Part Thirteen

In Order to be Transformed

Joan Lansberry

July 11, 1997

Part Thirteen! I am NOT a superstitious person. Really I'm not. I didn't omit the number like they do with numbering floors in a building. So why does this number give me shivers? My search for "thirteen as an unlucky number" didn't come up with any definitive answers for the origin of this phobia. Carmen Boulter, an author of a fascinating web site that brings together astrology, tarot and goddesses, gave some clues, however:

"Kali is number thirteen in the evolutionary journey. Thirteen was a sacred number to the ancients as there were thirteen lunation cycles in a solar year. In repressing feminine, reflective lunar consciousness, the number thirteen has been feared and is considered unlucky. Thirteen connects Kali to Pele (13 is 1+3=4). They share an explosive quality and the need to confront and express that which has been repressed." Kali is considered one of the "dark goddesses", capable of producing palpitations in some."Kali is an ancient Hindu goddess whose best-known aspect is the archetypal Destroyer. She is depicted standing naked with blood dripping from her mouth, wearing a necklace of skulls and earrings of dead babies. She proudly displayed remnants of her prey and "filled the skies with her roar." Kali is also the ultimate creatrix so ancient that Hindu tradition claims she is the mother of us all. She is said to have given birth to us from her unfathomable depths. As we embrace Kali, it is this depth that transforms and renews us."

But it's not easy to embrace Her.

"Kali represents the Death card in the Tarot. Death is the most misunderstood concept in the twenty-two stages of conscious development in the Tarot. Through Kali we affirm that everything in nature lives to die, and dies in order to be transformed and reborn.

No one wants to think about death. It is part of the cycle of things, we know it has to happen eventually to all of us, but the cessation of life, of someone we love, of our own life...all that is within us rebels against it. We think with this rebellion we can hold fast against the Destroyer. Yet we know how very small we are compared to her power. " Perhaps we are so small, She will not see us", whispers Hope.

July 12, 1997

I was surprised to get a phone call from my cousin Renée early this morning. She thought there was only an hour difference between Indiana and Arizona, so the phone rang at 6:30am, but I was awake, and already full of one half of a cantaloupe. I learned what's been going on in her life. Her husband Henry has made a major career change in his life. He is working at a mortuary, and plans on becoming licensed to be an undertaker and opening his own funeral parlor. I made all the standard jokes, such as "That's a dying art.", and "That's a noble undertaking." and "People are dying to try out his business." But seriously, it is a noble task. Few people are called to this much-needed service. Yet, when a loved one dies, to have a gentle, caring, understanding person guide you through the necessary steps, is a blessing when you are so distraught. We do not grow as a person, or as a society, when we don't face the possibility of death. All our avoidance of the subject won't make it go away. And the healing that comes from dealing with it is slowed or stopped completely. So, I applaud all those who work in the various fields which deal with death and dying.

later in the day...

From the delicate spider web branching ever wider and wider, can come crystalline jewels carried from other weavers of this gossamer space we inhabit. Such a jewel came to me this week. We had met a artist creating worlds of intricate beauty in his area of the web. Gary made his way again to our quadrant and shared these precious words with us:

Date: Thursday, 10-Jul-97 11:21 PM

Hi, Joan. What a wonderful job you're doing with your journal.

I was doing a search with Altavista for my name, and presto. A beautiful tiger drawing and an even more beautiful poem. So many powerful and wonderful imagings and poems. You are drawing out your love and are weaving a beautiful tapestry of words with each day.

I thought it rather strange that slightly after you drew the tiger a white baby tiger was born. Was that really the sequence of events? Amazing how interconnected everything is, isn't it?

It's wonderful to be alive during the time that Hell is removed from the terrifying place, and the opportunity of love comes in its completion to all people in a spirit of joyful normality instead of treacherous ritual.

Keep up the delightful work.

And here is my response:

Date: Saturday, 12-Jul-97 08:38 AM

Dear Gary,

Thanks so much for the kind words. I've printed them out (thrice, one to send to my mother!), saved them to disk on two computers, and will cherish them always!

The interconnectedness of everything is amazing. In "The Celestine Prophecy", it speaks of these co-incidences as being Divine Mystery's working in our lives to see her hand in it. This certainly rings true in my life. There is a pattern to life. I think my journal gives testimony to that. Nothing is artificially arranged to make those co-incidences, I only follow Spirit's guidance as to what to put in it. I will feel strongly moved to speak of a certain subject, and, boom, the patterns show forth. To me, it is evidence of mysterious Workings. A skeptic may say otherwise, may say "It's only the fallacy of positive instances." But for me, that is not what it means. Even a skeptic has to acknowledge the wonder of it, even if they say it is only my own awareness and intellect that brings a cohesion to life's events. And, indeed, if it were only that, it would be marvelous enough at that!

Many blessings to you and your house!

later still in the day...

I SURRENDER TO THIS

I lay me down,
my pounding heart
racing
breathless.
I will rest,
learn trust,
embrace Fate,
embrace this Fate so large.
I surrender,
I surrender to this,
this new lighting
of joy.

JAL, 7-12-97

July 14, 1997

It is the nightmare I have dreamed
again and again,
The apocalyptic vision returns.
"El dia de muerte",
in hissing tones,
the ticking of the clock
running out on the thirteenth day.
The last day began as any other.
Conversation at the family table
would surely be recalled
for was it not prophectic?
We spoke of mysterious workings,
visits of angels, and spirits from beyond.
The gate could be opening,
and could SHUT,
leaving me in nether world.
Later, when we three sat
in the dimly lit café,
my heart shivered.
"Oh, this is my Last Supper",
I knew, I surely knew.
I slowly savored each bite,
for the final flavor.
My spouse noticed these far-away eyes.
"What are you thinking," she asked.
But I kept these fears to myself.
"Would we see home again?"
Yet I resigned myself as I got in the
mechanical carriage.
I let it carry me where it would.
I would meet my destination peacefully.
Car motion gently rocked me.
To sleep I went,
in dreams, dreaming of slumber.
In dreams of the murky mists,
I slept.
In dreams, time passes.
Then I awoke,
amazed at the bright light.
I had reached the gate,
I had reached the gate
that leads to home.
The sundrenched home
sat there before me:
It could have been a mansion.

JAL, 7-14-97