I said: >>> Some stuff blindly passed around just isn't logical... >>>  Then he said: >> Pardon me....BLINDLY, Maybe I will stop sharing if i >> am going to be insulted. >>  Then I said: I never meant to insult anyone, just point out the logical fallacies in a statement. But I now realize you are taking exception to my use of the word BLINDLY. Yes, words are powerful, and I should be careful about how I use each one. SORRY! (Waves peace flag...)

After I waved the PEACE FLAG, I realized that in addition to a peace flag, I'd like to design my own personal flag for the 'country' of 'Joan-to-the-edges-of-her-mind', so I've done just that!

Herewith is the Official flag for 'Joan-to-the-edges-of-her-mind':

The rainbow ring is for the rainbow that turned into a ring one day when Laura and I were out travelling on a rainy but sunny day back in July of 1991. This entirely magical event deserves to be commemmorated on the flag.

The other designs are to suggest the phases of the moon, and the stars. As the rainbow only occurs in sunlight, I thought it appropriate to honor the other half of the day, when the moon light reigns.

This was a really fun project. You might like to make your own flag, as well. What would you like to put in it? What symbols are special to you? If you do, share it with me!

July 29, 2003

"Until Then"

Just another of those 'weird, enigmatic' poems:

Until Then All around is waiting the new word, I hear the words and write them, then I understand them. Reflection is like this, out of the darkness comes the light of understanding, a cyclical process. ''Ask not what 'your country' . . ,'' but you are the 'country' and all that you see is filtered through your eyes. Now is a new day, yes, everyday is new, but today is new. Breathe deep for the revealing. The gates are widening, and wisdom enters. Wisdom by the love of the stars and eye of the gate reveals everything old is new again if it is new to your experiencing. Time is a gate. The electrifying urge of reason bids us open our eyes to the greater understanding. A flame is being passed one to another,   whispers are heard in the shadows, I am the shadow. Not everything is being revealed, you have to work for it, time and time again. Ideas in the marketplace, who will buy? Can the magnificient vision be bought entire? and with what coin? Nobody owns you, but do you own yourself? and at what steep price? Merchants come begging, but a pauper has the gold. No one is looking. Who cares! the night is long but the candle is short. I'll be back another day. Ah, dwee-la. Until then . . . JAL, 7 - 29 - 03

I'm not really sure what 'ah dwee-la' means. I just took down the words as they came. I would like to know if they mean something in a foreign language. If I had to answer the mystery from gut level feeling, I would say it's that process whereby we open our minds to receive Truth. Who knows, centuries beyond, I may have coined a word.

Yes, indeed, I am the greatly imaginative one!

Good journeys to you . . .

 

July 30, 2003

"First Year Nearly Done"

Loud cricket choir, and low hum of refrigerator are the background sounds on a quiet morning. There's about a half hour before the alarm rings and Julia rouses and morning preparations begin.

I treasure the inky black quietness. The monitor glow is moon to it all, and I sit, crosslegged as always. Taking a deep breath, I quiet my own self for any words that may come through.

It is the 30th, one day before the anniversay of D-day, the day when Laura's spirit severed from her body. It's an odd sort of countdown. I relive mentally her progress at the hospital as all the signs grew alarming and fate made itself clear.

Or is there fate? Did she simply grow too sick, no 'fate' involved? Mystery abounds and I can't crack it with a simple key. I stand before the unknown and honor it. Does she watch, wanting for us to grow independent, so that we may learn our strength?

I am wanting to capitalize the 's' of 'she', wanting to say she has attained all the godhood she can ever attain. All her striving is complete and fulfillment attained. All I know is all long as I live, I will be working to assure the immortality of her words on earth.

What happens beyond that is out of my hands, for others to determine.

This now begins the work week cycle. Vacation is over, and again the busy hands of work will accompany my thoughts. Although I did do some housework these past days, such as scrubbing the stove, washing the floor, vacuuming the worst areas and washing the bed linens, I've mostly just pursued whatever moved me at the moment.

I read through all old journal sections since the first one, looking for clues of a pattern to my life. There are. I am so much the 'double Libra' of sidereal astrology, I amaze myself. Forever I am at some gate, pondering its mysteries, weighing Truths. Quite often, I'm at the gate, (life decision), with fear and trepedtion.

Wariness abounds on my path, though day to day I do not see these patterns. Every gate is new, like I've never been there before. Well, certainly each gate is unique to whatever concerns of that time. But it is always me trembling at the gate.

Eventually curiousity gives me the momentum and I open the fearsome thick door, and it's all rather anti-climatic. But that's Librean me. Socrates said ''The unexamined life is not worth living.'' It's not so much 'not worth living', but only a fraction of full life consciousness is possessed by a person content with such a path.

I want the full eye-open awareness. It is through this door any divinity I may possess will be attained. (Yes, I'm going all heavy on you again. I can't easily separate it from 'the mundane'.)

Not that I'm really trying to do such a thing. I would be then a person of two heads, one pointing this way and one pointing that way. Isn't there an astrological sign that looks like that, Gemini I believe?

I'm fairly certain it's all just one head, though galaxies of possibility fill the imagination within. And, along with 'me at the gate', there's always a theme of me straining at the portals of the unknown future, wondering what lies ahead. It's nice to know I'm consistent.

I used to wonder if I were consistent, as the day to day mind seems to hop around quite a bit. No, surprisingly predictable is the solid, overlying pattern. I suppose there's a comfort in that.

And so, this first year of life without Laura nearly done, I anticipate the second year. I will always miss her. She lives in my heart. If any part of her still has consciousness, she would be gratified to know how our circle of friends honor her. And that gratifies me.

I embrace fully whatever lies ahead of us. Something is whispering in my ear that it will be quite an adventure.

August 1, 2003

"Unspent Clouds"

The word 'august' means ''marked by majestic dignity or grandeur''. I do not know how this hot month got named thusly. I, having enjoyed my research into Epicureanism, the history of the ancient Etruscans, and a little about the Greco-Roman dieties Dionysos and Apollo, might find its origins fascinating.

That will be for another august day. I will instead, speak of the last day of July and its events. The sky was full of unspent clouds which left the earth and me unsatisfied. Only an extreme humidity was their 'gift'. This was hair-curling humidity, as a co-worker complained. My thread would not co-operate as it curled itself into knots frequently, and my fingers were stiff, and also would not easily co-operate.

I had to stay late at work, and I was not pleased. As I drove home from work, and saw the time displayed on the glowing banner I see on the path, I cried, remembering the ticking time of this day one year ago. By that time a year ago, I found myself saying 'goodbye' to Laura, ''Stay if you want, go if you must,'' the way the Gods and Goddesses of the four corners are given permission to go at end of a traditional Wiccan circle.

And Laura was surely of divine Stuff. My mood grew heavy, like the clouds, and I collapsed at home on the sofa, consumed by it. The only way to transform it was to consume it in return, embrace its darkness fully as the emanation that would have sway at the moment.

Julia put on some upbeat music of an Arabic Groove, and near record's end, I found myself roused to dancing, foul mood and all. The spirit of the song L'histoire by Cheb Tarik roused me. The album's liner notes say this song's ''main directive is to move your feet. It tells the tale of a scorned lover who decides to forget his sorrows and dance the night away.''

And, so, for the duration of that song, I did. By end of the song, the worst of my mood had lifted.

Do you know the song? The one that ends in heartbreak, and begins in joy? Do you know the song? The one that ends in joy, but begins in heartache? All variations on a theme, I must keep on singing, I just keep dancing. - JAL, 7 - 31 - 03

Later yesterday evening, Julia lit some candles and we remembered Laura. But 'remembering Laura' is a daily process, to our great comfort.

Today, Friday, also feels quite humid. I hope for agile joints and an agile mind, as I apply myself to the day's tasks.

I wish the same for you, as well.

© Joan Lansberry