Weighty Matters - 8 - 31 - 2002 to 9 - 4

August 31, 2002
"From This Pain"

You don't go back to sleep after a dream like that, you just don't. It was a weird melange of things real, things that could be real and things that were just plain ridiculous.
The happy gathering of friends was just like it was last night, except for a strange visitor. This strange visitor had a real problem. She had severe emotional pain and she didn't want to be feeling it any more. She walked swaggering into the gathering with a pint of brandy, taking a swig every now and then, addressing the bottle as her 'friend'. ''No,'' several address her harshly, ''That is NOT your friend, that will hurt you!''
It reminded me partly of the times when we had to discourage Laura from hard drink, ''You KNOW that will weaken your heart, you REALLY don't want to do that . . .'' Now, to Laura's credit, at least a year before she died, she did shun hard liquor. Now, she used to like her peach brandy on occasion or a 'black russian', but she did stay far away from that in the last year(s) of her life. The strongest thing she'd have was port when Anton visited, to her credit. And Laura never talked like the person in that dream, though she did have plenty of pains she wanted to be not aware of. The not being able to breath at night was scary. The sleeping pills the doctor gave her enabled her to at least have a good night's sleep until 4:30am, when she'd wake up unable to breath and needed to hack up the goop in her lungs.
Yes, Laura was a warrior 'til the end, but I don't think the dream was about her. Our visitor, as it turned out, had a worse problem than imbibing hard liquor to excess. When a couple of us trailed behind her to her motel room, we found the brandy was only an accompanient to a much worse problem: GLUE sniffing!
This part of the dream may have been inspired by the tale of a young man who'd totally wasted his brain on PAINT sniffing. However, this lady sniffed glue, and in the bizarreness that is pure dream, she was shooting Elmer's glue up her nose, like some people shoot Dristan! She had no shame, though, and soon stumbled back to the gathering, holding both her bottle of brandy AND her Elmer's glue bottle.
Everyone watches her in complete helpless horror. ''I'm tired of feeling pain, I DON'T want to feel any more pain,'' the woman assured us, as we all stared in open mouthed horror. With that, she took one more draw on the bottle of white substance, and promptly fell to the floor, having lost consciousness, and probably her life, too.
We're all so horrified, we can't even breathe, until I speak first. Hardened realist that I am, I say plainly, ''Well, she's not feeling any pain, now!'' Though I'm truly saddened as the rest, who are all staring with wide open mouths, and wide open eyes.
I woke with that utter complete sense of horror still so vivid. And you can't go back to sleep after something like that. At least I can't.
''Well, she's not feeling any pain, now!'' Maybe this dream IS a little about Laura. When Julia and I got home from the happy gathering, I felt of an odd mood to gaze upon the urn which holds Laura's ashes and address her, ''You missed a good time, Laura. You would have had fun. Though I know you'd always told us how you wanted us to get on with life after you died, and start having fun as soon as we could. Well, we missed you. We had fun, but we missed you!'' And I sort of saluted the urn, and waved it a kiss.
And maybe this dream IS about Laura, the true acknowledgement that Laura ISN'T feeling any pain, and how much she'd suffered. Those fears she had about her heart, when ever it acted up, were firmly based in reality. I guess I'd sort of hoped they were part hypochrondric. But they weren't. She knew when her heart skipped out or didn't beat. A couple of nights before that Sunday's sad event, she'd had to get out of the heat and sit down someplace cool. We walked to the car, and got the air conditioning on to full blast, until she wasn't feeling woozy anymore. At the time, I'd regarded her words as exaggeration, ''You almost lost me there,'' she announced, after her heart finally settled down. It wasn't until we'd gotten to the cool restaurant, and she'd had a few swallows of cabernet saugvignon, that she'd felt herself. Dang Laura, she was always losing her nitro pills, and rarely had them when she needed them.
She should have had one of those necklace pendants with the nitro vial in it, but she would have hated the reminder of her mortality. As it is, she hated the sight of her many pill bottles and puffers, and had them all stashed away, in a drawer, out of sight.
''Well, she's not feeling any pain, now!'' Yes, this dream is that much about Laura. And no surprise, really. It's the one month anniversary of her death.
Am I not allowed to grieve? At work Thursday morning, I was again feeling morose. No one had ever prepared me, the emotions of mourning are not all lofty tears of missing the loved one. Some times we experience the vilest and bizarrest emotions. Wednesday, it was a deeply self pitying seething ennui. Thursday, it was more subtle, but it was definitely noticeable. Muy malcontento, I was. At this point, a customer came in wearing a T-shirt with the message ''Art Heals''. The front of the shirt spoke of an art program to help hurting children. And the back simply had a softly rainbow hued heart, with the slogan ''Art Heals''.
Upon seeing those words, my tears rushed to the surface in an upheavel, and I went to the bathroom quickly. ''Do I not have the right to grieve?'' I cried, and sobbed. ''It's only been a month. Just you wait, C__________, until YOUR husband dies! It's not like losing a brother, just you wait. And you will find out, someday. Maybe THEN you'll understand!'' I cried. ''Art Heals? Oh, I need some healing now,'' and I cried some more. ''To be a great artist, you must suffer,'' the words of my art teacher, Sharlene Kassiday, came back to haunt. ''Shall I then be great, will this pain make me great?'' I inquired of the fates. Hard to say, but art does, indeed, heal. I have come to these pages so many times, and the art of it works its magic, and I am renewed somehow for my time here.
And, so, once again, friends, and you ARE my friend if you read these words, art has worked its magic on me. Grateful, I am, to the muse which leads me here each day. Grateful, I am, to the Mystery, which leads me here. Greatness, I do not know, perhaps, but HEALING, yes, that I know. To whatever fate on whose anvil I am the molten steel, being pounded now into that which I will later become, I pray.
I pray for all those children who need that healing art. I pray for all the artists, all the visionaries whose words and images are left with us to ponder. I pray for THEM, as their own white hot molten steel of their souls are forged, and from this pain, comes so much art. I turn my head heavenward, as if one of the choir, and I feel the good, deep strains come forth from my lungs, and I sing.
I am glad for my chance to sing.

September 1, 2002 - A
"Hunger"

Pardon me, a little bit of Everquest fiction:

Bonevivant lamented to his sister, ''I didn't know I would be left like this, with a hunger that never ends . . .''

Marishka reached up to caress the hard bony cheek of her brother. She'd feared the life of a necromancer would have its down side, and chose a magician's life instead.

''All day long, I burn. All night long, I burn, and my dreams are filled with burning. I fear what I might become. Will I become nothing but this maddening hunger that knows release only so briefly? Shall I? What sort of beast will I become?''

''You can fight it, Bone, Marishka gently suggested.

''But what if I have no power to fight it?'' Bonevivant wailed quietly.

Marishka kissed him and said, ''I'll always be there for you, I'll help you.''

Bone turned to embrace his sister, fearful of the future, but glad to have his sister nearby.

He thought it dishonest of the guildmaster not to fully explain what the path of bloodlust would lead to. But maybe the master had been so wholly swallowed by it, he could imagine nothing else.

He didn't want to become a creature of pure hate. ''Serve our world with the bleeding of others,'' the master had told him. Sigh, he was in it now, and he'd have to make the best of it.

He kissed his sister and returned to the battlefield. The Lavastorm Mountains was full of sharp crags, boiling lava and often orangish skies. He was what he was. With a rigorous wave of his hand, he conjured his bony pet, commanded him to follow him, and sought for a suitable victim.

With a keen laser eye, he searched the horizon until a lave basilisk appeared over a mountainous rise. The lizard like creature could stun with its stone breath, but he was careful to avoid that. Sending the pet onto it, he then sucked the creature's strength, drawing it into himself, and then its very life force. He WAS hunger, it had totally consumed him. Merciless he would be in its satisfaction, as he drew upon its life force again, feeling a tingling sensation of pleasure. He smiled at the tingling. It had a shimmer to it, a delicious breathless shimmer. He'd made his apologies to his sister. He craved the shimmering tingling. He must have it. He was so hungry. And the basilisk soon lay inert. He'd drained it dry.

Bonevivant was almost disappointed. After a brief rest, he was at another victim, this time a fire drake, which looked like a small red dragon, complete with fiery breath. He was at it again, seeking the shimmering ease of his hunger. He was what he was, the hunger. He didn't want to fight it, although he was still frightened of what it might make him become.

Maybe he still had control of that. He was more than just the bloodlust hunger. He was sure of it. He'd just have to prove it to himself.

But, as the days went by, day after day, the hunger raged without ceasing. The easiest thing might be to just surrender to it. He was so tired of fighting it. So he let the sensations swim over him, rolling over him in waves. It was surprisingly pleasant and didn't burn at all when he submitted to it. He then relaxed with the deepest submission possible, and suddenly felt happy, almost airy, as the rippling waves of desire flowed over him.

Bonevivant smiled, for he had peace at last. Over and over, he let the waves of hunger roll over him in delicious rivelets. Why had he ever tried to make it so complicated? All that struggle behind me, he quickly forgot why he'd ever bothered.

To feast upon his victims would be sweet, indeed. He smiled with happy anticipation.

September 1, 2002 - B
"Thirst"

Our circle of friends yesterday had a visit at the local Starbucks, worshipping with the Goddess Caffina, as Lisa put it.
I've had a vision this morning:

Behold, the Goddess Caffina!

May you never thirst!
(no, that isn't quite right!)
May your every thirst know satisfaction!
(Ahhh! That's better, now!)

September 2, 2002 - B
"Some Real Gems"

Curious, the 'fortune cookie' I got in my horoscope today: ''You have got a real gem on your hands. It is a diamond in the rough.''
No diamonds, but gems and crystals did play a major part in today's events. Early this morning, before the heat grew hideous, Julia and I went to a yard sale a friend was having. She used to have a magick shop several years ago, and wanted to reduce her stock. All kinds of truly lovely things were there, from sterling silver jewelry to scarves, to tarot cards, athames, I can't remember all of it.
Julia selected a soapstone mortar and pestal, an intricately carved lidded soapstone dish, a dark green scarf with gold stars and some incense sticks.
I was attracted to some crystal bead bracelets. They were of all sorts of different vari-colored types, but I don't know the name of the crystal of the one that drew me the most, . It is a warm brown hue, with tiny golden sparkles in it. I remember going to an antique show when I was very young, with my parents, and seeing a large display of rings, pendants and bracelets featuring this crystal, and finding it so pretty.

Another crystal I sprung for features various lightly colored agate sections pieced together to make a ball. It reminds me of a world globe, and its simplicity calls to me.

But this isn't the end of our 'crystal' adventures. Laura's computer never did work completely right after she'd installed a CD version of an old game we played back in the early 90's called MYST. It put something called 'Quicktime' on the computer, which overwrote our old MIDI player. Alas, MIDI files would no longer play. Julia went through a long process to get rid of it, but still, although the computer played WAV files just fine, we could not hear MIDI music. After a long trial and error process, she finally cured the problem. She tried everything, including downloading the latest Windows Media Player and a program called Crescendo. Still, MIDI files produced no sound. Finally, at the Hewlett-Packard help website, Julia learned what was needed. She had to reinstall the CrystalWave Synthesizer. The instructions given were easy to follow, and VIOLA!, Julia played a loud assortment of MIDI music pieces afterwards, including some of those she's written.
Now 'crystal' may only be the arbitrarily chosen name of the soundcard, and no actual crystals may be used. Still, the tie-in is cute, even if tenuous. I'd say we have some real gems here!

September 4, 2002 - A
"I Will Be Gentle"

A thrashing at the core, I can not sleep. Every Wednesday, I am driven about by my emotions. Why is there this pattern? Is it because Laura died on a Wednesday, and the internal clock is shifting its gears, sending me into alarm: BAD things happen on Wednesdays?
I think so. Even, upon returning to sleep, I had panic attacks in my dreams. This is going to be a long day at work. I must remember the breathing, the compassion.

Ignite kundalini in the depths of
Meditation. Bring your breathing and mind
Under control. Drink deep of divine love,
And you will attain the unitive state.
The Shevetashvatara Upanishad
How is it that only the soft voice can comfort? I will give myself the soft voice today. I will be gentle with me.

September 4, 2002 - B
"Now Is New"

(Now it is evening, gentleness having got me through the day, and I am inspired to reach for a blank sheet of paper to see what words come to me:)
It was then that I remember feeling whole. Now is new learning. I have been given back to myself, and I'm not sure I wanted that. Still, it is what it is, hard razor ripping away the surface of dreams to reveal what IS. I look at the small collection of Laura pictures on the dresser, and try to remember her. Are the memories already dimming? It was odd, I was just beginning to think Laura was getting stronger and . . .
. . . now is now, then is then. No more Laura walking in that door, all cheery. How to fight against it? But what am I fighting against? There are steel wall hopes, steel wall dreams, and beyond, over the mountains . . .
But I have had, and there are those who have never had, that romantic passion. I have had. Still, to THIS day, I feel older, harder. Yet am I wiser? I have done well in the battle. I have laid her soul to rest. I saw it through.
And now, I am hoping for new soul sightings. Oh, I've had the dreams. Perhaps, to dream again . . . Still, in what rich memory shall I lose myself?
Maybe I should not wish to lose myself. (I have been given back to myself.) And with these ears, I hear the voice of Julia intoning some ancient Latin, rounding her mouth around those strange sounds. She lives in the past, the way, way, WAY Past.
Ah, but these days shall all be way, way, WAY Past someday, too. Someday, the inhabitants of the future will try to sound their way around these words. How different will be their accents? How much more vast their knowledge?
Stay while, and let us think of the future, the future-past, the past-future. But wisdom is timeless, and will serve in any decade. With that, I'll arm myself.