August 27, 2001 - B
"My Own Different Path"
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August 31, 2001
"No Longer 'Made For Walking'"
sandals, no longer 'made for walking'
These sandals, however, are no longer made for walking. I had them a long time, and they served me well. They were the first pair of Birkenstocks I'd ever bought. I needed sandals, for the hot weather here, and was curious about this popular brand. I soon learned, after the initial break-in period, why they are so acclaimed. They really do mold to YOUR FOOT, and thus, fit like no other shoe. It was at least thirteen years ago, when these shoes were unscruffed and pristine. They've since been resoled, and I thought they'd last forever. The ankle strap had a permanent curve, exactly matching the curve of my foot. But the beige leather is just too old and cracked, I suppose.
And so I was a bit dismayed when I looked downwards at my foot, and found the ankle strap broken in two. Thirteen years of service, and I shouldn't complain. But, you know, I expect things to last forever. Still, I bid a fond farewell to these old shoes, which have cushioned my feet over many paths through out these years.
September 3, 2001
"The Magic Within Me"
I was as I was as a young girl. I was with Gramma and someone else at her house. Was it my Aunt June? We were gathered around something in the center. Was it a deck of tarot cards laid out in a foreboding pattern, a clue to something awful at work? The door bell rang, and Aunt June said, ''Oh that's the hiijra who has a 'friend' next door,'' (Hiijra being the Indian present day ancesters of the ancient Gallae, male priestesses of the Goddess). ''He comes to visit his 'friend', and now he's visiting us.'' I ran to open the door, and found a tall personage there, somewhat thick in the middle, with great long hair. S/he had a variety of raiment piled on he/r, robes, and such, dressed for northern climate, at the very least. I reached up and touched the long loose braid of hair that reached to he/r waist. It was thick and coarse, dark brown with streaks of gray in it. I felt in awe to be touching the hair of this fascinating creature.At this point I awaken to the present day world.Next comes the reason of the visit. It turned out Aunt June and Gramma were seeking he/r assistance on some matter, perhaps what the cards were pointing to. I do not recall the nature of the problem, but that magical assistance was required.
At this moment, there is a strange transformation. I am the hiijra, about to summon the divine forces. I am circling around from the waist up, causing my hair to come loose from the braiding. My hair swings wildly around me, as I circle faster and faster. I feel the magic power swell up through me, through my feet, and out through the ends of my hair strands. Whatever needed fixed will surely be set right by the forces I am calling. I am near struck down by the power, and it is only my twirling that keeps me upright.
I know this dance is called by some the Sufi dance, as I whirl and twirl to channel the power.
Perhaps this dream is telling me I have magical abilities within me that I am just beginning to be aware of. I would like to think it is, at any rate.
September 4, 2001 - A
"One Can Only Hope"
When to the morning's prayer, I start the day with a searching awareness. What shall be worthy of being set to print? No doubt many items are lost, and without good reason. Still, we gather what we can, and that is all we can do.
What to make of a dream like yesterday's? The repercussions echo in my mind a thousand times over. I remember as a child, Gramma telling me I had a 'gift for prayer'. Within her Christian framework, this is as best as she could visualize it, and it might be sufficient. Still, to the understanding of what I have within me that might 'make the world a better place', other icons have been set in place by others who call such things 'magical'. Who is to say what is right?
I don't wish to argue over semantics. Still, Laura has read somewhere that suggests a 'gender varient', or some other such unusual child, is often born to a mother 'in stress'. And certainly the recipe for stress was there in my birth family. Father who felt he never matched up to the worthy respect of his elder brother and sister, always out of place, awkward, marries woman who his family does not like. A divorcee, and from that, suspect. Still, he hoped to find some sort of stability with my Mother. I'm sure they started out that way. She could provide the strength he may have felt he lacked? All supposition at this point, and looking back can never create the full reality of what was at the beginning. Still, they began in love, and it is apparent from early pictures, this was the case. What could have transpired from there to tear them apart?
I remember as a young child, counseling Dad many times that he should not divorce my Mother, that divorce was wrong, and he would be patient for a little while longer. An odd memory of the song, What The World Needs Now Is Love, Sweet Love, being sung to include the words 'more love for my Mother', can't be confabulation, not all of it. But what transpired that I could no longer be the stabilizing force? Too great the fields of dissent, too great and I couldn't hold them back any longer. I did not understand until now just how hard that divorce was on me.
So if I am meant to be the calming source to ease the chaotic energies, then how best can I achieve those ends? Never for once, forgetting how easily I might fail...
Tower card, from the tarot
that's how it was, things falling apart . . .
September 4, 2001 - B
"Seven Years Was Long Enough"
That haunting image . . .
What if they, (Dad before he died), and my Mother now, could be transported to that day in November of 1957, when they were newly in love? Wouldn't they, with the knowledge they would have now, be able to make their relationship work? Wouldn't they BOTH change?
Laura and I have had a strong relationship, and yet, even so, if we were whisked back to 1987, when we first got together, I know many things would have been different. Many decisions would have had different outcomes, I'm sure.
But you can't go back. No matter what a fascinating thing it is to consider what it would be like to be born with all the knowledge an old person has, it just isn't possible. Only each day, can we begin anew. A life filled with regret is a life filled with sorrow.
I remember as a young child, being spooked by the vibes I'd feel when we drove by my Mother's house. It was dark, deep and intense. In hindsight, I can understand she was deeply depressed by the separation. She'd lost not only a husband, she'd lost a daughter as well. I was spooked.
And, although I didn't recognise it consciously, maybe I did feel somewhat guilty. Even though, when she and I reconciled later at my age of 19, she assured me I had no reason to feel guilty, the doings were all theirs, on some level I surely must have felt guilt.
I wonder, even now, if it weren't for my rising fears at age 19 about my sexuality, and a need to confide in someone who was supportive, WHEN, if ever, that horrible breach that occurred between my Mother and I would have healed. I wonder and I don't like to think about it.
I wonder WHEN I would have grown up to have a changed perspective. At age 12, when they divorced, I was afraid of my Mother. It's only when I had fears greater than those fears that I had the courage to meet again with her and reconcile. So being 'different' has granted me at least this much. I would hate to think of myself as a forty-two year old just now, healing the breach.
Yet stranger things have happened between people. Rifts do get mended, at any age. At any rate, I'm glad I didn't wait that long. Seven years was long enough.
