SUPERMOON AND THE UNLIKELY TRIAD

Taking a break from my 2004 journal entries, I stop to pay homage to the Supermoon, at its peak (in terms of perigee and syzygy) on March 19th. Then, the unexpected….

Saturday 3/19/11
10:17 p.m.

I’m gazing at the aptly named “Supermoon” from my dining room window on the east end of the house. Its wide, hazy ring holds such a mystical quality my breath catches in my throat.

Captured, at last I shout, “The moon is so close to me, Max!”

And, in less than a twinkling, I “hear” the words, As am I….
I turn as if I might actually find the face of the one I knew so well, all lit up in “moonglow.” But all I find is Tiggi, curled up in the wicker chair behind me. Now she’s bleating like a newborn goat.

“Oh sweetie, of course you are important to me, don’t you know?” I pick her up as wisps of fur tickle my mouth and nose. Blowing it away, I stroke her behind the ears and a familiar verse begins to echo through the nooks and crannies of my brain.

What was it?

Oh yes…

… a poem I’d written not long after Max had left our earthly plane.


Unlikely Triad

The moon is my connection
as fading summer's eve mystifies

The moon holds my reflection --
in shallow pools of silt, I see the eye

While autumnal gatherings ensue,
I drift by scattered leaves to find the muse.


The moon is my redemption,
though drear the winter days without your sigh

The moon holds my attention
as vagrant thoughts and melodies arise

Until the spring's renewal sets them free,
the moon is my connection with Thee.

Winking Eye and Untangled Necklace

Journal Entry
Friday 02/27/2004
Around 7:00 a.m.

Half asleep, I found a pixel-like eye “winking” at me. Strange, I’ve never seen anything like it – an eye winking while my eyes are closed. What’s this about?

Even so, my mind is drifting and I begin to wonder if one eye winks or if it actually blinks.*

Suddenly, I open my eyes and look around. Oh, it’s too early in the morning for this.

“After all, it’s Friday, and I have to go to work. So let’s get on with it.”

After some toast and a shot of café au lait, I return to the knots in the necklace I’d planned to wear today. Due to another riotous week at the office, my eyelids had begun to “clamp shut” way early the night before. And as I continued to work on the knotty (naughty) necklace, my head began to bob like a buoy lost at sea. Thus, it wasn’t long before Magoo tossed the wicked chain on the coffee table. “Ach, no luck there.”

Oh well, I’ll try again tomorrow.

*****

So I put my mug down on the coffee table and pick up the necklace, only to find something startling if not downright impossible: for the chain is smooth. But soon I feel a lump… the one in my throat as I say to the walls, “Wow, all the knots are gone.”

This is just plain weird. Before I went to bed last night, I was sure the chain had several tangles in it because, despite the ensuing delirium, I struggled for almost an hour to remove them… to no avail. Sure I was frustrated, I couldn’t even get one knot out!

Now beyond baffled, I turn the necklace around in my hands and start to wonder: Could those little knots have come undone as I tossed the chain on the table?

Well, I suppose one tangle might have worked its way out, but several?

Nah, no way. Flopping down on the sofa, I sigh remembering how I used to leave my jewelry for Max – right there on the coffee table. He had a knack for getting the kinks out of almost anything. In fact, he just seemed to enjoy the challenge of fixing things and would have most any kinky piece ready in a snap.

Well, we must have been a match of sorts because I was always finding things for him to fix… week after week. Yet, he never seemed to mind.

Max….

Hey guy, I hope my smiles said something about how I felt when you fixed my jewelry. But just in case, I want to say thanks, hon… not only for being so adept at repairs, but because you never seemed to lose your enthusiasm in doing things for me… year after year… after year.
_____

*Reminds me of the “sound of one hand clapping.” Does one eye wink or does it blink? I leave this madcap question for the reader to sort out.

Max "Curls Up" with Mandy

Journal Entry
01/xx/2004


I labeled this journal entry “01/xx” because, when so many wild and curious events began to take place, I hadn’t been keeping a record of everything. I do remember, though, that when the following event happened, I’d been meditating a lot – praying for peace, fortitude, knowledge and understanding.

And so, right around this time, I’m lying on the sofa when out of the blue, I get the sense that my husband, now a disembodied spirit, is curling up around me. I am barely awake. Even so, I’m able to discern powerful thought-forms and emotions surging toward me in waves. I doubt this will make much sense to anyone, but this is the only way I can describe it: I can hardly hear Max’s voice as if it is light years away, yet I distinctly hear him cry out, “M-a-n-d-y, I love you! Mandy, I love you!”

Then, without forethought and certainly without any effort, I find myself screaming, “Max, Max! I love you too!”

“Where are you? I mean, I feel you, but where are you?”

Then, I hear him say, “Mandy...” but I am unable to hear the rest of his words. Like the blips from a bad radio signal, his sound simply fades into a hum… then nothing. And as his voice drifts away, so does his being.

Still, I do not feel alone or empty, and I glide into a bottomless sleep.

*****

These incredibly heartfelt, if not impassioned moments happened about four or five times over a three-week period. Nevertheless, I am at a loss because I cannot fully comprehend what took place. But in light of all that has happened since December of 2003, I decided to try to capture and make note of these beautifully compelling thoughts and feelings coming through to me. Sometimes the forms arrive as symbols and visual patterns, sometimes as emotions, and other times as words of the English language – all having Max’s unique, resonant quality.

Regardless, my words do not and never will do justice to these overpowering experiences.

*****

Post Script

As the receiver and object of the above thoughts and feelings (in essence, a part and parcel of the not-so-scientific study at hand), I am unable to verify what I have seen or heard. Nevertheless, I do not believe these visions, sounds and sentiments are coming from me, i.e., solely from my mind. In general, this puts me into the dubious category of “object” of the event in question.

Is Max, then, the subject? It would seem so. However, some would say that I am the subject and object as well, i.e., the only “creature” playing a part in the entire scenario. Apart from any commentary at large, I find that as these sounds, sights and sentiments arrive in my field of consciousness, they appear to be extraneous to my being. They are “flying” toward me in what I can only describe as shock waves, soft yet loud – another contradiction – at least on the surface. These waves are filled with an intense energy (or perhaps a consciousness) of their own.

Forgive me. It is difficult to talk about these notions in any humanly intelligible way, but I do hope you will bear with me. It is my best effort at explaining such awe-inspiring yet incomprehensible encounters.

Mandy's Prayer is Answered -- in Less Than 24 Hours

Journal Entry
Saturday 2/21/2004
New Moon
Early Afternoon


In light of the prayer I said last night, what happened today was truly extraordinary. Still, it shouldn’t be so surprising if we believe that our prayers are answered.

*****

“The remote’s broken,” I said while attempting to change the channel. “Nothing’s happening!”

Hmmm… becoming a familiar scenario, isn’t it?

All right… okay… let’s check the batteries. Finally, I got off my duff and went to the garage. Let’s see, where did Max put the battery pack? Rummage… grope… fumble fumble…. not here I take it.

Before long, I ambled my way to the kitchen to look in the hutch by the phone. Well, after tossing out some junk at the top of the pile, I spotted something. “Yay, a whole pack of double As!” I hollered like an anthropology student on her first dig.

Regardless, I didn’t stop there; course not. You see, whenever Mandy finds a pile of stuff, she has to poke around till she hits bottom. Hmmm, what’s this? And there, underneath the batteries like a lost pup, was the handheld recorder Max used to keep in his pocket. I chuckled remembering how he liked to tape his project notes and other vagrant thoughts while sitting in traffic; a great way to make the most of otherwise wasted time.

But I wondered if the old machine still worked. Soon to find out…. I jerked the contraption out from under the rubble. It’s a wonder I didn’t break the darned thing.


*****

Fumbling around, I finally notice something. “Geez, there’s a tape in it,” I holler, as if my mother were still around. So, I set it on the counter, press “Play” and turn it up full-blast.

No sound… nada.

Okay, maybe it’s reading the end. So I rewind the thing and press “Play” again.

In order to maintain some semblance of patience, I sit back on the barstool and tap… tap… tap. It’s like a day goes by.

At last, a buzz… a treasure unearthed from a time gone by as I perceive a familiar timbre. Sitting up, I say, “Man, it’s Max.” Like a small child who’s just opened her first Christmas gift, I’m in total awe. The recording may have been made back when, but this is happening now, for me. I brush back a tear because the tiny ribbon has captured the character and tone of Max’s voice so beautifully. It’s like he’s here right now, talking to me. Bowled over by his words and thoughts, I’m powerless to keep the water from my eyes; so I just let it flow.

From the start, I’d been amazed at the nature and depth of Max’s ideas. His tendency to “think outside the box” had a way of defying time-tested notions – catching people off guard, testing me all the time, and sometimes even inciting me to riot. We had so many heated (yet fun and thought-provoking) debates. I think one of Max’s primary purposes here on earth was to challenge people. And that he did, but in a rewarding way. After sitting down to dinner with Max, you went home with more than you came; a thought, a feeling, insight into something new, perhaps even a totally different reality to ponder. I can truly say no one ever left our table indifferent.

The recording ends. I eject the tape and try to drum up a title. “Hmmm, I’ve got it,” and with a felt tip pen, print the words:

On Art and Life: The Philosophy of Max Blau

I’ll keep this tape forever, Max.

Promise.

But I must remember to make copies for our friends, so I scribble a note and pin it up on the board in the kitchen. Then, as if he can hear me, I say, “Hey, I hope you don’t mind, I titled your tape.”

You see, Max never titled any of his work unless his employer requested it. He even disliked borders or frames around works of art. Guess that’s another way he thought outside the box. In fact, Max reviled titles, labels and limitations of almost any kind, just as he despised the way people are often labeled.

In short, Max was my hero. But how could you possibly tell?

*****

As the last rays of a blazing sun reflected off the patio chimes and onto the living room rug, I sat cross-legged on the floor and replayed the tape. It relaxed me to hear Max’s calm voice and his amazing views on life. And as the glittering lights danced on the blue rug, I listened to the tape again and again. Before long, day turned to dusk and with a wrinkled sleeve, I wiped the salty crust from my face. “High time for a nap,” I said, gaping and lifting my arm just enough to pull down a pillow. Then, before you could say short circuit, I slipped into a stupor.

Hours later, I awoke to patio chimes proclaiming another blustery night. And, as I got up and watched the cut glass flicker in the light, this way and that, it dawned on me that Max’s tape had seriously – if not joyfully – diverted me from my noontime plans. So I pulled up the remote and installed the new batteries, at last. Then, reverting to the channel surfing of yesteryear, I did a little test.

“Okay, everything’s working fine. Just needed batteries, that’s all.”

*****

Humor has a way of relaxing me. So I dial around in search of a sit-com before bedtime. After all, it’s Saturday night. Yet, despite my desire for a little lighthearted entertainment, thoughts of the day capture my mind like an old time movie. Soon I realize that I don’t need a TV set at all – the show that’s burning my brain has me rapt.

One by one, the events of the day materialize like pictures moving in string formation. And what they reveal is astounding:

1. The remote control is broken

2. But is it broken or are the batteries dead?

3. I search for batteries in the garage and hutch

4. Finally, I find an unopened pack of batteries in the hutch

5. Now I find Max’s tape recorder, buried just underneath the batteries

6. Then, to my amazement, a tape of Max’s voice is still in the machine

Ironically, in the formlessness of the dark, the undeniable sequence of events unfolds, shedding light on an unseen reality. Like a flying portrait, “The Big Picture” virtually hits me in the back of the head.

“Oh my God,” I cry, looking up at the ceiling – like I can view The Man. “How did I not get it?” I ask, arms outstretched. “How could I not see?"

Last night I prayed to hear Max’s voice. And, in less than twenty-four hours, You answered my prayer.

Mandy's Prayer to Hear Max

Journal Entry
Friday 02/20/2004
New Moon
Evening


Despite all the incredible happenings that have given me hope, I realized I am missing Max again. For one thing, I miss his voice – the one I heard on New Year’s Day, nine days after he died.

Tonight I prayed to hear him again. “Forgive me,” I said. “I hope it isn’t wrong to ask for such a thing. Will You please let me know?”

Tessie's Awe-Inspiring Vision of Max

Journal Entry
On or Around 02/02/2004
Time unknown

Tessie, our dear friend, phoned me and told me something incredible. She had been daydreaming in her room when Max appeared to her in a vision. She said she was awake when it happened, rather than simply seeing him in a dream.

Tessie said Max appeared to be young, perhaps about eighteen years of age. His hair was longer than usual and rather wavy. She told me he seemed euphoric, marching back and forth with what looked like a long pole that he would sometimes twirl and tap on the (seeming) ground as they talked. He wore a white shirt and a pair of blue shorts that looked perhaps like a uniform –clothing Max might wear for school sports like field hockey or soccer.

Before Tessie’s remarkable vision faded, she said that Max told her adamantly, and I quote:
Remember what the dormouse said,
‘FEED YOUR HEAD… FEED YOUR HEAD’

Max’s words have apparently been taken right from the song, “White Rabbit” (Slick, 1967). Note that Jefferson Airplane’s name was subsequently changed to Jefferson Starship.

The reader might wish to try and translate Max’s intended meaning. I decided to take a stab at it in my Post Script.

*****

Post Script

To my mind, when Max quoted Gracie Slick’s awesome phrase, “Feed your head,” he meant that while we are here, we ought to be reading, learning and expanding our minds. Of course, there is the drug culture innuendo and all the implications that can be derived from the “White Rabbit” lyrics. One could probably write a treatise on this song alone, not to mention Lewis Carroll’s wonderful work (Carroll, 1898).

*****

Not long after hearing Tessie’s account, just for fun I called Max’s brother, Mark. Did he happen to remember his school colors? “Why, they were dark blue and light blue,” he said. (Of course, Max’s colors were the same.) I then realized the blue shorts Tessie saw in her vision do not contradict Mark’s statement, and that the clothing appears to be part of a school uniform.

Another interesting note: out of the blue, I remembered that Max and Mark had each held the Wellington School record for Javelin Throw, Mark’s in earlier years. In fact, Max seldom hesitated to remind me he had topped his brother’s record around 1969 or ’70. Both brothers had learned how to throw spears from the proper source – the boys of Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe. They played games with the young Rhodesian lads when they were just tykes themselves. What better way to learn?

Could the long pole in Tessie’s vision that Max sported so proudly have been a javelin? I mean, an “intended javelin”, as in Max’s communication to Tessie?

Tessie knew about none of the above facts until I phoned her later. She sounded surprised and delighted to hear about Max’s javelin throwing record and his school colors. These details also tend to provide validation for her vision. Regardless, I believed Tessie’s account from the start. As a good friend, I knew she would have no reason to tell me a yarn, knowing how serious I am about the writing of my journal and the accurate recording of narratives.

Above all, isn’t it fantastic that Tessie received corroborating evidence for something as ethereal as a vision?

***

1. Slick, G. (1967). White Rabbit [Jefferson Airplane] On Surrealistic Pillow [Record]. Hollywood: RCA Victor. (1966)

2. Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, illustrated by John Tenniel, (London: MacMillan and Co., Ltd., New York: The MacMillan Company, 1898).

What is The Hope and the Knowing?

The Hope and the Knowing is an upcoming book written by Mandy Berlin. Her journal manuscript contains a chronological account of paranormal and supernatural happenings which began just hours after the death of Max Blau, the author’s husband. Along with the mind-blowing and sometimes miraculous events witnessed by the author, she details a number of bizarre and inexplicable occurrences reported to her by mutual friends and loved ones dear to Max. Ms. Berlin, a former agnostic and research scientist, has kept a fastidious and comprehensive account of episodic data. She refers to a phenomenon as an event, beginning with those that happened the night of Max’s departure, December 23, 2003, and ending with the incredible event that occurred on the first anniversary of his death.

Through research and review conducted after the occurrences of these uncanny activities, Ms. Berlin learned that the phenomena she and her cohorts observed, heard or perceived tended to cluster qualitatively into a number of classes. These categories include but are not limited to: the physical movement of objects in and around rooms; numinous dreams; apparitions and other spirit encounters; synchronicities; automatic writing; the movement of rare coins; object alteration; electrical demonstrations and electrical breakdowns; third eye phenomena; spirit communications received through clairvoyance, clairaudience and clairsentience; astral travel; guide communications; validation of an event through event repetition; and the discovery of validating written records after the occurrence of the significant event. The writer examines these and other topics in the sections that follow key events. These sections, labeled Post Scripts, are reserved for post-event research and review where she offers explanations and an interpretation of the event in question.

Although the time frame of Ms. Berlin’s book is December of 2003 through 2004, the paranormal, supernatural and synchronistic happenings have gone far beyond the boundaries of one journal year. Surprisingly, the rate of occurrence increased in 2005 and 2006, especially with respect to synchronistic activities. She attributes this fact, in part, to an increased focus on event recording over time. The author believes she lost track of some of the paranormal happenings just after her husband died, because she either misplaced her notes or neglected to record them in the face of such awesome activity. Although Mandy’s incredible encounters with Max have not been as frequent as in the early years, they do happen from time to time, notably on special occasions. For this reason, she has staunchly continued to document rare and unusual events, even into the year 2010.

Author’s note: To protect my friends, loved ones and colleagues, I have changed their names in my forthcoming journal. However, I assure you that no character nor story in this book is fictitious. Each and every incident documented in The Hope and the Knowing is true to the best of my ability to capture and record the quintessence of a phenomenological event.