The ship begins to move.

 August 19, 1979

I hear the warm, late summer breeze, wild and lonely outside my window. My heart is open, and the wind blows through me, its magical energy filling my sails. The ship begins to move. 

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Something is trying to be born

September 3, 1979

Today was a good day. Made some pictures. 

 Something is trying to be born, to take shape, to grow. A tiny wisp of a beginning, but it's solid. Something I can trust.

I saw a science program on plants—a time-lapse sequence of a climbing pea plant. A tiny tendril moves in slow circles, blindly. When it touches a fence pole, it pauses, as if considering its options. Suddenly, the fragile thread loops several times, then begins to climb, sprouting new branches at regular intervals. It can't raise its leaves to the sun without something to hang on to, an anchor.

Clouds, you are my gods.

Wind, you are my lover.

Trees, you are my soul.

 

Who is the silent person sitting 

          beside me?

The chair moves, but I see no one.

Now I must find my own way, alone

January 12, 1980

Impenetrable mystery. Dark, impassible forest. Blow, wild wind-god—shaking the trees to their roots—swinging back and forth, rippling, swaying, like a crowd of long-haired spirit women nodding their heads. Warm winter earth energy. A night for love.

Who am I, that these thoughts, feelings come pouring out of me? The room is quiet, the candle burns, occasional car outside, life goes on.

Now I must find my own way, alone, but always carrying with me the gift, the knowledge—the light. I saw the light, the divine dream. I let it in, let it transform me, take me. I paid for this knowledge, always will pay. But I survived, I will survive.

 It is a mission. To live this out. Who I am, who I may become, is the answer.