There are workmen next door dismantling the chicken coup that Julie made when she decided to raise several hens and thus have her own fresh eggs. Does this mean that her house was sold? The house has been vacant for almost a year. After PQ died, there were empty houses on both the north and south sides. It added to the feeling of being stranded on a desert island.
Julie, died last year almost the same time that PQ died, give or take a few days. She hadn’t lived in the house for two years, but her son lived there for a while and later a friend who was working toward a master’s degree lived in the house until last summer. It all seemed surreal as I watched the workmen carrying away pieces of lumber.
Julie had grown children but looked very young and fit. She was beautiful, intelligent, very idealistic and always friendly. She had bad luck with partners, however. Several years ago, she married and seemed very happy and then her new husband died suddenly. Later, she met a man from the Pueblo, and moved to the Pueblo. I only saw her when she would occasionally come to check her house. I learned from her obituary that when she died she had a baby that was only a few months old, perhaps her hope for a restart.
The war in the Ukraine has poured over my heart like thick black tar. All wars sadden me, cause me to wonder how we humans get through life, and especially why we bother. There is one image that glued itself to my heart and mind. It so starkly represents the precariousness of our human situation. On the News a few nights ago, a young woman who had escaped to a neutral country is showing a reporter a picture of her dead father, a casualty of the war, that she keeps close to her heart. Here was the kind smiling face of a man anyone would like to know. He had pink cheeks, kind, clear blue eyes and a trim white beard. He was smiling with love at the photographer, who may have been the daughter who now held this photo to her heart. He was relaxing on a couch, with a blissful, totally trusting ginger cat spread, arms wide over his chest. Both he and his cat were a perfect image of loyalty, comfort and inter-species love.
PQ has been appearing in my dreams for several days. I’m so
glad to see him again, even though it’s frustrating to have him so close but out
of reach. The only living human I see often is Grandmother Jean, who is having
a struggle with cancer. She can no longer drive, barely walks and lives out of
town She relies on me to take her to doctor appointments, pay bills, pickup mail,
and shop for groceries. I’m so busy, or so it seems, that I haven’t had time to
apply for food stamps myself (out of date term for EBT card). Although, we are
(so far) as a country staying out of a world war, this war between Russia and
Ukraine is certainly affecting the world.
Food and gas prices are souring rapidly. I was careful with spending and now I have to cut back even more.
“When it rains, it pours”, an old saying that would be good if it was literal in this time of drought. So many things in my immediate environment are waning. Last week my main computer, the expensive one that I’m still paying for revealed a swelling battery. I noticed it last week and took it to the Geek Squad in Santa Fe. Nothing can be done. Its battery is now obsolete, and my insurance has expired. My dream computer is dead. However, my dear Deer, (PQ), two months before the final onslaught of his disease, bought me a simple laptop for just such possibilities (it happened once before). He paid cash after the sale of one of his paintings and that is what I’m writing with now. Everything on this computer was pre-set. I fought with it for over a month to install the programs I use, and finally won, although I had to change its safety settings, uninstall its preset programs and install the ones I use. I also had a new wireless printer that I went through similar grief with. Now they are both working smoothly. I’m hoping this is a sign for other aspects of life. Right now, however, I’m tired of struggling.
Sick cat, sick trees, sick friend, sick computer, all reflections of a sick world. Not only is my tall Cottonwood tree dead except for one branch, so is the once beautiful weeping willow, next door. It offered much needed shade over my house from hot summer sun.
These are times of great change, and it seems that turmoil and destruction come before regeneration. In the great Hindu system of earth ages or Kalpas, we are in the Kali Yuga, a time of materiality, ignorance, disintegration and destruction before the start of the next round. But there are wheels within wheels, so that doesn’t mean that there are not times of lessor creation, stability and rebirth within the Kali Yuga. The Kali Yuga is the shortest of the great ages, but it still covers many thousands of years, and we are in the early stages. Here is an easily rendered video link that describes the system of Yugas:
There was a time when I thought the Indian Yugas to be a fantastic invention and believed the earth not old enough to contain such tremendous rounds of time. Now it seems very plausible, as I recognize the imprint of great swaths of time reflected in all smaller cycles, just as holograms stretch to infinity.
The past few weeks have been a descent into sadness, a review
of a lifetime attempting to overcome the shortcomings and handicaps that
accompanied my start in this round of life. As I move through my personal Kali
Yuga, I’m approaching my 80th birthday. Experience tells me that I usually
have a serious review in the month before my birthday. This year has been more
intense than usual. I won’t fight it or attempt to cheer myself up. Looking to
the positive as a weapon never works.
Best to face the weaknesses, lost opportunities, misunderstandings,
unrequited hopes and lost loves straight on. As Carl Jung said, “the only way
out is through.”To be continued.