from
the sea (5) – merging and menopause, cathedrals 1 of 3, by freda karpf
“There
is, then, no water that is wholly of the Pacific, or wholly of the Atlantic, of
the Indian or the Antarctic. The surf that we find exhilarating at Virginia Beach
or at La Jolla today may have lapped at the base of Antarctic icebergs or
sparkled in the Mediterranean sun, years ago, before it moved through dark and
unseen waterways to the place we find it now. It is by the deep, hidden
currents that the oceans are made one.” Rachel Carson
As the day grows into evening Mrs.
Scattergood was immersed in the feelings and thoughts of a friendship built in
time and cathredralled through relationship.
From chair or throne, where the bishop sits, where leadership dwells,
cathedral. It has come to be used as an
architectural description of a place of height with layers repeating as they
rise - as does this relationship that happens when friends bond and grow
through time. A part of this cathedral structure is the loss of one and how
life changes for the one remaining. This
includes the loss of Barry and the friendship they built.
~
The closest she ever got to a waltz was
the final walk toward each other when she folded the sheets with her mother.
She would meet her mother’s hands with hers as she held the pinched ends of the
sheets together. Her mother would take them and finish folding the sheets by
smoothing them against her body. How often she wished she could walk toward her
now with her half of the percale. It
should not surprise anyone how often the end usually is right near the
beginning. Mrs. Scattergood still missed
her mother. Why wouldn’t she? Mrs.
Scattergood liked to think she carried the sea in her. While others have gone on and moved to other
parts, she stayed put. The sea is within
her and so is her mother. It is a hard tale to unwind if one is looking for the
true beginning of the daughter and the place where the mother is just herself.
These places exist and identities are sound. It is like the wave in the water.
Both are real, both separate. But it is
hard telling which until one is moving and then you know. Suddenly, it’s clear.
This is the wave and that is the daughter and the shore welcomes both home.
~
Certain knowing comes slow but when you
notice it, like moss on the side of trees, it belongs.
~
Nagual vision is a way of seeing that Don
Juan demonstrated in the Carlos Castaneda books. This way of seeing is to not look directly at
anything. You must look at the space around
them. This changes your reality; loosens
the constrictions we put on forms and releases a different way of being within
your bones. Do not look at the leaves on
the tree, look at the spaces between. Is
it the negative? Is it the
silhouette? No, it’s something
different. It’s a way of seeing which
the dead on way doesn’t allow. Mrs.
Scattergood looked at the spaces in her life. There are many open spaces. No criticism, no judgment. That is what she sees. That day it became a way of getting along.
~
Baubo always admired the people who
haven't displaced their compassion with their strength but were able to hold
both within.
~
Years after her mother died, Mrs.
Scattergood realized she hadn’t a clue where her life was heading. When she woke to this knowing she also woke
to the desire to find her roots. From
this place, she thought, her story would unfold like a flag and she could look
up at it whenever she needed the telltale indication for the direction she was
in.
~
Mae West once said,
"Whenever I have to choose between two evils, I always like to try the one
I haven't tried before." Baubo enjoyed Mae West. But when it came to
describing her ideas on reality she appreciated the more rigorously
philosophical words from Robert Anton Wilson:
"Reality is anything you can get away with." She maintains a collection of high minded
thoughts to share for those times when doom lurks near and life seems a tangle
of conflicts and interruptions. She knows that there are words that have
brought succor and shown her the sweetness of realizations even when awareness
seems an odd presence in the lives of those she has come to comfort. Baubo had known Mrs. Scattergood for a long
time. But she hardly remembered what Mrs. Scattergood looked like when she came
round to her aid. But she did remember her voice. The disembodied voice can
betray age and looks but not the honesty that comes from sound weaving meaning
through her voice. From the day she finally came to her cottage Baubo was an
odd, comfortable presence in Mrs. Scattergood’s life. ~
Like fruit ripening, when grief lifts it
hardly seems possible that it held you so.
If it were possible, Baubo would hire someone to come through the house
to shout out like Paul Revere "The plums are ready! The plums are
ready!" She imagined they could do
this in a voice that quivers like Julia Child. "Ooooo, the plums are
ready." The time is ripe for
running to the moon. And how often do we
miss that minute window of opportunity where the plum is ready and the plum is
rotten? It is such a brief window and
the taste of the ripe fruit is so delicious that it's worth having someone do
this. Now, to hire someone for that,
that is true wealth. But just as the fully puffed and dancing dill might fool
you, so too the peach. Don't be a
sucker. Nobody's fool, Baubo was wise to
the ways of the plum and grief.
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