March 16, 2004

"Thoughts After Some Reading"
7:35pm

"The Road's Open: Thoughts After Some Reading" A space for place, reading a teasing array of subjects starry leaves me finely pleased. There is more on 'the bone' left to chew. But this evening's sampling will do. A space for place of wonder, that will be 'my head'. All else instead, outside. But I react to the outside from the inside. Which is what I did with the savory sampling. 'Everyday magic', 'lessons from furries', 'invocations invoking the unwanted', did we want a rain of fire, or a reign of fire? or a reign of terror? You play your cards as you are given them. I pulled 'queen of swords' out of the deck. I be Ma'at, with the terrible justice? I be Ma'at, with the scales of weighing? I can bring to order my random thoughts, and see later the pattern. Here is the space, I give it to me, and it has been one of my best gifts. Voyage of discovery into the mind, mining the mind, minding the mine, mine and to whomever I wish to share, if they care. I could sit all day on thoughts like these and never let them out! But the pressure builds up and I like a nice, neat release. Word by word, my mind is known. I lay out my bunny trail. Oh, there's Another 'bunny trail', and I hope there's no confusion! Small brown pellets of rejected matter, my writing Could be that. I hope for more than catharsis, an Art in the catharsis, not just random spew. Give a thought to align what products of the mind, Maybe sense is in the borders, but what's pulling it in, combing the depths, pulling it it, arranging it here? Can I arrange better? The conscious mind will study and the subconcious mind will get the lesson, as well. I'll seek the writing advice, chew it well, think I can improve. You think I can, too? The road's open and where ever I am at is the beginning. JAL, 3 - 16 - 2004

March 20, 2004 A

"Potato"
11:05am

I was busy putting away groceries after a morning spent wrestling in intellectual debate. Frustration had grown, but I had had to leave the forum for necessary tasks.

There is a strange 'mind o war' that comes on one in a debate, as answer, and counter-answer fly back and forth. It leaves not easily. But it did this morning as I was arranging potatoes on top of the microwave and became mesmerized with the beauty of one of the potatoes. So rich its color, even its speckles entranced. Somehow it was a thing of beauty. Is this akin to the Zen Buddhist who eats a tangerine and notices what an ''incredibly lovely a thing it was''? THEY call such moments 'enlightenment'. I'm inclined to agree with that concept.

Potato Theories come and theories go. But I always like a potato. Deep blue red, from deep dark earth, I always like a potato. I cannot solve the wars of state. I may not win in debate, But I always like a potato. I picture the thing, deep blue red, not yet good for eating, will need cooking, is potential of the earthy goodness someday to be on my plate. So what? of theories I cannot digest. I will contemplate my potato. The wars rage, loud and small, vague and large. But I can always have my potato. Is it wild, that, to say, 'to hell' with theory and such? I return to potato contemplations. You might eat a peach or a plum or an apple. Savor what delicious fruit you can or someone else has canned and sweetened.   The taste is in your own tongue and mind. Let complexity 'be', it will always be. But I can eat my potato with a smile, butter and cream, too, if I please, and I'll leave the rest of the world, 'at ease'. Another day, another war. Today, the potato. Simplicity is its own reward if we are the one who has it. Theories come and theories go, but I will always have my potato. JAL, 3 - 20 - 2004

March 20, 2004 B

"Rome Comes To Yuma"
8:00 pm

In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg says:

"Writers live twice. They go along with their regular life, are as fast as anyone in the grocery store, crossing the street, getting dressed for work in the morning. But there's another part of them that they have been training. The one that lives everything a second time. That sits down and sees their life again and goes over it. Looks at the texture and details."

So I thought of our meal the night before in the Italian restaurant. While eating, I had observed a great many details:

Rome Comes To Yuma Eaters eating in the fine restaurant, rectangle room, rectangle wooden tables, buzz of life flow. Eaters come and go, round plates before them a while, round pizzas, round buns, round glass tops, flowing liquid within. Think a dream is beyond that painting on the wall? Can I imagine myself at a real window, overlooking some ancient temple or colliseum. Ancient Rome comes to Yuma on painted walls. Do the eaters care? The happy brown haired girl, she with brown haired mommy and daddy, calls to me remembrances of childhood. I was her once, not 'HER", but that new enthusiasm, joy over books and toys and friends, think dolls all waiting back home for a report. The elegant woman in the blue denim suit, going back and forth from the brown wooden bar, was she a martini woman? Meanwhile, wine, in the round edged clear vessel before us. I sip out of Julia's cup the aged grape, red with light sting. The eggplant parmagiana soft and yielding to fork feels good in my mouth with the tubular noodles. Chewing, chewing, chewing. A man is behind me, I can tell he is strong, though I know not what he eats. We are all gathered in the rectangular room, with the newly painted walls, and who else dreams of Rome? Julia remembers a visit there. I think of a character in books, long lived noble, ever in the red cloak, and how he watched Rome change over the centuries. His mind held it all, the writer holds it all, and now the reader holds it all. For a moment, I am Marius who would not eat the feast but dine later in darkened corners on what he will not mention. It is a life imagined, yet become real. Have you any feel for it? All the life between soup and roll and pumpkin cheesecake dessert? Before me, it ebbed and flowed, and I carry it with me. True words the writer spoke, who said, "The writer lives twice," and that is nice. Though my meal past, repast remembered done, I savor the memory. JAL, 3 - 20 - 2004

March 26, 2004

"Deep Cherishing"
11:07pm

Friday night, and weary after the day and a sinus headache, I nevertheless wanted to go somewhere and soak up some good energy. And Julia was badly craving sushi. But, alas, the elegant gourmet spot was all booked, except for the sunny outdoor dining. I wanted to not chance a sunburn, and they had no sushi that night, owing to party preparations.

So on we went. We didn't want a repeat of the usual restaurants. The India House is not yet open, so we drove further down the road. We've been wondering what the Rocky's Pizza place was like. They couldn't be bad, we figured, since they've been in Yuma as long as I can remember, even back on our very first visit many years ago. The big oval painted pizza outside their restaurant is quite memorable.

But we'd never gone. Last night we went, and now we've experienced three different Italian restaurants in Yuma. One is upscale, 'not too casual and not too stuffy' as they advertise. One is more refined, now that they've moved to a new place, but still good solid 'food of the earth' type. And this one is old neighborhood, beer on draft, informal as can be. But the cooking smells enticed our noses, so we felt safe.

Basic, call your number and come and get it, no frills, styrofoam cup ambience, but good traditional Italian cooking. If we'd gone to the upscale place, I was going to have ravioli, with three sauces and elegantly patterned vegetables. So I had the ravioli here, well cooked, plump cheesy circles under tomato meat sauce and melted mozzarella cheese. Garlic bread provided a nice compliment. Julia settled for beer and stromboli, which is the stuff that goes inside a pizza wrapped in a shell of pizza dough.

Julia looked at the number we were given, and noticed '77' makes 'LL' when reversed. Both of us went into a tearful reverie of Laura. I could feel Laura's spirit in this casual place. The cook/cashier looked like an old friend of Laura's. Marie had spoken many times of wanting to start an Italian restaurant. There was such an aura of similarity in the personality, a direct temper, a forceful drive like that of our old friend. Laura would have liked it at this restaurant.

I was surprised at the many tears which flowed. I thought I was done with that. I am glad, however, not to be 'done with that'.

"Deep Cherishing" Return to the place of deep cherishing, embrace of self full and round. Quiet the moment and breathe, all rendering the deep cherishing moments of memory, shared looks of loves past and present, eye to eye in the fullness of time. Cherish the moment, sing to the thought of Laura-memory. Did she visit us once again, in the 77 reversed, become LL? Julia sees such signs. The red checkered tablecloth, the lady who was cook, so much like a scene from our past. Oh, the deep cherishing of Laura! This is celebration of life. These are tears not in sadness but in deep gratitude of knowing. Eyes so blue as Laura's, the deepest of sight, how with one look she could say so much. But raise we glass to you, tonight, over the checkered tablecloth. My lemonade sweet enough and sour enough to Julia's beer on draft, fresher for that, raise we the glasses, cherish we the memories. It is not of death, but life we sing. Oh Laura, Caramissa Mine, you are tucked close nearer than my breast, 'here'. I touch the space, beneath, the heart, deep cherishing, deep cherishing all. Say it on the fresh night air, breeze that brings your memory near,   deep cherishing, the song of those 'lucky in love'. Deep cherishing all, return to embrace of self. This night will not be forgotten. JAL, 3 - 26 - 2004

March 28, 2004

"Thoughts, Somewhat Sorted"
6:15am

March 28, 2004
BREAK FROM ROUTINE
(Uranus square Mars)

The horoscope says 'Express yourself as you've never done before.' I do not know as I am full of this 'High nervous energy' the astrologer speaks of. Matter of fact, I feel just plain pooped.

But I had a marvelous day yesterday. I did a bit of serious reading and study in the early morning, while Julia went and did some errands. Then we went to the coffee shop at the big bookstore for the monthly gathering of pagans.

We came not too early we thought, but the doors were locked. No one else we knew, but two chatty gentlemen were seated there, so we chatted. The one, tall, thin and in his seventies, apparently has been around the world, and visited India. He spoke of Shiva, and I popped up with, ''Oh, I've just been reading about Shiva, the Indian God of 'destruction, change, and re-creation' and his similarity with other Gods.'' The thin one asks, ''Which Gods?'' And oh, the eloquence flew from me. The neat wording I might have in print went to half delineated vagueness. All I could say was ''Set, the Egyptian God, for he is also of 'destruction, change, and re-creation'. And then later, I remembered the nice paragraphs of the Egyptian Hyksos tribe and their similarities with the Indian Aryan tribe, but by then, we were talking about something else.

But before then, the thin man spoke of Shiva and his lingam, and all I could remember was the 'fiery lingam' one Indian page so nicely illustrated, and the tantra called Vamacara. Or did I call it Varacama?

And then thin man had some strange ideas, which I didn't know how to counter. Something about 'silence' and baseball. Or was it football? He was talking about life being 'experience' and we put too much thought to it. I countered with, ''But how we will understand our experiences if we don't apply thought to them?''

The friend accompanying him was in his thirties, short and dark, possibly of Middle Eastern origin himself. He took notes in a little book, and when Julia took us off on a tangent, he drew a picture of a mouse in the booklet, with tail too long. It curved and winded, and was twice as long as mouse. I forget what the mouse was about, some odd word coinage of Julia's.

The short man mostly was quiet, but at one point, he said the Egyptians were all about death, that they worshipped death. To this, I burst out, ''Only Osirus is God of the dead, all the rest are for the living.'' To that, he said nothing more, for Julia and thin man were taking the conversation elsewhere.

Soon our friends began to arrive, and after getting drinks and grilled turkey sandwiches, we went to join them. How mysterious, those men were! Later I saw them on a bench in the bookstore, arms animated as they continued their discussion.

So with them, we discussed Gods and philosophy. With our pagan friends, we were mostly silly. ''Where was your first kiss,'' the journalist asked. My answer with my picture may appear in the paper. I know my first meaningful kiss was with Laura, the day she came to Joliet. I'm pretty certain it was after the Chinese dinner at the restaurant, in my little studio apartment. Others had more exotic tales, even one of an under water kiss.

However, not all was silly. One lady had a channeling she sought help with. I don't feel comfortable to give advice on anyone else's channeling. It seemed the voice of a woman far away in some war torn country was coming through her. It was all oral, and she had no accompanying result in 'automatic writing'. But I didn't know what to say, so I mostly kept quiet.

Certainly, though, there are no doubt many souls whose agonies come up to those with sensitive ear to the magickal underground matrix, and I think she was just in the right alignment to hear this woman's sorrow. Maybe if you hear it, you are meant to send magickal comfort in some way. But that is just my thoughts and experience.

If they speak, we can speak back, using the same passageway their message came to us. But do you think I would think to say that THEN, when such comments might have been helpful? No!

We stayed until the last person went home, although maybe thin man and short man were still discussing things in the bookstore. I was tired, in need of nap, and nap I did for a few hours. Then I rose to more study. Someone is querying of some Egyptian matter on one of my forums, and I know I've seen the answer in my various documents. But I can't find anything but pieces. Perhaps the total explanation I remember of the various parts of the Egyptian soul is in another article.

Ah, frustrations again! I try to manage, despite my ineptness. Keep plugging along. Yes, I do not forget it is 'all a game', but I'm rather a competitive sort, and I like to 'win that game', and constantly better myself. However if words come not now, they will come later.

Evening was given to a lovely visit with our Greco-Franco Canadian friend and his wife. Such a delicious Greek meal was prepared for us, which I so greedily devoured, spice rich chicken, cucumber and tomato salad, and filo pastry in spinach and cheese triangles, layered pies, and in sweet nutty desserts. Conversation was lively, until I fell asleep. Julia, however, was animated, and that is good.

Yes, I fell asleep on the soft reclining chair. I can fall asleep anywhere, if I feel the weariness come on. I don't know why I have this natural ease.

Oh, it is all this, natural ease in some things and not in other things. But it is not bad that way. If I couldn't learn from others, marvel at the skills they possess that I don't have, and survey all of my experience with happy thoughts upon them, then I would be of all persons a most miserable one.

And how could I tell that to the thin man, that I savor my experiences by my thoughts, and make him see that? Years of travelling in India, and I would surely think often of those memories. But that is me. He is full of thoughts which impell his tongue to move, though he calls them not thoughts, and I am better with pen.

But then I think of thin man's emphasis on silence. Only if I am silent, can I hear myself speak. I do not know my thoughts if all is loud within, for they tangle together and are not easily sorted.

Savor your experiences, dear readers, however you best do that! May your experiences be such that you CAN savor them!

April 3, 2004

"Fair Mood"
5:35pm

Not sure why, (Plute SQUARE Moon?), a sort of sour mood prevails. I ask, per my last entry here, how I might savor this? I think the best way is to go ahead and indulge in sourness. Have a royal poutfest! Be as grungy as I feel! It is a gray day and vampire that I am, I prefer it that way. There are benefits to such days, for I didn't get too badly burned at the Yuma county fair today. This year I remembered the camera and took several nice photos.

'Weirdo' that I am, I was rather impressed with this bull's attributes:

Running, I imagine, is an hazard for the bull. However, I have never seen one run, and maybe this is why.

But you came here hoping to find PRETTY pictures, and not that sort of thing, didn't you? Oh, you didn't, and you prefer the rebellious bits! OOOHhh, yes, then we have much in common!

But pretty pics I do have. Unlike many of the other cut flowers, this amaryllis has managed to survive since the beginning of the fair without becoming wilted:

There are more fair pictures, which I will share in time. I'll end this entry with a fluffy bunny, seemingly content in his captivity.

He's feeding. That always improves the mood, I note, as I chew my way through a lettuce salad. Cake topped with strawberries awaits me for dessert!

Until we meet again, all things decadent and delightful to you...