Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Late night musings

August 7, 2013

Sitting up late in the dark and the cool, working in the new Office, on the new computer, with all the new software (Windows 8).  Nothing looks familiar, except the letters on the page.  It makes me feel disconcerted, disoriented, discombobulated.

Two weeks now of wrestling with computer issues and I feel like I’m getting further and further behind in the Psycards tasks.  The little scraps of paper pile up—receipts, reservations, business cards, contact information.  I can’t even seem to get organized enough to make a proper list of what needs to be done. 

I am anxious, too, nervous about the Colorado show I’ve now committed to.  How will we manage?  I think. How will we pull this off?  Then there is the little inner voice that is worried about what happens after that.  It is an empty-handed leap into the void and I’m scared. 

My friend, the train, is coming, hooting in the distance, the rails begin to rattle and soon it whooshes by just feet behind the RV, its crying whistle a startling comfort.  I love the train. 

I’m crying and my hands are trembling a little—What have I done?  Do I even know what I am doing?  It is a moment of deep doubt, and one that I know will pass, but could it pass quickly, please?

So I have committed to advertising for the next year—expensive stuff and spending money always makes me nervous, unless there is plenty of reserve.  My Capricorn moon needs cushion to feel safe, but my life has been virtually cushionless, creating a kind of chronic fidgetiness about finances. 

I must remind myself of the synchronicities and miracles that have brought me this far.  I remind myself of events like the Rent Fairy and Eleven Cents.  The Rent Fairy is a story I told earlier in this blog, and the Eleven Cents story is this: When Rick and I left the ‘Vard (Apache Boulevard in Tempe, AZ), we had no idea where we would go or how we would live.  We had the station wagon, no drivers licenses, no income and eleven cents between us.  There was a moment when I stopped worrying—what was the point?—as if I had become so saturated with fear and worry that I reached a point of WTF.  But that was the moment when all that fell away and the next thing I knew we were heading to Buckeye, Arizona to find an acquaintance.  She let us stay with her, lent us money, and introduced us to her landlord. 

It was during the time of the Blue Kachina comet—Hale-Bopp—February 1997.  The night we left the ‘Vard was the night of the Phoenix Lights UFO sighting.  I never even looked at the sky that night.  Two weeks later we were watching the comet, there was also a Mars/Jupiter conjunction and on March 9 a total solar eclipse, though we couldn’t see it.  It felt like a momentous time, both personally and globally.

Tammy’s landlord was Jimmy Port Parker, and he was kind enough to rent us an apartment with no money down, simply allowed us to clean the place for a deposit.  It was a new beginning.  Soon I landed work with the local paper doing everything from ad sales to delivery, as well as editorial stuff.   
So, we managed to get somewhere even with only eleven cents.

Tonight we have a lot more than eleven cents and we will also have more than that when we leave here for Colorado next month.  From there the idea is to move down toward New Mexico and Arizona—to visit friends and relatives, and to finish writing the Kokopelli novel.  I can’t write it here, I need to be in the southwest to feel its pulse.

Writing this has helped.  I feel calmer now, and reassured.  Thanks for listening.

No comments:

Post a Comment