Galactic Maya

Glimpses into wider realities and observations during life on planet Earth

Page 03

Sept 21, 1997: Do you want me to kill you!  I jumped clear out of bed when those words vibrated loudly in my ear!  It scared me silly!   But before I could get oriented, my intuitive voice assured me this had surfaced from the recesses of subconscious memory.   What’s up with that?   No one ever threatened me in childhood.   Something like that would have surely remained patently in my conscious mind.   Maybe this Reiki training has something to do with it.  Lately, I’ve had some pretty interesting insights.
As much as I lean toward metaphysical studies, I brought a skeptical attitude into the Reiki class yesterday.   So many people these days are just trying to make a buck on the emotions of others.  But, it ended up pretty darned wonderful.   Rebel that I am, I resisted for awhile, but then came a beautiful inner experience.  Guni Ellerbe was giving us our third attunement.  (Attunements are given to open up our inner vision and connection with Life Force.)   All of a sudden, I saw a crystal-clear vision of my mother as she walked toward me:

She looked so beautiful. She was dressed in a floor-length dress—white and flowing. As she walked toward me, she touched the exquisite flowers that lined her path. I mentally received the thought that she had been there quite some time, waiting for me see her. Just as she was about to embrace me, the vision faded.

I was definitely ready when the fourth and final attunement began, but mom did not reappear.   Driving home, I noticed a distinct change in the colors around me; green colors were greener, red colors redder. In that brief, timeless  moment, serenity surrounded me.

Sept 24, 1997:  Brian and I talked today.   My son just doesn’t grasp the situation with Poppy.   He refuses to believe that Poppy is dying.  This is just something I don’t need to be dealing with right now.   I really want him to start expending a little extra effort to come by and visit!   It’s not fair that I’m the only one supporting the foundation here!  Where is mom!
(Later): I took off for an idle walk but ended up at the Center.   When I got there, Marlene was conducting a class called “Practicing with Meditation.”  It was a spontaneous decision to stay.   She was passing out papers and I quickly scanned them.   I was restless and  thinking about leaving, when my eyes caught a passage–it moved me to tears:

It is important that we let no hour of the day go by without some conscious reminder within us that the goal of life is to attain that mind which was also in Christ.

I’ve been holding that thought all evening.  It helps me hold my tongue–which is something I have not done well lately.

Sept 25, 1997 Dream:

I am swimming in a community pool and wearing a white bathing suit. As I touch the finish line, I turn to see my mother on my right–on the sidelines.  ‘You won! You won!’ she cheers. The entire scene repeats, only this time, I know I am participating in a race. I instinctively look to my right to find mom on her knees again at the pool’s edge happily cheering ‘You won again!’   As I look around me, I am wondering where I am and why I am back in my childhood neighborhood pool, seeing mom.

It was good to see her again, if only in my dreams.

Sept 27, 1997: Came home about 5 p.m. to find Poppy and the grandchildren sprawled about the living room–asleep!  Disney’s Sleeping Beauty video was still running, and I just had to giggle.

I went to the place I visit often these days; Poppy’s backyard.  I watered and watched the drops fall on the tree leaves.  I looked around and became so sad to see the progressive decay of this yard Poppy had nurtured for so many years.  I stood in deep thought for quite some time before going back in to check on the slumbering angels. Poppy was sitting bolt-upright in his chair, waiting for me. “How are you feeling?”
“Sad.” I said.  I started to cry.
He put on his best stern face. “Don’t start that!”
Start what? Why does he DO that to me?
He softened.  “Don’t worry about the yard.  It will be cared for.  We’ll hire somebody.”
In that instant I realized something: Poppy never did like a display of emotion from me.  Now I know why I have always tried to appear so strong for him and for everyone else in my life.  I wanted to shout out This is how I feel and I’d like you to validate it!  Acknowledge it!  But what good would that do now—now that Poppy is leaving?

(Later): Today an earthquake caused major damage to the St. Francis of Assisi church in Italy.   An artwork depicting St. Matthew fell from the ceiling and killed two people—I think they were monks.   Last year, the Shroud of Turin was nearly destroyed.   Taken together with the death of Princess Di and Mother Teresa, it appears that royalty and organized religion (and politics, too) are about to collapse under their own weight.  The planetary alignments certainly point in that direction.   Time will tell.

October 3, 1997: I spent the day cleaning the house and sorting out all the pantry items.  I’m tackling one little project at a time.  It’s the only way I can keep up with myself.  For the very first time I deeply appreciate the memories placed in mom’s china hutch. Wiping the silver brought back warm memories of the used-to-be holiday gatherings and the soup tureen I presented to them on their 20th anniversary still looked new.  Besides, Poppy is happy to see some order returning—

Poppy came home as I was making my last journal entry. He sat down right beside me and just stared, as though an incredible idea was going to birth at any moment.  Then he asked me why I like to journal so often.  But before I had the time to formulate an answer, he asked me to “take dictation” and said “I’m only going to run through this one time, so pay attention, ok?”  My journal was open and awaiting his words.  Then he took a deep breath and said, “I want to tell you a little about my life and I’d like you to write it in that little journal of yours.”  Following is what he had to say:

I named you after a Prima Ballerina who danced at the Christensen School of Ballet in San Francisco.  She was beautiful and I loved her rare name. This was after my discharge from the USMC.  I was inducted into the Marine Corps on October 17, 1943.  My friend Gordon Doyer enlisted with me.  Our other friend Vernon had been rejected because of a health problem.  Gordy and I were put up at the Seneca Hotel, and we met a man who gave us the name of someone he thought we should see in Los Angeles when we got leave from boot camp. Well, we did just that.  We met him at Hollywood and Vine Street.  This was a wealthy man who had a lot of connections to famous people.  He owned two side-by-side condominiums on Los Villas Blvd.  He took us to the closed set of ‘The George White Scandals of 1944.’  We were just star-struck boys when we were introduced to the ‘greats’ like Adolph Mangeau, Jon Hall, Francis Langford, Mel Torme, and Alan Hale.  A woman who sewed Miss Langford’s dresses met us, liked us, and often invited us over for dinner.

Poppy just got up to pour some wine.  He’s caught up in his memories now.  He never told me these things before. For some reason it feels like he’s opening some sort of door I’m not real sure I want to walk through, you know?  He’s coming back–

Anyway, ‘Mom’—that’s what we called her—she ran the Chateau L’Elais and had us to dinner one night when Miss Langford was there for a costume fitting.  Young stud that I was, I keenly noticed Miss Langford had not closed the dressing room curtain, so I sat there and watched.  When she caught onto me she indignantly threw the curtains closed, but I know she had intended that .

A mischievious smile is revealing his visual memory now.

Then I was shipped to the pacific Islands.  I wasn’t there long when we got orders for Pelieu.  I received this wound (he’s lifting his shirt to remind me of it) on September 19, 1944; received the Purple Heart for this.  I saw horrendous things there, honey–horrendous.  My body was honorably discharged before the year was over, but my mind can’t leave behind the death behind.  For years, I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.  Your mother often found me obsessively cleaning the dust off all the door frames in the house.

Poppy has been silent for awhile; don’t know whether to change the subject, or what…

A few years later, I hooked up with two other ex-Marines and we enrolled in the Christensen School of Ballet. The school was shocked by our presence there, but we were good!  We called ourselves ‘The Three Step Brothers’.  Herb Caan wrote about us in the Spring of ’46.  The next couple of years were pretty wild.  Our troupe went to Los Angeles to play in a Boris Guttenhauf (?) opera.  New Year’s 1948, we were billed under Sophie Tucker at the Bel Tamarind in San Francisco—it flopped.  But a big party was thrown, and all sorts of famous and not-so-famous people turned out.  I had rented a leather-bound piano, and a great Black artist of that time, Kathryn Dunham, painted a black interpretative dancer on the wall behind the piano.  Someone tried to commit suicide by putting his head in the gas oven.  Cigarette burns dotted the piano leather and the rug.  It was a time to forget the terrible sights and sounds of this awful war, and I plunged into all sorts of crazy episodes.  Some of them I have yet to tell you honey, but your mother eventually came along and saved me from myself.

“Now– I want you to take down some important information about my veteran’s benefits, and other papers you will need after I’m gone.” (Duly recorded ).

(Later–) I guess Poppy would have gone on, but as I was reviewing the notes, I asked him why he didn’t mention his out-of-body experience when he was shot that day.  He did not want to talk about it yet (although the family had heard it before).  So, I asked about Jaime.  Jaime—that name had been a life-long sore spot between my parents and no sooner did it flow out of my mouth, Poppy was off to his room for the night.  So here I sit with my mind holding memories that for so many years had been his and his alone.  What do I do with them?  How do I fit them into the constructs of the father that I know? And does all this mean that Poppy is beginning to adjust to death now?  I need some sleep.

To Page 4 >>


Written by Galactic Maya

March 15, 2008 at 3:19 pm

%d bloggers like this: