Part Eight

All Over the Universe

Joan Lansberry

April 7, 1997

The chilly weather, colder than our usual winter weather, has softened into warmth. Yesterday the sun was shining after a soak of rain. Laura and I, eager to smell the fresh air, went to the Boyce-Thompson Southwestern Arboretum which is northwest of here. Laura found us a picnic table in a lovely setting of very tall pine trees and mountain views.

After setting up camp, we explored the "High Trail", which began right near our picnic table. Laura took her large cane with the carved wizened old man at the head to watch our way. The artist signed his work below the man's face: J. L. Bell. Coincidently those used to be Julia's initials and last name. The trail of wide, green, beautiful vistas ended at a point connecting it to the main grounds of the Arboretum. The path there is smooth and landscaped with especially fragrant trees and plants. The smells of the giant pine trees, eucalyptus trees, creosote and various bushes; and multi-hued flowers were as much as a sensory feast as the scenery itself. I Mother Nature's temple was adorned with Her best finery.

April 10, 1997

Julia has informed us it's Cybele's birthday, the rededication of Her temple, and the high point of the Megalensia. She has celebrated it by giving each of us a beautiful card. Her words for me said:

Dear Darling Joan, Boundless Love and Early Morning Cuddles! This day, this season, the Birthday of the Ancient Mother, celebrates the REBIRTH of your creative gifts, not just a Springtime bloom, but a spark of enlightenment, having passed the threshold. Keep the sacred flame a light in your inner temple! I'm so proud to know you and to be your lover!

in the evening...

Megalensia celebration involved a quiet little gathering. The crystal ball was brought out, should anyone wish to scry. Gazing into the beautiful ball, I saw a splendid multi-faceted, multi-colored radiant gem that was in the center of a cave. I knew the cave to be the temple within myself where I go to meet my Muse. This sacred place is always waiting for me, anytime I want to enter the blessed chamber.

April 15, 1997

Laura and I enticed others into our Sunday morning arboretum walk. We even got Helina out, too. There were more flowers blooming than last time, although the Irises were starting to fade. The rose bushes in the Wing Memorial Garden made me think of my Father, as he always loved roses, and I cried. I inhaled the rose fragrance extra deeply, smelling "for him" as well. The hummingbirds were out. One stopped not more than a foot from me to take the nectar from some red blooms. He was a shimmery blue-green, and not more than two inches long. His rapid wings rarely rested.

Laura was up to her impish best while on the trail. She disappeared from our sight. I thought she must have gotten way ahead of us, to amaze us on the bridge further up. Just when I said "Laura must be very far ahead of us!", I looked behind at Julia and Helina. My eyes bulged out and my mouth dropped open, as Laura was right behind me. She had surprised each one of us in turn, cautioning each to keep quiet, in order to spring this surprise on me!! She's quite adept at finding places to hide. She said we all had walked right by her, close enough to touch her, yet no one had seen her. That's our magical, mischievous Laura!

April 19, 1997

I sat, sewing black cloth, listening to the music of my life. I was thinking of the frail, painfully thin customer whose jacket it was. Her husband had left her after thirty years of marriage. I wished her strength to overcome her devastation.

Cris Williamson's music has been with me through some difficult periods of my life. I was in a Strange Paradise, back in 1980, trying to make it on my own. I, did indeed, feel like a "stranger, taking my turn at the fire and ice." Could Cris have been like me? How could she have known what I was going through? She was like an angel, almost. "When you think your light is almost fading, I can sing in the night..." (Live Wire)

Native Dancer made me relive that small room with pinkish beige walls and mauve floor, "So far from home."

Just a situation with four walls and a floor, She stared at the ceiling, She longed for the door. Strange lands and separation So far from home, So far, she's holding her own. The power of the shadow, The wounding of the bright, The music stirs her deeply, She must not lost the light. Electric exploration, Trying to come home... And...so far; She's holding her own.

I knew so well the "icefall isolation" the song speaks of. I had to "surrender" like Dorothy.(Surrender Dorothy). Back at home with Gramma, Cris' music would nurture me through the headphones.

Oh, those down times seem an inescapable part of human existence. I think of this customer, and pray she will find the inner strength to get through her dark times, that joy will again be in her life. And I say a prayer for all feeling that "icefall isolation". May they experience healing Divine Love.

April 20, 1997

SPIRITUAL OPENING My heart opens to awareness of Spirit. She is Beauty. She is All. She is in all. I wait for Her, releasing my expectations, and learn the quiet art of surrender. Letting go with perfect trust, I surrender to Her. Feeling more alive than ever before, feeling holy Divine Embrace, enveloped in Her Grace, I am surrounded with Love, surrounded in boundless Love. JAL, 4-20-97

April 22, 1997

Food Delights in One Day of a Gourmand

Breakfast:
glass kiwi strawberry juice
1/4 cantalope
medium size bowl of cherry chocolate chunk frozen yogurt

Midmorning:
2 cups "plum good" tea
1/2 banana

Lunch:
refried bean and avocado mixture heaped on two pieces of potato bread
big salad with green leaf lettuce and romaine lettuce, and
garlic croutons topped with balsamic vinegar and olive oil dressing
big mug of 7-UP spiked with two capfuls of lime juice

Midafternoon:
another big mug of spiked 7-UP
two "Tastations" chocolate hard candies

Supper:
glass kiwi strawberry juice
one egg roll
small amount basmati rice with two tablespoons beef chow mein
three crab puffs
(This was heat and eat fare. The crab puffs were quite good, however. I ate light of the main entree to save room for the luscious dessert.)

Dessert:
big bowl of fresh cut strawberries
two almond cookies
two fortune cookies

It was all so very delicious!

April 23, 1997

This type of flower grew in Gramma's yard

We all were invited to take a quiz on a web site about space aliens. I usually like these interactive things and so I took the quiz. The gist of it was to determine how closely you were related to space beings. I'm a bit of a skeptic concerning this, but my score was high anyway. One of the questions was "Did you ever have doubts about your parentage?" That one I answered in the negative. So much of what I am, I can see in my ancestors. My great love of nature is an example. My grandfather on my Dad's side loved birds. He lured them to his yard with a bird bath and a bird feeder. He had binoculars and Audubon's Field Guide to Birds. He kept track of when he saw a special kind of bird. A plastic holder that was attached to the kitchen wall recorded his sightings. Even though he died in 1969, Gramma never did take it off the wall, as long as she lived in the house. He and Gramma both loved flowers. Around that birdbath, red geraniums were planted. There were also fragrant lilac bushes, brown eyed susans (a yellow petaled flower with brown centers), tulips, and orange-red flowers I don't know the name of. My Dad also loved flowers, all kinds, but in particular, roses. He had planted several rose bushes in his and Gramma's yards. They were in all colors of the rose rainbow, and smelled intensely, yet delicately sweet.

I have spoken of my musical ancestors before, in the November 21, 1996 entry. And now I have learned of ancestors who wrote poetry. Henry T. Horschler wrote a few poems that a net-wise distant relative sent to me. Here are the two best ones:

AS THE TWILIGHT SHADOWS FELL By the window in the kitchen Stood my little sweetheart, and I, By the window in the kitchen I will not deny. What we said, I will not tell, None of your business!, As the twilight shadows fell. My arm got strangely crooked, This hardly fair to tell: And I gently stole a kiss, from ruby lips, To that one, I only added seven, As the twilight shadows fell. There's no rose without a thorn, Is an old proverb, and a true one: An angry voice broke on our bliss: Hey gal; what are you doin'?, Out of the window, down the hill, How fast I ran, I can hardly tell: Clubs were trumps, the old man's deal As the twilight shadows fell. Henry T. Horschler July 6,1935

He waxed philosophical in another poem:

THE SILENT RIVER Silent river, silent river Flowing to the endless sea: Millions on thy current Carried to Eternity. Silent river, silent river, To mortal man, hid from view Since time began In silence doth pursue. Man is but thy slave: Cast upon thy lap From the cradle, to the grave. Henry T. Horschler June 3,1936

April 24, 1997

All That I Am Came Before All that I am, Came before. It is the chain unbroken, If you but explore. Now I love a fine vest, Something new to wear brings such joy. Grandmother on Dad's side Was ne'er so pleased as when fancy dressed. My hair has a reddish hue, And my fair skin adorned with freckles. Gramma dear, had in her youth, Tresses of red, and the sun-kisses too. I like to sing, Alone, by myself, or in choral union, either choice. My Dad, and now many cousins, raise their voice To make that "joyful noise". And, in nature, I can spend hours Enjoying each growing thing. Grandfather and Dad loved flowers, Birds and wild open spaces. All that I am Came before, It is the chain unbroken, If you but explore. I have a curious and inquiring mind, There's so much to discover. My mother likes to learn what she can find, Fearless voyager into the deeper side. And I am not the first To take pen to paper, In search of rhyme. Grandpa's kin wrote in earlier time. I am often shy, Blushing and cringing at parties to speak. Stammering so painfully, My Dad was also this meek. But there's one thing a mystery. Where, oh where did Come my leanings queer? You'd think there'd be another like me. There had to be someone in the past. But no one's telling or told This tale of old. I am not the first nor the last. All that I am Came before, It is the chain unbroken, If you but explore. JAL, 4-24-97

later this day...

While I was sewing and listening to music, this poignant chorus from "Stories" sung by Maura O'Connell stuck in my mind. Written by Paul Brady, it is about all the love that never comes into fruition.

Snowflakes that melt in the sun, Beautiful songs that'll never be sung, These are the stories that follow the human race. Spirits that long to be free, Waiting in you, Waiting in me, Waiting in lovers all over the universe, All over the universe.