Archive | May, 2014

To Ponder

DSC_2922Bringing fear of the unknown under control is the prerogative of the one who understands there is nothing to fear.   It is indeed a safe journey.

Crying is for the moment.  Getting on with it is forever.

The road which takes the footwork is the one which begins with the beat of the heart.

It is Spirit which speaks and gives meaning to that which would only make psychology out of what Man is.

When your ideas about your Self change, so does your experience.

Illusion is laced with the brandy of life lived and the taxes exempt.  (Except of course, the taxes are collected by all the Caesars always.)

There is no free lunch anywhere.   The cost is exorbitant to those who would choose to play the game for real.

The greening of the heart is a project that many need to start.   It is a priority.

There are absences which leave large holes never to be filled because one cannot go back to fill in the spaces where  time  was.

                                                                                                           Art by Claudia Hallissey

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Today Is Eternity

002-1 final edit  (in memory of Diane Rybacki)

The Universe is a benign place.   Our planet, in this best of all learning places,  needs our actions,  individual as they may be,  to survive.   And it needs us to learn from these actions.  Then we find that the Universe becomes caring also because it needs our actions to survive.   To Be becomes a critical imperative for all.

We see that our actions,  some of which we are not proud,  are indelibly written in our genetic history.   We wish that we could unsubscribe to them.   We are not always at our best and hamper our progress at times.   We can rewrite our history by cumulative actions giving our best to those situations serving the greatest good.   I ascribe to the divine in man,  yet  he takes too much rest in the cliche saying he is ‘only human.’  What needs be done is to strike a balance.

I was told to ask my questions from that place where angels know the weight of the feet and the heavens watch that we do not place them on the minds of those about us.  I have kept this thought during the long stretch of making a road where I could rest easy but have not found it yet.  In my memory with a putting place is a mushroom cloud rising and spreading its death on even the innocent.   And the innocent were routinely drilled on how to hide beneath  schoolroom desks.

I have learned that those intent on sealing their immortality play with stakes that are bigger than their mini minds and lay to waste a world to sodden ash.   The world as they know it will disappear and in its stead will be the sulky ash that they will trudge in hip boots to protect them from contamination.

Some do not know that today is eternity.

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Down Off

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Down Off

She watched her love
come from the best of all places.
Taking with him extra bags, yet,
he arrived alone.
And as he came, he swung his legs
and jumped down off.

She carried with her extra baggage,
but looking at him coming to,
eager,  fresh to forget,
she too would arrive alone
and jump down off.

Suddenly
her knowledge became
her burden,  invisible, and
only she knew how high she jumped

down off.

painting by Claudia Hallissey

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The Magic Never Ends

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Sometimes it seems we do a thing and wonder afterwards why.   Well,  to me it is still a puzzlement as to why I ordered a bolt, of all things,  a bolt of burlap on the eve of my 83rd birthday.   In a few days there is a birthday and with a body balking,  I am wondering the purpose of my purchase.   Well,  the burlap is here and it was a good price with my 50 percent coupon off attached and I am well pleased.   In fact,  the magic never ends.

I worked on a wall quilt,  in fact finished one and almost done with the other and a great rightness was in the working.   In the process of doing it,  there is a smooth transition from my head to my hands and I am all of a piece.   And a peace.  When it was done,  I marveled at the marriage of the wedding silks and army boots.   It was a wonderful feeling as if the trek through the bulrushes was worth the long journey.

I wanted to share this part of what I do with the constant process of enabling my breathing and keeping on.   It is a journey of wonder and should I be able to leave anything to my progeny or those who have shared my life,  it is that it is not only a wonder but a privilege we are given.   We  must guard it carefully and to work to  the utmost,  to  do our highest and best effort and vision.  And should we choose to chase it,  we will find truly that the magic never ends.

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To Think. . . A Sacred Obligation

IMG_0252_2Many times we say some things simply because we have heard them forever and never have thought them through sufficiently to change our thinking.   The dastardly job of thinking is given away like some vile disease.   Yet the remarkable process of thinking,  the gift of thought,  the joy of thinking is what man is all about.   It is a birthright of greatest value and is scorned as an odious work.   It is man’s liberation from a life of drudgery.   Thought will take one from the humdrum of every day and lift one to the heavens where imagination originates and dreams are spun.   It will be the wings upon which man will fly.

At the end of life we will say what we accomplished but when we are asked what did we think,  what will be our answer?  To resolve issues which plague the heart is the work of humankind.  We find alternatives to those issues bringing discomfort.  But thought,  that marvelous process which will allow the mind to form an elasticity,  to allow effort to bring matters to logical conclusions,  when man disparages this very active tool which is his gift,  then we all suffer,  mankind as well as the heavens.  It is our sacred obligation to honor this extraordinary gift.

Let us treat it as such.

painting by Claudia Hallissey

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Not A Pipe Dream

IMG_20140116_102110_841(2)When we yearn for something and are sure it is going to come true and it doesn’t, we are crushed.  How could we be so sure and then not have it happen?  The actuality of it has already happened elsewhere; transpired in another place.  That is hard for humans to absorb.  That actuality is a bleed through that has physical effects.   Most of us are already comfortable with the idea of other worlds.  It is not a tale of fantasy.   We already have scientific evidence for other worlds that support life in these universes.  That life may not be familiar but we need to move our frame of reference outward.   This is what visualization is about.

What is worked on here is already accomplished elsewhere.   When my healer friend put her hands on her ailing husband and felt the God  Power or Force move through her hands,  he was healed in another place.   Our thinking must include other selves than just this human one.  One may say this is a pipe dream.   It is the oldest philosophical argument of what reality is and fits my original premise in building a philosophy in that everything is ultimately good.   Or we would not Be.

What is dreamed here is carried out elsewhere in a world as real as this one.  We are working with manifestations of the mind’s conceptions.   What we have dreamed here, if not coming to fruition, is already carried out in another place.   All  we have to do is watch our  grandchildren’s   disappointments in a wish not coming true when they were so sure!  They are closer to other worlds , see and are part of what they know is happening.   Simple as that.

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Will It Be A Memory?

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It is about time,  is it not, that man stands to be counted as responsible,  not only for himself but for the place he inhabits by grace?   There is that connection,  that divine connection,  that cosmic connection that unites us all.   It is time that something be done and this desecration of the Earth stopped.    Man has decorated  it beautifully during specific times,  but for too long the chars of his violence are seen and there is no time between for Earth’s healing.

How many more times will the Earth be hospitable?  How much longer will it allow itself to be manhandled and dishonored?  The rights of the unborn are not to be violated.   The planet Earth is a teaching station and ‘way’ stop along the way.    It is long past the time that the warring must be stopped and our stewardship begin again or our green Earth will be a memory.

photo by John Holmes

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Because

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Because

Because I have memories
and carry pictures with no putting place
in this my time. . . .

Because I have memories
of worlds I cannot see
next door to where I am. . . . .

Because I have memories
of love once
having been given. . . .

without needing to prove
that I am
other than what I am. . . . .

then I plead
for my heart to be opened

so that I can see Me,  too.

                                                                                       Painting by Claudia Hallissey

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To Change History

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 To Change History

At all times you can change your destiny.   You can continue to love in the face of rejection.  You can continue to have faith in the face of no faith.   You can continue to build a life in the face of no life.   And because you know this and continue to do it,  you will be creating a new path and a new method which will in the course of history,  change it.

Painting by Claudia Hallissey

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Greenfield Village, A Walk Into The Past

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Greenfield Village,   A Walk Into The Past

This time now,  the hay no longer
lifts the roof of the standing barn.
No longer piled loose and
pitched with forks as high as the man can stand.
It still creases the nose with aromatic exhilaration.
Standing now are the bales neatly tucked
one upon the other,  so economical of space,
so utilitarian,  so terribly modern.

The machines had cut and scooped the fields
with utmost efficiency and confined the hay delivered
to trucks where men stacked the rectangles neatly.
The barn does not change,  not much.
With heart laboring,  I walk the one story incline
to lean against the knotted frame of the sliding doors,
wobbly in the old tracks.   They work still.
The smell of the baled hay is not as pungent
as I remembered,  but still familiar.
The single door at the opposite end
with the window vents at the peaked places,
could not be improved.
They allowed fresh air to enter
as well as the sparrows and starlings.

The open doors to the right of the main floor
leading to the bins where grain is stored,
is like the first barn.
Empty spaces with floorboards missing
leave gaping holes ready to turn an ankle.
The dry, spicy aroma is like
some great libation for the gods.
The scoops,  hand made and smooth,
cut from large cans having fed large families,
measured neatly the  amount of grain
for each of the animals.

There was no old man coaching horses
in front of the wagon with hay overflowing,
at the top of the hill.
It was tricky business at best,  not to
tip the wagon or break the shaft.
An unmatched set of horses demanded
the best old man to maneuver them.

The horses shied,  as well as the household
gathered to watch.   I’ve never known the onlookers
to be silent nor the old man to be confident.
Now I see the John Deere,  skillfully backing
the flatbed straight as an arrow,  onto the barn floor.
Just like backing up a semi.  Labor is required and
the longer hours are still after dark.
The acreage planted are still more acres,  the costs ever dear
and somehow in the hypothetical justice
of supply and demand,  higher ever for the farmer.
But we progress,  I hear.
I lean against the timber and it feels moist and hard
and smells of oak and barn.   I close my eyes.
It is good.   The memories are cold and sharp
and as I open my eyes,  I see orchards and fields
carried from another time.

I make my way down the hill.
I turn and walk across the field and lose myself
in the village.   A horse drawn carriage
finds its way across my path.
I need not pivot for cross traffic
but I do need to look out for the ducks.

All centuries have their share.

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