My life in years, written in 2004-2005, revisited in 2017
Thirty Six
November 10 1994 - November 9, 1995
We went to the Renaissance Faire up north near Superior with the idea we'd not be seeing it again in a a long time, for we were thinking of a long distance move.
Julia and Laura in Renaissance wear
Bridge From the Past to the Future
Laura and I against the background of the Yuma sand dunes
And the view of the Catalina mountains outside our windows was marvelous:
Julia poses as the northern light falls upon her and surroundings.
But you know things have a way of changing, don't you?
November 10 1995 - November 9, 1996
I had hopes of going back to central Tucson. No, we didn't do that. Laura declared central Tucson too polluted. Laura proposed Casa Grande, a dinky town midway between Tucson and Phoenix. I didn't like the idea at the onset. Five years later, after five years of living there, I still didn't like the idea.
The town was nearly desolate. Okay, they had a good Italian restaurant, a couple of good Mexican restaurants, and a good Chinese restaurant, but that was it. In despair, I wrote to the Blockbuster website, telling them this town desperately needed them. A few months later, the video store was all built up, with its familiar blue and gold colors. It became the cultural hive of the town.
The theater was dreadful. The sound quality was poor, and films were always breaking down. If we wanted to go to a decent theater or bookstore, we had to travel 45 miles to Chandler, a suburb of Phoenix.
Can I express with any more distinction how much I hate the town? Yes, I can, but that will wait for another year's tale. For as bad as Casa Grande was, it was going to get worse.
Okay, the town was pitiful. But Laura had a way of drawing interesting people around her. Soon, her sons Anton and James would join us there and later her Mother and Glen. The people associations were good. Except for one person I'll leave unnamed. I gave this person a false name in my online journal. That's one thing I began this year, an online journal, with the hopes it would inspire creativity.
I began it about a year after Laura introduced us to the web. Once again, I'd reacted to Laura's decision to sign up to this new fangled device with hesitency. All I could think of was the little local discussion boards in which so many flame wars occurred. However, once again, Laura proved right. I quickly discovered it was very little like the BBSs. An exuberant letter I'd written to some friends of ours demonstrates how I felt:
Dear Paul and Dan, October 29, 1995
Hello! How are you? Happy Halloween! We are having a good
weekend. For yesterday, the three of us experienced a historic
event.
We went up on the Internet! Yes, our small computer connected
with computers all over the country and in the world. What an
experience. Our newspaper is available on line on a program
called StarNet. This links to the internet, world wide web and
all that stuff. You read a news article and below are
'footnotes' that you can click on to read other related items.
Those are the items that originate all over the world. We
were in Chicago, we were in Turkey, etc.!
|
That's all there was of me on the site until October, 1996 and my journal beginning. At first I was timid to do any of the html coding, and would type my journal entries out in Word Perfect. From there, Laura would put them into html. But I could see this was work for her and I did not want her to grow weary of my much writing. So one day I asked her to print up a copy of the bare code. I found it understandable, and for my next entry, just copied and pasted the tiny code bits.
It was the simplest of code, I had yet to learn the basics of tables, but I was out there and flying. I've been doing it ever since.
November 10 1996 - November 9, 1997
Laura wanted me to go out and do things when I knew I should be at home to receive customers. But I was also guilty. When I was at home, I was often surfing the web or playing computer games instead of sewing. The conflict of interest got to my nerves. It got to my immune system via my joints. I couldn't stand it anymore and quit in 2000. Okay, that's ahead of this year. But I did give it a go for several years. To my credit, I did make some profit.
I did like the room dedicated just to sewing. Laura had constructed for me a very large and wonderful cutting table, with many shelves as support base for the large top table. It was peaceful in there. I liked playing whatever music I wanted as I plied my fingers for the tasks. It was a little world of my own.
I wish I had a picture of that lovely cutting table. But I do have an image of the pictures above my sewing machine:
|
I've seen this wall more than frequently, so I'll share it with you all. You can have a closer look at some of those pictures. Starting with the far upper left picture, that's of Laura in the Flagstaff forest. The three little cherries were drawn by Laura. She made a drawing of the wolfpup, as well. Directly below the cherries is a scene at the Boyce Thompson Southwestern Arboretum. Below that, the
stream at Montezuma's Well. To its left, another Arboretum scene. I didn't scan the picture of Julia to its left, but I used it as inspiration for a drawing of her. Heading right, it's the picture of her and I. The card above it has the logo "Growth has its own roadmap."Above that, Julia used her calligraphic arts on a sort of haiku I did.
And I wouldn't forget that little white thing on the lower right of the wolf cub picture. It's a flower from the trim on Laura's Renaissance gown.
|
November 10 1997 - November 9, 1998
November 10, 1997The following, found in the liner notes of The Mystic Harp, one of the CD's I got for my birthday, spoke to me: (by J. Donald Walters, dedicated to Derek Bell)
|
As I read the Walters quote then, I was able to see a greater truth. Now, perhaps more so than then, knowing the limitations of time, I feel its bonds. But this instead spurs me to make better use of the 'now'.
This month was given to deep spiritual thought. I began to get a sense of the magical matrix underlying us all, and sense my connection to it. I also was filled with yearnings to know and express great Truth:
|
I who hope to climb the ladder and bring down Fire, I pray to the Divine, I pray to the divine in you. Can you hear me? We are not island universes. Underneath, the rock bed unites us all. Can you hear me?
|
By December, I'd managed to make all three of us beautiful Renaissance costumes to wear to Anton's wedding:
This might have been from an early digital camera, here's a view a year later.)
|
With what can I reach that will pull you to me, get you to listen, and see the gems of my soul like hand-picked jewels? These jewels I have so grasped at, Reaching, reaching, reaching, Greed has no end.
|
I called the intense desire 'greed', and thought it was not entirely a good thing. Maybe I was willing to admit it was not entirely a 'bad thing'.
In January, I was considering the relationship between spirituality and sexuality, and defending the sacredness of sensuality. I was angry towards those who call the flesh 'evil'. And I defended the unique relationship which was mine:
|
And we are not those who deny truths, no matter how hard. What makes it hard? Only that you must have the courage to declare it, hard courage for what has been taken away. There aren't parades for triad pride. We've since discovered a web site or two, cybernetic sybarites showing all, chasing each other, constantly new partners. THAT scene, though there be nothing wrong with that. We of the committed tri-union, we declare our truth here. If we all declare our truths, maybe we can discover what was lost. |
Once again, the intense striving for truth. ALETHEIA! May we not forget!
In January, I continued to explore what the combination of fear and hatred does:
|
|
This philosophically and spiritually time for me was followed with thoughts of ''The awareness of the nearness of death is also a part of the warrior's mindset.''
|
I pondered a bit. Surely wouldn't I want to do something better than just what I ordinarily do? I thought out loud as I answered Laura. ''I would write or call everyone I know and tell them I love them. I would spend much time with both of you, hugging close and looking deep into your eyes, so that our spirits can connect deeply on that special plane for which we have invented a word to express that which far surpasses love, * * * * * *. . .'' Laura, taking advantage of my pause, said she would go bowshooting as always. I asked myself out loud, would I still continue to take sewing customers? Yes, I would, for I would be glad for the opportunity to prove once again my skills and be of service. I would relish those last sewing jobs. I would take extra time with each one. ''So you too, would essentially do the same as always?'', asked Laura. I was disappointed to also answer as Julia. Yet it is what I ultimately would do. I would listen to all the music I cherish most, the Capercaillie albums, the Silly Wizard albums, the Andy M. Stewart albums. And I'd have to listen to Clannad, and that Narada compilation Celtic Spirit. And I would hear again the Bach Goldberg Variations. . . And I'd read the on-line newspaper, and let everyone reading the Community Front Page have a piece of my mind. Yes, to my somewhat disappointed dismay, essentially what I always do! Laura's next words were surprising. In that we would do nothing differently than always, we, in fact, are living as the samurai warriors! For this is part of what heijoshin means. Both startled and comforted at the same time, I rejoiced again in the richness that is my life. |
A little further in January, I was defining myself as a writer:
|
Hm-m-mm. That is a constant inner dialogue with myself. I remember when I was young and my father told me "You think you're an artist! You don't draw, you don't paint..." So with this learned fearfulness,(How DARE you think you're a writer...you vain creature of illusions!) (...gosh...am I going to send this rant???) I return back to the inner dialogue, The STRUGGLE, the fuzzy, but gradually clarifying view of perfection, a goal seen in the distance. I get closer to seeing what it is. I see it in the words of writers who move me, make me feel things, make me ponder truths. This holy grail that ever fuels the fire of my soul. . . (What the hell, it beats boredom!) I think that's the balance we need. We must take ourselves seriously and yet not TOO seriously. Remember to have FUN in life. We forget that. My painting teacher told me HER teacher told her "To be a great artist, you must suffer." My very young soul thought (as does my slighter older soul now) , "Oh, yeah, cutting off your own ear really helps your art???" I add "To be a great artist, you must laugh...laugh deep from the well of the incredible richness of life. Laugh, and love and feel it all, the whole gamut of this stuff called life. Be aware to every sensation. Listen for ephemeral delicacies. Look for ephemeral delicacies. The very act of looking will improve your vision. Look and wonder. Ponder. Ponder everything. Don't be afraid to look under rocks. Truth redeems the 'dirt' and 'bugs'. Cry. Don't be afraid to cry. Sob 'til you think you're going to fill the ocean. You'll 'weigh' less. Your soul with the lightness of burdens released will dance again. Dance! Feel the pulse of the music deep within. It's calling to you. It wants you to dance. You want to dance. Yeah, get out of that chair that holds you...it is not your slave. Listen to your body. Eat when you're hungry. Sleep when you're tired. Lay your head on that pillow of dreams and float. It's all right, ALL RIGHT. Everything in your life is meant to be. Hard, scary, silly, merry, angry, it is all part of the whole. Love the whole, the whole of your unimitatable existence. Love and share your ephemeral delicacies. Eat those ephemeral delicacies....plump berries of life. They go "pop!" in your mouth, all those beautiful berries, and the juice tastes so GOOD. Eat! Be greedy for life, but share your treasures. There is plenty of room at the table of life." |
This time in my life continued to be a rich one, and in February I had an unforgettable experience:
Walking into the Albertson's store, the words of Pema Chodron I have just recently read are simmering within me. "The capacity to love has no limits..." The music over the loud speakers must be a valentine's treat, for they have imported concert hall speakers. It hits me like a wave of eddies and currents. "I can fly high as an eagle...", the woman is intoning. This mixes with the brew just fine. I can fly. I can fly high without limits. I can fly, fueled by the power of UNLIMITED LOVE. I can fly... This love wells up within me. A great wave of happiness washes over me. I have come to this ocean's edge before, certain that nothing greater could lie before me in the horizon. Surely I would sink downwards in love-happiness, death coming in a flame of glory. A flame soon consumed by eternity. But perhaps not... Maybe I don't have to worry about that. Love is unlimited. My heart can just expand and expand.
"THERE'S NO END TO THIS!"
I burst into orgasmic brilliant joy. I have never felt so
illuminated. Midway through a mundane supermarket, I am
distantly aware of corporeal reality. Me in the long brown skirt
and sweater, floating down the aisle, ...how am I perceived by
others? Is this rapturous glow visible? They are all unaware.
I must pilot this flight slowly down to earth, or I incinerate.
I breathe, floating to a gentle landing by the time I reach the
other end of the store. Bottles of expensive draught are
stacked in neat rows. Liquid libations to raise spirits. I do
not need these. I breath deeply once more. Plane is securely
landed, pilot still somewhat stunned.
When I experienced this yesterday, I didn't know what it was. I thought it was just hyperemotional me being extrasensitive. So I filed away the transcendent emotional experience to memory. It was by reading one of the books we got earlier yesterday at the Barnes and Noble that I discovered it was Kundalini, a treasured and sought after mystical experience. A T Mann and Jane Lyle in Sacred Sexuality describe it thusly:
Kundalini is simultaneously a spiritual force and a sexual force latent within every human, which sleeps at the base of the spine, where it remains as a potent energy. When activated through meditation or aroused by sexual activity, it rises up the spine until it approaches or reaches the crown chakra, at which point the yogi or sexual initiate will experience samadhi or bliss. When kundalini is understood and its potency properly channeled, it is a powerful force for spirituality...It's nice to know it has a name, other than "mental orgasm"!
|
I ended this journal section on a high note:
Dreams can propel you high into uncharted territory. Trusting your own vision to pilot yourself, you become an explorer. You can discover anything in these realms. I have a vision of what MIGHT be there. Possibility keeps me ever in pursuit. Wild-eyed and obsessed, it nonetheless fulfills me. It might not be just craziness. There might be SOMETHING REALLY THERE!
When I began the new section, I was faced with a new and deeply saddening thing, the death of my Grandmother in March. I wanted to go back to Joliet for the funeral, but Laura was adamantly against it. Also, there was a strange thing. My cousin kept trying to call and inquire of something. I could only vaguely ascertain that it was in regards to a letter they were endeavoring to find out if I'd authored. They claimed it was 'peppered' with vulgar words.
Now, it is not my ordinary style to write in such a manner. But being strict fundy Christians, their idea of 'vulgar' and my idea of 'vulgar' are two different things. Could Laura have authored something in anger and affixed my name to it? I fear that might be so, done in the name of defending me. Meanwhile, I have no idea what the matter was in regard to. I suspect it had to do with any possible inheritence, that if they did determine I wrote this letter, I would have no part in it.
(I did receive from them the rings my Dad had given Gramma, however.) I felt bad that I couldn't go, but Laura was so strongly against it. Perhaps she was fearful they would try to do something to me in my vulnerable state, like try to make me share their beliefs.
I have no idea. I went to the funeral in my imagination, and it seemed that I was there in a way. Just because I don't like what has manifested from their beliefs doesn't mean I don't love those people.
This heartache was followed with further change. The troublesome person with whom we'd pooled our finances in buying the doublewide in Casa Grande was becoming most irksome. He was a transvestite who dressed in disgusting ways, in women's clothes, but with his bulging male apparatus in plain view. He pranced in front of my sewing customers in this manner. And he was insulted when we told him it was inappropriate. But happily, he was moving out on his own in May. We were greatly glad of it and hoped peace would at last return to all of us.
Julia returned to the workforce, and desperate to get a job, took the first that came along. She's not really suited to night shift security work, but that's what she gamely started with.
In July, I found renewed creativity, via several colored pencil pieces. Also, I returned to the search for deep Truth:
|
|
Thus, I pondered the necessary of knowing the Objective Universe in addition to our own Subjective Universe.
Always, there was a sense of Mystery slowly revealing itself. Then I was moved to capture a drawing in process:
A portrait mid-process
JAL, 8-2-98
|
This poem came to me, each line 'dictated'. The fuel for the busy Muse were my thoughts on popularity and fame. "Surrendering the crown" means to let other peoples values and opinions rule your life.
In August, we learned with sadness that Laura's Mother's spouse Glen had been diagnosed with cancer. Glen was initially suicidaly depressed, but Laura encouraged him to 'Give Mother a week' before he did anything rash. Laura knew a plea for a longer period of time may not have been heeded, so encouraged this much. He did listen to her persuasive nature. By October's end, we all rejoiced that Laura's Mother's spouse Glen had good success in his surgery and that all the cancer had been removed.
This was a most eventful year, beginning with deep thoughts, followed by changes, some sad, some good, then much creativity and more philosophical ponderings and then rejoicing.
November 10 1998 - November 9, 1999
 |
Book Of Life Index
© Joan Ann Lansberry
