Archive | December, 2016

Agile Thinking Makes Connections. . .

 

Agile Thinking Makes Connections

No procedure is complicated if  allowed to draw itself from the boundaries which were once considered appropriate to it.  And any change necessary will be accommodated when proper procedures are instituted.

I wonder the comment a friend made when I said I learned a philosophical principle during my woodworking that stands as valid in relationships as well.  She could not see the connection.   When a wound is suspected in the wood,  it is best to clean it off and out or eventually it will mar the wood and destroy much work.  To try to cover the error means that too much time will be spent in working around it.  Far better to start with another clean piece or dig out the offense.   In any creative endeavor,  it is necessary to assess the problem and remedy the work.  It applies to human relations also.

One can deny or dismiss, or simply not discuss a problem,  in the hope that by not talking or giving it a name it will resolve itself and simply go away.  What happens it is that it will fester and smolder and erupt or implode the individual.  What could have been resolved at the time and talked through the hurt now, like the wound in the wood,  will at some time bleed through and cause untold damage.  Perhaps not in the same generation it occurred,  but generations later when excessive damage makes the wound irreparable.

It has taken me all these years to see how genetic and emotional connections can  be used by and of themselves.    The way things we feel are stifling us can be the very ones we draw strength from.   There is a continuity in all life,  not only in who we are but in what we do  and to draw on what we choose to be good for us takes a great deal of maturity.   We are apt to discard everything before we realize there are things of worth needing to be held onto.

The Victor

I would give you
a drink to sip,
ever so gingerly
but you would
gulp it down.

You would
in one fell swoop,
gargle your throat
and swallow
the liquid, unthinkingly,
I think.

But you don’t.
You take the worn cliches
and give them to an Other
as gems to be worn,
as diamonds turned to catch
the light on every facet.

This is what
I’ve learned from you;
that you have taken my best
and made it yours
and I am more
than what I Am.
And by doing this,

you are the victor.

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Around The Bend. . .

 

 

When our David was twelve or thirteen,  he lay on his bed in the room he shared with  his brother and walked the walls in his stockinged feet.  When I get to be a star in the sky,  he said,  I will shine down and give power to help  people as they need  to get through life.  I looked dumbfounded at this son who thought heavy thoughts as common fare.  I tell you this to show you that levity with truth can be injected in the everyday conversation even in the most mundane of places.

In  my recent poem  I scribed,  I was duly reminded that a heavy dinner of food  or thought brings dyspepsia.  It brought a hiccup to my breathing and I was brought up sharply.  And I appreciated the fact that the heavens get tired as well as humans.  I hope you can share this with me.  It made me laugh.

Around The Bend. . .

I was told
you have stretched
your boundaries
as far as you can and the rest
will require another world.

You work too hard at this, he said.
Break the pattern because
you do not need more information
to underscore what you already know.

What good to understand
worm holes and black holes, white holes
and time warps.
You work with them every night
when you flutter in and out
of worlds and know your way around
the bends of light.
You don’t need anything more.

You need a good stiff drink
of more than cola.
Love, take a bender.
You need rye, straight.

I say, around the bend
there will be a hand;
someone to pull me up.  .

around the bend will be a someone
to pull me up. . .I know.

 

 

 

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We Are Stewards. . . Accountable. .

 

It has been about five years since I started my blog at the insistence of a perceptive grandson who thought his grandmother should be heard.  So he set me up on my blog and I have been writing three and four times a week.  Poetry, essays and vignettes, excerpts and paradigms and observations.  Prayers also for the mystic mind of me.  It has been better than half century of serious independent study taken to the books while my half of the world slept.

Like Machiavelli’s letter to Vettori, I put on my evening clothes (which in my case were my flannel pajamas) and went to the study where I sat with my teachers of yore.  I, too, was lovingly received by them, where I pestered with arguments the injustices done to my world.  And answered by reason what their arguments were for the day.  I was revived in mind and attitude and went into sleep preparing again for the day’s events.  Like Machiavelli, the starving mind of me was fed and feasted on thoughts designed for the credentialed.  I was taught what no university could or was able to teach.  And given information only the gods in their compassion were able to garner and assimilate.  With understanding of the behaviors of peoples never to be voiced and nor even easy to live with.   It brings to mind the understanding of the word ‘expert’ the fledgling grandson in his growing knowledge of new words announced at the table,  ‘expert is a person who knows too much.’  And I followed with ‘and has nowhere to go with her knowledge.’

And in the ensuing years I have had many diverse opinions of my writing.  From the university English professor who asked horrified if my husband agreed with my views because I brought the heavens down to where I was instead of lifting man up as many male writers had done,  and he said no one in his studies ever did what I did,  to another who called my views my ‘musings’ and I knew he would never call a male writer’s  thoughts musings.   To those who wrote to tell me that I assumed everyone had taken my path and saw what I saw. to those women of the church (I cherished their views) who called me an original thinker and one who said I had no idea what I had done and it would take the Jesuits generations to catch up with me.  And the readers who thanked me for giving them something to think about when they faced roadblocks presented by altar teachings that nowhere came near the arguments foisted upon them by their thinking minds. And the courageous souls who cautioned me with there were places I would not be allowed a voice.

This is where I stand today in my new home in California on the eve of the year 2017.  It has been a run for my money so to speak.    In 1985 the first computer came to sit on my desk and waited for me to make friends with it.  The first three months of that year had events sufficient for a lifetime with the arrival of a grandmother  (for the next 22 years of her life) to our place of residence and a preemie grandson’s arrival and David’s transition from this Earth planet.  Little did I know technology  would accompany me on my journey of note.  It was to be a machine who was a  constant companion in my life,  a dependable one, where I voiced thoughts and arguments and in time,  answered me.

Again I am set up with it in my new workroom and am ready to venture forth with thoughts commensurate with my years.  I have grown in understanding, giant steps a son says, and expect others, he says,  to follow.   Not so I intone, just don’t get too comfortable.  Lest evolution stagnate.  And wars continue to be fought with ancient agonies and with eventual understanding that we are killing our beloveds.  They are one and the same.

As long as I feel I can make a difference I will continue to write.  It is important to me that we keep this lush planet as a favorite and important classroom.  There is none better.  There is no place as precise and that quickly manifests the idea as this .  We are her stewards.   We must start being accountable.

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With Peace As Natural As Breath To Us. . . .

From my heart to yours,  I send my Christmas message.  In this holiest of seasons, where the desire for peace nudges all hearts no matter their persuasion,  let us give way to these highest and best of all emotions and act upon them.  By acting upon them until they are second nature to us,  in time they will be what they were meant to be;  peace as natural as breath to life.  Blessings,  Veronica

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Do You Hear?. . . .

Angels We Have Heard - Detail

 

Do You Hear?

 

Do I have more minutes to finish?   There was no time for answers because the little one with a dash was out of sight.   In a few minutes he was back and announced,  I finish.   Having learned to wait while private things were finished,  I waited again while he proceeded to his room.

I followed him shortly to find him in pajamas and ready to crawl into the high bed.   Well, should it be a story to tell or a story to read I asked.   I am ready for you to choose.   Tell me what it is we should do to get you ready for sleep?   And I waited.  Minutes ticked away while the choice was being made.   Patiently, again,  what will it be?

His face took on a faraway look as if searching for a memory.   I recognized the look and wondered where he would go for that memory to take shape.   I knew it well.   It was a look that had been on my face many times with voices telling me to stop dreaming.   I needed to pay attention to what was at hand and not waste so much time dreaming.  So because of those reprimanding voices,   I knew to wait.

He asked if I would sing the one I singed when I singed with other voices.   He knowed that song!

What song is that?   I wondered.  There was no time for me to sing with other voices that he would have heard.   Like this, he said and in his high soprano he sang his Gllloooooooooorrrrrrriiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaa and I knew.   Unbelievably I knew.   The music hung on his tongue and in his throat as if he were tasting a delicate sweet.

When did you ever hear me sing that?  I asked.   Before I came to you,  he said.   Before I came.   I heard you singed and my heart singed with you.   I knowed I could tell you some time if I just ‘membered it.    I promised I would ‘member so I could hear it again and again.  I knowed that you would ‘member if I singed it.   And you do!  he said,  you do!

And I believed him because I gave up choir when he was due to be born.   I took this child into my arms and sang the song he so wondrously remembered.   And when I came to the part he remembered his voice faithfully shadowed mine.   And another posit was added to the Memory Bank but who would believe it?   Who??????  Except the many someones  who entered their place of belief every time they bent their knees.

Those are the who. . . .

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Beneath The Wings . . .

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Being the child that I was, rooted in memory  solidly, I could  not  help   being a trial to my mother.   Having  seven  other children  of normal  vintage  ,  she could   compare  easily  and wonder loudly  why I had to be different.  It was not by intent but by inclination  of  the  tree.  I always  felt that had there  been  a way to send me back  ,  she would  have  .

Because   of   memory, I could   not   dismiss   the metaphysical.  It had come with  a  high cost.  As I grew, the religious  took a sidebar  while the spiritual  became  the most important.  And  because  I  was  in  the  physical  world  and had to  toe the mark,  the secular had to be wedded within.  So in effect, I had created  a trinity  .   The metaphysical, the spiritual and the secular  as a model for physical   life.

I had embraced  all elements  and had thrown  out nothing.  It was all inclusive  and broadly  focused  .   Where we are is where we are.  We are a product of our  experience,  a talented   composition  of memories  and a host to our lives.

It is imperative  that we honor what we have been taught and what  is life giving and life sustaining .  It is crucial  to the enlightenment  of civilization  that we honor  the growth  of the   individuals  and their desire to make  a difference  .   Each generation  comes with a new found enthusiasm  to promote  the evolution  of  humankind.

It is up to us, the elders to support  and be the hammock  to cushion  this growth.  We should   welcome   this with joy.  Let us not  fail them.

We will talk of philosophy and we will talk of poetry.  We will talk of people   and Beings.

And we will again  grace the lovely work of the Great God   and say we walk beneath  the wings  of Him who holds   us together.

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The Power Within . . .

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The power to change the world  begins  with  the  intention  and  the  desire  to  change  ourselves  .   We   must become  the  person  we want someone  else  to be.

We want the compassion , the love, the intelligence  ,  the strength,  the ability   to see the  larger picture, to see what they   see and at least  what  we see.  And  how it influences everything,  not   only   tomorrow  but a million tomorrows.  How the  tree falls in our  yard, or  the one we plant  will determine  the air quality,  the appearance  ,  and the health   of everyone  in its path.  Everything  depends on what  happens today  .   What  is said  today  to beloveds  will determine  what man says to the angels  eons  down the line.

We work toward this.  We  want to meet this someone  in our lives, who would   hold the  sacred history  with tenderness forever.  Need a god  to do that?  He abides within Man already. The  divine  is within.  We must let our behavior  reflect it.

 

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