In hindsight, I can finally say that it’s a story of a woman in her 40s trying to climb out of an unconscious life. But with no one to mentor her or to validate her feelings or her quest, she kept falling back into the same pit, especially considering the bits of information she found often conflicted with one another—right up to the end.
For example, last December her brother Peter surprised her with her kindergarten report card, which he had found when he was sorting through the remnants of their parents’ lives. She was excited to see what succulent little morsels would raise her to new heights. But after reading it, she had to scratch her head.
Ever since she could remember, Gabrielle’s parents constantly criticized her for making up stories, had called her a liar. But according to Miss Dollard, her kindergarten teacher, her weakest developmental skill—out of Work Habits, Personal Development, Social Development, Number Development, and Language Development—her weakest skill—and ironically the only weakness that Miss Dollard chose to point out—was her ability to make up stories. She just wasn’t good at it!
And contradicting her perception of an entire year of her young life begging to go to school, her mother wrote on the back of her report card, “I can’t seem to catch Gabrielle’s interest in learning. Can you suggest anything?”
And in direct contradiction to that comment, Miss Dollard wrote, “Gabrielle is a very likable little girl. She is interested in school and does well.”
It was as if we were all living in different alternate universes!
Well, after muddling through the best that I could through many of these types of scenarios, I can finally say that I have found my Self. I have found my way back home. Happiness has extinguished the anger that has always haunted me. Love and gratitude fill my heart and soul. At last, I have tricked the wicked witch into climbing into the oven and have slammed shut the oven door. I am healed!
Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha.
I must admit that in the early years of writing this book, I thought that by the time I finished it I would be cured, and I would be some kind of guru or something, and I would have all the answers. But now I see it is a lifelong process, a lifelong work, and there are setbacks and complications.
The memoir draws to a close at the end of 2001, but it took another 14 years to re-member, to re-create, and to analyze the events of the previous 40 years. But upon completion, it was as if the pebble that was lodged in tire treads long ago popped out and rolled to freedom.
Common motifs in the memoir such as “creating your own reality” and “healing” and a “journey” and “God” were metaphoric and abstract. But upon completion, these motifs came alive with new meaning. The concept of “creating your own reality” is quite literally true on more levels than I could have ever imagined.
The concept of “healing” has evolved to “integrating.” The concept of “journey” is metaphoric. We don’t really “go” anywhere, although this is how our brains will likely interpret our experience as we orbit this spiral we call “Self” from one frequency or vibration to another. And “God” has evolved from a static story in a child’s catechism—an entity that doles out reward and punishment—to encompass all energy, which may be called the “Universe” or “Source” or the “higher Self.”
But these evolutions do not void the validity of the initial experiences and perceptions. To the contrary, writing the memoir was just as valuable during the process as it is in hindsight. Now when something pisses me off or hurts me, I don’t have to ask why I’m reacting in this way or that way. With my memoir at my fingertips, I can readily evaluate my feelings and validate them. It has been an invaluable tool in the excavation of my soul.
But now that the memoir is finished, the Universe has provided me with a whole new set of tools to take me to the next level, that is, “Building the House: The Ground Floor,” that is, the sequel to “Syzygy: Crossing the Bridge to Self,” now in process. ♂ ♀