On my 71st Birthday … My Bucket List

I am grateful for every one of these years.

Thank you my Mother, long gone from this earth, made it only till 63. Her sister, Titi, she lived till 88. These two women raised me. Blessings on their memory.

Mother taught me magic, Titi taught me common sense. The two Piscean sisters raised this Aquarian.

I was born on the Feast Day of Pax, once in antiquity a very popular holyday, peace marches, everybody on the streets carrying symbols of peace, herbs, palms. I feel this energy, I hate war. Who doesn’t you ask, but many see war as a great business. Many make money from weapons, bullets, guns and fear mongering.

Politics has touched my life directly even as I was born. WWII broke out the next year, and from then on I didn’t live with my parents but with strangers in the countryside because only they had food to eat. The city, Budapest, was starving. Grandmother died of starvation.

Our apartment was bombed down by American carpet bombers.

We had one three-legged green chair left from the entire past.

Now I am an American. I see how this country can be fooled into wars, bamboozled into believing in false enemies.

I have devoted my life to build up women. Women are the peaceniks of history. There is no mother who asks her kids to kill or be killed.

I believed if the spirit is alive and well in women they will think of ways to create peace on earth. It’s not just a postcard at Christmas; it’s a way of life.

Bringing back a women’s spiritual culture was my strategy. When women have their own culture back, they can continue this bending of human minds out of the past and into a peaceful future.

This has worked!

Women love their culture, and straight and gay women together have been circling on the Goddess’s lap, spreading their influence like they should, carried by the winds of change.

If I live long enough I may see more and more the positive impact on the larger collective consciousness. Let it be!

I have a bucket list.

Before my life runs out, I would like to have a volunteer writer’s assistant who can look after my writing projects so they get on the computer and e-books and etc. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

I have comedy scripts in me, movies, TV cartoons, with somebody with me I could create an entire new 21st century women’s culture.

And I want a devoted agent for my works, a successful advocate for women’s culture who sells the works to TV. I’d like to make money as well before I die. Real money. Hollywood money.

Bucket list item: I’d like to develop my voice again, I like to be able to take singing lessons. I miss singing.

Item: I would like to get grants for my non-profit, Women’s Spirituality Forum. I financed it myself for many years. We did have some wealthy sisters give us money, (thank you Marli, M.V Divine and Karen) but that’s just sheer luck. I would like to have enough money in the WSF funds, that I can keep my own; and wealthy donors can tax deduct what they give. I like to see the Goddess Gatherings supported by donor’s money, so we can have lower prices for women to come and attend.

Grant writers who actually have contacts, are part of my bucket list.

All the Grant write ups in the Foundations books have the word women in them, but when we applied, we didn’t even get a response.

Before I die, I want this to change. Foundations should stop spreading their money around amongst their friends. Open up that purse and give to women, not just the totally damaged, but the gifted as well. Not just for bread, but for roses too.

One distant dream is a women’s creative spiritual community, like a Dianic nunnery. I need for that, a group of women to manifest a peaceful creative place for me and others to retire to. But not isolated.

I lived in Oakland 40 years, longer then anywhere else in the world.

I am looking for a new place, with no steep stairs, near a swimming pool, trees, and good air.

On this note I send the Goddess my gratitude, thank you for the privilege to be alive on this freakishly beautiful planet.

I thank you to those who sent me over two thousand well wishes, I feel your love and I know I live in your hearts even when I am no longer amongst you.

Let’s lift our chalice! Drink the cup to the bottom.

To life!

Requiem for a Little Black Puli Dog

She had a good life with me for ten years. Every day around 3pm we got our gear on, her little turquoise collar on the dependable leash, and we set out for our constitutional walks.

She sniffed everything in sight. She filed them into her information files. She had mapped out all of Oakland and Berkeley as well. She was the sniffer of every scent. She knew a lot from the sniffs, she was a genius, she knew the paths.

She smelled raccoons in the backyard, and where they have been. She sniffed the path of squirrels; she tracked people’s foot steps, and reported it to me.

She was a good girl. She was my beloved. I felt her warm body next to my leg every night. She knew my moves, I knew her needs. It all worked out.

Now we have nothing.

I sent her to my dead father who was a huge dog lover. He had to give away his dogs when I was born. Not healthy for babies, mama said. He didn’t have dogs ever since. He died in ‘79.

So, I have sent him this one, my beloved Hungarian Puli Zyna. She was from father’s neighborhood, the old neighborhood, before they moved to the city.

Find my father I said to her. He will be happy to have you. This I am sure of.

She laid on the little blue blanket the hospital lent us, she lay on it breathing real hard. It was the lungs that took her finally, fighting for air. An insidious infection didn’t show on x-rays, fighting for her every breath… its over.

No more force feeding her mashed down sweet potatoes and dog food for puppies. The only desire she had was for a little sweets, and when I ate my Danish, she got interested in a crumb that had sugar on it. She took that and held it in her mouth as the last taste of life.

After the relaxant shot the doc gave her, she stuck her little pink tongue out, let it hang. I kissed her nose.

Thank you dearest friend. Thank you for the ten years of walks, and wagging that tail; and happy noises, and welcomes. Thank you my heart’s puppy.

Where do puppies go after death? Innocent animals, they go to their own heaven I am convinced. The Goddess Diana loves dogs, Zyna can join Diana if she wants to.

Then came the death shot.

Dr. Lin shaved off her little leg and administered the shot that shuts down life, stops the heart.

I felt for her spirit.

Little friend, don’t be scared. You have to leave your sick body behind. Just GO HOME ZYNA! I whispered to her, a call used often while alive.

Go home meant run from my car to the door. There she barked her joyous return to the homestead; she barked until I opened our door.

Then, she liked to tell everybody where she had been, Pulik are big communicators.

All through her quick illness and demise, she fought for life but not really. The moment she refused to eat was actually her time to die. We didn’t accept that as the end. We force fed her food, we force fed her water. She hated it. She was done. The humans were not.

Today, a couple days later, however we all got on the same page.

Good-bye my little friend. Please look for my dad, Sandor. He will take care of you.

Zyna was calm this morning. She did her business, more then we thought possible. She was still the very clean dog, who would not mess in the house no matter how sick. Not even on her deathbed. Now that’s integrity!

I just stroked her, and my wife stroked her, and we piled a lot of love on her last day. This Puppy was well loved by both of us.

After the second shot not much had changed. She was still warm, but she was gone. Her heart had stopped. But she was still warm. She didn’t look grotesque. She looked like a sleeping dog with her eyes open. I couldn’t shut her eyes. But inside her eyes there was nobody in. She went out like an invisible wisp of a thought. Her little pink tongue hanging out, that’s all that betrayed her.

Thank you for the ten great years!

I have jagged cries now. I tried to not bother her with my pain. I don’t think I go back to work today, I am too sad.

I had a tequila sunrise, and am not a drinker, so I got drunk fast. I wrote this requiem very drunk.

This my official wake for a Hungarian Puli.

May you roam free, and never in pain my darling!

May you find old friends and new.

I will always love you.

You were my beloved, and now I gave you sleep.

Be well little one, roam the summer lands,

sniff out the good luck once again.

Farewell my girl!

My only one.