Dissonance is created by facts that make each other impossible. They simply can’t both be true. Most people are made so uncomfortable by dissonance they pretend it doesn’t exist. But dissonance is the line that artists – and warriors – learn to walk. When I was little my first dissonant discovery was that highly desired things seemed to melt in my arms – I wanted getting them, but I didn’t want having them. The next dissonance was people saying they loved you but fleeing. I decided this dissonance was connected to the first; people like the idea of something much more than they like its reality. This was my first introduction to the importance of ideas. My warrior self began to emerge when I observed that people made elaborate rationales to retroactively justify their behavior and they wanted me to sign on to these. I thought it was easier to just admit that emotional states are fleeting – the pursuit of knowledge shows us that knowledge itself is amorphous, but discovered that my ideas were unpopular to say the least. In the meantime I wanted to strengthen my shell and explore ecstatic states. Looking at the past and trying to figure out what actually happened – turns out to be the most ecstatic state of all.
You could say I was a “success” at Circle in the Square, because I got the coveted ingénue part in the student production of Anouilh’s The Enchanted at The New Yorker Theatre. But I wasn’t happy. I thought I was as bad an actress as a dancer and it wasn’t gratifying because I wanted the story to be different. I wanted to be a writer! In fact, I felt I already WAS a writer. But I had absolutely nothing intelligent to say.
How to get my inner development synchronized with my outer existence? In other words, develop a professional life. I did realize I needed a string of degrees – how coordinate that with my abhorrence of Higher Ed? Enroll at one of the Antioch College experimental schools – the one in Columbia, Md, for a degree in Creative Writing.
As soon as my education was my own to manage, I bollixed it up. My high school’s near total repudiation of Art left me seeking some kind of art school, but which? I was accepted at a School of the Arts in San Diego but depressed by the distance – a visit to my ex-boyfriend in Oregon and a visit to my handsy uncle in Hollywood had not endeared me to the West Coast. I auditioned at glitzy acting schools but had zero game and even less confidence so obviously THAT wasn’t going to work, so I started off modestly by interning at Southwark Theatre School (they gave me office work) and taking classes at the Philadelphia Academy of Dance. I was physically clumsy and slow and this was going to hold me back from any theatre career. I was very well developed in the left brain areas but my right brain appeared to be asleep. Although I was the worst in the class I did get better and I was amazed to be accepted by a prestigious theatre school in New York City. I got an apartment in New York city, signed up for classes at Martha Graham to prop up my confidence, and gave that a try.
The desire to participate in the world of art hit me early. As a young teen, I was fascinated by the internecine struggles of the Trojan War and the Wars of the Roses. History was a family story, history was a crime story. Books for children – the Narnia stories, for example, couldn’t match the explosive, desperate sweep of historical intrigue. I had a facility with English that allowed me to “opt out” of language drills – I read the encyclopedia instead, which was full of improbable information. I loved reading to the class, and the class loved to have me read to them.
When I entered boarding school at age 14 I really began to write in earnest. But the faculty did not like what I wrote. Moby Dick and the writings of John Steinbeck were seriously offered to me as models. This was the first moment I chose the Warrior Path. I complained that we were not reading any female authors and in fact, made a resolve never to read male authors again (I broke it for the Russians, who were feminine enough for me – especially Turgenev.) I liked Colette, so I read Francoise Sagan. I modeled myself on them – they were literally anathema at my school to such an extent that I decided not to go to college and pursued acting school instead.
That was a dumb decision literally no one helped me with but by that time I had discarded The Appropriate Path to such an extent I don’t know if anyone could have reasoned me out of it since Adult World seemed so desperately stupid to me. What I chose – I thought – was the world of inspiration where magic could be created, second by second.
Intuition is the Warrior’s most critical tool. It starts in childhood when adults say something that sounds “not quite right” to the child. Something about their facial expression and the way they hold their body suggests they’re hoping you won’t inquire further, meaning they have no evidence or rationality for what they’re proposing. Sounds like they don’t quite believe it themselves and they’re just passing it to you, like an infection. It’s an infection you don’t want to get.
Sometimes you ask further, other times you snoop around for evidence on your own. You can usually catch the Grownups talking earnestly in what they think is privacy about what you will buy and what are the consequences if they fail to persuade you.
Reading is a helpful source of information. You can always find evidence that completely contradicts any BS du Jour.
And right then, you’ve become a Warrior, because you’ve realized you need to rely on yourself. Not them.
Breaking Free
In retrospect we Forgive ourselves Imperfect inspirations Unbecoming intuitions Seeing how high we flew; Unaltered Compared to many others Scraping by along the Substrate; Just a memory of cloud’s Enough To settle into sunset Pillowed into selfhood; “I heard I saw I Flew”
We teenagers at our co-ed religious boarding school wanted to mate. This desire was more powerful than the faculty, it was more powerful than anything. They were always digging us out of bushes, rescuing us from ponds, chasing us out of the woods. We were lustfully ablaze. They kept trying to demand we give an account of ourselves but reason had been bypassed – we were in the grip of an eternal force powering the planet, perpetuating our kind.
I knew that force again when I turned 29 years old. Suddenly I wanted to have a child. There were men on the scene – but they were a shiftless crew of can’t-bes, don’t-bes, and wanna-bes. Warriors don’t take No for an answer. I had to be able to do better than that, but my parents assured me that because of my career of exposing My Body For Profit, no decent man would have me.
But suddenly High School Boyfriend showed up, a working journalist, half-way through law school, interning for Ralph Nader. On our first meeting he told me he’d never loved anyone but me.
When I was 11 I saw a 3,000 year old Greek play in a Greek stone theatre and was very taken by all its mechanisms of chorus and emotion. When we went back to the boat I sat down and wrote my own play, Chrysothemis, about Electra’s other sister. I couldn’t help it, I had to reflect that emotion back. It was a hot day and everyone else went swimming, but a Warrior would have finished that play. I finished the play.
One of my earliest jobs was an office work temp – ending up as receptionist at an architecture firm. In my hegira through multiple workplaces I did not find one where I liked the lowly way I was treated. But Warriors, by definition, don’t put up with the Status Quo. Seeking to ratchet up my power level I used my training and auditioned to be a dancer. Things improved mightily! Although I still encountered some mistrust and scorn, on the whole, I achieved my goal of feeling plugged into the Universal Power Source.
From the very beginning I didn’t like doing the same thing as other people. What was the point of that? If someone ordered the same food as me, I changed my order. I was surprised that people would want to do the same thing at the same time. As I grew older, enthusiasm was ruthlessly damped down and my possibilities seemed to harden. Who other people thought you were was “ego”. And they wanted you to stay in that place. Much as I wanted to be admired, maybe even cherished, I could see this categorizing was limiting. A very bad thing. But how to get out of it seemed a conundrum. How can you view the situation you’re in from a point of view you don’t actually have? Lucky for us, there’s imagination! If we are really lucky, imagination crystallizes into Art.
I discovered we don’t have to settle for Ego, for making ourselves distinct from other people. Artists are shape-shifters – they all the best lines, all the brightest colors, giving themselves the best possibilities.
When the “multiverse” became popular, I wasn’t surprised. I was used to living several lives at once.
Baby’s eyes slowly closing in his rocker – thank Goodness. I am ready for a nap. Finished Hope Cooke’s fascinating Time Change (I can read while I breastfeed.) Certainly takes courage to write about one’s life that way. How I would love to! Must get free of this money question. I used to be obsessed with sex – then love – now it’s money. Would like to get my press money together. Always something.
Last night Lois and Toss came in to dinner together – they had been at a mortgage bank in Irvington, NJ where they met with some sympathy.
Baby sleeping 2 hrs! Put aside my John Anderson mystery and find myself opening rejected poetry mss. I am too “ornamental.” Not “formal” enough but these poems “kick up their heels” says the Quarterly Rev of Literature. “Originality & gusto.” Does seem as if every day I have a little more energy.
Man O’War – Abaco – The Bahamas – Hummingbird House – 21 Dec 81 – 3:30 PM Rare minute’s peace. The children screaming all day, except Shane, who did his screaming on the plane. Almost screamed me into a post-partum depression. I was too upset to speak for 45 mins. Toss is fixing a broken lamp, niece Tremayne is reading to other niece Lylo who is tearstained from an encounter with local cat. Mom looking for a Band-Aid for Lylo, Genevieve and Dad trying to determine if second boat is usable.
Island not what I expected. I expected New Yorker style resort instead of bidonville out of a Graham Greene novel. Hummingbird House buried in foliage – wild poinsettia & succulents. 5 minute walk to the beach; a very nice beach and deserted. Unfortunately, windy today and it took some nerve to decide to go in. Water seems cool, then you get used to it.
Shane snoozling next to me. Just put aside Mary Chesnut’s Civil War which I am enjoying tremendously.
Our Pan Am flight was late which made us miss our Air Florida flight to Marsh Harbor and had to put everyone up at local hotel. Not too bothersome although we saw way too much of the Miami airport.
Sisters are in 2 little houses I haven’t seen yet on Dickie’s Cay. Avril says they are nothing to write home about and their advertised “view” is simply a lie. Avril seems happy but her skin very bad – trying to talk her into seeing a dermatologist before wedding. Glad this trip is only a week – tough being in such close quarters with family. Friday I had a very bad day – too many errands to run – had to take Shane in a rush to doctor who fortunately was calm. He’s VERY healthy in the 90th percentile of EVERYTHING. Weight 11 lbs and has grown ½ inch. I am tired of being fat but my discipline is good so it should GO.
Thurs Toss had a wonderful meeting with Central Mortgage – looks like they’ll loan all monies if T raises $50,000 on his stock which he would get back the moment loan goes through. Daisy came over to go over my poetry! I was resistant! With a “view to publication” is just more of the same problem I’ve been having. Screw publication or anyone’s views about this but my own. This is like girls “fixing themselves up” so some man might “have” them.
5 PM – God – it’s all I can do to get Toss to take Shane – now he’s got him and I can write 5 sentences.
Next few years a voyage of discovery – figure out how to please MYSELF. 11:30 PM – Very agreeable evening. Mom & Dad & Toss & I have been drinking & talking & reminiscing for the past 3 hrs. Good relationship with M & D – Dad talks about how I challenge them.
T. just finished reading this diary! (With my approval.) Mostly he’s Ok with it – minor reservations – sort of like Rosencrantz & Guildenstern – he sees things differently from Hamlet. It was painful to have him read my resolution to concentrate on work and say to hell with money – I feel like I’ve tried but I don’t want him to think badly of me. I want to write ghost stories! Lead a subterranean life. Answer no phones between Jan and March. I could always write the story of the way things OUGHT to be – Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre.
5:15 PM Tues 22 Dec 81 Very erotic night – Toss delicious. A lovely lazy day – took baby to the beach –parked him in the shade & swam in the surf. Slept 2 hrs in the afternoon – tonight ham dinner & Christmas celebration!
Wed 23 Dec – 3:30 PM So much to write I’m scared to get started – Shane could interrupt at any moment. He gave me a fairly rough night – been sleeping only 45 mins – needs to be fed every hour and a half – felt I’d gone several rounds with Sonny Liston. This AM at the beach he needed constant holding. During lunch he slept ½ hr – up 2 hrs – now sleeping again. Do I want to sleep? Read? Write about money or sisters?
9:30 PM – Very pleasurable evening. Read thru NY Times – review of Adrienne Rich’s Wild Patience making me feel human again. A little privacy to chew intellectual meat brings me out of any downspin. To write poetry of the most important simplicities individual to our era suddenly seems of maximum importance.
Just fed S – he sleeps very sweetly in his “Little Jogger” outfit – Xmas gift from Avril. “To assemble Japanese bicycle one must have peace of mind.” If you accept the slavery of Zen does it make you free?
11:30 PM – Christmas Eve Firecrackers…and they’ll probably go off all night. Feeling well rested – 2 extra hours sleep at breakfast (Shane’s fussiest period) while T took him, then lay around till 2 when I went swimming. Expressed 2 bottles milk.
Played cards – wild, vulgar Michigan – WON. Shane sleeping since 9. Tomorrow – snorkeling! I part company with Mary Chesnut – it’s a valuable historical document BUT her tirades on slave-owners going bankrupt through their “charity” makes you puke. She regards herself as quite an authority on slave behavior! I’d say the reverse is likely true. (Why do they keep singing “Massa’s in de Cold Cold Ground”? Hmm.) Reminds me of that bizarre man who studied homosexuals to find out what men are really like! Weird.
Thinking of Lois’ reaction to my press idea – that I am neither a good writer nor a good businesswoman. I refuse to look at my press as a business but operating a philanthropy at this stage of our lives too insane. Third way – seeding the ground? The Literary World is a malignant casino where the statistics are against you.
Start a vigorous exercise plan when I get home – right now I’m lying around worrying. Can I afford BOTH cleaner and therapist? Cleaner DEFINITELY more important! Was Guilders College a senseless detour? Made me a bit sad to see how proud it made T.
Concentrate on being a good mother to Shane – not making others’ mistakes. T thinks he will have financing for project in Jan. Priorities are family and writing – friends & school just have to wait. I want to be known as having a valuable contribution to make.
2:30 PM – Mon 28 Dec 81 Interesting and FAIR article on Plath in the New Republic. Since I wrote the above I have taken Tylenol for atrocious headache and put Shane in the Swing-o-matic to stop his screaming. First he didn’t like it at all, then sat with a hurt and insulted expression throughout – finally fell asleep. It’s not moving any more but I refuse to touch it and wake him.
Feel like I’m in an inescapable maze! MUST surmount this. Shane awake, so swinging again. Still looks far from happy but at least I get to write this.
Yesterday draining – up at 6:15 to catch 8 AM ferry to Marsh Harbor – traveling, airports, taxis and trains all day toil 8:15 PM – lucky to get home THAT early – caught the 7 PM train at Penn Station by 12 seconds. When we finally got home, Shane went on a shriek – I was numb just wanting to retreat into Times Book Review. Then all night long he needed nursing at hour and a half intervals – till I finally had T give him sugar water so I could get some sleep.
He’s now lying so beautifully – magnificent legs extended – I feel dumb & stupid. Rejected romance novel – they liked love scenes but want less barter. Agent asks do I want to revise. HELL NO. Plath needed to stay alive & keep working, article concludes!
10 PM – feel much better. Some food – 20 min nap – good hour reading NY Times. News: the Blands divorcing. I realize with such thankfulness my luck in having Toss – intellectual yet sentimental (in the best sense!) humorous but passionate, sexy but monogamous!
The baby, after being a wild man all day, has been asleep 2 hrs! Think I’ll try to stay up.
1:45 AM – I am a new woman! T and I have been bouncing around – wrote my thank you notes, wrapped 3 presents, packed one, sorted through oddments preparatory to cleaning bedroom. T has mounted phone cord to avert trip & falls, now mounting heating pad controls so they won’t get lost in Dusty Under-bed Darkness. The only solution to babydom is to do without sleep. God, I’m in a good mood. Still plan to do my nails & read a little.
Read wonderful Plath poem Child’s Park Stones. Different from her best-known stuff, yet excellent. Wrote a letter to Barry about my press. I need an upswing.
Alysse Aallyn 