When I displayed the pictures in Part I of this topic, I intended to talk about the reasons those images came to mind, and I'm almost drawing a blank. Maybe because there are mysteries in life that are so mind-boggling, words seem inadequate, or unnecessary.

When I was a kid (stop me if you've heard this) I remember going out into the back yard on a Friday night (we were allowed up later on Fridays, and back then children weren't so commonly snatched out of their yards). There were a lot of stars visible that night; unusual for these parts in the 1950's because the rubber plants constantly spewed pollution. But that night I could see the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, among others. I sat in the cool grass, just staring up at the sky and after a while I began to feel frightened. That was the first time I remember thinking about infinity. I realized it was impossible for the sky to stop anywhere and since I couldn't see beyond the little patch of stars visible to me that night the mystery frightened me. I think I cried and I couldn't talk to anyone in my family about it because I didn't want them to think I was nuts. I came in and they were just watching television; mom was probably ironing, and I knew it was a matter of minutes before she'd say, "Get ready for bed." followed by our, "Awww . . " groans. I looked around the room at my family and felt as though I'd discovered something of which they were ignorant. I wanted to say, "DON'T YOU GUYS GET IT? THE SKY NEVER ENDS!" My mom probably would have taken my temperature or at the very least said, "I think you'd better go to bed now."

That may have been the time I decided life either meant very little or a whole lot. I knew I could step on a bug, but I began feeling uneasy about doing that and so many questions began popping into my head. Of course, when one grows up in a dysfunctional environment, one's mind is occupied most of the time with events in the home; I didn't have a whole lot of time to dwell on the mysteries of the rest of the cosmos, which was probably a good thing. But when I did have time, I began searching for God. I knew that if God existed He must have all the answers. I'd sit in my mom's car when it was raining outside and read the bible. My brother and sister were older and poked fun at me when I wasn't being "normal," so I felt I had to hide my bible reading activities. The bible was also mysterious to me. I knew it was written in bits and pieces by men who claimed to know about God so I thought all the mysteries would be neatly explained--like in a text book. But no. And for the majority of my life the dysfunction won out over the spiritual. Hopefully that's changing.

(Day 2. Yesterday was my birthday and also the first day of my journey to The School of Harsh Realities. It's a seminar on Why I'm Completely Employable But People Won't Hire Me Anyway. Our homework assignment last night involved an essay on the reasons it snows in Ohio on April 6th.)

So, there I was, in my mom's car reading the bible and still wondering and becoming more frightened by the minute. Honestly, I don't really understand how I've managed to survive thus far. Of course, a lot of my time was erased by substances that I hoped would help me avoid reality. Unfortunately for me, when the substances wore off, reality was always right there waiting to shove a pie in my face. But I was inevitably drawn back to the spiritual, especially after I began seeing the similarities between people and nature. Maps of rivers and their tributaries look so much like the map of our veins and capillaries and once when I was flying home (in a plane!) the cloud formation looked just like grey matter. In addition, there was never any way to deny my immediate and uncontrollable emotional reaction to hearing the Ave Maria, or almost anything by Mozart. So when I recognized the order in nature and music, I think I began to see that I'd been trying to make a real effort at creating chaos in my life and that it was nearly impossible to do that.

One of my favorite films (I have so many) is the 1957 version of The Incredible Shrinking Man.Not only were the special effects amazing for something filmed 50 years ago, but the final scene is still remarkable for me. The man shrinks away until he seems to disappear, but we're left with the idea that he's still there--we just can't see him. Forms change in shape and size, but in the end there's never any real chaos, no matter how hard we try to create it, and believe me; I've tried.

I hope the sun shines for you wherever you are this week and that you get lots of surprises in your Easter Basket.