Galactic Maya

Glimpses into wider realities and observations during life on planet Earth

Page 11

March 24, 1998: Another school shooting this morning.  A middle school in Jonesboro, AK  this time. The first reports say that two or three young boys in camouflage attire opened fire from a hill down onto a group of children and teachers during a fire alarm drill.  This is the fourth such shooting in five months.  From my point of view, tragedies such as this are the result of energies that have brewed under the surface for quite some time.  The earth energies are becoming ever more erratic now, and the more fragile young ones on this planet are not able to adjust to these shifts and are swept up into the darker forces.  In the much broader picture, these eruptions of youth violence on such a dramatic and grand scale are strong signals to humanity that a powerful new energy is beginning to surface from the depths of the subconscious collective.  While this is going on, Britain has been on alert for anthrax-smuggling from Iraq, Russia has not government at the moment per se, and heavily-charged forces are doing their best to keep the American public facing the sex scandal in the White House so we don’t see the Sleeping Giant coming at us from the backside.  Well, there is purpose in all things, though it is difficult so see what that could be at the moment.  I send my thoughts to Jonesboro.
Mom, what is it like to witness all that is going on in our world from where you are?

March 25, 1998: I heard Poppy drive up to the house and, as usual, I ran through the kitchen to greet him at the door.  But, watching him walk toward the house, something about his eyes looked strange to me.  I was really aware of this at a deep level.  Then, watching him come in through the door, my heart almost stopped!  For just a split-second I saw my mother with her hands on his shoulders and guiding him in!  It was only an instant, but I started to hyperventilate and went running to my room—again.  This time, as I stood there facing my bed, I thought Why did I run away?
Collecting myself, I walked back out.  I greeted Poppy with some caution, and his eyes, they were deeper and wider than I had ever seen them.  I followed him with every step he took until he plopped into his favorite chair.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost”, he joked.  At that moment, lightning flashed and thunder rattled the windows.  The energy of this storm seemed to match the emotion I felt.  You know how when you look through the heat cast off by a fire, or gaze into rippling water, it seems that reality is distorted?  That is how I felt in that brief moment when I felt the sensation of my mother with Poppy, “reality” did not look so solid after all, and this is the second time I have seen this here.  But, no matter what, it is comforting to know that, indeed, mom is here to assist Poppy and me.

March 26, 1998: Well, I just spent the morning vacuuming and dusting.  While I was dusting the double-keyboard organ, I noticed that the lower keys were not working.  This distracted me, and I realized that I had not gone near the organ since mom passed away,  ten years now.  I have not opened the bench either, but got very curious to do so today.  I found a note that said in mom’s writing “You are love.”  It was scribbled on a lone piece of old, faded paper that was lying on top of music sheet for the song “You’ll Never Walk Alone.”  Spirit does work in mysterious ways.  I never needed a church to tell me that, just my heart.
(Later): How can I possibly relate how I feel right now?  Feelings of purpose, feelings of joy, feelings of exhilaration!  My parents have lifted me up in ways I could never explain, and in ways I could never have imagined!  The past several months of my life have been the most profound months of inner growth and realization.  I HAVE GOALS!  I CAN SEE MY FUTURE!  I LOVE MY LIFE!  I feel like I am awakening from a many-year sleep.  I am so grateful.
(Later–) I watched Poppy plant a rose bush in the backyard this afternoon.  It is called Joseph’s Coat because it has many-colored roses on it.  I told Poppy a while ago that this rose bush is like the end of a rainbow landing squarely in the center of the yard!  Our yard!  I was so caught up in my own inspiration, I sang out to him about how I saw mom guiding him in the door yesterday.  As soon as I said it, I felt my body begin coming down to earth…oops, I thought.  I studied him for a reaction.  At first, he looked a little perplexed, and of course he threw out his You’re being dramatic line.  But, then I saw a great sense of relief come over him, then outright joy!  Poppy went directly to the organ and, believe it or not, he pulled out the sheet music for “You’ll Never Walk Alone”, and while the tears of joy were still fresh in our eyes, he grabbed his old harmonica and started playing some more old tunes!  And if that wasn’t enough, he then said “I want to start writing in my own diary!”  It just so happened that I had bought some extra notebooks a few days ago.  As I write all of this now, he is busy writing down his thoughts in his brand new journal.  Days such as this reveal the precious nature that is called LIFE.
(Later): While I was finishing washing the dishes tonight, I was telling Poppy that I was pretty darned proud of myself for actually trying to play that organ today.  He said “I believe that you can do anything; you are pretty remarkable.”  Oh, where is a Kleenex when you need one! I swear, the next time I have a “bad” day, I promise to reflect on this one and renew my faith.

March 27, 1998: When Poppy came home from work this evening, he asked me if I had had any more “interactions.”  He jiggled his eyebrows and winked.  I knew he meant mom. 
I decided to play as if I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.  Then, with feigned surprise, I said, “Oh, do you mean… Did I communicate with mom today?
Poppy quickly pressed his finger to his lips…”ssshhh, not so loud!” 
Once the giggles died down, he began to tell me how much he wanted to believe, but that all his training through the (damn) church made it a struggle. 
“But even though I struggle”, he said, “I want to hear more about what you believe and see—it gives me such comfort, and somehow I know it is Truth.”  He also told me today that he had had intense feelings of her presence the last few days and has been experiencing very clear visions of her in his mind’s eye, but he had not wanted to say anything.  So, when I blurted out the “mom sighting”, he said he was more prepared than he had ever been to hear that.  What timing, huh?  He does look happier than I have seen him for a long time.
But I am beginning to get a much clearer picture of my father’s life conflicts.  I have always experienced him as such a free-spirited soul, yet always on this yo-yo between self-expression and tremendous guilt trips.  He dreamed a million dreams and inspired me with his broad-stroked view of life, but he never was really able to take that expression and be free with it.  Always, he found ways to punish himself for his own expression.  This is beginning to shed light on my own yo-yo life, like putting your hands in the cookie jar and then slapping yourself and saying “no, no!” for some reason you cannot understand.

Poppy and I have yet to discuss what is perhaps the final mountain to climb before he passes through the gates.  His bisexuality remains a matter we have not addressed; mom was a fierce protector of both of us.  The way in which I found out about it doesn’t matter to me anymore.  The only thing that matters is that I had (and have) parents who braved the fiercest storms and made it through for all of the 38 years of their marriage.  Nothing could tear them asunder. I do believe that mom is here to help him cross that bridge from guilt to acceptance, and to understand that bigotry and prejudice belong to the lower vibration of human consciousness.  The love and reverence Poppy holds for life far surpasses the conditional love that plagues humanity today.  I use to look around and see that my friends’ fathers were strict, authoritarian, and repressive to me.  I would not have traded away one day of the experience I have had of Poppy—not one nanosecond.  We will cross this bridge.

March 29, 1998: WOW!  I just saw an article in the newspaper titled “BONO’S MOM SPEAKS”! 

The mother of the late Congressman Sonny Bono said her son would have preferred his wife to stay home to care for the couple’s young children instead of succeeding him in office. Somebody else can take care of the Salton Sea-who can take care of my grandchildren?

Gosh, Sonny, you really WERE worried about your kids back in January, weren’t you?  Sonny has found his spokesperson.

March 30, 1998: Poppy is having strawberry shortcake and cherry pie for dinner.  That’s what he wanted, so that is exactly what he got!  He ironed his shirts today, and he is having a very good day.  Neither of us has sensed mom over the last few days.  This sudden quietude is just as abrupt to me as when she first came to my awareness.  Perhaps she went to Heavenly Angels Mall to do some shopping?  HA!

April 03, 1998: A promo for the documentary Anne Frank Remembered was on TV a while ago.  It prompted Poppy to recall one of his local Marine Corps friends whose last name was also Frank.  In turn, memories once again filled Poppy’s mind as he reflected on those horrible days and nights on Pelieu in 1944.  He began with his usual sense of distance from the event.  I mean, over the years, the stories were always told as though he was relaying the plot of a movie; he never touched on the reality, really.  But this time was different.  This time, he focused much more detail on his emotions and fear:

I was inside a huge crater with two other guys when the enemy opened fire on us. The first explosion dropped to our left, the second on, to our right. We knew this was a ‘pinning’ strategy. We waited for the third explosion, but it never came; this is when we realized that the .30 caliber water-cooled machine guns we had been aiming at them were jammed! We were helpless. All around us, the crossfire was lighting up the sky, and it was paralyzing. It was the next day, September 19, 1944, when we were all walking toward our target, Bloody Ridge, when I was hit by fire in the left side. I was down and could not move, but I felt no pain,no pain at all. Then I was hit two times in the left arm, and while the medics were trying to work on me, the bottom of my left foot was split open by shrapnel. I yelled in pain this time, ‘Oh, God! My foot, my foot!’ I heard someone say ‘Damn your foot! Your guts are hanging out!’ There must have been a force that very much wanted me to make it through, because everything that should not have happened did happen. With our guns jammed, a third missile would have got us for sure, but it never came. Without exception, the hospital ship moved out to sea at night, but for reasons that could never be explained, that ship came back to shore to get me that night.

Tears were just quietly streaming down Poppy’s face, and mine.  He stared into the air as though he were seeing a clear rerun of that time in front of him.  I moved to sit and put my arm around him, softly wiping a tear.  Without skipping a beat, he reached for a tissue and pressed on to release what had been too painful to release before now.

Poppy still did not bring up what happened after he was placed on a helicopter, so I will relate that story now:  He recalled lying on a cot when he suddenly lifted out of his body and out through the back of the helicopter.  He only recalls being aware that his body was on the flying machine just ahead of him, and he wanted to get back into it.  The next thing he could recall, he was waking up in a military hospital.  I do believe he recalls more of that experience, but Poppy grew up with an extended family of staunch Catholics who taught him at an early age that such things were “of the devil”, so he suppressed it.  I now understand why Poppy saw to it that I was not led down the same road.  When I was a little girl, he used to carry me in his arms and point  to a tree, or a bush, or a flower, or even to me, and he would say, “God is in these things, honey, not in a gold-laced building.”
The one experience that totally turned me from the church was an incident that happened when I was about 3-4 years old.  Two of my Italian aunts were watching me while my parents ran an errand.  They lived just down the street.  I recall playing with a large beach ball and having such fun when, all of a sudden, I heard one of them say, “Her father will burn in hell for his ways!”  I panicked!  I took off running down the street for home, totally convinced that my father was literally on fire!  Years later, when my uncle was killed in a freak accident, that aunt removed from the church and, after much soul-searching, became a stronger, independent woman who even became vice-mayor of our city.  In her later years, she began to reveal to me her own understanding of Spirit, and how she, too, had been a victim of the repressive guilt machine.

When Poppy regained his presence, he moved on to mom.  He could suddenly see her clearly in his mind’s eye again.  He talked about a ball they attended in San Francisco two days before their marriage, and described in minute detail the ball gown she wore, the details of her eyes, and every wave of her long blond hair.  “I never even dreamed of your mother in all these years after she passed away, but now, she is so clear to me again.”

For the rest of the evening, Poppy just sat quietly enjoying his reverie.   How is it that a man, anyone really, who sacrificed so much to defend freedom in his country, has had to repress his own free expression because of closed minds and hearts?  What is wrong with this picture? Can one be free in a cage?

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Written by Galactic Maya

March 15, 2008 at 5:38 pm

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