1986

(From an old journal of mine that happened to be under my bed today)

         I basically would love to have a man to tell me what to do all the time.

(Of course this is not true. I was “playing devil’s advocate, as we shall soon see.)

         As a single parent, for seven years I made all the decisions; made sure the car was fixed, the kids were fed, disciplined, washed, taught, loved, the bills paid, the house kept not-quite-clean-but –tolerable, etc.

         The prospect of sharing all that – of having someone ease the weight.(blessed weight of being lovingly involved with four loving, bright, curious boys, but weight nonetheless.)

         Much as I try to be saintly, I don’t do any better than anybody else. All humans need time to themselves. Even Christ spent long periods of time away from people. That’s where he tuned himself into the spirit; the still small voice that cannot be heard sometimes amid the din of responsibility and image.

         Now, what was the topic?

         Ah, as I was saying, naturally I’d love to have someone take over completely and tell me when to get up, brush my teeth, eat, write, phone, go out, cook meals, whatever.

         Then I would have someone to blame if I failed to achieve my dreams: if I failed to live my life fully; to inquire where I choose; to be myself. I could daydream about what life could have been like if I hadn’t had to sacrifice myself to this marriage, these kids.

         Oho. There is a block there while I am beginning to write as if I were writing for a magazine rather than just writing. Oh, I see why writing as if to reach “the public” doesn’t work right now for me.

         Really right now I am writing for nothing; just for writing’s sake; just for the pure joy of seeing what comes out next; what effect varying degrees of control does to change the stream of material.

I like other forms of art. Writing’s true purpose is for the artist to get to know himself; of gaining insight by what comes out.

         The part of ourselves called the unconscious can only come out in non-verbal ways: music, art, dance staring at clouds, dreams, illness, relationships.

         That’s why I thoroughly agree with the idea that the surroundings of your life reveal who you really are.

         I own everything I am, good and bad. I blame no one and take full responsibility. OK and I see no reason to turn away ashamed and try to alter them to fit somebody else’s ideal.

         Oh, what’s the value in that? If I have a’74 Dodge and somebody else has an ’88 Mercedes or whatever?

         I am Walt Whitman. Or, Whitman and I share the same Self.  (We all do.) and are aware of that Self. No other self could be so magnificent; so evident in all creation.

         And like Buddha and Jesus we point the way inward.

         Contemplation-I think that means being a temple and living around the Spirit

         Although I know the purpose of all writing, art or whatever is to glorify the Self or glorify God.

         Being well for me is being whole; in having the time to pay attention to my insides; to give them an equal say in what goes on. Illness is just a protest; all those little voices needing to be heard; saying “We count even more than the outside world, so listen up or we’ll go on strike.”

         Right now I am lying in bed and it’s cold outside. I don’t feel like doing anything so I write. For the past couple of days I have been suffering from, of all things, a pain in the neck.

         For the past couple of days I have been thinking about this dream I’ve had in the past of a huge old house  that is dark and horribly terrifying. There are whole floors and wings I cannot bring myself to approach, yet I am renovating the rooms I am comfortable in. With each dream, more areas become accessible. I hope the whole house can be restored, as it would be a lovely, useful place.

January 20. 1986

         Feeling incredibly cranky today. I am allowing everyone else’s demands to overwhelm me.

         Too damn crazy.

         I don’t feel happy about anything today. It will pass, I’m sure.

         Feeling kinda off about my relationship with Whitney. Can’t put my finger on it, really. Had a dream he was having an affair with another woman. Must be a symptom of some fear.

         My parents are hard for me to handle. I always feel in the wrong as far as they are concerned. Maybe it’s the bad feelings from their relationship seeping out at the edges? Who knows? But I feel alone.

         Probably PMS. Usually is, when I feel like this. But it’s good. I realize I have to take charge of my own life; maybe to confront my father with his attitude toward me. I get the idea around him that he thinks I’m some kind of obnoxious person.

         Oh well.

         Poor Whitney. I really took it out on him today. I hope he can stay open to me and know I know it’s not him. He knows I get crazy when I’ve got no money and no car. I want to be financially independent of him so money doesn’t become an issue between us. He really is amazingly reasonable.

         I want to live in a world where it is possible for everyone to live and be healthy; physically, mentally and spiritually healthy and growing.

How?

Let me out

Before my wings harden small and crumpled.

Let me stretch forth and fly.

Quite simply, a belief in the good without a belief in the evil may seem highly unrealistic to you. This belief, however, is the best kind of insurance that you can have, both during this physical life and afterward.

A belief in good without evil is actually highly realistic since in physical life it will keep your body healthier, keep you psychologically free of many fears and mental difficulties and bring you a feeling of ease and spontaneity in which the development of your abilities can be better fulfilled.

Believing in evils, you will of course perceive them. Your world has not tried the experiment which would release you. The experiment would operate on the basic idea that you create your own reality according to the nature of your beliefs and that all existence is blessed and that evil does not exist in it.

        

DREAM:

         I went to Peekskill with Neal. On the road downhill into town there were clothes hanging on trees. We got into town and down into a back street which was partially blocked with hay. I got out of the truck. A girl I knew from before came up and embraced me, then her sister did too.

         She excitedly told me there had been five deer in the center of town. Soon the whole alley was filled with people all happy and excited.

         I started to go back to Neal in the truck but a little girl and I started dancing freely and spontaneously together.

         I noticed a box near the alley wall. In it was a large pupae. It started to twitch. I shouted to Neal to come see. The coecrepsis…cecropsis…I couldn’t say the name of the moth and as I was trying to get him to see, the pupa twitched more and more and there!
The creature emerged still not fully unfurled, yet still beautiful. My eyes were filled with tears of wonder and joy.

        

Dear Maxine,

         It was wonderful to hear your voice. I miss you.

         I miss the Island too, but I am very glad I’m here. Life is going to go up and down no matter where one is.

         Here, I am exploring myself in greater depth. Because of the quasi-crisis around here I can see the deep convictions about life which motivate my parents and which, in turn cannot help but have an effect on my own life view.

         It’s easy to see them clearly because I no longer feel like the child. I feel adult at last and can see the parents as people wounded by life, but good people nevertheless.

         My mother, for instance, was, as I have mentioned, brought up in an orphanage. From the stories she tells about herself, one can see that she is a strong person with a sense of her own worth, but with an overlay of feeling that she would be a bad person if she demanded what she deserved in life.

        

Phyllis Gilbert

Beautiful, totally unafraid, totally alive

Anyone’s equal for best or worst

A true human being unashamed.

Small minds snicker and despise

You needn’t see life through their eyes.

The eldest from parents good and kind

You had clear eyes and an open mind.

I hope your parents never wondered where they went wrong.

They raised you to be healthy, unafraid and strong.

Yet you didn’t live out your span of years.

You died a victim of another’s fears.

         The #%#$% captain wrinkled his lip endearingly.

         “So sorry, dear friends”, he said. “We’ve studied your situation, heard your cries for help and have a plan. We’ve ascertained that a primary cause of mankind’s difficulty is their insistence in meddling in one another’s affairs. Therefore we must render inaccessible to humans that mind-wave which allows him to try to be “boss”.

         “This automatically grants each of you equal status, equal say in how things work, equal responsibility while retaining the uniqueness of each individual.”

         OK. Time to hit the old subconscious again. It really has to be attended to or it closes in like an untended well or like weeds in a garden. I mean, the so-called ‘real world’ closes in on the creative world. The cares and woes stifle the joyous child.

         Fearlessness is really the key.

To descend into the depths of one’s inner self is to face the last frontier.

To face certain annihilation by dropping off the edge of the world into the great abyss.

         But I know now that on the journey inward, rather than perish, one eventually reaches the wellspring of life-the New World of altered perception…even the fountain of youth, for youth is an attitude toward life; every day new and full of wonder, every day worth living.

Freedom: no intrusions into the perfect sphere of Self;

In the nature of personal reality

Flowing out, the inner consciousness , unused to expression,

Appears as Madness.

Madness in this age should be welcomed, as true madness is now “reality”.

           

 I want my words and pictures to reach you, the only person in the world capable of understanding them.

I can’t write or create images for the public. The “public”does not exist. There is only you and I and if you don’t understand me, no one will.

Before anything, I must understand myself. Each day I must be open to myself. I don’t know why I can’t say “I am a poet and a mystic” the way others say “I am a potter”, or “teacher, farmer, accountant.”

Ah, yes. Art in anything must begin as an investigation into one’s Self; tracking one’s spoor across the blank white sheets like a hunter in the snow.

I like this space; silence, nothing to do but hunt myself and no purpose for the hunt other than the pleasure of observation. I like to watch my mind work. It’s as wonderful as a leaf or the clouds or a whale sounding.

Maybe that’s why I find nature so fascinating. It’s so like my own inner nature. Perhaps everyone sees outer nature according to their inner nature. If one is afraid of one’s Self, then one sees “Nature red in tooth and claw”. Or if one feels one must control one’s inner nature then one get’s the stifling and killing effect of modern agriculture and forestry, virtually turning our world into an arid wasteland.

Loving one’s inner nature, one is happy to see it’s many faces and is afraid of none and accords each it’s place.