Carl Ellis August 1928 - Diary

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Return to the Carl Ellis 1928 Archives

Note: additional information for clarification has been added in italicized ( )

NOTE - there is a clearly missing section between July 30, 1928 and August 1, 1928.



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Wednesday, 1 August; 11:00 AM

I sealed Miss Crawford’s (note - Megan Crawford) letter this morning. It is sitting down there now, ready to post. I have a bad feeling about the whole thing. Her letter has disturbed me, as such things often do; but not this time, because she has raised questions which I am unable to answer. No, this time the source of my unease is within myself. Something in her pleas and arguments has reached inside of me; twisted a valve and let out a storm of rancorous emotion and outright anger at her; and for no better reason that that she has not the beliefs I do. I do not like this! I do not enjoy becoming irritated at such petty issues; it bothers me to experience pleasure in my own snappish <word unreadable>; and most of all I am chastened to realize that I myself so easily succumb to such selfish immaturity. It worries me.

Meagan has always done this to me, particularly in letters. There is simply something between us that makes us mutually incomprehensible on some quiet inner level.

So, I shall send the letter, despite everything. I fear it will forever drive a gulf between us, though I hope that does not happen. I pray that she will find wisdom inside at least some of my thoughts, and that we shall proceed passed the pettiness into a truer understanding. Certainly I shall owe her an apology, which I shall tender when she replies!

But none of this post-hoc thought changes the fact that I was angered and let it out. Now I am pensive, as I wonder what she will read into my words. Her world and mine are immensely different; this has been shown before. What strange ideas will be born of my ungraceful cries?

I will send it anyway. There is too much truth in it to hold me back.

Last night I had a dream. It began pleasantly, as such things often do; but changed gradually into a convoluted thing of dark majesty and intricate symbols. What strange things was my unconscious trying to say? Peasants and lords; and butterflies delicate in the sun! and the deadly spiral battle through time. Dark and light, father and son, and myself heart-stopped between. Why? It changes things – but how much of it is Truth?

And why do both of the Kings wear my face?

We shall continue our dreaming later today. Perhaps, this time, we shall discover something.

POSSIBLE REDACTION



There is a missing section of the diary here

I have a vague sense of unrest within me nowadays. I am not at peace. Yet it is not painful or distressing, merely restless … like an alarm clock waiting to ring. It is time to act, to do something … but what? I find myself snappish and short – surely something is about to pop. As yet, I can imagine no outlet for this thing, but it cannot keep increasing without limit! The only times I do not feel it are during the stillness of my exercises and for a short time thereafter. And even those period of peace are growing briefer, I think.

The Same Day, 8 PM

More revelations, but I am no more at peace.

Today we journeyed far, my Lady (note - Julian) and I; and I find that I am not only a loyal foe to Him, but a rival suitor, as well.

Suitor? Is that correct? Impossible to say; but we have relived the day of her arrival at Eveling; and it holds uncomfortable revelations.

The images are fragmentary; she cannot be more than three or four years old. An office, an interview with a stranger vaguely seen, whose face I shall try to remember but who is little more than an impression (young; dark hair, bright eyes, sharp, angular, loud. Cigars and leather). A glimpse of the complex (we dislike it, hot and noisy as it is) and an interlude in the new Home with the one who brought us here.

He is not Marklin. (note - Frederick Marklin) He is the Dark Man.

Again he is fascinating – brightly enigmatic in stark black & white. She has been with him forever, in their haven of silence and ritual – and in his own way he loves her. This may be an error – but to me it seems very clear.

His chest is crossed by a huge ragged scar.

He knows Pierre; he knows Elyssa; he must, it is in his voice, between the words. What does he want of her, my Julian? It is so strong, like everything he does – a fierce gentleness; a disciplined devotion to a thing yet to become? I do not know.

He must be Islie. He has laid claim to her. Is it who she is or what she is that matters? Who can say? Whichever – he has lost her now, for she is mine, and nothing will change that!

Oh, but I felt with him so strongly! How I yearn with him, wish to admire him – this, despite all the rest that he is and does.

Oh, but I feel so alone! So bereft of something I cannot pin down.

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There is a missing section of the diary here

And yet……

And yet……

I saw a curious thing tonight, while drifting within with my Julian. A flicker of white sparkle, shining in the darkness around us. It reached us, whatever it was… and could not – quite – touch but vanished when it came near. I thought at first it was some hint of – But not; whatever else the sparkles were, they were alien; exotic, bright, and somehow exciting. Julian could not seem to notice them, not even when we were WE. Is it because they are somehow “aligned” toward me and not her? Or is it something in my growing awareness of the Patterns that is and will remain mine alone? Time will tell – but it is significant I think; and quite a thing to ponder later.

Why?

I followed them; tried to turn myself out and truly SEE between the cracks, between the shapes that are apparent into the weft of the thing itself as I have always felt would be so very rewarding ->>>

I SAW! My dear God, what I saw! There are no words to describe it; I cannot articulate the immensity; even now so much of it has faded from my poor mind; memories of a thing that is too large for me to encompass being forced from my life by my own mortal status.

Never have I been so exalted. Never have I been so afraid.

Is this what Meagan saw, when she attempted to LOOK AT the Cosmos?

Is that what the Others see? The Outside ones? Have I been vouchsafed a glimpse of the Truth?

How simple, how homey my binding with Julian now seems! Like an old friend, cared-for, well-known in all its heady strangeness. Like flying, like breathing; so very right and natural – so very human?

But this new thing – this BRILLINACE - !

Like possession, like a vision of the Pattern; only MORE; and I the merest speck, a conduit, a cropping of clay before a torrent of light and power that strips away all before it. I the channel that is followed; a puppet overwhelmed, locked into place like the closing of an incredible circuit!

WHAT WAS IT? What was it that stripped myself from me, tore me from Julian and THRUST me back – deaf, dumb, helpless, and blind in my impotency?? What?

Not for man. Too great a thing for a man to bear.

And yet …. “There is a depth of vision….” “Patterns and circles repeat themselves….” “…dispel it with the Light…”

Is THAT PLACE the Light – the true reality behind the dream? If so, I am deeply afraid; for I might not go back there and live…. Too much, too much… but no no no.

Echoes of pattern (ripples?) touching, touching; I forgot that there, there can be no simple observation. Idiot me; To SEE, one must be SEEN! I have been SEEN – and the SIGHT nearly destroyed me.

No. I cannot go back there. I cannot.

And Julian truly saw nothing? While I was etched away from my … humanity … by that? If that is ‘pure’, in the sense of ‘dear, pure woman’ , dare we ever even meet?

Even Miriam’s dog might have told me.

It was afraid. Why?

What were they? Those lovely crystal forms – what? Like the house… like the wellspring house? One did not SEE Miriam’s – not like the walls of THIS newer manse.

Containments, then. Shapes and forms that can – what? Sustain? Nurture? That incredible strength and brilliance. They move; and
ripples
echoes
dreams?
shifting butterfly angels, murmur behind Maddy’s (note Madeline Matson) growing light and gather at the edges of THERE. No, not the edges; everywhere! They are in the light, of the light, they are the light, too! The ponic ecosphere?

Lord, lord. Too much; too much to see and know.

I am a walker in the shadows, banned by the purity of the sun. It is too huge, too great and bright for me, frail as I am; for to see the face of God one must be the face of God.

And yet – and yet –

I saw; and thus was seen; for an instant; and it took nearly all of my vitality and power to keep me whole in that time.

Everything that saw me knows me now, carries something of me with it inside, no matter that my own perception is so poor. In a way I am THERE even now. How odd.

To die – to be dissolved thus…. Would it be so horrible? Would it?

I have so much to live for! So much!

But it was so … so clean …, beautiful in a way.

Would it truly be death, to be swept up in that flow of – of being and sensation? Would it? To touch and be touched by everything? To spread-share across all of creation?

Is that truly death? Is that where they have gone?

It sounds more like apotheosis. Rebirth into a higher freedom.

Life and free will and power. Oh! Oh! So much – and so little – ALMOST it makes sense! But no; like the flickerings of the riplets in the LIGHT, I catch a glimpse of motion, but the thing is gone.

Enough. I go to bed. Enough raving for tonight.

2:30 AM, I think:

Pierre was unable to use his power, though he could certainly SEE! Is this why? Was he dissolved in the Light? Is THAT the end of his road? Oh my, oh…. How cruel.

Thursday, 2 August 1928: 9 AM

Miriam’s letter by the door. Am I being too brash? Too Tony-ish? (note - Antonio Grimaldi) These days it seems as if my letters are not my own, but things blown around out of my control by that uncontrolled inner force I mentioned a day or two ago. Something inside me – still it builds. Connected to what happened last night? Perhaps.

The world seems normal again this morning, no lasting deafness or sensitivity to mark that incredible sojourn. Yet it has marked me, I think. I am no more or less aware than before; but, in an odd way, I feel more aware of what I am aware of; does that make sense? At the moment it does.

Letter reread – yes – it is fine, more elegant than I recalled, earnest but not too pushy. Let it stand

Stirrings upstairs. The kids are up. Strange, that look he gave me last night…as though, at last, he has truly seen me – and does not know what he has seen.

Good kids, the both of them.

Have to go to town to buy some supplies for the lab later. If I am to begin alloying, I shall need an assortment of crucibles, etc. Lord. Not since college…. Well, they always did say those course in Chemistry would be useful!

I worry about what is happening. It seems as though I am developing greater and greater awareness of the dancers in the unity Dance; but if what feels true is true then that same development is driving one towards THAT; and with THAT comes dissolution, or at least Blindness and a loss of more than what was gained. It seems contradictory; obviously I am missing something somewhere!

Here they come – breakfast time! Have to ask Adam what he stayed up to hear last night.

Friday, 3 August 1928, 9:30 AM

Yesterday was lovely and relaxing (at least for all of us but Adam! He is in a snit again); and last night Julian taught me a fascinating little game, which she learned as a child from The Man.

Played with a bridge deck, it is a solitaire game in which the object seems to be to stalemate oneself. The rules seem simple at first, (a balancing of the draw within and between three stacks), but when fully grasped they become an exquisite abstraction of the Fight, as seen from a particularly interesting viewpoint.

Could it actually be his understanding that is presented? His viewpoint? Or another? I wonder what I might learn from study of the game; and from trying play from other viewpoints than the one Children learned.

I see his mark in it, very strongly, whatever else may be true. And the players are familiar as well: The Kings who have the knowledge but now power, and who move the others from place to place; the Queens who are the supporters, the generals, who add to others’ energy but have none of their own; the Jacks who are the Weak Men, who have power, but not too much, and who may corrupt or be corrupted by others if they are not cared for; the Aces who are the Soldiers, most powerful but most expendable as well; and of course the rest of the deck, the numbers that are the Energy that is guarded or used up – but are also the Innocents who must not be harmed.

And the object is =Balance, stalemate on all levels … and the elimination of a single card.

Amazing.

I continue to be concerned about what is happening to me (and to Julian, for that matter!) I do not speak in the mystical sense here – but purely in the emotional, the personal sense.

For the past week or two I have been victim of mysterious tension, unease, a twitchy sort of restlessness and a sense of something brewing deep inside me. It feels as if I am being enormously frustrated – but I cannot determine the source or the reason for the upset.

Last night something snapped. It all bubbled out of me, just for an instant; like a rush of cooling fire, a wild thing, heady and exhilarating. So powerful I felt, then, so FREE!; but there was nothing warm about I, nothing gentle.

I do not think I like that kind of freedom.

Also…. There is the matter of Julian.

More and more there are subliminal signs that the Lady (note - The Island Lady) is once again waking inside of her. She herself if or the most part unaware, but in small ways, words, deeds, and desires, I see it. Perhaps, when I was blinded and not present the Lady regained her foothold in my girl; or perhaps this is merely a growth that neither of us may stop or ignore.

But that wild freedom I felt – it was, in that moment, mirrored in her eyes. And from her it is familiar: It has the Lady’s feel to it.

Am I being influenced by Her, as well?

I have neither ability nor right ot inhibit Julian’s growth. What right have I even to try to channel it? Truly, I am not convinced that what is happening to me is at all related to her transformation; but at this hour they do seem of a piece.

Saturday, 4 August 1928; 9 PM

I learned a lot about my girl yesterday, mostly regarding what it is to be a General. I am impressed, deeply so; it is one thing to know intellectually that she must be extremely talented and effective at her calling, but quite another to see it for myself, adroitly cool and supremely competent against the odds. Sobering! I shall forever see her differently in my mind’s eye. A new pride, of a different kind indeed!

We discussed the Fatal Vision a bit, and I tried my hand at showing her a memory or two. It is not as easy as it seems! Julian feels that the FV is somehow a picture of the Ponic universe directly; and that is as good a hypothesis as any I have come up with; and better than most. That is, in effect, what I was trying to do after all. But – precisely WHAT did I see? Where was I looking from? Is it true that this turning-inward that we do to commune actually places us “somewhere else” in the ponic continuum? Certainly the house was not visible around me as it was during the vision of the 7th. Layers within layers… is she right? What an interesting view of things, I wonder what it means.

A look into the Circle ABOVE my own??? Hmmm…!

Today I installed a lot of the new stuff in the lab. The slate table and the tanks push aside the poor old vibrometer; poor thing, I had such hopes for it and now it is out to pasture…!

New letter from Emerson (note - Carl Emerson) today; just a polite little note to thank us for our hospitality. Imagine! He and the other left only a week ago! Such a short time – and so very, very long it seems!

We were surprised this afternoon by the arrival of Dani Rose; Mrs. Danielle Freidman now it seems, though the two have for the most part parted company.

I am deeply disturbed by her. Deeply. I cannot explain it, articulate it, defend it; but she has filled me with a sense of loneliness, neglect, callow callousness; a glimpse of a lost soul who does not know she is lost; and I am not empowered to tell her. Oh, I could say something – but not the thing that is needed, not one that will make the difference.

So I say nothing. And feel guilty.

Perhaps it will change; I do not know how long she will stay, or what else we may talk about.

I think we cannot afford to alienate her – or her husband – or any experienced and loyal Fighter. So I will ask her help, give and take the information necessary – but I shall not discuss the new things, the dreams and visions of discovery which I now pursue. I shall not; I cannot.

I pray I have not erred.

Sunday, 5 August 1928, 4 PM

Danielle has vanished. She went “into town’ this morning and has not returned. No sign of foul play – I have no way of knowing what happened, but I suspect she is in control. She will return, as her note said, “soon” – or in whatever fashion she wishes. For now, she has gone on alone.

Adam has built for me three window-sized planter boxes. We have filled them with moist earth, and I have given some flower seeds to Adam – and the responsibility for growing them to Rachel.

How proud he is, to have made something that lasts! I see him now, with his hammer in his belt; he has not put it down since I handed it to him this morning. And his work is good. Solid – not artistic but very competent – the more so since I really doubt he has ever worked with wood before.

He is excited. And so am I; I have not seen him so interested in anything before. This will be a truly interesting time for all of us. So the boxes are in the windows … and soon the plants will begin to grow for the Children. If those shoots can hold Rachel’s interest, as the boxes have taken Adam’s – THEN I think we can reach them and bring the world back to them.

Monday, 6 August 1928; 7:30 PM

Burned my hand a bit today, playing around with the wire drawer. Silly me! It seems that this skill must be learned by doing! I shall be more careful next time.

Telegram from Clay (note - Clay Morrison) today, from London. He asks about Maddie’s Crossing – and I have nothing to answer. How is she, I wonder? Must write her and find out.

Today I had a chance to watch the Circle of Man in town. Fascinating! And worrisome.

The Circle is … vibrant. Charged! Full of energy and potential! But we are blind! Like dancers in a Dance who cannot see, we are blind. We move randomly, fighting ignorantly against the patterns of the Unity. We are unaware; the Circle itself is unaware, fragmented, barely cohesive.

Is that the answer to our need? To save the Garden, need we only dance the Dance?

And what, then, of the Soldiers? Do they then dance the Dance in our stead?

Hmm.

Tuesday, 7 August 1928; 5:00 PM

Another Vision, and new truths. Today I have seen a glimpse of another Circle of the Dance. Today I have TOUCHED the perceptions and existence of another being! Merely a dog – but how very different it is! All things – ALL – except for us, are in time with their Dance! Plants, beasts, everything draws on the Unity and is nurtured by it. Communion – I was right – but not for us. Not for man. Not yet.

What can I



POSSIBLE REDACTION



Thursday, 9 August 1928; 4:30 PM

Alone. Dear God, how far and how alone! And beautiful they are, dear little ones! Like angels – shadows – ghosts. They play in the sun like butterflies; sea nymphs in the tide! The tide flows around them, THROUGH them – smoke and silver, oh! How wonderful to play so, bright and glorious joy innocent in the light!

POSSIBLE REDACTION



There is a missing section of the diary here How I wish to weep.

The price of vision is isolation. Do you see? To see, to touch all of the Dance, I am denied the joining of the Dance!

Thus is Power turned within me.

All the wonder, all of the glory and fellowship, all to be forever denited me! Pierre’s price – so high!

Goodbye, my dream. Goodbye, my joy.

I shall never be the same. God! I cannot even weep!

And I cannot bear to watch them any more.

I no longer belong. Anywhere.

Success! So bitter, this drink! And I cannot put it down.

10 August 1928; on the train

Black Man! Is this why you turned? To be denied communion, was that your price as well? How bitter you must have been; how angry and how powerless! Is it any wonder you have turned to Others for a place, a belonging? To accept the only fellowship left to you?

The tactics of despair. How simple! Who are you, my dear, dark brother? Who is it that knows what I know – has glimpsed the gulf?

Is this why you turned? Why the game you teach has only stalemate at its end? What use an allegiance to a thing you cannot touch?

What, then, do you serve? Not the thing you fight for, surely! NO! That is as empty as the other! Is it merely Balance, as in the Cards? CAN it be? The Active Principle, as SG (note - Steven Gravemaster) is the Passive?

How easy to make, that decision; and how short-sighted!

Do not be fooled, distant brother! I feel your heart alongside mine; but know that others have travelled different paths, and my end shall not be yours.

How I long to turn aside – to give up my burden and my Vision and join the angles in the sun! Oh, how very much I wish that I might do so … But I am who and what I am; and have come to this pass by following the path that is truest to me. How can I turn aside now? How? All I have lost is a dream.

Dearest dream! Oh, how I weep!

But there is a still a future to be won.

I cannot turn aside. Must not. To do so would be to betray myself – myself; and all of those who struggle against a blinded Dance; and all of my friend who need me.

Someone mus see; to point the way where I cannot go.

Heavy. So heavy. Where is the glory?

Where is the joy?

Is it forever lost, along with my innocence?

All the struggles – the worries … Poor Meagan. Poor Dani. How petty it all seems now.

I shall go on. Because I must. There is still a cause to be won. There is still happiness to share, with my beloved, if not with my people. It will be enough.

It must be.

Dear God.