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Book by
Jeannette Drake
Journey Within: A Healing
Playbook
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The Truth May Not Set
Us Free
By
Jeannette Drake
(New Year 1-1-09)
I awake this
afternoon thinking of a word not in Webster's;
pensell—sounds almost like pencil, looks like pen
and sell. Though I remember no dream details, I realize
this concocted word is a remnant from my dream two
nights ago which introduced "The Noise Demon." Pen sell
is another hint from this urgent aspect of my
unconscious. "The Noise Demon" reminds me of a truth
that is yet to manifest. If I do my part, which, in
this new year, is to more deliberately sit in silence,
words that flow from my pen will more readily sell.
She reminds me once again of Robert Hayden's advice,
"read and think more and talk less."
At three
forty-five pm, I happen to notice a moon-shaped oval of
sunlight fallen and centered midway near the bottom
frame of my son's abstract painting that hangs on the
living room wall. The painting is full of foliage, masks
and unspoken sorrows. Since I barely passed geometry, I
cannot ascertain from what precise angle the sun has
found its way to this painting. I stand in the kitchen,
next to the living room. From the kitchen window the
sun is indirect and almost triangles the wall on which
the painting hangs. I look around both rooms, still
clueless as to which object has become a prism, calling
in sun to grace my son's painting. I take this
measured gathering of sun on my son's art as a blessing;
a portent of goodness in this new year for him and for
me. Momentarily, the sunlight elongates into a comet,
crossing acrylic greens, yellows, oranges and purples,
then shifts. I see a whale, a fat paintbrush, a
bottle, a torpedo; movement from right to left.
Earlier, I have
been reading the book of St. Luke; about Jesus's
confrontation with the devil, Jesus's trek through the
countryside, his encounter with the lepers, his plucking
of the corn on the wrong day, the disdain he received
from the establishment, his need to get away from them
("pass through their midst"), speak his truth and
continue work in his unique way.
The angle of sun on
my son's painting shrinks from a comet to a dot, then
disappears completely. It is five minutes pass four
o'clock. I don't know if the sun will smile
from another awkward angle on my son's painting again
tomorrow. I suppose I could stand in the same spot
tomorrow at the same time to see. But this moment will
suffice.
I have thought
already this morning of Cain and Abel, bombs dropping in
the Middle East, children starving in Kenya,
Mozambique and South Africa, crack dealers in Virginia.
I have prayed for
relief of my own ills. I cannot sanely bear these
burdens alone. I give them back to Jesus and his other
personas, God, The Father/Mother and ghost, Holy Spirit.
At day’s end I
watch, for the third consecutive night,
Venus's alignment with Crescent Moon. Venus is sure of
her destiny. In my mind's weary eye, I still see the
golden illumination of December's huge full moon. In
ten more days the January Hunger full moon will appear.
It will be a time for intentional quiet and gratitude.
And according to some, a time to set goals and plans on
how to achieve. But "Telling Obama" now or in ten or
twenty days probably will not help stop the unnecessary
spilling of blood in the Middle East. The starvation of
children, rapes, murders, genocides and shedding of
tears across the world will not disappear. Evil will
not leave planet earth. Of this I am certain.
I am also certain
that the sun will come back. But maybe not tomorrow.
Whenever it reappears, I pray it will enter the rooms of
my home; that I will continue to be warm, safe, and
sound in mind and body, realizing that for many persons
on the planet such desire represents fantasy. Now as
before, I, too, ponder meanings as expressed by Jerry
Ward, "can words mitigate the effectiveness of evil . .
. are our witnessing words only so many sheets of rice
paper in a storm?"
I don't know the
answer to these questions. I don't know if I will ever
know. I only know that on this first day of this New
Year I must honor my call and that is to come to you
with words in my mouth and a pen in my hand to tell you
about the mystery that I see and feel. It is the least
that I may do.
(c) 1-1-09
Jeannette Drake
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posted 9 January 2009
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