(no subject)
No one to cry out to, or to blame. Building things. Flattening inside. Accumulating. Graying out. Ashamed of longing. Wanting to nestle in a crook. Zephyr still acts like a puppy but could become an "old dog" anytime. There's a little shoot of vitailty trying to push through the post-asteroid/caldera ash of my dying narcissism. It's real. It knows that it's alive and it suspects that it's going to die at some point. It "knows" there isn't a God and yet it's more authentic than anything else in me. A massive reorientation, a structural shift. [This, too, was predicted. Kitty Davy told my mom that at some point I would totally change direction.) My mom isn't here anymore. I've spent two years remodeling the house into a perfect jewel of nordic spareness. It's funny that when Lisa Sanford visited the other day, not having been here for years, she said: "Your house is like a beautiful jewel and the different spaces are its facets." Funny that she used the very word that I'd silently held in my mind as a sort of guiding principle (not image, though...there's nothing "bejewelled" about the house). She seems much older now physically (she's in her mid-eighties). She said, "now I'm playing the part of an old woman...God is playing the role of an old woman through me." As much as I've come not to "believe," I sensed truth in what she said. I wish that this "truth" couldn't be so easily interpreted as a highly adaptive defense that allows her to cope with the difficulties and limitations of her life by making the situation both sacred and impersonal. She lived with Billie Holliday when she was young. She lived also in Puerto Vallerta with all the blacklisted expatriates, and there Leonard Bernstein suggested a three-way with her and her boyfriend, which she declined. She looked at my couch and told me that when she started having panic attacks 15-20 years ago she would lie in that spot. My mom was her security blanket, she said. I haven't made (m?)any proper entries on here since moving into the house. My mother died in late September, just 2 1/2 months after my younger brother died. She was 56. We didn't know she had ovarian cancer until a month before she died. The body can turn against us so suddenly. Lots of painful recurrent dreams, and also some more novel ones.