Journal entry of November 3, 1983—(keep in mind I work with all time is simultaneous, a quantum premise, though I did not know it at the time when 35 years ago I was into black holes and white holes where this entry picks up) . . I scribed. . .It is no small thing when we start commenting on the universes within universes, penetrating and interpenetrating, we then go into which had its beginning, yet when?

It is still happening you were told.  The past is still happening and the future has already happened.  Take your pencil and make circles extending even further and further out.  You will find that the circles become interlocked and in them you are, picking up material for a book, for living, for a problem which yet is not solved.  We like to see material stretched and the mind boggled.

(I did what you see here and then the teachers comment).  The interlocking circles show the universes.  That is as good as it goes.  From your I Am you then project into an I Will Be and then the will be will show your then I Am.  Following this procedure you see where the reverse will also be true.  Your I Am falls into the I Was interlocking and in the I Was is the center of the I Am and it is still happening.  The past is never finished, never done.  It is in progress.

When you looked upon the Amish material simulating the book cover, it peeled your hide back again.  You found a tugging to where your present I am is still a part of that present.  This is what does the arc angle in people’s heads.  They don’t know why they are drawn, but that part of them that still yields to that present,  the past present is where the turn of events draws them.

Your Circa 1840 speaks to a time of a woman and family.  She lives yet and draws on you.  And you on her.  Your feelings surmount the time element and give to her the needed support.  Her lack of knowing circumscribes her knowing.  Both of you are in the process of requesting a greater something and you think you knew it from a somewhen.  What somewhen?  The somewhen is in your memory bank and you knew of it and wore it with splendor.  Where did you come from?

Circa 1840:  Revisited

She could say in reverent tone,
I love you.
I polished the hearth and
set the bread to rise.
While her heart cried silently,
do you love me?

The children came, one by one.
She loved them, each and everyone.
They were good.  She said I love you.
I’ve borne you sons
and taught them how to pray.
I’ve polished the hearth
and set the bread to rise.
While her heart cried silently,
do you love me?

The sons grew up and one by one
they went away.  He never knew why.
He never knew that they too, said,
I’ve fed the chicks and bedded the calves
and got a perfect score in sums.
While their hearts fairly burst,
do we please thee?

He accepted the polished hearth,
the risen bread, the handsome sons
who tried so hard to please
as that which was his due.

One day the hearth no longer shone,
no longer was the bread set to rise,
no handsome sons to plead
with eyes that tore her heart apart.

‘You do not love me!’ he angrily shouted.
Wearily she turned away.
Did you not see the polished hearth,
the bread set to rise,
the sons who tried so hard to please

and love that died?

 

(click on illustration for details)