Evening, Saturday. I feel negative. The itineraries are only halfway constructed for my boss, whose patience is unusually long for me, thankfully. But I feel like this will catch up with me sooner than later. I read something earlier concerning this series of incidences of late that seemed to justify what I had been countering and I felt tied up in knots all over again. One thing leads to another. I wind up in tears. I get in bed and order so-and-so away if so-and-so happens to be there and “leave me alone!” “Go back and re-read it-it isn’t what it looks like-you’re not seeing it in the right light”. “No! Get out! I'm confused and tired and I don’t care anymore about it, because I can’t get to the bottom of it to see an end to it!” I yelled. “God, I want to hurry up and be out of my misery! Please!” I waited for a response, and dreaded it at the same time.
I slept restlessly. I awoke, staring in darkness, trying to “see” something. What happened next was, I suppose what I might as well go ahead, despite my reservations and say that it was like witnessing a blob of fog, that seemed to dissipate and thin out. I stretched my eyes wide open and pushed my head upward towards the ceiling to make sure I was awake. It seems, out of my “peripheral” vision to the right of my head, a small patch of lighted scenery, like early morning-almost like a dream scene, seemed to open up to reveal a person standing several yards from me. The person was looking at me was if (whoever it was) couldn’t figure out what that person was seeing. Either that, or couldn’t comprehend what was being seen.
The eyes, along with the mouth that had a “gaping” frightful look. I could not resist looking at that the person because of the way the person was looking at me. At the same instance, the fixated expression of the person looking at me was garish to behold. My right eye felt as though a “glare” was in the right side of my face, and I put my right hand up to that side of my face to shut out the glaring feeling.
Then it was gone. I thought about what I had “seen”. The person’s face, inasmuch as I could discern that I allowed myself to see, appeared rounded, full, and, as if whoever it was, might be suffering from a case of rubella, and loose, dark, “matted” hair. I got the impression that this person just looked “lost” or alone. Whoever this was, was holding a rectangular object in the right hand-clutching it to the chest, it seemed. The expression on that face also gave a distorted appearance to it. It lasted only momentarily, but left me with a sense of disquiet in that dark room by myself, because I knew I was not asleep. I can still see that face and somehow find it hard to dismiss. Next thing I know, I woke up to sunlight peeping through the sheers, creating pretty lace patterns of “light” on the wall.
Sunday 22 April. I got up feeling guilty. Last night before I went to bed I got angry and wadded up the papers of the document log I had worked on as time progressed, and the other stuff that went with it, intending to burn it this morning-and later at the computer, hit “delete” and make everything on the disk disappear. I just wanted to put it all behind me and start over clean today. As the fire died down in the old wheel barrow I was using to burn it, my thoughts were turning back to the green environment I was in-it was beautiful, soothing to the eyes that were weary from lack of rest. I stirred the ashes with a pitchfork to ensure there was no more fire and to cool the charred material before leaving it to find that there were some pages that still smoked red and caught fire again.
“The flames may be gone, but the embers still smolder-it is not ‘done’, as you think”, a soft bass voice seemed to whisper. I could almost sense compassion in it. I felt my eyes beginning to leak tears, and I was ready to succumb to them.
That I was “hearing” a voice in my mind, no longer surprised me, “Yeah, I know that”, I whispered back at it.
“You know it, but you don’t want to believe it.”
“I don’t feel like it is ever going to end.” I complained. Then the water from my eyes began to flow.
“Well, that is because you still have something to discover”.
“Like what?”
“The truth.”
“I thought I had done that already.”
“If you had, you should be happy, shouldn’t you?”
“Yeah”, I said slowly, looking around warily, the “exchange” giving me the spooky feel that if I turned around I might see someone.
“Well?”
“So, what do I need to do now?”
“You should continue on, as indeed, there’s more smoldering underneath than what appears on the surface. All you need to do is take action and uncover it. Then you will experience happiness. It’s up to you.”
28 April Saturday: I am down at Mom’s house. I commence to cleaning up her house (while she is out, that is; she forbids anyone to mess with anything in her house without her being there.) I clean around the den part, where she sits a lot. The den is where the TV is, it’s her sun and fun room because, well, it’s the sunny side of the house in the afternoon especially., so she putters here a lot. As I clean up, papers, and such, I begin raking my hands under the sofa. A lot of scary stuff comes out from under there, to include, combs, rollers, paper where the rats have dragged stuff under and made a nest, and then, there is this interesting curio of discovery:
More shit on time travel with Beethoven! Of course, everything is in theory, but it kinda puts goose bumps up and down my back because it’s just another step in the all too familiar sequence of events of late: time travel, Beethoven, parallel stuff, etc etc
I am amused…and resigned to the writing on the wall (or was that the floor this time??) Whatever…I am too tired to be anything else right now….I’m just drifting with the flow of the current tempo of it all by now…
04 May - 04:00 AM: MIGRANE! I am awake and in intense pain and cannot go back to sleep. I get up and cannot find my ice bag so I get “enteric coated” which has invariably proven to do NO wonders for me at all. I go to work feeling bad, can’t seem to get anything done, and eventually in the afternoon, I call it quits early. Around 3:30 PM I go to the store for aspirin and something to eat. From Winn Dixie in Wetumpka, I wind my way slowly down Jasmine Hill back to the house. As I approach Jasmine Hill Gardens, I get a feeling to “swing in”, why I don’t know really - I figure that maybe I’d like to go this weekend if I feel better.
I roll down the window as a youngster is walking out of the main building, and I asked what are the “hours of operation tomorrow”. He responds cheerfully, “9 to 5”. “Okay- I will see y’all then,” I said, thinking, “What a little cutie!” I start to roll up the window and he sprints over closer to my car and says, “You should really come out tonight for our moonlight stroll.” “Oh, it’s tonight? I asked, remembering seeing the wooden sign posted on the tree by the entrance “Moonlight Strolls”. “How do you have it?” “Each month on the night of the full moon. It’s between 5 and 10. Please come out-we will have a cheese and wine gala in the Olympia Building.” Boy, that kid was charming!!! He talked me into it. “Thank you for the invitation!”
I smiled a big smile for the first time that day. His friendly disposition seemed to alleviate my pain. “All right, sounds good, if I feel better” I thought as I drove the rest of the way home. “Oh man, I bet it’s eerie looking at night. Hmm. I think I’ll go!” My enthusiasm started to mount, then. I decided that since I never have occasion to dress up anymore except for work, I would put on something nice. Suddenly my enthusiasm mounted-I had something to look forward to. I chose the long midnight blue dress with the white “moonflower” designs, scoop neck and the off-white long chiffon scarf, took a nice relaxing bath, ate spinach salad and baked chicken, washed it down with ice tea, curled my hair. I felt like “ME” wanted to feel for a change! I looked in the mirror, smiled and said to myself, “I will see you there!”
By 8:30 PM I was on my way back there. I went into the main building into the gift shop and while waiting on the hostess to take my money for my pass, I decided to have a look at the miniature statues for sale. “Oh, they’re beautiful!” I thought, looking at the pristine white material they were made from. “They’re……” My smile faded as I saw a very familiar face-though I wasn’t absolutely sure. I wanted someone else to clarify for me the identity in case I got it wrong. I picked it up and carried it to the desk. “W-who is this?” I asked. I knew who I wanted to say, but I could be wrong. The woman looked at it a long moment. “Beethoven”. I looked at it again. “Oh!” I let out a laugh. “I just knew I’d seen you somewhere before!” I said as I looked up at the woman-who was looking at me curiously. I was used to that by now.
“Why do you have Beethoven in your Greek Statue Collection? Isn’t this supposed to be exclusive collections of Greek paraphernalia?” I asked. She said, thoughtfully, frowning, regarding the statuette I had in hand, “You know, I don’t know how Beethoven wound up in that shipment batch. They come in from Greece.” I looked it over and said, “What’s it made out of? “Alabaster.” Pure white. I bought it. I almost waltzed out the door into the garden - and the first thing I wanted to see was “Winged Victory”-the most graceful and beautiful of all the figures in the garden. I wasn’t interested really in anything else. I had never been here at night-in fact, I had not been here since back in 96-when Paul persuaded me to drive up with him-when we did get there. I am totally alone this time and can come and go as I please! The warm, soft silvery spun breeze of this summer night gently caressed me in an intoxicating mix of floral scents, though I felt that I didn’t deserve such, but I did appreciate it very much. I tried to avoid others sitting in groups as they talked which would no doubt spoil the meditative state of mind I wanted to maintain, and so I made a quick turn down another walk, unsure of where I was, really.
I turned around and walked the other way to avoid having to have any encounter with them, walking on the moon-illumined path I saw the huge white lion that struck initial fright in me when I first encountered it as a teenager. Suddenly no one around caused a twinge of apprehension of not being able to see clearly ahead brought back that eerie feel I’d gotten before from it. The first time I came here was many years ago my mother and a friend of hers. I was 18, high school senior, and had rode up to this garden with my mom and a friend of hers. I had been walking alone too, back then, in the daylight, and had gotten farther away from them than I had thought. I spied a strange man looking my way, standing still on the same path as I, and I tried to conceal my panic. I turned cautiously and walked the other way, which eventually broke into a run to where I could find more people, anyone else, perhaps. I ran up and down the maze of rock paths trying to find my way back to where I’d wandered off. I was looking down to watch out for my footing as I ran, to prevent falling on the jagged stone, and when I had hit a dead end I looked up and saw this ferocious looking huge statue with it’s teeth bared. I was so startled that I let out a loud yell that echoed throughout the gardens. It was a long time before I had a desire to go back to the garden.
Someone was approaching-couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, but as we got closer to each other on the path, I could see it was a woman. She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a shirt with a logo that belonged to the Gardens. I greeted her, “hello”. She said “hello” back as I was about to get past her. She suddenly in front of me and bent down towards something growing, “Pitcher Plants, I think”. “What?” I asked walking slower now, wondering why she said that to me. “They’re still here, yes!” She stood straight up, looked at me and smiled. “My name is Janice”. She extended her hand to me. I then asked, “Do you work here?” She said, “I’m a volunteer. I come here all the time. “Oh, really? Then you can tell me where I might find Winged Victory. I haven’t been here in a while and haven’t gotten my bearings here in the dark.” “Oh yes, I’ll be glad to walk you over to it”
She seemed really nice and lacking anything else to say to her, feeling the weight of the little figurine in my hand, I said, “Do you know why this statue got shipped with the gods and goddess figures? He seems the odd man out of the mix.” “No”, she smiled, then hesitantly, said, “Before I take you over to Nike, I want to show you something”, she said. “What?” I couldn’t help smiling, my curiosity mounting. “Something that very few people know is here. We don’t advertise it because we don’t like to draw attention to it.” Well, then, why was she showing it to me?
We turned the left comer and stepped down one, then turned to the left again. “Right under here”, she said, pointing under the pruned hedge at a large round stone, fluted all the way around and less than two feet in height. “So, what is it?” “It’s a piece of one of the pillars of the ancient temple ruins of ”, she said with a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s over 3000 years old.” “Three thousand .... that’s-that’s older than…..” I couldn’t spit it out because it was practically in my own back yard…. “Older than Christ”, she said nodding, finishing off my statement. “Wow” I laughed. “Go ahead, feel it”, she encouraged me. I did. I felt a sense of awe realizing I had my hands on an ancient artifact for the first time. This was turning out to be an interesting “Moonlight Walk”, more so than I’d anticipated-I was having a good time: as of tonight I now own a statue I’d never have thought, now this-a real surprise! Janice, who knew nothing of me, an instant liking to me and I to her-she had a trace of peculiarity about her personality-which reminded me of Wanda in a way -the older lady I stayed with in Arizona-I liked her. I was feeling happy! “Why don’t you want people to know about it?” “Because people have taken chips of it and damaged it so we figure if we don’t draw attention to it, we can better preserve it. But I did want you to see it.”
We walked down toward a moonlit pond with statues around it. The bass and tenor bullfrogs were croaking a very rhythmic song. “There’s quite a concert going here!” I told her, laughing. “Oh, yes!” she agreed. She then took me on another path and we walked until we got to another square body of ‘liquid silver’ illumined water. “There she is” pointing to the statue of my interest. “Oh, that is pretty”, I said. “Well, I’m going the other way now,” she said. “But, let me give you some advice. When you go the statues, really look at them and put your hand on them-feel the marble stones and get a sense for them – you’ll better appreciate them. And go over there and sit down on the marble bench. If you see it in the daylight sometime, on the back of it is a “picture history” of it. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. I wanted to know more about “my guide” now, and I asked her, “How long have you been here?” “A long time, honey. I’m really to busy to be a docent, so I come up here all the time to hang out and read and relax”. “What’s a docent?” I wanted to know. “A tour guide. Well, enjoy the gardens!” She was nice!
I went up to Winged Victory and did what she said. Then I went and sat down on the bench. I tried to focus on the reason why I had decided to come, but kept looking at the miniature bust of Beethoven in my hand. I looked and there was the name of the statuette right there in front of me! Plain as day! “Had I had looked a little better for myself instead of asking someone else I would have answered my own question! Duh!” I thought. I said out loud, looking at this little piece of carefully chiseled art, “It doesn’t matter where I go nowadays, there you pop up! And it hasn’t always been like this for me, or could it be that I always been walking around with shutters on my eyes? Filtering out one thing for the sake of another? What has happened to my once upright, secure sense of my world?” Then came to mind a passage out of the book reissued book by Solomon 1998, where he stated that “Beethoven preferred self-education through voracious reading in everything from Greek and Roman literature to esoteric writings on theology and science...” among other things he listed.
“Okay” I said to myself, staring at the beautiful Winged Victory, then thought about something else that someone else had pointed out about this person, that Beethoven was described to be more of the resemblance of a Mediterranean descent-darker complexioned than the average of his culture. “So, there’s the connection…” I thought, something in my brain clicking as two synapses working in perfect synchronization. As I sat thinking of the twists and turns I’d experienced lately, in respect to the subject, a thought came, “Well, you needed to know. And here you are. But this isn’t the end of the road. As you have seen, being on this path has put you back on the one that you belong as it better suits your needs.” Understanding that, I thought back over everything from start to finish and realized something really significant: Listening to music”: while drawn into the act of listening to all that music, I didn’t consider at the time that this music could actually have been the thoughts of Beethoven, himself-and being “in tune” with that disembodied intelligence-oh, my!-could that be what happened?
Is that possible that the medium of this particular wave of thoughts in the form of music was what was turning me inside out? If not, then I have to wonder, how did I get from there to arrive here in this time/space that seems to involve that particular intellect? As I sat there, I journeyed right into the heart of myself on the vehicle of an awareness level I had not been to with me before. Then I remembered a quote from a book, “Unearthing Atlantis: An Archeological Anthology”, by Charles Pelligrino: “It’s all connected….Even a leaf in the palm of our hand is anthology of the universe…..(The three pound time machine): your mind is a time machine of sorts: of the countless million forebears whose DNA runs in your veins, you are the first to live outside the present…..the electrons coursing through your brain are billions of years old. Compared to them a million years is a very short time”. “The voice of wisdom for sure. This is why I came here”.
I tallied as long as I could, the statue in my hand, the silvery moon’s reflection of the water in my eyes, the warm undeniable scents of springtime lost in my thoughts and recollections, wondering around the landscape of a waking dream of pillars intact reaching to the stars until a noise from the within the garden brought me back. With that, I stood up, took my time walking back to the gift shop that led to the garden exit, wanting to stay knowing that I had no choice but to leave. I realized a whole lot more upon leaving than when I first came here tonight. What was that Dorothy (the one from the Wizard of OZ) said? “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.”
I paused at the desk to ask the woman about the artifact, and why it was such a secret. She explained: “The Fitzgeralds had made some close friends with some people within the Greek Government and as you are aware that Government has had a great turn-over of people in it long since then-so that connection of friends is gone. Possibly if anyone ever found out now, they may decide that they want the pillar back and worse case scenario-this could cause an international squabble, which we don’t want. That is why we really don’t speak of it”. “Don’t they have enough pieces to pick up over there already.” I thought.
05 May-Morning: I went back this morning and saw the garden again in the light. I came upon an inscription in the inside of the wall of the garden, which read:
A kiss of the sun for pardon
The song of the birds for mirth
One is nearer to God in the Garden
Than anywhere else on earth
End of Log 06 May 2001.
Staurday 05 May-afternoon. I went into work to make up for the time lost Friday, and catch up on a hot tasker. I had declared earlier on that I would not have anything else to do with Paul that I didn’t have to. I liked him but just thought it best that he have a nice life and I have a nice life without being around each other. But, after last night, and the day before, I figured that if I was going to find out the truth about something for definite certain, I would take a chance and contact him via email: “Just testing you. Do you copy?” I wrote then sent it off. As I prepared to leave, I reached into the basket of mixed candy items I had and picked out a dove chocolate piece. The wrapper read, “Time is a river without banks.”
“Yep. Oh well, it’s time for me to leave”. I picked up another one for the road. I popped the second piece of chocolate in my mouth. The second wrapper said, “Time is a river without banks”. “YOU ALREADY SAID THAT!” I thought. I said under my breath, “I am not going to push this conversation”, as I walked out the door.
End of log - 06 May 2001.
06 May, Sunday: By now, I am really wanting to talk to Paul to see if he will respond to a question that only he can verify for me. I wanted to see if Paul could tell me without me reminding him, who it was that he spoke to concerning the question he asked. I wanted to see if he even remembered the incident at all. So I wrote:
07 May-Monday morning: I go into work and discover, to my delight, a message from Paul. His verification of the individual I suspected, hit me harder than I expected, my heart was in my throat. I started crying-a “knowing” feeling that now I knew for certain who it was. This made my day, before it even started.
The voice message Paul left me goes as follows:
“Hey Lisa, I want to let you know that I got your email. Hopefully you can open this but if you can’t I’m going to write you anyway. The answer to your question about this stream: the guy was Beethoven, and he told me to stay away from synthesizers, the modern keyboards, you know. Uh-yeah, and that was strictly for you to build your musical ability. That’s what he was talking about. But that’s what he told me (Paul giggles), I do remember exactly- in fact I do remember that. But anyway, I’m going to try to let you know I got your message, I'm going to try and write you from work, or whatever, when I get a chance. But, uh, hopefully you can open this, but like I said if not, I'm going to write you anyway. But I’ll, uh, talk to you later. Again, that was Beethoven. He was the man. And he said uh, that he did not like modem synthesizers-in learning, he said to stay away from them So, I do remember (giggles again). But I’ll talk to you later and will try to write you tomorrow. Bye!”
(END OF RECORDED EMAIL VOICE MESSAGE)
I emailed Paul back and asked him to put all of this in writing. He obliged me, and without questioning my reason for wanting it, to my surprise! Boy, us having gone separate ways and living apart for a while has certainly paved a better path for old friends to walk on together again! At this point, 1 still had not revealed my purpose in having him do this. I wanted him to remember on his own everything that he could without any prompters from me.
Soon as I heard from him I emailed him back with my phone number. About twenty minutes later, he called!
I finally got the letter Paul promised me (several days later):
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