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SOPHIA OF WISDOM III - CARLO CRIVELLI 1
TO SEE THE PICTURE FOR THIS SEE BELOW
THE LIBRARY OF SOPHIA OF WISDOM III
THE SOPHIA OF ALL SOPHIA OF WISDOMS
AKA
CAROLINE E. KENNEDY_______________________________
NOVEMBER 25, 2006
THE BOOK OF THE TREE OF LIFE & THE TABLETS OF DESTINY
ON ONE BOOK
BY
CARLO CRIVELLI
THE ANNUNCIATION
***NOTE: I was to receive the lost documents called The Tablets of Destiny and The Book of The Tree of Life on March 25, 1979 the date of conception of my son Johan M. VanDerMeer born January 1, 1980....
I did not receive them because
The Annunciation with Saint Emidus, 148
By Carlo Crivelli, National Gallery, London. Egg temperan and some oil (analysed), trasferred from panel to canvas. 207 X 146.5 cm.
Please note the pickle on the edge in front of Gabriel. I am trying to figure out this pickle thing.
NOVEMBER 25, 2006
CARLO CRIVELLI: THE ANNUNCIATION /1486 TABLETS OF DESTINY (AMCIENT MAGIC)
***THIS INFORMATION WAS FOUND ON ANOTHER WEBSITE AND THEY HAVE MADE CLAIMS OF SUPERNATURAL THINGS HAPPENING INSIDE THE PICTURE. I TO HAVE WITNESSED SUPERNATUAL THINGS HAPPENING TO 2 MORE FAMOUS ARTISTS - LEONARDO DA VINVI - MADONNA ON THE ROCKS & REMBRANDT... THEIR FINGER TIPS ARE ROTTINNG OFF......
***THIS IS THE NEW INFORMATION I FOUND....
1. Window barred. Door wide open. A dove's gold music came through the wall.
2. Everybody's reading but not books.
On the arch a smaller person asks the larger to be good to him or her, to tell the truth, When such things happen God is directly overhead: a gold stain in a plain sky.
3. Angel and prelate are kneeling here: The prelate is a saint but who? Somebody knows his name but who? What a young face he has, younger than the angel's even who lives in the quietest suburb of time. The angel's headband looks like the uraeus, Egypt serpent wisdom roused the halo hardly fits. There is a quiet argument--
a lily or a city which is the best gift? And who is giving?
4. There seems to be no end to what this picture is talking about.
In all this beauty the mind can find no rest.
5. But what a beautiful street we also live on.
6. And she is reading a book. She probably thinks all the gold behavior round her, the ray that finds and pierces her the ecstasy that fills her up is happening in her head because of what she's reading, that everything comes out of this rapturous text before which she's actually kneeling as if reading is the same as praying.
Or tell me how it's different. The golden dove-line lands in her forehead. (How is it different?) She is reading the ancient history of this very moment. Everything is written in the act of reading.
Long skinny fingers folded reverently across her breast. Reverent she bends forward-- but maybe a little bit she is protecting her body from the insolent moment, the god.
7. Angel and other one waiting outside, waiting for the golden bee-line to do its work. She is captured by what she thinks, she kneels before the word. They kneel outside, each on one knee only ready for flight or to rise in copious explanation of what she knows already better than they ever could though it is they who will rise, step through the open door and tell. Later. A city on a hill. Or an angel's naked hand to comfort and tell.
8. Qui venit, tell, qui venit tell who is coming in nomine Domini, tell a mass by Fux, the time is wrong, the words are right, the golden light falling through the wall tells her someone is coming she'll have to know the name someday soon she'll make it up, who comes, who is coming to me now, coming in the name of the Lord, coming down along the circuits of the name and speaking into me now?
9. I hear the mass but there are no prayers in the picture, angel and pontiff, teacher and student, lover and seducer, orator and those to be persuaded, all of it is striving, dealing, merchandising, all except this little girl praying who is striving only with herself and the slender golden line that means her such exquisite harm.
10. The number of people in the picture keeps changing. So do the birds. The birds fly in and out, the birds settle and unsettle.
Sometimes there's a bird for every person, sometimes fewer sometimes more. Birds are like that, all in and out. People are so slow, though, weighed down with identity and other merchandise. How many people are there tonight?
Four, or only three, in the far-off courtyard. A garden is beyond the furthest wall and surely there are even more people in there hidden from me, safe, taking their ease, having no cares, indifferent to this girl and her book, to angel and dove. And maybe one of them looks like the gardener.
11. Tonight I can see thirteen birds counting the Holy Ghost. The numbers are not always the same. Sixteen human figures counting an angel a bishop and a child. Is a bishop human? Is a child?
12. For a long time I thought that far off beyond the garden wall was a tower, a curious rounded pagoda shaped affair, a faint pale lingam in the Lombard air. Tonight with a magnifying glass I see
that it's a tree, bent systematically to the left, like a larch or deodar, so the downward leftward curve of each branch shapes by occult lines (Klee's phrase, from his Sketch Book) the shape of the tower, just as before. What a strange way to treat a tree, Crivelli. To make me see an orient in the ordinary. Half of me lives in it already, making the best I can of your transparent walls.
13. One woman just appeared tonight, she walked into a small doorway in the middle distance and seems uncertain of whether to stand there or continue her indoor stroll. She moves at right angles to the door. Going where. (And one new bird too, a dove in a little pigeonhole far up the stucco wall.) The woman might be reading something or looking at her keys. The door's open. There's some funny business with a line that cuts across her hip and continues
across the street, running down the brick. What am I to make of this? She wears a tall hat, almost a miter or a crown. I want to think she is reading exactly what I am writing now.
14. And here it is. A bird in the house. Something terrible must be happening. All the normal registers confused.
Birds in houses.
God in a girl's womb.
Our family has a geis, a curse or condition or taboo, that says: no living bird in the house.
***THE KENNEDY CURSE (CAROLYN BESSETTE KENNEDY) IT HAPPENED WHEN THEY WENT BACK IN TIME AND SHE BECAME A BLONDE WOMAN WHO HAS USED THE NAME MARY AND COMBINED IT WITH CAROLYN - MARYLIN AND SHE ANNOINTED JESUS/ST. JOHN F. KENNEDY, JR. - PATER WITH $20,000.00 OF SPIKNARD (AN ANNOINTING OIL FOR RIGHTFULLY KINGS) HE WAS NOT THE RIGHTFULLY KING HE WAS HIGHER THAB THAT HE ANNOINYED KINGS HE WAS A FLAVIUS - THE VULTURE OF MUT.....SHE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANT TILL 9/11/2006 WHEN JOHAN M. VANDERMEER WAS NAMED CONSTANTINE THE GREAT III - FLAVIUS III - HORUS II....HE IS THE SON OF SOPHIA OF WISDOM III AND ST, JOHN OF WISDOM III. AMEN
***(AMEN CHANGED THE RULER FOR ROYAL WIFES TO BE ABLE TO HAVE MULTIPLE PARTNERS...THIS CAME IN HANDY WHEN JFK,JR WASNTED TO MARRY SOMEONE ELSE AND BECAME INVISIBLE AND WALKED IN TO THE BODY OF JOHAN FATHER MARCK C. VANDERMEER THUS JFK,JR BEING THE REAL FATHER).........
***ST. SOPHIA OF WISDOM III WAS NOT AWAKENED UNTIL APRIL 11, 2003 AND JFK,JR LET HE MARRY OTHER MEN WITHOUT LETTING HER KNOW SHE WAS HIS WIFE FROM THE BEGINNING OF TIME.....
***ST. SOPHIA IS A LADY DAY AND JOHAN WAS BORN NEW YEAR'S DAY...1980...HE WAS ALSO BORN WITHOUT THE USE OF ONE EYE DUE TO TUNNEL VISION.....
When my grandfather lay sick, a neighbor brought two pigeons in to kill for pie. Upstairs, far out of sight, my grandfather rose up in bed, cried Get those birds out of my house, and died.
15. There is a pale, grayish Adriatic light about the day. The glory
down which the dove rides to find her comes not from the sky but from a hole in the sky like the upside-down image of water splashing up when a stone falls into the pond. Something has fallen upward into heaven and let the light out. The light runs down to take refuge in a girl.
16. The book she is reading, I can't see the page. It engrosses her intelligence, the bird will have a hard time getting her attention.
I want to see the page beneath her gaze. Is the book she's reading the same book she will have been reading later, a book in the wind, a candle flickering in daylight beyond the dead body she holds years and years later, who knows how many, in the Brera Pietà?
It is open on a bookstand beyond Saint John.
***ST. JOHN OF WISDOM IS MY DIVINE HUSBAND...NOT DEAD SON...I AM LADY DAY.....
For all we know, the Virgin's eyes might still be fixed on the page, far-sighted eyes of an old woman now, easier to focus on the distant book than the skin a few inches away, body of her dead son. Are these two paintings images of the same instant, perils of reading, perils of letting an idea into the mind, a bird into the house? The book she was reading in the Annunciation contains the whole history of what is to come.
This moment is wrapped in that moment, as securely as death is wrapped in birth,
as the Redemption is wrapped in the Incarnation.
Are all books contained in any book?
Learning how to read (bend your body to the page, it is the body that reads the real meaning of the words, the eyes just dance). We could rename this painting
"The Reading Lesson," *** NO RENAME IT "THE TABLETS OF DESTINY"....
all the classes of society, wild life, birds of the air all flock to one who reads to tell her what is there,
there, beneath her dancing eyes, her slim intelligent mouth that will hold whatever secrets the page discloses.
***SHE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN READ THE TABLETS OF DESTINY WITHOUT GOING CRAZY WITH WILD IDEAS OF RULING THE WORLD WITH WHAT YOU SEE.....
The page before her, the page Crivelli sets before me. But when I look at Page 237 in Zampetti's monograph I see the actual page the mother reads beyond the son it looks like a page of Mirsuvian Calligraphy, my 'own' invention, the invention of anyone who wants to write and has no words, squiggles of writing-like worms and angles, red and black, writing that only the soul can understand, writing the other side of language. Signs that are signs of nothing or only of what happens in my head when I look through the flicker at the red questions and the black answers.
Whatever it is they see there it makes the dreamy girl imagine, makes the old woman weep to understand. What she read lies cold beneath her hand.
***TABLETS OF DESTINY / BOOK OF THE TREE OF LIFE......HAVE BEEN LOST AND NOW THEY ARE FOUND......I DID NOT LOSE THEM THEY WERE NEVER GIVEIN TO ME AFTER MY SPIRITUAL AWAKENING.....THEY WERE STOLEN NOTED SEPTEMBER 2003....THEY ARE SAFE HERE IN THIS PICTURE....
17. Who is that scruffy character, you can practically smell him, making the universal gesture of transaction, pay me, gimme, hand open demanding from the comfortable big fellow examining something this vendor --that's what he must be, the runt, caveat emptor! --has offered -- it looks like Confederate money-- or is he selling what's in the crate --a monkey or yet another bird -- or else the shapely tree in a tree-pot, is life for sale? This is the Renaissance, everything is for sale. The poor man is greedy (that's why he's poor -- does Ficino tell us this, or Bruno?), ill-dressed, his hair a mess. Yet this transaction is directly underneath the glory of God. These characters (dubious seller, too-comfortable doubtful buyer) are closer to the Divine Light than Mary is. What does this mean?
The class struggle is the meaning of history. Any light there is in the picture rational, knowable, tractable, divine, illuminates that, the conflict, the scruffy poor man and the glib aristo.
They are us, rich and poor, big and little, prosperous and needy, greedy, on rooftops which are arches which are bridges over spaces which are roads from one wall to another, who live in houses but stand outside them terrified, not even one of them looking up at the sky, we stand in areaways in alleys in courtyards between one house of life and another, we are them, the ordinary everybody for whose sake this whole bizarre business of a bird from heaven, virgin mother, god on scaffold, dead man talking with his friends, a book comes on a visit, a book no one can understand, all of it, everything comes down. Comes for us. Sometimes businessmen haggle to keep from crying. From doing what we always do.
***THEY ARE GHOSTS/SPIRITS
---------------------------------------------
***ADDED NOTES OF SOPHIA OF WISDOM III
***18. THE ANGEL IS INVISIBLE BECAUSE NONONE ELSE HAS WINGS SO HE WOULD STAND OUT & DRAW ATTENTION.
***19. MARY IS READING "THE TABLETS OF DESTINY" TO LOOKING AT THE BOOK IS DANGEROUS BECAUSE YOU CAN'T CHANGE WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN....YOU CAN TRY TO CHANGE WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN BUT YOU WILL CREATE A TRAIN WRECK AND SEND HUMANITY INTO SAVGERY.....
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THE LIBRARY OF SOPHIA OF WISDOM III
THE SOPHIA OF ALL SOPHIA OF WISDOMS
AKA
CAROLINE E. KENNEDY_____________________
DECEMBER 17, 2006
TO SEE THE PICTURE FOR THIS SEE BELOW
THE LIBRARY OF SOPHIA OF WISDOM III
THE SOPHIA OF ALL SOPHIA OF WISDOMS
AKA
CAROLINE E. KENNEDY_______________________________
NOVEMBER 25, 2006
CARLO CRIVELLI: THE ANNUNCIATION /1486 TABLETS OF DESTINY (AMCIENT MAGIC)
***THIS INFORMATION WAS FOUND ON ANOTHER WEBSITE AND THEY HAVE MADE CLAIMS OF SUPERNATURAL THINGS HAPPENING INSIDE THE PICTURE. I TO HAVE WITNESSED SUPERNATUAL THINGS HAPPENING TO 2 MORE FAMOUS ARTISTS - LEONARDO DA VINVI - MADONNA ON THE ROCKS & REMBRANDT... THEIR FINGER TIPS ARE ROTTINNG OFF......
***THIS IS THE NEW INFORMATION I FOUND....
1. Window barred. Door wide open. A dove's gold music came through the wall.
2. Everybody's reading but not books.
On the arch a smaller person asks the larger to be good to him or her, to tell the truth, When such things happen God is directly overhead: a gold stain in a plain sky.
3. Angel and prelate are kneeling here: The prelate is a saint but who? Somebody knows his name but who? What a young face he has, younger than the angel's even who lives in the quietest suburb of time. The angel's headband looks like the uraeus, Egypt serpent wisdom roused the halo hardly fits. There is a quiet argument--
a lily or a city which is the best gift? And who is giving?
4. There seems to be no end to what this picture is talking about.
In all this beauty the mind can find no rest.
5. But what a beautiful street we also live on.
6.
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