My best writing never makes it to paper. The best comes in a flash when I am somewhere, often in the car, without pen and paper. There are brilliant flashes of insight in blazing words yet when finally I can write them the core meaning evaporates and they become an ordinary handful of dust. The magic disappears like a punctured balloon. I wrote the following while trying to chase an insightful moment as it was making its getaway. I grabbed it by the tail and like a lizard, it left its tail with me and kept running, but the tail isn’t too bad.
Most that is profound and beautiful stays just beyond reach. This is my new interpretation of my lifelong struggle to climb the Monkey Bars that symbolized my childhood ambitions. We artists constantly struggle to bring the brilliance shining behind the curtain of mundane reality into the 3D physical dimension. It resembles fishing. When the fish bites, it is exciting but until you reel it in, anything can happen. The fish comes from a different dimension and it doesn’t want to come out of the water. In this case, I don’t want to eat it, just catch and release. I want to see a flash of what is behind being human.
|Springtime on Taos Mountain|
So, tonight, I am in Denver during my last days in Cherry Creek. It seems ironic that I now live with a husband and two cats in Taos, the same social arrangement I had back then but with different personnel and stage set. The world, family members and I have transmuted and changed bodies, souls and personal history. Perhaps someday I will look at the current moment in the same way.
As time passes and the people and animals in my life move from present to past, I gradually morph. I am not who I was 25 years ago. In most ways, that is a good thing, but in other ways, I miss who I was then as I miss the people in my life at previous phases that are not present now. It isn’t that I miss what my life was then, but I miss the old self as another troubled friend I’ve lost touch with. I certainly don’t want to be her but I would like to tell her that everything will be OK.
Nostalgia is one thing but this goes beyond nostalgia. This seems to be entire past realities stacked on each other with the present at the top much like a double, triple quadruple exposure. As my life moves on, I am aware that there is not just one life but many and each one professes to be the whole life during its time. I sometimes try to imagine what it would be like to live 900 years. Could Methuselah remember all the stages of his life and the people and events of his years? I find myself losing pieces of time already. I’m wondering how one can write a realistic autobiography. Surely, it would only be a compilation of events that for momentary and possibly suspect reasons float to the top layer of consciousness. The present self judges and alters the past for its own purposes.
I have Cancer rising, Moon conjunct Jupiter in Cancer ruler of home and family and I have always wanted to hold the essence of each experience and make it eternal. That is the true nature of home in my estimation. To hold all of those times and understand their relationship with each other, and then understand how they create life as I now experience it. It isn’t either the true life or the mythic life, but to me something much more basic and tangible. It is the life recorded in the soul and senses. It ties us back to the distant past and yet it can bring the past forward to now. My Gemini Sun conjunct Mercury, god of the crossroads likes the alchemical twist.
I wish to share the whole many-layered reality with everyone and yet I can’t bring anyone with me to this private picture show. Sometimes, life is much like being at a big party on your own and it takes time to make one’s way through the guests, to walk through all rooms in the hosts home and taste the offerings on the table. There are also painful, embarrassing experiences one would like to delete from the memory bank, and thus avoid any room where such memories linger, but then it wouldn’t be this life.
Nevertheless, perfection is always here right now. It is the background; it is the theater hosting this drama. Chaos, fear, unrealized hopes, ideals, pain, grief, destruction and failures lay deceptively over perfection. This is my new reality. I gaze into the bathroom mirror and see an unfamiliar face. It’s older than the one I was used to seeing. I’m afraid I will forget what I used to look like, yet this new image is fascinating. I’ve noticed that since my mother passed I’ve taken on more of her looks and gestures. One would think that the older we get the more individual we would become and yet I’ve noticed that people become more like their ancestors as they age. As the world turns, we carry the past into the future.