Rod Serling

Have you ever had an otherworldly moment, when you could almost hear the intro. music, to the Twilight Zone and that science-non human Rod Serling voice, 'You are traveling a world....spooky music...spooky music....The Twilight Zone.' Yesterday, after the literature class, I went to the cafeteria and took out my texts and assignments to put it into some kind of order to get something accomplished. I checked out, this 'Cambridge Companion to Nabakov' book from the library, I was dying to know more; It would be stupid, to let someone as great as he pass by without further investigation. When I happen upon someone who is a world famous genius, I want to learn as much as I can about them. It could only benefit me. Who is he? Where was he born? Does he have siblings? What events in his life could have helped him to become the person he was? I delved into the book, and it is amazing how much of a different man he is, than what the class whine, and complain he is. Although, it is odd, and difficult to read and follow along with Humbert Humbert's desire for the 12-year-old 'nymphet' in Lolita. Yesterday, was a long, long day. I wore myself out. I also, impressed the hell right out of myself. I got 100% on my mid-term in Intellectual Property Law. I only, screwed up the memo. It was the final part of the mid-term test, I was so tired by the time I got to it that I just punted. I knew I might do alright, I had no idea I'd do that well. I also checked out the 11 disc audio of Lolita narrated by Jeremy Irons. I came home after 10 p.m., heated up a plate of the pot roast I'd cooked Monday, to last the week long, sat down to eat, popped in the first CD and into Lolita-land I went. Jeremy Iron's voice narrating the opening line of the book is captivating-capturing-fascinating.
Who wouldn't want to be desired like that? I was so tired, and hungry it didn't take much to make me contented. I ate a few bites of my pot roast, with potato, carrot and onion. Chewing the food, disrupted my ability to hear the story, So I didn't each much. I laid down, and surrounded myself with pillows as Jeremy Irons voice filled my apartment in the late dark night hours. I was reminded of the comfort of being a child, in the early grades of school. You know, after lunchtime when the whole kindergarten class sits down, scoots up close to the teacher who takes out a book to read the little kids a story. With animated voices and everything.
I felt content.
It is the simple things, I'd be happy with a man who would read to me at night. I fell asleep listening to the disc. It was nice. I slept sound, and didn't stir once.
The Twilight moment, I had earlier was very weird and strange. I was in the cafeteria reading--Just kind of sitting with my bookbag next to me. On one of the little tables close by there was a group of 3 people gathered around it, with a laptop working on some kind of play, or paper or something....their voices were a little loud I couldn't help but hear them....The title of whatever it was they were working on caught my attention, 'Melissa meets the world.' I looked around, my gutt felt odd and out of place. I listened to everyone else around me. It took me a couple of seconds to shake it off. I had just begun, the Nabakov book, it was exciting for me; And, I did feel like I was meeting a world. A different, removed and foreign world to my own.

I am also reading, a book which is emotionally hard for me to read. It details and tells the true story of the Canadian-British monarch, and the United States Government making it illegal and against the law for my ancestors, to potlatch. It was a law, the Indigenous peoples could not sing, Could not dance, Could not come together as one. I generally shun such books, as for me it can be like being put into a washer....First hot or cold water...in a nice smooth cycle...then, the water drains and it is the COLD rinse...The cycle gets a little bit forceful, as it shakes the detergent from the clothing...then, the water drains...Then, the spin cycle begins...and, it is all but violent as it spins so fast, and hard...to rid the clothing of any water at all....It sounds like a violent process! Sure, the clothes are nice and clean but man, are they roughed up? Okay, how could I know so much about the washer cycle? Ha ha ha, that could be a Twilight Zone moment.
Anyway, to read books of such oppression makes me feel what my ancestors must have felt having to go through such boldfaced, lying, mean spirited cruelty. TO read books like this is an emotional rollercoaster....Up and down..Turn, twist, jerk. Although, with more downs than ups. I've always known my Native American indigenous peoples suffered greatly; It is another thing to read it in black and white printed on paper. The authorities who created and enforced such laws were horrid, awful liars. They actually printed, at our potlatches, we messed with dead bodies? Killed animals? That the men, forced the women into prostitution to have money to buy things to give away?
It is hard for me to read; As much as they persecuted my people, the potlatch still lives. I don't reckon it is any more understood now, than it was then. I have plenty of White, Christian Anglo friends and not one time have I taken any of them with me to a potlatch. It is a holy and sacred gathering of people to acknowledge God, and celebrate life. It is one of the strictest, most conservative environments anyone could ever be in. Our stations, and positions within the community are revealed, Nothing changes who and what we are. The position I hold, no one can lobby for it. I cannot be voted out of it, no one could be elected to do what I do, Be where I am, Sing the songs I sing nor dance the dances I dance. It is because of the blood that courses through my veins from my mother and father...my mother's mother and father...my father's mother and father...and my grandmothers mother and father...and her grandparents and so on and so on...It is a birthright, hereditary position no one could topple me from. Even though none of it is written down, the people know because I've nurtured and cared for and lifted it. My mother didn't have it, because she was a lost generation of the people...in that she couldn't and didn't potlatch....My grandmother knew of it, and took part but she was also of a lost generation....It was when the elders took me in, and led me to my place I would reclaim, renew and bolster the house of our lineage. It is the life force, and blood of our tradition...and, as a part of a larger group I hold a very big piece of it.
Which, I've been handing down little by little to nephews, nieces and my own daughter who outranks me. I gave the first potlatch my family would have in several years...a naming ceremony for my daughter on her first birthday....My relatives from the North met, and decided to hand down a name which belonged to my grandpa's sister. My daughter's great-great aunt.
I shouldn't feel so badly, the potlatch lived. Our traditions and ways of life have lived. I've got lots of work to do; It is Ash Wednesday for us practicing Catholics.
I signed up to lector tonight...Better get onto my first cup of coffee and put things in to order to get something accomplished, today! NO Twilight Zone moments...today, Please, world.