A Journey Of Note

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A Journey of Note

With these, the words of my language
and pieces of my heart, are memos of
this journey to the top of the mount.

It was not easy and I cannot say for sure
how long in years the trials have gone.
It consumed a private life as dogma
was pulled out of folds of memory,
housed by many lifetimes of discontent.

I knelt as if in prayer on the tiled floor
as the tenets from childhood into maturity
were raped by thoughts pulsing
the rotted gut of my thinking and expelled
into the enameled pot and fixtures
in the only private room in the house.

It is hard even now to bring to mind
the fears which left me cold and wet
in rising high temperatures
of the hot summers and sent me
for the flannel robe to simply wrap
a terror stricken body shaking to death.
And all the while I held posture over
the children’s growing years.
They would not know what went on
when I bid them good day as they
went out the door while I secretly wished
for any reason for one to stay home.
It would then be a blessed relief,
from an ordeal that was an imperative.

This physical portion mirrored the
mental onslaught that was unending.
Life went on as terrors surfaced
with life’s crises paralleled
in rigid profusion, family problems,
requiring parental intervention.
And in the narrows of public life
was harrowed a private one to appear
more nearly normal. I manicured lawns
and maintained the premises as
guests and families were entertained
and holy days held their accustomed
rituals and patterns. Life went on
in an orderly fashion and I found solace
in the garden on speaking terms
with my hands in the Earth.

I have been told that many
a muscled man of girth has
turned away from this journey of note,
never to give quest again
to heaven’s knowledge.
Better to leave heaven to their own secrets,
they often said, than to forever cripple
the unsuspecting journeyer.
Wrath of the gods is vengeance
upon the heads of those intent on
simply making a difference.
Life itself ventures on with wars fought
on various battlefields, as cultures
take issue with customs and verdicts,
long held to be what peoples portray as somas.

It has taken a lifetime and still in process
in this the eighth decade of my life.
I still see the first hours of the new day on my clock.
Sitting with my notes and journals and books,
as I did a half century ago, saying this was the time
when my part of the world slept. It was the speaking
time for the gods with me in class.
I see we as humans reflect our Indwelling Gods
as they be in reflection of the Great God.
And the Great God worries in Process as He grows
in wicked splendor to reflect the
ever increasing universes’ wonders. Meanwhile,
I near my journey’s end. . . . .with

the peace as said to pass understanding,
the triumph, the joy in meeting
life’s hardest work of discovering
the core of Me to know
the divine nature bestowed within.
‘Ye are gods!’ the Nazarene shouted from
the book of words pulled through my heart.
I did not know
that to search out the divinity of my God
would be to discover my own.
I would make space for the journeymen,
and lift my arms to catch them should they stumble.
The prime purpose of this, my journey,
was the paralyzing need to know
as much as I could grasp
and not be found inadequate

by those I had borne.

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With a Singular Voice, We Pray

 

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With a Singular Voice, We Pray,

Grant me peace,  O’ Lord God,
to this house I live in and carry
with me to the end of my days.
Let me see the beauty
in everything and everyone.
Help me to understand
what is mine and what is not.
And understand that what I consider
to be highest and best
in my heart and mind is truly so,
without meanness or bitterness.
Let my fellows know of my intent
to be kind and to give them
understanding of the highest order.
Help me to frame that what
has been a Given from a generous heart,
I give back the same.

And let this Earth know without doubt
that when word is given, we march
to what it is our hearts require.
Help us to keep our hearts ready.

Lead me gently, Spirit,
to what is mine and allow
all things that are good,
all things that are God.

Amen and amen.

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At Her Bedside

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At Her Bedside

 She would not last long, I thought, frail as she was, lying there
with her eyes filling.  She said, they are telling me that the only way to get off
is to step off.   She made circles with her hand while she lay in the bed, as

white as the sheets she lay on. The circles she made in the air, went round and
round and I watched her and then found the courage to ask who ’they’ were.
And she looked surprised at me as if the question was not even necessary for

me especially.  She said the Teacher, the Teachers. They are telling me that
I can get off and another time I will get back on and one would suppose
a roller coaster but this of course was our Earth she talked of.

And I know why now, she said, why my mother could not come back to get me
when she said she would.  She left me at Father Baker’s Orphanage and the
Sisters would not let her back because she coughed with consumption.

We often heard of the Sisters at the orphanage who wore black habits lined
with white and they looked like birds with black wings.  We heard how the
five year old was so frightened that she could not speak.  She told us how

her mother was going to come for her as she promised and I know now she said,
she would have but I always thought she did not want me.  And that was why she
left me.  And my mother, now withered in age, but calmly smiling the child’s smile,

knew that she was loved.    Never knowing a mother’s love, she did not know
how to give a mother’s love to the children she bore.   Never knowing a mother’s
love, I gave to mine what I sorely missed.  The circle closes.

They say, she went on, the Teachers talk of things I do not know and I know I
cannot believe as you do and I told her that there was room and time for all of us.
We had never talked of the road I traveled nor the scythe I worked of rusty vintage.

There was never a place of rest for either of us to talk of Spirit or worlds that
circled mine or even the only one she recognized.  Now I am as old as she was then
and holding me upright are teachings I broke open the gates of heaven for because

of a Need To Know.   I carried my burden to her bedside and I affirmed for her what
the Teachers already did.  And she was my affirmation.   She never knew me and she
wept.  She never knew the head I carried on shoulders folding under the weight of a

soul I bartered for knowledge. She will one day remember a someone whom she knew
who queried the heavens as she will grow to do.   She will also storm the heavens if
need be because of a someone she knew who had nowhere else to go.

 

Art by Claudia Hallissey

 

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Privacy And Secrecy

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There is a world of difference between privacy and secrecy.  One can ask for privacy and choose it for  one’s life but secrecy is another matter altogether.  It is drawing a cover or placing some barrier between what one does on one side and with explicit orders not to be viewed by the other.

Yet privacy is simply asking for sacred ground around oneself.   And granting it to others should they request it.   Secrecy says it is none of your business what I do and privacy says you know what I do and I ask that you protect me from those gaping stares.

Privacy is when you close the bathroom door and secrecy is when you delete or hide the computer screen when I arrive at the door, so I will not be party to what is going on.  When a discussion cannot be open between partners, whether married or not,  in business or not, then it is secrecy on someone’s part that fails to disclose  heartfelt issues or commonly held issues.  But we know that all secrets eventually will be revealed.  Our characters,  our honor,  trust,  our word rests on these two words, privacy and secrecy, when we are  in a relationship with an other.

Privacy is a courtesy we extend to each other in those matters where our wellness is secured.   We extend this courtesy because we are in a human family.   And that includes everyone,  not only immediate family.   Secrecy is a two edged sword.   It harms not only the other but us too.   Whether it is on a personal level or otherwise, it is not a world I am comfortable with.   It means I need someone to watch my back.  Why would we choose to live in such a world?

 

 

 

Painting by Claudia Hallissey

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Dreamed Into Being

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His hand came down on the table with a thump!  If anyone can create a world, he said, you can!  I knew nothing about world creation but this Philosopher-Lawyer son of ours who gifted me with his conversation hours into years as he returned home for treatment of his health issue,  led me to new thought.  He said I know you never had the time for the Great Books and yet I see you evolving right before my eyes!  Who are your Teachers, he queried?   I have had good ones, I said.  And then I found later when he left our Earth,  a Robert Nozick (from his book The Examined Life ) who postulated that we might be apprentices in the creation business.  And in further reading,  on a level we are not conscious of,  we work the work that puts us directly in line for world creation.   It is a way,  and not the only way,  to explain the numbers of planets circling our home base.

In reviewing the acts of my days,  and being the parent on premise for three sons,  it has been a life of creative being.  Learning was great fun and in everything was a  lesson.   Upon the arrival of the painting which is  now mine from our in law artist daughter,  I was this mother of sons who lived in the fields and the woods and together we helped butterflies sing.   It is a world of creational alliances,  some of which I know  we cannot be proud.  But upon living the examined life, it becomes one of determined partnership with what we hold to be sacred to become lives cherished.

 

Dreamed Into Being

I love this Earth Planet, she said,
it is a place
of verdant lands
and high thoughts.

It is a place
where images send
these thoughts aloft and
tie me to that place of love.

We walked it many times
of course, she said,
but now the choice
is mine again. . . .

How to stay and finish
a work the Master said
was always needed even
by one such as me?

I hold the only authority
that counts.
No letters can give me
what is already mine.

I claimed it
on the day I said I Am
and chose to Be. . . . .
Simple as that and as hard.

I finish my work
and then go home,
to the ‘old country’
which  holds for me, she said,

all  that I cherish.
It is a dream I dreamed
and called into Being. . . .

for that is how new worlds are born.

 

Painting by Claudia Hallissey

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Thoughtful Responses

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Because their responses to the question of who to take with you to answer your puzzling questions on this hero’s journey were succinct and well thought out,  both Lois and Mark will have the chance to name their choice of rewards .  So when they  e mail me with their choices, I will be happy to get them into the mail as soon as possible.

As I have been told many times,  because I give thought to these kinds of questions,  it does not mean the rest of the world does.   There had always been a running argument with a very dear departed friend that this world was not to be taken personally.  Life was simply to be gotten through the best means possible and  enjoyed as much as one can.   I did not see the purpose of life not being taken personally.  How does one do that I often asked.  Simply,  I was told,  one just allows the unanswerable to run like water off a duck’s back.

It never worked that way with me.  Not even as a child.  Words held meaning for me and I cringed in my young heart when I heard arguing between my brothers,  my favorite people.   I was always aware that arms would swing and someone would be hurt.   When feelings were thrown out into the air to be caught by someone with ill intent,  I knew trouble resulted.  How was one supposed to react to life on this Earth when emotions were the coin of the day?  One had to deal with them and one had to react to make peace.

Her argument always was that you let these things pass and they are soon forgotten.   It did not work that way for me.  I knew when arguments brewed that the past was always brought up to sting again.   So how to make this journey through life,  this hero’s journey,  to understand the so called slings and arrows,  the ancestor’s anguish,  the wars that make dust of yesterday’s masterpieces?   You take someone with you whom you honor and cherish and whose life you would like to mirror.   Then you pull every thought and action through your heart to see your response to be as more nearly like your hero’s.   After much practice you find that your response will be one of  ‘judge not’ and you do the life giving thing.  Because its opposite would be life taking.   It will be a divine response to life because that is the shining Spirit within each of  us.   What we do for one, we do for all.   It is called Evolution.

It is a way to make a difference.

 

art by Claudia Hallissey

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Riding The Ethers

Riding The Ethers

We are what we are for if we understood what we could be we would take our show on the road as an example.

To push our ideals on another will only ostracize us from the love that struggles to make it to the finish line.

When love is not, nothing else is.

You cannot fix much when no one sees what is broken.

Is a eulogy the same as justification for a life?

Needing is not loving.   They are not the same.

To change even one behavior pattern demands that all behavior patterns be changed.  And many are not equal to the task.

Freedom of choice is a responsibility.  It is also a sacrament.

The world speaks with a forked tongue.

There are those who close their eyes to what it is they see because they know what they see will contradict what they choose to believe.

The look of innocence is a state of shock.  It is the place where the soul rests, the mind has stopped pursuing and spirit dares not delve deeper.  It is where the rubber hits the road and burns.

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Your Highest and Best

Exhibition                                                           Kiss the Morning

Kiss The Moon Book Cover

Cover

Because I did not, due to lack of forethought, post the photos of the books, Kiss The Moon and The Last Bird Sings, and also the wall quilt which I will be offering, I do so today and hope that with the photos will come a few more comments.

For those of you who have been on the fence with your comments, I hope you do have a few moments today to put down some thoughts as to whom you would take as your guide or mentor as the standard you would gauge your thoughts and behavior.   The question probably should be, who in your history, whether fraternal or in cultural or religious history, would you like to be most like.   Who would be your standard as to your most perfect Being.   If you began your hero’s journey today, who would have the answers to the questions you would likely be struggling with.

Because I think this is an important question for all of us, I am extending the cut off date to Wednesday, the 24th of June.   I think in our need to care for our planet, as well as ourselves, I think the question should be uppermost in our thinking.   Everything hinges on our improvement in all areas.   If the well being of our planet depends on our evolution into thinking and caring people, and never is their mass evolution, we must begin with ourselves. Each of us is important to the well being of everyone. We do not dismiss nor discount anyone.

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Papa, I Plead Now. . . . .

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The Strange Bequest

There was a man,
a slim man,
whose head was bedecked
with a white cloud
and whose eyes saw dreams
he could not articulate.

He sat one day
staring into space
and when I questioned him, he said,
‘I am sitting and watching
the grass grow.’
I hesitated far too long
and have lived to regret it.

I wish the courage had been mine
to have asked him
to share his dreams with me.
For he bequeathed to me
a mind that does not rest.

I have the thought that his father
and father before him,
wrestled the same misty vision
which now is mine to set in motion.

I question this strange bequest,
for I have not
the staunch heart required
to lay to rest my ancestor’s anguish.

Papa, I plead now,
to replace my heart with hot ore,
inject me with a vial
of celestial courage
and fuse my spine with tempered steel.

There is so little time.

 

 

 

art by Claudia Hallissey

 

 

 

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Who Would You Choose and . . . . Why???

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Who Would You Choose and . . . . . .Why??

When  Dante did his pilgrimage in his well known Comedy,  he took with him for his mentor,  Virgil.  Virgil was a philosopher and poet and were the reasons, partly,  why he chose him as his companion.   And the reasons are interesting in themselves since Virgil on this very human journey with Dante reveals himself as not perfect.   Dante chooses Virgil for his very persuasive arguments between good and evil, character, honor, trust,  all the very classic good things of Earth life.   Besides that persuasive voice convinces Dante that his reasons cannot be bested.

I am now throwing this question out to my readers.   If and when,  (and we should because this is our journey and our purpose) you start out on your hero’s journey,  who would you take as your mentor,  your tour guide, your companion on this most important trip of your life?  Whom have you admired as the Highest and Best  in your thoughts, in your life, in what you have read that you would wish to take as your choice?   Who do you hold as your Highest and Best? ?  This means you know this person as someone studied or chosen for reasons you hold sacred.  When faced with a decision or obstacle,  you would think of your mentor and say this is what he/she would do.  And you care enough to emulate.

In fifty (50) words or less,  comment this week and I will choose the most convincing of comments.   And of my choosing will be the reward of either of two books,  Kiss the Moon, or The Last Bird Sings, or a small wall quilt.   The reward will be one of those three things.   And on June 22nd, I will announce the winner.   I look forward to this week.

I am hoping this will be enough for my younger readers to put on their thinking caps and give thought to this very important decision of their entire lives.   And to other readers immersed in this journey,  whom have you chosen and why.   I look forward to your participation.   Let us give it a go.   And make a difference in this world.

photo of Dante by Wikipedia

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