TheStarsAreRight:CarlJournal1
I am not a gifted transcriber. I vacillated between correcting errors in the text and leaving them as they stood, muddling the original document. I assuredly added more errors of my own. Many names were unknown to me, and I’m sure my spelling was atrocious. The only change I did make consistently throughout the document was to always use the serial comma. I will not abandon it!
Redland Jack
25 July 1928 – Oakland, CA
So it seems I was right all along. There were more of the Children, and now they have been found.
I cannot say I am entirely pleased!
Consider: Eveling has a decades long organization dedicated to research and ponic development, of which these Children are a part. Decades! Working from the times which they gave me in their interview, I have to conclude that Rebecca is at least forty years old; and that this station in the Kentucky woods has been planning and researching since the 1880s.
What was it like, then? How did it all start, with the present Eveling Patriarch a callow young man? Why did it start? The clues are beginning to appear; and I am feeling very small.
Then, too, thanks to Franklin and company, the Eveling are undoubtedly in a turmoil now. They know what has happened, and doubtless who did it as well. The war may have just entered an open phase, and we are unprepared to care for these kids! My only hope comes from the knowledge that Eveling now has no “safeties,” no slave-Trained to fight their battles. I hope this means they will slow down and stop research for a time. I cannot guarantee it.
Consider: These six are the Children that we know about; but they are the tip of the iceberg. The first three Children were raised by Eveling then Trained, but Ester was raised by an elderly farm couple somewhere, then brought to Madisonville later. Adam was recruited from the migrant labor force. And no one knows about Rachel, so; the abduction may have slowed Eveling, but it is merely a delay. In another year they could have the beginnings of a new group in training.
Consider: The valley around Madisonville has become a hotbed of activity. Eveling is there, and the Children; Gravemaster is there; Dargan is there, with whoever and whatever he works with. Why have they all collected in this spot? Interest in one another, perhaps; but where did it start? I think SG was first, but by how much? Could this valley be connected with the Place of Birth? Watch it – o, watch it!
Consider: The greatest enigma of all, the Man in Black. Eveling did not Train the Children, did not teach them their Vows. That was the province of the Black Man, an outside expert. He oversaw their occult training; he witnessed the Vow. He took young Marth to West Virginia (another project entirely, it now seems; though connected, obviously, by interests and personnel). A tall, slim man, black haired, solid of body. Gray blue(?) eyes, angular bony face. Left-handed? Serious and cold. Long fingers, soft hands.
And he touched them; looked into their eyes; and knew hidden things about them.
Just like Farquell.
And all of the have wounds in their memories! None, except perhaps Rachel, as extensive as Julian’s; but none can remember precisely what He said at any point; or what his voice sounds like; or even his exact bearing or facial expressions or gestures, as Julian can.
Though they remember their childhoods; as Julian cannot. It was a shock for me to realize that. What makes her different? I begin to think that Julian’s amnesia was her own doing, and not exclusively His.
They say Julian used to sing.
Another name, somehow familiar: Senator Paul Kinnerly, and the Common Man Reform Association. Kinnerly was replaced by some sort of monster; the thing wore a symbol like the Black Man’s.
Do not ask questions. Do not lie. Do not make noise. Do not refuse. Obey. Obey. Obey.
And always the threat. If you behave the men will not come to take you away.
What a nightmare! These people have perverted the Vow in the only way possible: they have taken innocents and controlled every aspect of their lives in total domination; then fed them the Vow as tools to be used and thrown away. They are soldiers in the basest “neo-Farquellian” sense; they know only the Fight and self-denial. They have little concept of joy, or wonder, or any of the things they serve. Poor innocents; they embody the purest form on innocence, yet know so little of it themselves…
Avila had a ‘safe house’ at Eveling. Was he, too, involved with the Children? He must have known something of them, through Marklin, if not otherwise. Marklin knew where Julian had been put.
Avila, Stone, Eveling, Marklin, Black Man, Dargan; where does it end? What is the hierarchy – where are the connections? We know so little! And every time I look at the picture, it seems grimmer and grimmer.
Who is ‘above’ whom? At any rate, it seems clear that Eveling is at or near the bottom of the lader. Was the WVa operation an Avila ‘pet’ that drew on Eveling resources? I suspect there are many levels that remain as yet unseen.
Tony will bring the Children to our house on Saturday. What will they say when they once again meet their lost Martha? What will she say? I must prepare her; it will be difficult, I am sure, to meet these strangers who claim they know you. Will it help her? Will it jog her memory? I hope so, but I cannot predict. Whatver she shut away so long ago cannot have been small or trivial.
Good luck, my very dear. God keep you close.
Thursday, 26 July 1928 – At home –
They are due to arrive in an hour or so; I thought I would jot down these words before they come. There will likely be more later.
Julian is interested in meeting these newcomers; and a bit worried too; but I think I am more fretful than she! It is tough to explain why it was so difficult to tell her who they were. I fear that, in part, it was simply that our time here has been special; that I think of myself as the only one who truly knows her; and that I expect things to change at the meeting. Ah, well. Greed is in every man.
This is going to be fascinating!
Friday, 27 July 1928; Sometime before dinner.
The worst is over; and thing will settle down now, I hope! But it has been pretty hectic here.
The arrival of the Children did NOT produce the results I expected! No, indeed!! They came; we let them in, Julian took one look at Samuel and Rebecca; and the screaming began; and she fainted dead away.
But before she fell – my God! The pain! It filled her; it filled me; a burning white knife deep down inside…
She is alright. Or, she will be. All is quiet now,the house settled, the shouting over. But I cannot forget the silent screams. They went on and on…
She is whole again. She remembers. Everything; from the first days of her arrival, oh, so young, to the lessons, to the Promise, to the kidnap and all the rest. It is all stirred up in her now like mud from the bottom of a roiled pond brought to the surface; clear and immediate, as if new; but before and behind all of it is the memory of the Lessons; the terror; the pain.
The pain which she tried so hard to lock away.
So much terror, so much loss; and the battle of two selves, two entirely different personalities and pasts locked together into one person, and we unable to turn away or close it out. It was truly mind – and heart – breaking.
I think that, had I not been here, with her, within her to support her and me, she would not have remained sane. As it was, it was a near thing for both us, I think.
Even now, the accommodation is flimsy, though it will strengthen with time. Julian is dominant, and I am very thankful; but from time to time flashes of pure Martha will surface. She is simple, fanatic, direct; and, when she needs to be, remorseless. And she and Rebecca do not seem to like one another. Conflict of leadership, I expect.
I watched over Julian in her rooms for the remainder of the day. It was not until this omrning that she came down and actually met the others! What a strange meeting! The Children are constrained by their laws from asking any questions, though I know they must be curious.
Tony was shocked to see the Martha-traits in Julian. Alas, I fear he distrusts her now more than he ever did. We two had a discussion, which evolved into a fight – I am uncertain now what we fought about! – which ended with Tony, in good Tony fashion, grabbing his bags and leaving in a rage, exclaiming that he would never return! He took Rebecca with him. I am even now uncertain if that was a good choice, or if Tony should have taken responsibility for any of them; but it seemed a right idea at the time, an I suppose we are stuck with it now. Samuel and Ester will go with Emerson to ‘see the world’ when he goes; and the two youngest will stay here, in the quiet and the sun.
Tony called later, from town, to apologize, and J and I joined those two for dinner at the hotel. I am worried about Tony. He is so full of anger and hurt! I fear we are losing him; and I worry about what he might become.
Things were quiet for a while here; Emerson and I launched into another philosophical debate; Ester upstairs in the bath; Franklin entertaining the others in one corner of the living room.
Then Franklin decided to show them a “keen trick.” He pulled out his handcuffs and made as if to put them onto Rachel. Well! She shrieked as if her worst nightmares were after her (which they may have been!) and curled up. Adam, poor fellow, leaped up and attacked Franklin in defense of his girl. They were rolling around on the rug when I stopped them. Took the cuffs away, sent F to his room. Absurdly parental – yes – but very serious at the time!
Franklin is in his room, sulking. (I hope he feels stupid!) Samuel feels like a traitor for telling me what happened; Adam is in his room, curled up in shock for breaking his Laws; Rachel is with Julian, in a pretty bad way; and dear Ester missed it all.
I am tired. So much, all at once; and it is only beginning. Still, I think it will begin to underline the fact that the White Men will not come and take them away! Thank heavens for Emerson – he is running the household while I flounder.
Up again; I shall do a few more chores then take a rest; then spend some time with Adam. Poor lad.
Saturday, 28 July 1928; 4 PM or so
Tony is gone, Rebecca’s gone too; and already the world is beginning to change shape.
Julian does remember. Remembers everything; and with a depth and clarity that is astonishing. Unbelievable, actually; I must conclude that she has some kind of Talent or Skill that allows her such vivid recall.
An interesting note: not aonly does she remember even the things the before were blocked, the details of some of the events she recalled previously are noticeably different now! More than just blockage, then!
And again the Dark Man is center of my speculations. He and his organization. A thing of very long standing, it seems. A large faceless staff who obviously know quite a bit about what is going on; yet who have never risen to the surface either of the public’s eye or the view of the Trained. I cannot help but think that the relationship between Avila/Eveling/WVa is much more long-standing and intimate than had been supposed.
Why has it not been supposed? We have been misled: deliberately distracted from the truth by a master chess player. And the misty windown of time obscures so many things that unless we begin to dig – dig seriously and deeply – we shall be overwhelmed by ignorance!
The Man himself – the black Prince, the Evil Twin of fairy tales. Tall, slender, thinnish features but a sturdy athletic frame, black hair, pale skin. Long hands, slender features. Dresses in black and white, with a fancy watch and that Symbol on the fob. His hands are well cared for, but heavily scarred just the same. Long jagged scars like claw marks run up the backs and into the sleeves; and more fine hair thin lines that run across the knuckles and joints of the fingers – as if they had been sectioned and replaced in some distant past. His voice is deep and strong, resonant with power and compassion totally out of keeping with his otherwise stiff, cold demeanor. When he is alone with her, or not closely observed, he is gentle, tender, his actions and stance suggesting great compassion. It is difficult to tell how much he is being false or patronizing – for he is so masterful that his every word is intrinsically believed. Such power! Such charisma! In so many ways, I believe in this man. It is as if he contained wihin him the essence and understanding of the Path; and still chose the dark road! But why? I would love to believe that he was somehow at war with himself, that the difference between his stance and overt activity and the apparent compassion in his eyes and voice represents an internal conflict; but the man has been busy for an awfully long time. It cannot be more than wishful thinking on my part.
He frightens her, deeply and viscerally; yet his demeanor towards her is gentle, vaguely loving as if to a favored pet or small child.
An odd accent – like Spanish but with odd lilts and emphasis; as if an archaic tongue learned native when young and never wholly shaken. I am reminded of an ancient monastery in the mountains of Spain, and a man who fell into the darkness long before his time …
He did consider her valuable. To himself, and to others. A Butterfly, he called her. Why a butterfly? Knew all about her, they did! All the future as well … And THEY GAVE HER AWAY! Julian was thrown into the hands of the “peasantry” DELIBERATELY! Why? To save trouble? Or to hid something more valuable? The other Children, perhaps? Or the Eveling connection? Or the Avila connection? (Must remember to look deeply into the WVa site for history. Paper chases have helped before! The site most likely has a shorter and more visible trail than Madisonville’s.)
Point and point and point and point and point … A sudden vision comes to me, strange and evanescent like a dream. Twisted, strange … butterflies and peasants … a peculiar twinned dance through centuries.
I wonder what it means? Almost; I dare not speculate.
And he is so strong!
Marklin is another case. Poor soul, twisted and full of anger and hatred … why? What has turned him so against his own faith and family?
Who were his parent, anyway?
We have a couple of leads now … Marklin himself, of course; and possibly this Doctor Kent, if we can find him; and now, thanks to Emerson’s teachings, we can possibly touch upon two of the WVa project staff who worked with Julian.
I have learned many things these past few months. One of them is this: that the Vow is not a thing of the Fight. It is not a “chosen tool”; it is a way of life, a state of being. The Light exists, but within, not without; and it is a state of grace of illumination, that must grow within each of us if it is to be.
This means several things.
It means that the ‘restrictions’ and ‘punishments’ meted out to those who have spoken the Promise but not lived by it are not truly that at all, but merely expressions of the pain and stresses felt by an organism forced to strive against itself.
It means this, and more: It means that we are alone.
The Light is a state of grace and understanding, but it is not a deity. It exists within us, as it does within all living things. It guides us to peace and love and harmony … but it cannot know what we do not, for it is not a mind.
We are the intellect of the Light. The Light does not fight, we do. It is a Purpose but not a Power. Oh, it has power, but it is not itself a Power. You see.
If there are plans to be made, we must make them. If tools are to be devised and used, we muse devise and use them. We are the ones who fight the Fight, we and the Dark. The Light is our goal and our greatest bastion; but it represents a means and an end, not a strategy for victory.
The Unity partakes naturally of the Light, true; but it is diffuse and undirected. All that we do, we must be responsible for; and we can expect no help from God.
Forgive me if I ramble; but I am in a rambling mood.
It is strange having the Children here. They are quiet, yes, and unobtrusive in the extreme; but the house feels different with them in it. It is as if they fill it more, and leave echoes when they pass. A whisper of sound, a discarded item, a flash of movement on a far-off laugh. The Children rarely laugh.
We make our own ghosts, I think. Everything touches, and is touched … and the traces remain.
Even at night I can feel them, or so it seems; in the creak of timbers, the sigh of the wind outside, the tiny motions of the air in a sleeping house. We are four, now, not two, it says. It changes things.
What do they think of us, I wonder? Adam, so silent and moody most of the time, who walks and walks outside and scarcely says hello? In his heart of hearts, does he like us? Despise us for being what we are? Or are we merely a new set of owners, jailers without keys to be obeyed without thought or feeling? And Rachel: poor dear, scared of the birds and of the open sky. Are we so terrible that there is no way to reach her? Quietly, quietly …
We must not distance ourselves from these Children. We must find a way to touch both of them – to extend a hand, as it were, and pull them out of their private Hells.
So much to do, and we only two. Have we TIME?
I wish that there were more laughter.
Monday, 30 July 1928; 11:30 AM
The morning chores are done and it is time for a little quiet thought. We still have no real idea of the pattern our lives will fall into in the next week or two…
Julian is with Rachel again. Adam is moping in the orchard. I went out to speak to him a little while ago, but he was resentfully withdrawn; and I could think of nothing to say that would reach him. How familiar he seems … and how far away!
New letter from Miriam in the morning mail … at last. I still am uncertain just why, but I cannot help but be impressed by the depth of my own admiration for her. We hold far too many secrets between us yet; yet even so, in every word I find peace and personal solace. It is her serenity perhaps that does it; even in her letters the feeling shines through; I see in memory the calm, vaguely sad acceptance of her smile, and I relax.
She sends me news, good and bad. The November babe will be a boy, and thus even more unsuited to the Lady. Miriam says the foundry is furious, railing against the father and the fates in megalomaniacal splendor – but that she may yet be appeased, convinced to wait rather than try investiture.
Hope so, for the baby’s sake.
Wonder who the father is? Avriam? Marklin? As always her latest letter fills me with more questions than I could ever ask her. Most are forbidden by the rules of the game we play. What do they know Marklin? Gravemaster? How old must the Godchild be before she may be Invested?
This last may prove significant: Miriam believes she may herself again be with child. If so, the looks right – the child will be due in early April.
Does this mean we have to worry? What happens if the Lady is freed? Can she be freed into a babe? And does the One’s mind and memory make a difference?
Even though I remain convinced that the Lady is not a Darkling creature, I am still very wary of her; I can have no idea of Her goals and motives save that they are wild, childishly selfish, with no knowledge of restraint. Her power is so great that I could not hope to oppose Her, were She freed; and so I wonder about the April babe. Might we need to expect the Lady come May? Do we rather get a few years of growing, during which She could not come even if we needed Her? What?
It is to my continuing sorrow that, although I wish I could offer alliance to these beleaguered people in good faith, my only valuable offering might have to be Julian. Then, too, the Foundry’s attitudes on the superiority of the Chosen over the rest of humanity do not give me much hope for any negotiations anyway.
Besides: My lady is NOT for sale!!!!
I wonder … is Gravemaster right, about the Lady and the First Fathers? Is there a way to release her from her island without the sacrifice of a Chalice to be filled by Her?
If so, and we could learn the method – THEN I would have something truly of value to offer the Families in an alliance!
Should one be needed. Of course.
If it were possible to know … I believe I may have found a way to discover the answer – but, as all such things must be, it is fraught with peril.
To return, through life and life and life, to the time of the First Fathers, to watch and learn as the Gift and the method was given – is it possible? Could the Observer learn, as the Observed did?
A long path and difficult, even for Julian; even if the lives do follow the taint; even if she can see into a man in that way. Six lives? Seven? Ten? Three hundred years is a long time.
And at the end of the Road is the Lady Herself in all her strength. Could Julian look upon Her, and remain sane?
Another possibility – shorter but more perilous – Gravemaster: First Father Gannsley.
If we can perfect Julian’s memory-recall,
If we can learn to use it on others,
If we can persuade G to explore with us,
If we can survive G’s Pact with Something,
If we can reach the memories that preced it,
If we can stay sane through G’s madness,
Then we again face the Lady firsthand. And this time through one who has had direct contact with Her on the Island
I cannot know. It is worthwhile speculating; but the road is long even before we may begin; and Julian has more say in this than I.
In the meantime there are many other memories which we can explore safely, both mine and hers. Her earliest childhood. My vision at the Roth’s, and both meetings there. Both sides of the Lady’s attack in London. Julian at work as a general. And others.
Perhaps we shall start today.
REDACTED
Wednesday, 1 August; 11:00 AM
I sealed Miss Crawford’s 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 <unknown>; 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
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 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. 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.
REDACTED
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 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 withinside, 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.
Lefe 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? 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 tenstion, 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 is once again waking inside of her. She herself if or the most part unaware, but in small ways, words, dees, 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 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 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
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 tram
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 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.
