A Mystic’s Journal February 16 - March 2, 2006

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A Mystic’s Journal February 16 - March 2, 2006

Thursday, February 16

I continue to say the prayers to the Infant of Prague each day. Have added on more, including a very beautiful litany. The other night, as I said them, suddenly I saw all the beings of the earth and other realms - the recipients of the prayers - surrounding me. It was a very transparent vision, I saw no one being clearly, but there they all were ...

Received an e-mail from Sarah that a mutual friend had recently died. He was my dance teacher at one point, and I had played piano for some of his choreography. We both knew him for almost thirty years, perhaps longer. Knowing that he was very ill, I was already praying for him and had asked that angels be with him. A few hours after receiving Sarah’s e-mail, when I was alone, I heard him speaking to me inwardly, in the spiritual Heart. He spoke for quite some time. He sounded peaceful, at peace. I could not hear every word clearly. For vast portions I could not understand his words, I only heard him speak. But he asked that I buy Sarah’s sister Cindy a white rose and a red rose for her mother - with his love and gratitude. Which I did yesterday. He spoke about many things, and this continued as I gave Cindy the roses. Then the verbal communication ended, or at least is no longer conscious.


Saturday, February 25

Went to Windgarth for some hours. Then Mass in Ovid. Fell into an ecstasy during Mass; was aware of supernatural fragrances, incense, flowers and the fruit not found on earth. This time - for the first time - M. was not aware of them.

Tuesday, February 28
6:30 a.m.

My friend L.’s memorial service was tonight. It was held at Uncle’s Joe’s bar, downtown, and all the dancers were there.

Chris F. read a poem he had written; he has his own dance company now, in another city. A scholarship fund in L’s name had been set up, for young choreographers at the Ithaca Ballet school. Chris gave Cindy the first check. Sarah’s sister Cindy read a touching letter written by a dancer/choreographer that is now working in another country; a young dancer read an e-mail from another dancer now on the West Coast, & cried as she read it; others spoke and cried. I stood next to G., who has taken over some of L’s classes - she had tears in her eyes as I came up; I remembered watching her dance in Nutcracker, many years ago when we were young; taking class with her. Sarah’s sister Lavinia had come up from Pennsylvania. She has her own school and dance company now. Memories flooded my mind: meeting Chris by accident on a street in Manhattan; Lavinia with hair past her waist dancing outdoors to my music, while Louise sang; a sentence here, an image there. Classes, rehearsals, performances. When we were younger, I sometimes played piano for their performances, in Bailey Hall at Cornell, on their beautiful Steinway grand piano. Or outdoors, Debussy, for the Ithaca Festival. Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, Copland, more Debussy ... I had forgotten. My own music.

Young dancers I did not recognize stood in the outer circle, listening, watching. Lavinia stood directly in front of me; Lavinia, who had choreographed Sweet Nights and many other wonderful works when we were young. Those dancers now retired, teachers, choreographers, grandparents, & strewn all over the world. Generations of dancers and choreographers there tonight, at Uncle Joe’s, whether physically or in spirit - a Family. A Family united in love & respect, & in a common goal - to perfect an art form and bring Beauty to the world.

After the speaking had ended, I roamed around a bit, greeting those I knew. Every one I spoke to was remembering the last time they had seen our dancer/choreographer/teacher/friend L.. I myself had done this, searched my mind for our last physical meeting on earth. A snippet, a look, a conversation, a comment, an image - a place, a time. A relationship of thirty years or more distilled into a fragment in time. On reflection, I see that the mundane, the most mundane, becomes all important in that final good-bye. (Well, final until we say hello again, in another realm.) The ordinary becomes extraordinary, frozen in memory, eternal ... A cup of coffee, a chance meeting at the post office - now its own memorial, its own throne.

Life, relationship is but a series of these small meetings.

Before we left B. approached me and said she would try to arrange a commission for me, to write a new piece for a young scholarship choreographer to set, in memory of L.. Afterwards, I realized that L. had already told me about this, in my clairaudient communications with him last week. I inwardly thanked him - I have missed working with the Ithaca Ballet. I have not written music for them, nor performed with them since my accident, - or so years ago. As we were leaving, I told M. that L. had told me about writing music for the choreographer scholarship. M. said: “As soon as B. said it to you, I realized I already knew about it.”

Thursday, March 2

Shoveling eight or so inches of snow today, I again became aware of the supernatural fragrances, perfumes. I asked myself why they would be happening outside, as the snow fell along the gardens. Tonight M. came into the computer room, holding a book: Blessings of the Daily, A Monastic Book of Days (pub. Liguori/Triumph). The author, Brother Victor-Antoine d’Avila-Latourrette often quotes from the Desert Fathers. M. read me yesterday’s blessing which began: “May love be the gardener of your years bringing forth from you your grounding in God ... “ I told M. of the fragrances today, as I shoveled the paths through the gardens, as I prayed for the world ... Again it seems the Desert Fathers have brought these fragrances with them, to signal their presence and their holiness. Last night, during meditation, I also thought I had received a whiff or two, but was not certain. The fragrances in class ended quite some time ago, save a few rare instances. M. said it was the same book that was given to her a year ago at the Church, when the fragrances were so powerful I first thought Sr. Edna was wearing perfume ...