No Space To Grow Bread. . . .


No Space To Grow Bread. . .

They are young, you say,
with hormones raging in bodies,
having no desire for libraries and
no entry monies for museums . . .  

In these places, soldiers in perilous times
were forever sowing seeds of freedom,
with farmers tilling soil of rocks and clay
to feed the freedom seekers. . .
and artists seeking to feed Man’s Spirit. . .

Not concerned these young, I say,
while making brothers and sisters
like themselves, for they
are not yet ready for parenting.

Bedroom gymnastics are played
and little discipline practiced
in the games of musical beds
with its consequences.    

We have seen when burgeoning fantasies
take their energies and hormones,
to crash with anger humankind’s masterpieces,
to appease an appetite out of control.

The children of hunger
with bloated stomachs starve to death.
Young girls are ravaged, young boys savaged
while in the lives of their elders,  
there is no hope of place to rest Spirit.

My Earth is in peril and its classroom in jeopardy.
No room for Earth is splitting its seams.
In good conscience, we cannot go forth and multiply.

There is no place and space to grow bread.



We Only Begin. . .

(I have edited this entry for space)

The entry doesn’t sound like much, but when the footwork is done,  integrated,  along with  sorting  religious dogma shouldered throughout  lifetimes,  the work is immense.   Done while raising a family and living a life with its responsibilities, was difficult at best.  It has stymied many a stronger and bolder human. 

Was  it necessary to work so hard?  For me it was or I would continue on my knees to the bridge.    When one tries with all one has to make sense out of life and only nonsense was seen,  one must do something.   When my knock was not heard,  I crashed the gates of heaven.   

If what I  learned did not work here,  it made little difference that it might elsewhere.  Heaven took me at my insistence and for most of this lifetime,  I felt shepherded.   Everything teaches, including heartbreak.

I have spoken of my Teachers previously and  in writing about this underlying intelligence of the universes,  I would also include the response from them.   It has been a difficult thing for me to speak about with all the smirk mocking  but since my years are terminus, I want my understanding of this cosmic experience to be voiced again.  

We have had lifetimes of science doctors giving their understanding about what is normal and we all know that mankind is more than psychology.   We have and are a spiritual entity.   And we are more than test tubes and litmus papers.  We are more of who we were when earth rolled into being and we were co-creators in the world nebulae. 

I do not wish to be part of a world where those who wield power do  because of street smarts.   I wish to be part of a world where our hearts  meld with the greater heart and we have each others’ well being in our hands.  And we wish to do good.

I scribed. .journal entry Jan 5, 2014 .(this is dictation, free flowing words that take form however they do impressed silently but clearly. It is like auditing class but in thought impression.)

You have those now who no longer scoff at what life presents nor prevents.

You have on these pages that beneath the life or the worlds, there is a substance or an Intelligence.   There is nothing that would stop the ever growing list of wonders to say  how did this Intelligence come into being. 

 Whether it is the big bang theory sending molecules into form but  what is known  is that intelligence and common sense are its virtues.  We know we are not incidental to life’s picture.  There are other forms and other life cycles and we participate in all of them.  

How we know of this intelligence is by observing the work of those whose business it is to improve life.  To lift the burden of existence to a tolerable level and to wave the spirit of triumph to what has been endowed to the minds that would not stop learning.   This is what it is to be alive.   This is what life is about. 

We are placed in this environment to learn.   We are given the heads with its propensities to accomplish what the heart desires.  It is up to parents of these minds to grasp their importance and for themselves to learn the consequences of their actions.  You were right when you warned people to pick up their mistakes.   Their names are attached. 

The sages will no longer say I did what I could and did I not have fun?  This is a classroom and this is what we do.  This is our work.   And we only begin . . . 

artwork by Claudia Hallissey


Memory Quilt. . . in triumph warmed. . . .


Many of us have problems that have no resolution.   Even after doing all the things we have learned and read about and even those things we have invented, there appear no answers on the horizon.   We lose hope and we ourselves are at a loss. 

It seems strange and baffling that nothing is working.   It is then we confront the heavens and with a put up or shut up attitude, bow to a greater strength.   For if we don’t, then we must admit we are the strength for all time and all things.  And find it exhausting.  We may find ourselves powerless, unable.  Often we give up too soon,  never stretching our psychic muscles, so to speak.   And I would venture the great majority never pit themselves against the Great God and that is a pity. 

For regardless who or what it is we worship and revere, that SOMETHING  will pull strength from us when confronted over strongest arguments of whatever nature.   This is good.   For there are few times in the normal course of living where we pit ourselves against pain intentionally, be it emotional, psychological or physical.   We avoid it at all costs.   But when pushed to the wall,  there is that SOMETHING in us required, whether it is heaven’s requisition or our unconscious need to measure ourselves.

It is necessary for us to see how we measure up not only to our own estimation but against our parents and our peers.  And the latter can be so important that we look for arguments that are long and drawn out to see how well we fare in the battle.   This is not only true on a personal,  private level but think how our leaders pride themselves on the greater national and international stages.   And how many wars are fought because of this need to test mettle by those very leaders vowing that this war will end all wars.

 Some of us do this testing early on, setting a new direction and recovering in good health.  The puzzle pieces have a sought for place.   Others in despair require more time because their unresolves are more complex, but even they eventually realize their strength is a dependable strength. 

 Many lives are brought to fruition and our eventualities are all timely. 

Memory Quilt. . .

When it is time I will draw high
my memory quilt to cover shivering bones.

Pictured will be events richly patterned
and pleasing to the soul.

Astonishing not to recall emotions
pressed beyond belief, battles fought
to frightful finishes.

Left like barnacles clinging
to a disabled craft, slippery in substance,
suitable only for discard.

When it is time, the memory quilt drawn
will show kaleidoscoped events
lending warmth to fragile skin,

haunting in their beauty remembered,
while I take flight

in triumph warmed.


(The photo is of  my granddaughter’s treasure
of her shirts collected for me to make this quilt
of her young life.)






To Be. . .sometimes is the ALL required. . . .


I am calling to touch base with you.  It has been too long since we chatted I said.  And after a surprised response she started and went on at great length finding her own equilibrium. 

I could do nothing for her except be an ear to listen.  She called me the next day with gratitude because she said she was ready to puddle.  And there was no one to mop her up.

Another young friend would be facing an enormous decision the following week.  I was in a quandary about what to do and then realized I could only be an assistant.  I could not decide nor input any information. 

I would plead ignorance even if  I was  expert and credentialed.  Unless asked,  there was no insight I could offer.  With today’s abundance of information,  there is too much in fact.  The brain can only handle so much since everyone is expert in everything. All I could do was stand by and catch the fall out. 

Another body, another human is what is needed.  Just presence.  Just being there is what is needed for the individual to stand and make their own decisions.  Just someone to listen to the garbage spilling forth and not stop loving them.  To take them in their frustration and to let it dissipate so the residue does not kill them.  

Just to be able to have a someone there who does not fall down will enable them to stand and do what they must.

I don’t have time for your drama a husband said and left his wife to handle the emotional conflict of the children.  At that moment he exhibited nothing to recommend him as a husband and nothing surely as a father.

Well, mister, that is what earth life, physical life is all about.  Here we learn either to handle our emotions or gift them onto unsuspecting shoulders and watch our grandchildren fight the same battles.

Is this our desire?  To see the icons of past history smashed by the frustration of generations of ancestral progeny rising demanding restitution? 

How better to spend your time than by listening to a soul in search of an ear to hear their lament?  Be the quiet symbol of peace.  Be the one who stands and gives Presence to allow the right thing to be done.  

To Be is the all we can and must do. . . . is sometimes the ALL that is required.  


artwork is Claudia Hallissey’s


Unconditional Love. . you are so worth it. . .


Unconditional Love?. . You are so worth it. . .

In the face of all opposition, and with many noting your lack of courage, you plod along still with what needs doing, whatever that happens to be.  Your knowledge of commitments and placement tie you to immobility and you wonder the outcome on a daily basis.

In sleep you crash heaven’s door and ask how long. . .?  And they say whenever you feel you cannot. . . no one would fault you.  But you know that worlds, just maybe, glimpse your behavior and then you think no way.  No one, not even those in your circle are aware of what goes on.  They are comfortable with things and as long as there is no upset, all systems go.

But worlds watch as the blue boy watches, you wrote.  ‘I watch-ed.  I watch-ed.  And when your lips move, I know you talk to forever friends.’  And the invisible worlds take heart and they see what they can hope for because you keep on keeping on.  Living the substitute life?  The make believe or pretend one? 

The ‘real’ one that has everyone in your circle trying to heal themselves so that the next step can be taken and evolution becomes a fact in meager life.  Meager now but fulfilling in its totality.  And why?

Because you see the larger picture as your Mentor, the Nazarene, said.  You have been seeing the larger picture, the greater one that shows the progress that can lead to peace on earth and a good life.  We assuage the anguish of the ancestors that leads to peaceful existence among men of all nations.

And worlds.  For Beings of all natures.  It is argued that unconditional love is worth little because it demands nothing.  But it is priceless because someone saw a something in me that was beyond what was expected.  It was Divine.  And it sparked a something that I claimed as mine once because I have memory and wanted it again.  And have worked to bring it into my life.

And working for me, I want you to know it also.  Because as I work, I see it in all life.  And once you know it, you cannot but see it everywhere.  And as my Mentor said, when you give me a drink of water,  all will be satiated.  And worlds also.  The ethical potential is inherent in all life.  What is done for one, all will do.

Doing good enhances all life.  Where we are is a beginning.  You are so worth it.


Time’s Solace. . . Appreciated. . .

When life generously offers some time to enjoy the last vestiges of breathable air, one guards those hours or days like Midas with his eyes on gold.  It is a gift to one whose head was incompletely closed and whose conscience unequivocally honed to needs of commitments.

So the free time, the private time,  the time given when nothing concrete is expected due to age and frailty of body is luxury seldom cognitively experienced.  The shelter in place edict has been the wish of mine all my life.  Not possible for three quarters of it, but desired.  To slow down and savor the salts used always was a wish.

Now it is life’s generous spirit balancing what was needed for so long.  Living to see, because of technology, the faces of the new babes entering and the love they are welcomed with is a joy. 

Not often is such evidence ours for spiritual solace.  Finding all beloveds nurturing in this sometimes sterile world lets me know that life’s commitment to teaching has been done wisely and well. 

Commitment is accountability for one’s actions.  Some call it a mortgage on one’s life.  It is a consequence of those actions.  We learn there never is a free lunch in town.  Better us to be called to account than for our progeny to hurt. 

There always is a cost and it is dear.   Life’s forgiveness?    Love. . . .

Mortgaged. . .

Our hands brush
the sleeves of our
long coats harnessing
our bodies’ warmth. . .

And meet and twine fingers
giving strength
long lost to the
business of living. . .

the busyness of lives

succumbing to the details
of days usurping
minutes not claimed,

hungry for times floating loose.
Wise is the one hugging closely
as breath to breathe what
surrounds the body as private.

Mine!  the toddler shouts,
as he grasps what is his
loudly with force
to claim ownership.

Mine man whispers as he
clings to the privacy of minutes
not already claimed
by the interminable needs

of the innocent. The
mortgaged soul has
needs to replenish
before offering more

from the well running dry.


photo art by 
Claudia Hallissey


Our Lives. . . .prayerful justification?. . .


I was prepared to work today on a topic long simmering but from my eldest came this photo along with others of beloved family that swerved me to play.  Which means I go to the sewing machine to finish several things patiently waiting.

I am not going to sit and view happenings on the national scene requiring a nitroglycerine tablet to ease heartache.  Coping with a heart that pleads to stop whatever I am doing should not require a 2×4 between the eyes.  All it takes is a photo to remind me that new life such as Nora Claire and Emma E. are reason enough to keep breathing as long as I dare.

It was a surprise to see this photo this morning and brought a matching grin to my face.  Such beauty in a face beckons  a smile as wide as hers.  I have to think that where she is in this moment taken for posterity has to be one of great love and joy.  This smile is as real as real gets in any dimension.  One cannot pretend the joy visible in this.

It is reason enough, isn’t it, to care for and consider as sacred, life when visible and noted with a name.  But what of life invisible?  What of life that we don’t see and yet understand may be different in scope from what we know.

Different does not have to be frightening.  Different should be respected and given time for understanding.  Different may require study so that we become familiar with it being other than us.

It is time to become kinder in our attitudes toward what we don’t see. And can encourage invisible life hidden at the foot of forests by not stripping them and life beyond the horizons only invisible to our eyes. 

And even hear what are not melodies in the sounds of our ears.  The Nazarene said that hearing you will not hear and seeing you will not see.  We are told that we are watched by other lifeforms that gauge what in their futures they can expect. 

I will carry what moth and rust do not destroy with me to my next address.  Those have my name attached.  I take my loves and I hope what has attached to me will carry a grin as wide as Nora Claire’s. 

It is something to think about today.  That our lives are the prayer we have lived all the days of our lives.  When we are called to present ourselves, we are what moth and rust do not destroy. 

They will speak our justification.  It is all the obituary we need.


Photo by parents of Nora Claire


Truth is Costly. . . when pulled through the heart.

After watching Rachel Maddow last night with her interview with Mary Trump,  I would like them to know of my gratitude and the gratitude and envy of all who watched MSNBC;  viewers like me and their professional colleagues. 

I think Rachel is an excellent teacher and should she teach in some classroom in another world still , I would find my way to her and sign up for every class she teaches.  She sees connections like I do but I am tired of seeing connections for almost a hundred years.

It was an eloquent hour last night with a cost unfathomable.  So much hung in the balance that required high wire steadiness, that even a few moments of banter with Lawrence O’Donnell was too costly as has been her practice.  It is not often our gift to see such professionalism  and I hope the thunderous silence at conclusion, carried the world’s gratitude to the two women.

Rachel’s questions were thoughtful and ones we wanted to ask.  Mary Trump’s answers were answered in the same tenor.  Much was in legal balance and consideration.  There was extreme understatement by Mary in her professionalism as well as familial empathy.  The dynamics in her family situation must have weighed heavily in the writing of this treatise.

What those who have lived long and introverted lives as I have, wondered, what understanding can we bring to our progeny to explain what we have learned simply by living and observing.  And to keep loving those who brought us life for which we are grateful.  Yet, it is a predicament because we see our fateful flaws caused by prejudiced perceptions in our upbringing as well as the careless emotional neglect we experienced.

And we cannot teach what we have not learned.  Love and caring should be the security blanket we are first wrapped in at birth.  And when the mother and father gods fail us, pray that there will be someone at hand who cares enough to love us.  Someone has to do the footwork.

I was proud of my gender again last night.  It was in awe of the tremendous courage for both to do such a professional work that those in their walks were envious.  And should life demand of these colleagues such courage, they hope they would be ready. 

Scholars, both Rachel and Mary,  who showed why dedication to truth is arduous and costly when pulled through the heart.   


artwork by Claudia Hallissey


The Simple Often Says It Right. . . .



The Jenny Genes are rightly sometimes a curse as well as blessing.  It drives this writer to despair when the right word evades and the curse begins its perseverance work on me.  And search I do for the precise word.  For there is of course we think a precise word for everything.  We search through the day and half the night compelling the word appear.  Eventually we give up and lo!  The imprecise simple one is used and the heavens moan in relief.  And so the reader leaves the dictionary lay where it is.  We all take victories where we can. 

The Right Words. . .

She said the right words to the beloved.
Suck the fear out of it; it is the only way to go.

Because every morning throughout the world,
man does his ablutions in the privacy of the bush,
in the privacy of his very expensive room,
or in a modest place wherever he lives.

And hopes he releases his fear before
he appears to face beloveds and the day
overtakes him, leaving him soiled.

He whispered,. . . that is the way it is. . .
suck the fear out of it.

I don’t want a dead bird hanging
around my neck for the rest of eternity.
There is no final place but a place of becoming.

It is life everlasting in all its measures.



Connections I know. . .

And you will know also. . . 

Nine years ago, when I was 80, a grandson said I should do a blog.  Not knowing what a blog was, he proceeded to teach me.   This perennial student did not want to disappoint the good teacher.   Edited here is one of the early posts where I try to explain my views.  For those who missed the first years I hope this helps to understand from where I come.

On Connections

‘This is an idea spoken of since man first began to think about the purpose of life.   Or perhaps his purpose on this planet.   It deals with the idea that every thing is connected throughout the Ethers.   That nothing happens in and of itself but is the result of an action happening because of a previous action elsewhere.   However long ago.   Our purpose,  however wrought with meaning as we think or not,   is the result of perhaps a stone let loose on some distant hill, rolling and crashing onto a field.    The storm in the night is the result perhaps of an argument lamenting the arduous activity of sea lions in some obscure waters.   The idea remains cleverly innate in heads looking for reasons to believe that of itself nothing exists.   We are connected,  one to another and one event tied us tightly to all of life.   It is with this idea in mind that this poem came to be.’

Because I Know. . . . 

I see worlds in motion
taking a portion of each one’s talent
for their own survival.

This is what I do with my hands.
This motion of knitting yarns to form

a piece of world to fit the mind
of an elusive soul.

See here, I, content  in what I do.
I free a soul to do the Great God’s bidding
in keeping a world in motion.

See again. . . I give of my Self in this time,
to free an Other to build what may be
the perfect Universe or many.

So content that this time is mine to see
a great plan, a strategy, yet unheard.
It may not be for centuries that

that my knitting fingers  will alert the senses
of a soul to keep in motion
a Life, a Being, an Idea.

Sit here with me. . .and show my hands
what to do and they will do.  The task so simple
will gather other talents and make for itself
the grand design,  futures down the line.

A bidding, the nature of what 
has never been seen before.
I know it and because I know

you will know it also.


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