My writing buddy...

(The following is a slightly edited email to a friend about an elestial/skeletal quartz I purchased a week ago Saturday. It is, in part, the source of renewed energy to write again, to blog again. When I saw it...well, here's the story)

I bought this new crystal yesterday (Aug. 11th). I was drawn to it. Well, not exactly. I went to the fair with the intention of purchasing a citrine and the one I want to give you guys for up North.

I had been thinking about this one vendor from the moment I'd decided to go definitely go to this particular fair. The gem fairs are basically a huge flea market of vendors. Since last October I practically go to each fair that comes to Southern California--almost once a month. At this point, I've gone to at least 6, maybe 8, and recognize many of the vendors. Some of them recognize me. A few admit to recognizing me.

For the entire week, I've had in mind this particular citrine that one vendor displayed. It was simply too expensive for me when I saw it. If I remember the price correctly, it still is. But I wanted to see if he still had it. I was thinking about that crystal like it was the one that got away.

And it did. It got away.

Another, very, very similar one stood out, with the added quality of being affordable. I'm in love with this one too. It is right now sitting on the foyer table. Exactly where I fantasized putting the one that got away. Well, not exactly. I also imagined that one on a new dining room set. I had to look over and smile it jus now. I didn't settle. I was obedient. It took the one that got away to draw me to the one that was meant for my home. I needed to dream about the one I had seen to open myself to this one.

Anyway...back to obedience.

After I picked up the citrines for me and the amethyst for you guys, had paid for them and he was wrapping them up, I still didn't feel "done." I asked him to hold my stuff for me so I could walk the floor and see if there was something else. I made the rounds and not even a desire or inkling to handle anything else. I swept down and through the aisles so fast, I was amazed at my certainty. I knew there was something left to purchase, but I couldn't deny that it wasn't at any other vendors.

Even before I'd paid for my purchases, I kept wandering around Luis' booth. That's the vendor's name. His card says "Luis and Gloria..." Makes sense we were sympatico. I'm starting to wonder if I should just screen people "do you have a Gloria for a mother or wife? If yes, please call, we'll get along easily."

He smiled when he saw me coming and commented, "you changed your hair." I was surprised he remembered me. Then again, he always has the best selection, so I always spend more than just a passing moment at his booth. And then he followed the comment with a little lip smack and a sigh that hinted at being a bit let down. "Well, I can see your face better." As if that were the only redeeming quality of the new do.

"Thanks a lot. Well, thank you...sorta." It was fun. The curls were indeed a bit tight. Guess we're old friends. I appreciated the honesty. Talk about ensuring a sale.

I kept touching everything, asking about everything, I had a nagging feeling that there was something I was supposed to take home. Couldn't figure it out. That's when I went walking around the rest of the fair. As I walked back, Luis gave a quizzical shoulder raise to see if I'd found anything. I suppose he knows he's got the best stuff of the fair. As I walked toward him, I just waived him off to say, "Nothing. Waste of time."

When I was back at his booth, I was finally able to speak my truth. There was some other stone calling to me and I couldn't tell which one. I sat down in one of his chairs and actually had to ask for higher guidance to give me directions to the right stone.

In case you ever wondered about the degrees of intuitiveness. I was able to figure out that I couldn't leave without it, but there were too many energies melding and blending for me to discern for myself. I imagine if I were you (my highly intuitive friend) I'd have just gone straight to it.

Actually, glad I'm telling the story. I only used that method of asking directions after Luis tried being helpful and asked "is it an amethyst?" "No." "Is it elestial?" Well, it isn't not elestial.

That's when I realized we could play 40 questions all day, and, if I'm gonna use 40 questions instead of just relaxing with it, then I might as well do 40 questions on my own head and cut out the middleman. So I did. Are you on the table or on the platform above it? Are you on the left half or the right half? Before or after the round crystal...? In front of or behind....

And when I got the answer and walked over to it. I looked down and thought, "you???" I tried acting stupid, dumb. As if suddenly my higher guidance wasn't reliable. Suddenly, I couldn't trust myself. "In front of the ball?" I asked again anyway. As if the certainty I had before I walked over and saw it was void and no good just because it didn't look like the kind I like to buy.

I doubted. For a minute. For a few seconds.

No denying it. I bought it. No doubt, the appearance was one of the reasons it was a rather inexpensive piece from that collection. Let's just say, it wasn't conventionally appealing. If it were a woman, it would be like taking home the one your friends are gonna make fun of behind your back. It's shaped like one of those early versions of the pushbutton phone with the square face on a traditional angled body with the receiver fitting across the back, top.

And the best part of all: the confirmation! When I got over myself and looked beyond it's physical form, it initially looked less like a phone and more, on first impressions, like a stone replica of an old-fashioned typewriter. The first words out of my mouth when Luis gave me a look that asked "Are you sure it's this one?" was "Oh, this one's gonna help me with my writing."

I cleaned it, sat in the sun for the day and brought it back in the house around 9:00pm. I was finally feeling a little better, too.

As soon as I brought it in the house, I just held it to my chest. It felt so good, resonant, touch. I guess I do have a need for touch. Actually, that's no surprise. In this moment I can appreciate that what's going on is that I had an unhealthy version of the need to touch with sex and drugs and that what feels at the moment like not needing/wanting human touch is just me re-calibrating to healthy forms of getting that need met and people are a bit further down the road...after I've cleaned up a bit more. Good to know.

This stone felt so good. Kinda like the way I related to the palm tree I wrote about months back. That's the one, by the way that is now in the living room and next to where I intend to sit this stone. And yes the stone is right next to my computer as I type. Better than a dog that licks your face and leaves a mess or chews shoes, but just as affectionate and loyal and loving in energy.

"Are you sure it's this one?"
"Oh, this one's gonna help me with my writing."

And one week later, here I am.

Oh how long it's been

Truly. Over a month.

Finally, I've achieved a bit of breathing space. Adding to all the cleaning I've been doing over the year, the Buick is now gone, sold at auction last Friday. No details forthcoming since the only point is that it took an entire year after the convertible to feel entirely comfortable with it and secure enough that I didn't feel the need to hold on to the old energy of the old car.

That following Saturday, yesterday, I had my carpets cleaned. Oh the joy. I'd forgotten the true beautiful color of my carpet. It looks like new. Sadly, I'd evidently let quite a bit of dirt build up before coming clean. So like the energy work I'm doing. So like how much gunk I allowed to build up on my energy body before I got down and dirty and decided to clear out old useless and grimy impediments to letting my light shine fully in the world.

With all that cleaning going on, I also needed to take some time to just rest in it. To allow the change in energy to settle into my being.

It's done that, so now to the topic that got me back on blog.

I just watched Butterfly Effect. Powerful impact on me. I love the darkside of movies. It's sci-fi. The main character, Ashton Kutcher's character, has stumbled upon the ability to go back and time and change the past in the hopes of effecting a desired change upon his future. Well, not just his future. He wants to change the future for him and the girl he loves.

So, no matter what he does, like any decent feature length film requires, he and the girl never end up happily ever after.

Back to that in a moment.

I also just recently finished reading Mary Shelly's Frankenstein. Nevermind the movies based around it, the book is a good read. I related to the characters immensely. The seething loaners drawn to the arcane knowledge, adventure and lofty goals too fantastic for the average Joe.

As the book winds down to its endind, the hideous, murderous creature comes aboard a ship in the middle of the arctic ocean. On this ship is the dead body of his creator, Frankenstein, who has just told his tale of fantastic horror to the loaner adventurer who at books beginning longed to have a friend, a companion. The Adventurer, Mr. Walton, had hoped that Frankenstein might become that friend.

But that was not to be. Like I said, he dies.

We have learned by the end that the created being, this loathed being, only turned to murder, as it is conveyed, because when he sought out love, at every turn, he was rejected. No matter the goodness in his heart, no matter his doing the greatest of deeds for nothing more than approval and acceptance and a sense of belonging, his fate was to be shunned because of his hideousness.

By the way, if you have not read the book, he is a most eloquent monster.

When the monster comes on board to mourn the passing of his creator, he engages in a conversation of great remorse to Mr. Walton, the loaner longing for a friend. The loaner who is about to have to turn away from his dream of traveling to the North Pole because the shipmates over which he is captain have turned yellow at the first sign of danger and have just made him promise to return to Europe should they manage to extricate themselves from being stuck in the ice--which is the case when Frankenstein dies and his creature engages in remorse.

As I read this, I am overcome with great emotion. It seems so obvious how the conclusion of the novel should proceed. The monster who has, throughout the book, traversed the most inhospitable climates and terrains should obviously offer to assist Mr. Walton in continuing his journey. He had, afterall, attended to Frankenstein during the across-the-world chase when Frankenstein vows to murder his own creation...should he ever manage to catch him...which he does not manage to do in life.

And why would Mr. Walton accept? Well, because at the novel's beginning he is desperate for a friend. It is just too clean. So obvious to me was this conclusion that I am not embarrassed to share that tears rolled down my eyes and I actually had to get up and walk around because it was such a profoundly wonderful ending...that I had imagined. Everyone wins. Sure the creature had killed a few people in revenge, but only when he was rejected by his very creator. Am I the only one who sees room for forgiveness here?

And, true, the creature is made out to be a bit much on the eyes. But if you had read just how desperate this Mr. Walton was for a friend, surely something akin to a berka could not have been too difficult to conceive in time.

After my emotional response to this fairytale imagining of a perfect end to this classic, the real ending left me wanting. If I haven't already spoiled it for you, you can read (or perhaps guess) the actual tale's ending.

Back to Butterfly Effect movie:
By the time Kutcher's character is on the fifth attempt to re-right and re-write his and his true love's future for the happy ending, the unintended tragic consequences have become, for a dark comedy lover such as myself, laugh-out-loud hilarious. I can't believe them. Too rich. So creative on the part of the writer's and producers.

So here's what all that has to do with cleaning house.

I won't spoil that ending for you either. Suffice it to say that it was the same general let down that I had after ending Frankenstein.

But I remembered how much I love dark endings. They have never bothered me before. In fact, in my own experiments with short stories, the climax has always revolved around some sudden courage or twist of fate leaving someone dead. I write trajedy. I've only written trajedy. What's the problem now.

Like I said, I got rid of the old car. My carpets have been cleaned. I'm in a different place.

And then there's my new writing buddy.