Philosophical Phriday--June 14, 2024

Prologue: This came to me yesterday. I draft-wrote it then and have since edited slightly. It fits closely with some of the life experiences I have been sharing since the basic building blocks of this spiritual belief pattern were formed during that time. Now I look back over eight decades and still seek more and better understanding. A mass of impressions, preliminary beliefs and understandings have been boiled down to this essence. Many people will be perplexed, some will be offended and some like my parents often felt, may consider it blasphemy and perverse in the extreme. I neither boast nor apologize. For me, it is what it is.  The Truth as I perceive it. 

Philosophical Phriday, June 14, 2024

             I might begin with a rhetorical question: “Am I a “sinner?”  To which I answer unequivocally that I am not. I absolutely do not believe in a harsh, demanding and condemning father figure, much less the concepts of Hell, Heaven or “breaking God’s law.” I honor--and that is not adore, worship, revere or fear--a Divine Entity that is completely feminine. She does not threaten, coerce or condemn anyone. She is the epitome of “Mother” and the sum of her energy and power is Love and “Nature.” Hate and dominance are alien and anathema to Her.  So, no, I am not a “sinner.”

Relationships as “romance” has been a constant driving force in my life, heart over head always. I never had a beloved one who was wholly mine. But did I take anything that truly belonged to anyone else?  I do not think so. If anything I received had been another’s to begin with, I would never have been able to obtain it. Our society is built around “marriages of convenience”, driven by artificial rules and sanctions when the initial flash of lust and “in love” fades if it ever existed.  And in converse, did I take anything away from anyone who had any right to that which I gave? Again, I say no. Even with my husband, he was never wholly mine, for thirty two years of marriage, nor was I his. I think he made an idolized ideal of me, an avatar of something existing only in his mind or spirit. It was imperfect at best. Thus no, again I took nothing from anyone. And again no, I am not a “sinner”.  That concept is not truly applicable.

To “Christians” drivers of the main pattern of our modern society this equation controls family life  “Love” = “intimacy” = “sex”. Marriage is the only acceptable method for these to exist. To me, that last physical act is really the least significant aspect of the connections I live for. More important to me are resonance of energies, the sense of being merged, cherished and valued with and by another spirit, and a level of kinship that transcends all others existing in today’s society. Sex is just part of the clutter that comes along with our present human existence in today’s society, which is mostly structured in a patriarchic model. In matrilineal and matriarchic societies, which a few Native or Indigenous peoples still follow, the notion of fatherhood and primogeniture are insignificant. There is no question from which woman’s body a child emerged.  A stepmother is thus impossible because it is the mother’s closest or favored brother who fills the role of male model and guide for a child.  Thus anything belonging to that man including role, property, duty and authority is normally inherited by a nephew or in some cases, a niece. That is such a key idea and wipes out so much of our restrictive tradition.  

Is all of this important or significant? I cannot fairly say since I do not know, yet in the sphere of my most profound and deeply held beliefs, it is. The LDS doctrine might argue but an evangelical Christian friend once said to me, “There are no husbands and wives in heaven.” Perhaps he was just trying to exonerate the strong but basically platonic relationship we had, both being legally wed to others at that time.  Still I found that very profound. I visualize beyond the Rainbow Bridge, call it Heaven, Valhalla, Tir-Nan-Og , Fiddler’s Green, The Happy Hunting Ground or even Nirvana, it is a most powerful truth. In that realm there are only spirits, “energy entities”, to which resonance of those energies is the only reality. Thus some will resonate and others will not because energy has infinite frequencies of which light, heat and sound are among the very few we actually perceive, know or recognize here. They are among the lowest and most primitive. Perhaps Pure Divine Love is the highest and most perfect. In infinite time, maybe all of us will be there. I hope my awareness of this is an early step in my progress to that point.  That is why I share it.

Monday Memoir--for June 17, 1966

June 17, 1966

On June 17, I did not write. The best I can do is include.the previous day, the next to last real post I made for some time. Why?  Saturday, June 19, I discovered my parents had been reading my journal when I was out .I was furious, distressed almost beyond rationality.Their excuse for this very rank  betrayal was they were “trying to help me." What they needed to do for me was certainly vastly different from underhanded snooping! They found no proof I was about to elope which I believe they expected. Their excuse rang about as hollow as any lie I'd ever heard. If that was “help”, why not  just give me poison? 

 I vowed to write no more except a factual recital of what work was done each  day for a needed record but not one personal word. I first tried to write a day or two in Spanish, knowing they did not read it. Mom knew French and Dad some German but no Spanish for either. That proved too slow and complex although I had a fairly good vocabulary so I just flat stopped.  By  late July I'd bought a steno notebook which I kept in the ‘private stash' shed behind the second house.  Charlie Mike and I used it for our things, and actually purchased and installed a padlock, each keeping a key. (Partly done after the trashed icebox fiasco in March with the loss of my sun glass and his label collection.) I wrote a bit sporadically thru July but will see what I can reconstruct since by August it got a bit more regular and things began to happen worth sharing! FWIW, here is the last full entry.

June 16, 1966, Thursday

Now that it’s over, it has been a nice day. Got up quite early and went out (it really wasn’t necessary). We talked for over an hour when we got home. but I guess that allowed the Boss to get off to Prescott in a fairly good humor. We saddled the red mares and got the mail and then  went to hunt Charley Bryant’ mule who had got away. We trailed him to where he jumped the fence and made for the Bridgeport pasture . We got rained on coming home as we unsaddled about 11:30. I went to work on my cleaning and sorting . It’s a hellacious job, makes me near frantic but I pursued it with a fury and boundless energy. I got most of my ordinary junk sorted with taking a break for lunch and noon chores. At 4:00 I saddled Leo to lead Chief and left a note in the can. We got all our home chores done before The Boss got back. He got all his papers filed anyway. We talked until 7:30 (DST at this time so still “early”) and then hurried off to do the pasture chores. As we crossed the bridge over the ditch  a blue Volkswagen passed us. I knew the driver with absolute certainty, knew before he turned around and passed us the other way and finally stopped when we got to the corrals. I was shocked and shook. Later it turned out he had not gotten my recent upset letter as they returned to Drake from Prescott. When Mom gave him a ‘talking to’, he was a bit disturbed but stayed cool. He said I was “the finest girl he’d ever met” and he would not see me again until…the event not specified. We talked privately for a few minutes before parting. He kept looking at me, long, hard and searching. He said he was worried because I had not written for quite awhile so he had to come check. I held his hand fiercely a minute and gave him a swift, anguished kiss in parting. So that was goodbye for now, for awhile but not forever. I am still sure; he is not that good a liar. He was just a little bit angry at Mom but kept pretty cool. Of course The Boss would fry him--or try to-- but I won’t let that happen.  I’ll be gone far away. I cried a minute and that shook him. If he didn’t love me, he would not have come and wouldn’t care. But now I am anxious to be gone.

In this general period a new and unexpected idea arose in one of the 'talks'. I had even been considering  I enlist in a branch the women's  military. For a day or two I was actually ordered to go talk to the recruiters. I began to pack my most important possessions to ship to Judy Crouch, my pen pal, when I went off to boot camp. Like many 'solutions' to my"problem", this one faded and died before long.  A sequence of events I perceived as betrayals and abuses extended from May--most not really previously covered--into July.  I'll let that recital fill part of the otherwise not written period. starting next week. 

This surprise visit was truly the single bright spot in what devolved into an increasingly ugly and horrible month or more.. Once again I was assured Dusty truly cared for me. As he explained, he had gotten worried when he did not hear from me for an extended period. He had to come and check on me. An interim letter had never reached him as I later found. This comforting and supportive knowledge carried me through the passage of some weeks  when we were  hardly in contact at all as I will later explain.

In some ways it is not easy to either remember or share much of this time. The summer of 1966 was the last part of my 'sentence' during which I still did not know or even dare to hope life could and would change very suddenly.  I might call it the last installment I paid for my pardon or at least parole. There were other hard times and all was not happily-ever-after because life is real, not a fairy tale, but I never had to suffer these exact types of vicissitudes again.

 The eye candy: Not my picture, but the little blue"Bug" looked a lot like this. As I had named two of Dusty's earlier cars, this one I called "Little Bluebird." The other view is the corrals at the pasture.  I have shown them before but this was where we were.  Dusty parked in the road as I recall and walked over. I think he had seen Mom was with Charlie Mike and me but he wanted to see me, regardless. Would he have done so had it been Dad? I cannot guess but suspect he would have. He was not afraid of the Old Man and said so several times.  In a fair fight I think The Boss would have gotten his ass kicked! Dad was then 54 and Dusty was 43 and worked hard daily.  It never happened of course and I am thankful.

Monday Memoir, June 10 1966

This day was at the leading edge of some very  unpleasant times. It was actually the last Friday entry I wrote in any journal for about six weeks. I will explain next time when I put in the Thursday before and some lead-in detail and explanation. 

June 10, 1966, Fri

We didn’t even attempt to ride today. More talks--this time mostly directed at Mom but riles me all the same. Charlie Mike and I started to write “hate sheets" but Mom wouldn’t let us. We staggered through the various chores, went up to the store for some groceries etc. The Boss played an ace card when he wrote Charlie Mike and me ‘farewell letters’ and gave us each a $100 check, worthless, of course. That just pulled the pin with me. I ran down to the canyon and then up the river to the dam scrambling through the brush and waded into the swimming hole up to my midriff.  I stood there a long  time. I backed a bit farther and felt the sand slipping away beneath my feet. Suddenly I did not want to drown. I fought my way back to the shore and wandered up the road weeping. Mom and Charlie Mike came looking for me in the pickup and found  me up by the depot. I doubtlessly gave them both a turn. Even myself, thinking back on it all. I still think of such drama as a bear trap. This suicide threat bit is a damn nasty and sneaky trick and I’m not proud to use it but one must fight fire with fire it seems. 

The damn drama and histrionics were getting very difficult. I am sure Dad was having some kind of mental breakdown at this point. He did improve some over the rest of the summer but essentially got gradually worse over the next year and a half or so. He was institutionalized for a few months; that is another story for later!To this day I cannot pin down the whys or really make anything logical out of this particular event.  True, he had been on my case constantly for weeks about Dusty but now Dusty was nowhere around and it had to be obvious I was not being with or seeing him. I had also said many times, though mainly to Mom, that I was not going to run off and "shack up" with him. I told her we both did not feel that was right. He never urged or asked me to do so. He really was a decent person though they would never believe that. 

"Hate sheets" was the Old Man's term for a written lists of complains and issues we felt needed to be fixed or addressed. He frequently asked us to do them. I guess to explain why we were often surly, grim and cold. However, if we did,  they would only trigger more tantrums and outrage. It was always a lose-lose situation. This day he seemed to be most outraged at Mom for what reason I do not remember if I even knew.  So we kids got "farewell letters". I do not remember what, how or where he intended to do or go. At times we almost wished he was a druggie or drunk as that would at least be understandable to a degree. As for the checks, an alleged inheritance or ??? Maybe we were to leave? It was all too scrambled. About that point I just lost it, in frustration, confusion and helplessness so  I went off with no thought or plan. Just had to get out!

After I climbed out of the river, I sobered up and realized what a cheap trick and nasty emotional blackmail such threats are. I basically vowed to myself I would not do such again and other than one time, a few years later when I was drunk myself and pretty scrambled in a very different situation,  I never  made such a threat or action again. I was in shorts and sandals so my legs were dusty and scratched up. I probably looked a fright.  Certainly I felt one! I guess my overworked Guardian Angel was still trying to take care of me. They always did--and I use that pronoun since they are two or actually both genders in one entity.  

Photos: Marginally relevant? Just two views of the dam on the Verde River at the northern edge of Clarkdale. Once it diverted water to Peck's Lake and I think has recently been removed. These two shots were in 2017 and 2006  I believe. I do not think it was muddy the day I waded in as described above--it would have been a few yards upstream where it was not quite so deep. Having a pathological fear of water, it also fascinated me in some ways. When in that sort of mood, drowning was almost alluring. Mentally unwell? Yes!

Monday Memoir, June 3, 1966

This was a fairly ordinary day for the year and the season. Hardly a sleepy, dusty Delta kind, though. It was not real hot yet but getting there. The work went on as routine but having Dad (The Boss) participate was not really typical. He was absent on 'other business' more often than not. This time it did not turn out well for him...   His judgment was not always right on. (IMO!) 

Jun 3, 1966, Fri

Got up at 7:00 and fed. We visited over the breakfast table a bit so got off to a rather late start on the chores. For Pete’s sake, I’m damned if I am going tp let this become a habit like last summer. That was awful. When we got back from the pasture we saddled the red mares and rode uptown. I got a letter from Shirl which I don’t even think I’ll answer. Charlie Mike had to help The Boss with the mouth spreader so  I led Rico and Twink with Lyno. She was a bit high. We put a flank rope on Rico. He is an ornery little bird. The Boss got on Lyno to haze him for me and she threw a fit with the sharp spurs (Not sure who I was riding now) . She fell in the street and then tossed him again in the alley. He rode it out of her though and about killed her and Rico both in the process I can’t complain that my old man is a coward but he doesn’t seem too have good sense sometimes. He got banged up pretty bad. We had a late lunch and rested briefly. I went up to the library to get Wendell Wilkie’s “One World” and a couple  of paperbacks. Then quickly led Chief with Leo and brought Cindy up with Leo too. He did okay. Drove out to feed and I spent the evening reading til 11:30. The moon was full and lovely and I wanted Dusty so bad I could have cried. So I dreamed about him. He was most likely alone tonight too. Sometimes it is so hard.

Here I called it visiting rather than 'talking"; I think I explained the difference between "talks" and any other verbal exchange  recently. But even if it was not ugly, I refused to delay work when we had so much to do and often weather to work around for just chit-chat. What a waste. I guess Mom and I drove out, maybe Charlie Mike too. 

The mouth spreader is a tool that kind do looks like a medieval torture device but is not too painful to a horse or mule. Has to be used to work on teeth--grinding a broken one or leveling any that are getting uneven and maybe doctoring a sore or problem in the mouth. I am not sure what was done here or even to what animal but that gives an idea. 

That job got done and I was trying to lead Rico, who could get a little ornery. He was not as sweet-natured as Bravo, his one-year-older brother.  We did put a flank rope on him which helped some and then Dad got the bright idea to come behind and "encourage" him--one way or another. So I probably got Buzzie and he got on Lyno. He had recently sharpened his spurs, I think to use on a mule, and forgot that when he gave Lyno a goose. Oooops, big mistake. She leaped, slipped on the pavement and fell. He got her up, got back on and got mad so he was going to "buck her out." She was mad by then too and she put on a good rodeo up and down the alley. He got tossed at least once but finally rode her to a standstill.  I did not laugh, I did not protest, I didn't really do shit. He hobbled into the house to clean up the road rash and likely went to bed. I put the animals away. So much for that effort. Oh Cindy was the new filly called Syn Mas--we gave her that nickname. I was also getting Leo to do leading and he took to it okay. 

The rest of the day was rather dull and ordinary. I do not know why I was going to read "One World." I do not remember anything about it now. Charlie Mike and I were still half-expecting and more than half hoping B&B 6 would be coming back soon. Of course Dusty was much and often on my mind. That hope dimmed slowly over several weeks. 

Photos? Gee, I do not have any good bucking shots. Actually our animals seldom did. The red mares and Leo were three years old now, basically full grown and most of the time very well behaved. So heck, I will steal a nice painting I love--credit to the artist--since I can identify with the scene very well. The artist is well known western painter, Jack Sorenson. I follow that with a shot of Rico--he was a yearling and going to be a big horse. And then Lyno and Buzzie, sharing some hay about a year later. They were together a lot and good friends.