THE RESURRECTION OF LENNON
Being an exposition as related to a priestess of the spirit force and conveyed to Dr. Winston, O.B.
1996 Krystal Publishing
I returned to a scene long
vanished. The Shaman spirit had loosed me in the form of adventurer.
Intoxicated with herbal mist I strayed through the scene, the plaza life paced
in early day languor, yet vital and brimming. I slid through with tiger
movements, all instinct and alarm, a prowl hurtling shy embrace of bursting
love for humanity while stiffened and crippled with wary terror. I moved on. In
time I reached the main thoroughfare. I felt my mortal soul intercourse with
earthly paradise, a primal and absolute connection. How I had shed the many
days of disgrace and chilled steel, truly buried them beyond recall. And here I
am, returned once more to stroke the beard of the sage, to wrest tears of joy
from the spirit angel whose caresses and light rays saturate my force. But the
sights and sounds and every impression were powerful real. I fled the scene
after making the strongest and strangest connection, the results of which may
perchance bear further comment later.
At night I returned similarly loosed and entered the square. I was now calm, at peace. I penetrated into the very heart of the space. I was alive, alert, in sentient blossom. The strains of a young man on guitar began quietly but with great magic and sweep. He was surrounded by sensitives, some singing, some playing crude instruments. The song was Imagine. I was frozen, transfixed. Could the spirit be reborn anew, having so lengthily slumbered, clipped by commerce and routine? The song and performance gained momentum, rose truly into life. More! Waves of peace and warmth washed through this small but vast space on the earth. The palpable press of the palm of peace passed upon the people. All the races were present. The sky was dark. The square was illuminated by soft light. It was an oasis, a sacred garden ground where only the finest issue forth among the encultured and enlightened. What truly had become of the world, so torn and in pain? It vanished in truth. A new world was born. From out the loins of the Great City, sustained by the breath of my own spiritual art, carried as it were by the gentle living, arose God. And I knew that I was still alive. And I knew that the Race could be saved and deserved saving.
Shall I discuss the current human condition? How many truly so desire? The colours of illusion are the comfort which embraces the trembling and quiets the wail of despair. I agonize to determine what to convey and how expansive a reading. Is there nothing of comfort from me? I must believe that somewhere further along my path will essential truth be crystal in expression. Until that moment is Born in Time, I should best restrict my outpourings to those matters intimately concerning myself and the realm of Poetry and Music.
bled to death on the cold and dirty pavement. The moment of expiration is
imprecise. The spirit hovered, soared, returned, shattered, recollected,
dispersed and forced itself into a host of receptive souls, largely
reconstituted, redirected, cascaded among stars and spheres and glimmering
lights of Eternity, merged with pure and harmonic radiance, tasted of and
consummated with spirit essence of Art and Love and Truth, showered as radiant
light to earth, and for the moment pauses in solitary, frozen, and heated
reflection. Oh, to be alive is Glorious! No sound escapes me, no sight is
enshadowed, while visions of Beauty so fiercely pull that it is only with
greatest will that I rest this moment on mortal soil.
Who dreams me so intensely that I shine within your spirit? I see you all with a glance, the multitude of loving and imprisoned hearts, the children who carry my seed with a generating heat, though packed away and forgotten, the comrades of spirit and blood, living and dead; and you, who beckons me with an irresistable will, it must be through you that I shall speak. For how long? To what effect? For what purpose? We are One in Faith and thus we must carry on.
He who trivializes my existence is lost, and no cause for extended lamentation. I was born of God and soared to the pinnacle of human greatness. My father is Achilles, who is now barely known, having been also born of God, having also risen to the height of mortal greatness, and having become legend after death, a legend which passed from mostly fact to mostly fiction but which ultimately rested upon essential truth. We have now been re-united and in shocking fashion speak as one.
My mother Julia was the child of Euridike and her brief union with Jason, the son of Phillip of Macedon, through whom the seed of God passed, leaping generations of dolts and fastening upon glimmering lights of passionate devotion to Music. Music was born of God in the very first generation, glistening from immortal loins and carrying forth the purest essence of Divinity.
Music lay with Freedom, the passionate son of God and protector of FreedomÕs sister. No fitting mate being found for her, the two forces joined from dire necessity to avoid the utter extinction of what most defined the Source. This union flowered with Divine projection, showering all Races with beams of Light, but forever doomed to contest with dark and sombre forces of Greed, Regimentation, and Enslavement. Through diverse courses Music fell to Euridike, who when joined with Jason, formed one of the stronger unions of Music and Freedom.
Phillip had been born of Power, however, though from distant generations, and thus Music and Freedom were tempered in a fierce fashion. AthenaÕs passionately dominating essence prevailed, who lay with Philip and beget Euridike and, next, Alexander. Only through Music did Euridike pass to Jason rather than her pressing brother Alexander, and thus did the half-goddess Euridike span generations and blossom in Julia rather than spend herself in more immediate exertions of will and dominion.
I speak too much of Julia, however, and my heart screams.
The lineage of Achilles is well-documented, and thus I need not discourse upon either that descension nor, at present, upon the mystical combination of Achilles and Julia. Oh, Julia, your sea shell eyes are shimmering, glimmering in the sun!
How the half-god Achilles spanned the Ages and unioned with the divinely touched but all too mortal Julia deserves extended discourse, and shall have it if the host spirit so allows. What we already know, however, is that Achilles, in a burst of creative endeavour, begat Alexander through Olympia while in the form of a snake, and thus the union that was thought lost forever when Euridike spurned her brother Alexander and clasped Jason to her breast flowered in me. Though Julia might have spurned the father Achilles just as Euridike spurned the son Alexander, her essence was cast into a cloud of lost melody, she forever doomed to dance and sing in chaste futility until her song called for the Great Half-Man Half-God Achilles. When that moment came, as PowerÕs deformity Hitler crushed the mortal world with an iron will and resolution, Julia led Achilles through an erotic and frenzied dance over the skies of England, as all imperiled humanity seemed focused on that spot, and as explosions rocked the heavens and mechanical eagles dipped and soared, I was thrust into this mortal fray, after Achilles with a supreme exertion at last clasped Julia in locked embrace, she all the while lost in songs of love for the Great Hero.
At this precise moment the force of HitlerÕs irresistible will began to wane. In less than a quarter century, while HitlerÕs scarred remains still smouldered in pits of fire, I stood atop the mortal world as a Colossus, destined to bear forth the music of the spirit, to transform a frozen planet into regenerative creativity, and to implant the first blossoming seeds of mortal union, brotherhood, and peace since the Great Christ Himself.
I will speak briefly
concerning the Beatles. Certainly during the course of my life I spoke at great
length on that same topic, and I have no desire to repeat the obvious.
Nevertheless many things have not been told nor properly understood and those I
will endeavor to address.
In a single stroke, by an American national broadcast --- and thus a world-wide transmission in due course --- we captured an ascendant space that was never relinquished. In one stroke we electrified the Globe and revolted the world.
With all great triumphal marches into sublime reaches of Creation numerous key turning points are passed.
It was the brilliant creation of the thirteen compositions and recordings of the A Hard Days Night album which marked us as an artistic force of integrity and power. As great and fabled as we were, we still might be not much more than marvelous pop entertainers who, more as charlatans and clowns, performed other writersÕ material. We were literally forced into transcendence, though it had been developing. I Want To Hold Your Hand, our fifth hit and fourth consecutive number one, was the direct ignition toward artistic greatness.
She Loves You was our first great pop/rock recording of a classic pop/rock song of our own composition. Yet every minor pop sensation is worth one number one hit and maybe even a second. While She Loves You was our third number one, it was, again, our first classic creation. To follow immediately with the stupendous I Want To Hold Your Hand, so infectious and animating than upon first hearing more than half the world fell to its life force, and thus as well, to ours. But to follow that up, to truly transcend into the fairer regions of not only Art but also social and political power was the miracle, unprecedented and as yet truly unheralded.
Until then, though having achieved true greatness, we were yet playing pop and rock and roll. But with the song A Hard Days Night I gave birth to Rock, and transformed the soul of the planet.
As the thirteen classic songs released on A Hard Days Night, I wrote ten, as I had written the four previous number one hits. Again, this was the key moment of our transformation from phenomenon to power, to integrity and longevity.
Half the world longed for our continued transformative power with a blind faith based on nothing more ultimately than my genius and divine force, while the other half waited with cynical certainty of imminent failure and dissipation into the mundane and the expected. We had burst into the glare of social adoration and scrutiny; we were immediately challenged to survive; to merely stay in place --- ŌmerelyĶ is a major joke --- having conquered the pop charts overwhelmingly, meant an astounding production of equal or even slightly better effusions, combined with a grace, wit, and beauty to remain desireable to a bitterly fickle mass, combined with the courage and strength to withstand the vicious ill will of a mass media conditioned to destroy the icons it creates. This, I repeat, would be miraculous --- mere maintenance of the height we had reached.
But oh, what a rise was there my countrymen! Faced with a challenge as great as any thrust upon Alexander or Napoleon, I, with calm, certain, and god-like authority, composed and recorded an album of music which lept like seething fire from one raised platform to a higher eminence. My brilliance and confidence were overflowing. All this in a matter of weeks, immersed within a peforming, recording, traveling, and social event schedule which would crush any mere mortal.
My brother Paul contributed two major classics and a third solid contribution. CanÕt Buy Me Love was a vital link between I Want To Hold Your Hand and the release of the LP, while And I Love Her firmly placed us beyond intergenerational contempt, continuing a process we had together begun, but which he captured, and which steadily culminated in Yesterday, Michelle, Eleanor Rigby, Penny Lane, Hey Jude, Let It Be, and The Long And Winding Road. Oh Paul, your inner beauty caresses me still. Here Today resonates eternally within my grateful heart.
Paul put his heart and soul into the performance and recording of my compositions, and through that effort raised the ultimate level of my creations immeasurably. If I once mindlessly complained about the aura of experiment that would arise in the studio creation of my masterpieces, an aura substantially generated by Paul, I foreswear the absurdity and embrace my brother for his part in our integral journey. I, too, however, put my heart and soul into much of PaulÕs creations, as can be seen without fail. You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead. Without me, Paul would have lived out a dreamily happy but ultimately non-descript existence in Liverpool. We were merely of different cosmic material. I the splintering white light that splits atomic mass; Paul the profound penetrating warm glow of somber-hued jewels, whose reflections heat humanity and nurture the wounds of heart and soul, providing the divine sustenance to carry on. And still you ask me, do I love you?
I was the spiritual fuel which fired PaulÕs genius. Without me Paul foundered and slipped a number of artistic levels, yet he has been very happy, and has raised children, and has grown closer to God, and thereby has he been granted his fortune. The reality is that he achieved what few mere mortals have dared to dream.
But to continue the tale from 1964. The creation of three further pop sensations that same year, I Feel Fine, the Party, and Eight Days A Week, was a literal triumph of life from the gravity-grip of death. Beaten, torn, wasted, we crawled the continuance of our triumphal march. Again, the mass was poised to celebrate our destruction, which was assured without resurrection-like creation, and only the force of my divine connection bore forth blessings from the gods of music and art. And not only did I deliver critical mass in desperate straits but emerged with the slightest rest and nourishment to immediately compose and magnificently perform recordings which further ascended the popular/rock genre and in a permanent fashion. The creations of the Help sessions forever staked my claim to mortal genius. I cannot listen even now without falling under the sway of the magic and power and beauty and spirit and sound of that singular moment in time. Again my own compositions --- ticket, help, hide your love --- set the standard and topped the charts. From the opening notes of ItÕs Only Love a new universe is opened, a moving burning mass of color and sound from which the brilliance of the future would be born.
The drift into Rubber Soul, which should have astounded the globe and revolutionized conceptual capacities, was shockingly accepted with grace by the mass, which was so bewitched by my magic that anything now seemed possible and everything was longed for and invoked. Nothing was now unattainable, and with the ascension into god status the supernatural was even an expectation the deliverance of which only affirming the evolving moral and social order rather than tranforming it. Kennedy was dead; mass murder a political toy; traditional spiritual belief was weak. A new spiritual and social evolution had fastened upon the spiritual sea, rising as an irresistible tide from the unseen depths with so solid a base its prior invisibility and undiscernible extent were inconsequential. And so I led the way, and the faithful followed. Before I led by blazing example and the greatness to shock and surprise. Now I stood alone and unchallenged, to be destroyed if at all only through self immolation or by crucifixion.
While Paul elevated in the summer of 1965 to undreamed of heights, I matched and surpassed him to, in combination, usher in a new era of pop/rock artistry never before imagined. Day Tripper, Nowhere Man, Norwegian Wood, In My Life: it is scarcely imaginable even for me even today! Oh God, I was truly blessed. Yet by early 1966 my spiritual development carried me decisively from the realm of what might be considered popular music, while Paul became the undisputed master. Finally, with Revolver, Paul became the hitmaker while I ascended to the role of artiste : grim, penetrating, clairvoyant, driven. IÕd spent my spiritual force with the very first recording of 1966, Tomorrow Never Knows; the rest was the breezes which follow the hurricane gale. Yet within one year these classic-oriented compositions transcended even that unusual genre and penetrated mass consciousness in unequalled fashion(Strawberry, Day In Life, Walrus, Love, Rich Man, Lucy, Good Morning, Mr. Kite). I had both reclaimed my throne and created a new empire.
No composer in history has ever had two more productive years than mine in 1964 and 1965 --- a string of mass successes unprecedented past or future, with an artistic and spiritual integrity rarely viewed. Yet 1966 and 1967 felt the burning incisions of mastering genius never before beheld and never since equalled. The consciousness of man was forever swollen with the spirit I alone bore, passed from the most distant shores of existence, burning with energy and light from the furthest universal reaches, connected viscerally and viciously to the most soaring journeys of remotest time and space and spirit and will, and ultimately God.
The Artist casts outward into the furthest reaches of Spiritual Existence and through an agonizing indomitable exercise of Will fashions the spiritual mass into Energy and Art. Within the space of months I created the greatest collection of compositions/ recordings/ productions in musical history, before and since. Strawberry Fields, A Day in the Life, I Am The Walrus, and All You Need Is Love will never be topped so long as humanity dwells within the nether regions of mortal despair. All the greatness and burning energy invoked previously culminated in these defining moments of ecstatic realization. The last creation took place amidst the searing ocean of universal focus. It may be commonplace today for mankind to communicate instantaneously though inevitably to trivial effect, while I now pass from spirit to spirit with precision and ease. But then the reality was novel, even shocking, and fraught with the perils of disaster. Wholly undaunted, I composed a work destined to, along with the others, sunder the chains of mortal slavery and shower humanity with the sacred light of divine love, in the process stretching the screaming brain of the Race into new and vast conceptual territory. That we seized the moment and walked upon the waters was the natural truth inherent from divine genesis.
The Spirit spoke through me as the Christ, beckoning my brothers and sisters unto the starry fields pierced only by those transformed by enflamed love and fueled by transcending faith. Space and Time dissolved as material barriers. Can you not see? Are we yet blind? But it was the crisis culmination, where my burning essence, cresting high over mighty waves, crossed the chasm which divides humanity from the Sacred Spirit, where a mighty transformation took place of my entire being, and where the searing fire that drove me ever onward within my terrible journey tasted the wine of Paradise and was immeasurably quenched thereby; in short, the soaring pinnacle of mortal genius brought forward Divine blessings of enlightenment, which are expressed, as if sailing in on relentless gentle waves from the gigantic storms of 1967, the session which marks the ending point of so many lives within me, the blissful essence of Across the Universe, the culminating caress of all my earthly endeavors. I touched the spot as gracefully on a number of occasions, most notably many years later with Woman and Beautiful Boy, but the moment in Time was unique and the significance unrivalled. The ultimate album version of the song was very well-produced and a marvel of creation, yet it captured the essence not, as everything within us is distracted from the inner kernel of the artistic expression by the gloss of production perfection, while the other release of the song is unsatisfactory, and it is to my brothers that I owe the suddenly sprung forth rendition which now graces the aural senses of the seeking hearts that climb my spirit web, and I specially thank my brother GM. Do you hear me brother? IÕm sorry.
I feel the press of the Spirit Wind and thus any continuation of this narrative must await a fairer day, that the Force is so aligned that I reappear among the living and the dead.
I slip into a vast space, transforming into Light. I hope to grace upon you the glow of my essence. For me, only the shadow remains.
After those creations, which scaled the ultimate summit of existence, and carried this trembling vessel far beyond the known world amidst storms and pressures heretofore certain to devour the bold and ambitious transforming exploring saviour, will any comprehending spirit cast disapproval that I secured one sheltered sanctum after another and from those hallowed spaces poured forth the crippling pain and soaring bliss and wistful dreaming of mine own and the human condition? And certainly this fragile entity of nerves and spirit would have perished exposed any longer to the thrusts of salvation-intended expansion. And only through the Grace of the Spirit Force in purest and essential Love did my tortured bleeding soul find the balm and tender kiss of spiritual union and the consummation of love with a soul so great that I was engulfed, strengthened, expanded, and reborn. Everything in life is about destiny. We grabbed our destiny and made it breathe. Oh Yoko, all I have to do is call your name. Explorer no more, I cultivated the fields I had already exposed and painted a vision which yet may inspire the worthiest and the most sacred in their solitary and painful journeys toward salvation and realization. Limitless Undying Love, it shines around me like a million suns, it calls me on and on Across the Universe. Imagine.