? He had told me that I would know when to call him, but I couldn’t. However, destiny took care of guiding me…and I let her do it…and I didn’t need his name or number. (That’s why I haven’t mentioned his name, because I still don’t remember it).
So the years, many years, passed and I finally completed my three-decade career in the police force. But, I did start a new life back in 1988. I returned to uni, registering in the School of Fine Arts. And although not full-time, I started my career as a painter, artist, and poet. The Indian knew what he was talking about. I don’t know if he was one of those Ascended Masters from Dr. Brian Weiss’s book or just a nut, but what he told me I have never forgotten. It was sound advice and one that I am very grateful for. Undoubtedly, Dr. Weiss is right, things do come when they are supposed to, if we leave ourselves open and follow our path to destiny, for one cannot fight against one’s own path towards happiness and fulfilment..
(«Art is the Search»/by Francisco Bravo Cabrera/All Rights Reserved/Derechos Reservados)
Ok, so I have always said that art is the search, and I think I have mentioned quite a few times that I search and find. You must always find something in art. I would like to know if you agree with me. Is art the search for you? And if it is, what are you searching for?
