Lennon Legacy Lives

The trek down to Ballarat revealed cloud kissed forests and haunting reminders of John Lennon. The beast rocked and rolled humming along in tune with the Beatles. An anthology of their lives echoed loudly from a cd stacked with memories. Our arrival at "Art Gallery of Ballarat" was unceremonious. Rain and grey blue clouds framed the somber ambience of the morn.

We walked into the Gallery and brought tickets to a pictorial enclave into John Winston Lennon's life. Our turnstile into the exhibition was depicted by a historic time line beginning at John Lennon's birth, 9 October 1940 to his death a short 40 years later. The sixty intimate portraits lined the walls of the Gallery. Photographs taken, framed and dedicated to John's life were snapped by world class photographers.

It was obvious they wanted to capture the essence or spark of a man who has impacted on our social consciousness as we grappled with the concept of our own existence.

John has visited me numerous times usually when I'd become apathetic about life and my own creative voice. He would drop in and whisper in my ear, "the rest is over Julia – find your voice, pick up your pen and write from the heart". His tone was impatient, instructions short and sharp like he didn't want to waste a skerrick of energy.

Today, I've cried several times. My tears have fallen for a man I've never met in person, and yet know him when he visits in the dark of night or in the glimmer of morning light. It's not that I'm that special or deem to be one of the chosen ones. I figure it's because I am open to receive his soft, spiritual and yet commanding guidance. His spirit lives and his voice echoes in my subconscious.
Over the past few years I've become particularly grateful to Yoko Ono Lennon and her generosity to share this man with us – to give us insight into "their world". Our ravenous voyeurism is sated by the tantalizing tid bits of Lennon and Yoko. I pull back from hurtling down the road of my obsession – I find balance in other creative influences. The void in my soul is supplemented by a ray of hope that his (John Lennon) legacy lives in all of hearts and minds.

Through his music we welcomed him into our homes – playing his songs on our old record players. Then his presence materialized on our black and white TV screens and we devoured tiny pixels of him with a mop top and a message. Then we strolled along Abby Road as he began to awake his world outside Beatlemania. We languished with him and Yoko in the long lie in and woke up with a social hang over from our guilt.

He came here with a mission – a rowdy, restless warrior of peace. He enchanted us with his messages – lured us into his vision and trapped within the confines of his yellow submarine submerged beneath the sea of discontent we began to rediscover our voice – our personal alchemy along the misty mountains of ritualistic ranting.

Psst! It's time to wake up and twist and shout - start our own revolution and refuse to be carried along with the agenda of the masses. We all have a voice. A right for self expression – the ignition of our spark comes after dark with the ghostly visits of our muses and mentors. Sure his spark ignites our soul. After that, we must combust in a direction that emulates our personal collage of experiences.

I know his voice seduces me back into the psychedelic vortex. Once you enter your life will never be the same. But, do we want it to be the same? Or are we up for an organic metamorphosis into a new context – a new era of – us?

Julia Loves John – yeah: yeah: yeah!