My mother and I perceived far differently than my father and my son, my brother. You have perhaps heard me say that she and I remember a tiered skirt in detail, its stitching and color, the exact position on the wall in a western and country store. But we did not remember the city or state or why we’d stopped, only that we saw it on one of our trips between Oklahoma and the Northwest. Why on earth, we wondered, would we have been in a country and western store? Papa would shake his head and despair. My brother and son can’t imagine such failure to remember context. The men in my family are spiritually gifted, powerful men, make no bones about it. I have seen the evidence in miracles and dreams have told me this is true. Each in his own way is a mystic. |  |
But I think mama and I were a bit like grandma. Something came through – whether skirt or angel – and imprinted on our spirits - a plant, a baby, a tree – not much difference. Mama and I saw things, usually things more important than the skirt, Neptune in the 12th house sorts of things. Or we knew, we suddenly knew, completely and without reservation, and could not be persuaded otherwise. Though I must say that Papa often did this last bit too.
I suppose it is to be expected that I write like I perceive. I begin with an irresistible impression, a series of impelling and indelible images. They are on a high wall in a country I don’t remember, on a journey whether heading north or south, I don’t recall. But just like the skirt I am caught in a vision and have to write in order to unpin myself, to see what I believe, even who I am.
The Blue Child Series began that way with an image from a dream. Over and over for years it came. Ruby. Even when I met the Old One in the forest I didn’t make the connection. Not even when I met the other creatures, some about which I have written nothing – or almost nothing. Finally at the insistence of my friend, Judith, I did write. And here I am. Back at the beginning, back to Ruby, stuck on a chapter in the third book. Ruby.
There is no reasoning with her because she is beyond reason. It isn’t her territory, her nature. Her states whether human or Old One, child in the meadow or screaming banshee are true to who she is. She insists. There is no other way to be. Right, Ruby?
So, I write a paragraph. No, she says. I make tea and try again. Finally I “get” her, and all she has to say is “stop trying so hard.” Easy for you to say, Ruby. It isn’t you that has to stay between the lines on the highway! Or learn which button on the laptop to push!
But, as I think about it, this is how I have done everything important – by deep impression of spirit. It is good to know one's essential nature, what the creator had in mind when we were made. It isn't that I didn't make naive mistakes, but I grew wiser – something about discernment, a teaspoon of leavening, a subtle voice on the other side of the stream.
But, still. These ‘impressions’ got me through college physics without the use of formulas, helped me manage organizational budgets and know when to lock the door. Usually. It isn't that I can't be linear, but I seemed to have used every drop of my interest in sequencing in my life as an employee. I don't care for it.
Maddening as she is, I prefer to hang out with Ruby. "Where are we, Ruby," I ask. She answers, "Why does it matter when we have Neptune in happy position with the moon?" Leavening. Discernment. But in the end, Ruby rules. That Ruby follows Coyote should be no surprise.
I suppose it is to be expected that I write like I perceive. I begin with an irresistible impression, a series of impelling and indelible images. They are on a high wall in a country I don’t remember, on a journey whether heading north or south, I don’t recall. But just like the skirt I am caught in a vision and have to write in order to unpin myself, to see what I believe, even who I am.
The Blue Child Series began that way with an image from a dream. Over and over for years it came. Ruby. Even when I met the Old One in the forest I didn’t make the connection. Not even when I met the other creatures, some about which I have written nothing – or almost nothing. Finally at the insistence of my friend, Judith, I did write. And here I am. Back at the beginning, back to Ruby, stuck on a chapter in the third book. Ruby.
There is no reasoning with her because she is beyond reason. It isn’t her territory, her nature. Her states whether human or Old One, child in the meadow or screaming banshee are true to who she is. She insists. There is no other way to be. Right, Ruby?
So, I write a paragraph. No, she says. I make tea and try again. Finally I “get” her, and all she has to say is “stop trying so hard.” Easy for you to say, Ruby. It isn’t you that has to stay between the lines on the highway! Or learn which button on the laptop to push!
But, as I think about it, this is how I have done everything important – by deep impression of spirit. It is good to know one's essential nature, what the creator had in mind when we were made. It isn't that I didn't make naive mistakes, but I grew wiser – something about discernment, a teaspoon of leavening, a subtle voice on the other side of the stream.
But, still. These ‘impressions’ got me through college physics without the use of formulas, helped me manage organizational budgets and know when to lock the door. Usually. It isn't that I can't be linear, but I seemed to have used every drop of my interest in sequencing in my life as an employee. I don't care for it.
Maddening as she is, I prefer to hang out with Ruby. "Where are we, Ruby," I ask. She answers, "Why does it matter when we have Neptune in happy position with the moon?" Leavening. Discernment. But in the end, Ruby rules. That Ruby follows Coyote should be no surprise.
RSS Feed