Archive | August, 2017

Be That One Someone. . .

 

In the midst of catastrophic events such as the ongoing flooding in Texas, we wonder if what we are able to do can truly make a difference.  It seems this topic is being brought up often lately  in our lives and the little we are able to do individually seems small indeed.

Even when it appears to be a lost cause, it is not.  That someone cares enough to do what needs to be done is never a lost cause.  There cannot ever be a lost effort to do good in the universe.   That would be an oxymoron, a contradiction.   The ability to see this is paramount.   Even when no words are spoken there needs to be someone who cares enough to help expedite matters.  If there is not, it is a futile life.   But should there be caring, there is hope and a chance for life again.

Even those of lesser stuffs, those stuffs are only lesser because of the parameters set by others.   Take the parameters away and there are no limits for good.  And that is what good is all about, what gods are all about.   Within the person there are no limits for good.  What is life sustaining and life giving wherever the need is, is good.

When we wander through the mental houses of those we care about or are responsible for and find much that we would like to help with and then decide not to,  the ‘then not’ means we wash our hands of the matter.  To wash one’s hands of the matter is to relegate all to the dung heap.

If the one who can do something about anything finds the matter too sticky, the flies will be attracted and the matter will deteriorate and rot.   The purpose of keeping on, keeping on means that the people are still worth the effort.  As long as a some one cares, there is hope.   Just one to care is needed.

I am adding the following thoughts to your already overburdened mind because we are aging and we also see the lack of personal responsibility in our elected officials too often.   Please include the thoughts for your prayerful consideration because futures of invisible audiences depend heavily on those who are clueless and dispense grave injustices.

Any imperceptible change to do good, no matter how small,  will be felt in your circle and others will change.  And the circle will grow and the genetic characteristics will be changed by due process and evolutionary change will be instituted.

However microscopic.  Seems like small potatoes when the catastrophe such as we face looms so large, doesn’t it?  But it is not.  There will be change on a larger scale and when that change is evident throughout the behavior of humankind,  we then have the evolution to a higher form of being.  What is done here on this planet of Man , this Earth,  there will be the refinement of policies and behavior throughout the universes. 

If we go to those places of worship we say we do, then we give thought to immortality.  Hiding somewhere in our thoughts and behavior is the world we prepare for.  Let it not be a rude awakening.  It takes just one,  just one to include this thinking in our attitudes.  Let our good extend to the invisible life.  We were told that what we do for one we do for all.   Let us be that just one  someone to begin. 

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The Universe I Know. . . .

 

Sometimes things need to be repeated because the lesson has been worn and the fit now is less traumatic.  On November 5th, 2013 USA TODAY had an article that the space observatory Kepler telescope had shown that about 8 billion stars in our galaxy had planets almost the size of Earth that could support life.   Flares should have been sent up by our religious institutions that emphasized the fact that our Father’s House Has Many Rooms.  The beginning centuries’ mentality could think in those terms only because at the horizon man thought he  dropped off the Earth.  Less than a handful at that time could grasp a subliminal concept.

Even now tempers still rage over evolution/creation and evolution/salvation.  Surely we will evolve to the point where we will see some truth,  a truth in all when our brains enlarge to grasp the larger understanding?  There are those whose lives were dedicated to the divine in all life and even God in a rock.

Destiny brings mavericks to Earth to enhance physical life.  They possess intelligence beyond what institutions teach.  They are not trendy nor dress in costumes designed for fashion.  They speak not of reality shows but of substance showing that thought is their companion.  When recognized one would surely yearn for such a companion.

They speak of life elsewhere.  And not of linear measurement.  Their worlds are rich with forms patterned by consciousness invisible to the common man.  Where worlds are filled with thoughts having a reality palpable.  Where mind speaks the nuance of meaning not needing the vocabulary as understood.    Where these worlds outside our own, watch closely the actions  of Earth gods that will determine their futures,  for many of them already acknowledge the divinity within mankind.  And the divinity is an uncertain kind when viewing man’s behavior.

The ancient knowledge of the mystics must be understood to uncover man’s future progress.  Man has argued for his rights loudly and now must own his responsibility.

On The Universal Watch. . .

Glancing into the icy calm
of the darkened sky,
leaving little to the night’s magic,
is a knowledge from minds in action.

Saying little in languages understood,
it moves itself with intelligence,
looking for evidence bespeaking intent.

Always wary,  ever beseeching,
reaching conclusions seeking
a desired peace with an enduring future.

Not only one world in motion with
an anxious search,  but many
whose futures are determined by the
results of a whirling planet
whose emotions are in turmoil.

A learning place, a starting place,
whose tentative decisions determine
the futures of roles dependent on
the unbridled, unharnessed emotions
of childhood still groping.

Worlds looming as non entities,
not proven by the laboratories
of the science gods,
is life in other forms;
as intelligent, viable, thoughtful,
as intent on living within the realm
of their possibilities as we on Earth.

Searching as we do as gods for an enduring Peace.

 

photo by
John D. Holmes

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Crowded Into Minutes. . .

 

What I contribute to are more philosophical questions than most are interested in.  More biblical inquisitions than I would go for answers.  I don’t know but what there are few sources that I would find cogent or even unbiased.

There are those who argue the universe is benign.  I find myself venturing toward its viable good because we would have long ago disappeared with so much behavior ending in violence.  God is life itself.  Life is god.  When I walked with an elder and said I love life she said she never thought to think anything about life other than to get through it somehow.  Who did she think was checking her progress and keeping tabs?  If at all?

We walked down the street and it was snowing as we came out of the diner and the street was cast with a falling snow and the evergreens were shadowed in front of us, like some high peaks shrouded in a mist.  Beautiful, so beautiful and I wanted her to see what I saw. I thought she did.  But she did not.  It was as nothing to her.

I cannot understand why people hold onto this life with such tenacity when they do not love life.

The next day we walked to do some errands. At the corner of my street  I heard a marvelous bird song.  I stopped and looked up and there was a solitary bird singing his mighty song.  I see you,  I said and I hear you.  And he stopped his singing.

After a few streets of seeing and hearing and then not seeing the birds,  I finally said do not stop your singing though I cannot see you.  And they continued to sing.  My bird ritual.

To me this is life.  This is god.  This is dominion.  It is mine and I love it and cherish it and it is good.  God is the divine in me,  within every creature and thing. The All has movement, a motion and a right to be,  though obviously not in words destined to be understood in our world with a vocabulary to define it.

The contradictions are apparent and there are many simply because our focus is too narrow to contain it all.  And the brain not equipped for enlarged understanding.  Evolution is a process.

But this much I know.  That which keeps me breathing and moving and loving is Spirit, part and parcel of the All That Is, and of which I am. 

(excerpt from poem Life Everlasting . . . )

I can see, I say for this is mine. . .
only with how I perceive
this limited existence.

Fair enough, for this time, I think,
but only for this time.
There will be other times
when it will not be enough. . . .

And then I grow unto his splendor. . .
I will be guided unto his doorway
and I will be led. . .

And there will never be a final time . . .
It only begins here and now and

again it will be time to move on.

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Another Matter of Trust . . .

There was a little exchange with an elder.  I said, but you told me this and I believed you!  That was your problem!  was the retort.  But why say it if it is not true?  And then the paradigm spilling forth;  ‘there is no one so gullible as the one who loves you!’  There was laughter,  indeed.

Over such a small matter as saying that when you come to Wednesday of the week,  the rest was a piece of cake!  And I believed. And I worked very hard being promised relief.   Wonderful exchange,  wonderful lesson.  And again in a manner deserving of note,  learned that no one is so gullible as the one who loves you.

The one loved needs to be trusted and the one loving the loved needs to know these matters are not to be treated lightly.  Trust must undergird all relationships of note or all else erodes.

(excerpt from the poem)

Trust. . .

What precious treasure
to compare to this?
What pearl or diamond rare
has seen its equal?

Who would not raise it high
for world upon world to see?
And guard with life
if this be asked?

Not often given, but rarely refused
by those who trust have earned.
A burden love has made light.

Trust is a burden love has made light.

 

photo by
John Stanley Hallissey

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A Time For Making Peace. . .

Our Prayer. . .

When words have been shouted and have struck hearts forever changed,  we gather our resources from within and count on Grace Given by thoughtful minds that harbor goodwill.  We pray to what we hold highest and best that we meet challenges that bring the changes needed. And we do not discount nor dismiss our part in those changes that count on us to be the example.  We begin now to pull our actions and words through our hearts so there will be no doubt to our intentions for good.

 

A Time For Making Peace. . .

It is time for making peace;
for actions that struck
the core of the heart. . .
for words that sucked life
out of a body still intent on breathing.

Those were actions and words
that should have been vented
when anguish and outrage
stole the child’s innocence.

And now with the ends
of the circle tightly knotting
we quietly say our thanks.

For the Grace given
by understanding hearts
in the heat of the fire.
Of love ventured into arms
needing the close embrace
of a forgiving Other.

It all comes full circle.
And we step out and
the merry go round stops
for a time.  Until again

our zest for life is renewed.

 

 

photo by John  Holmes

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Times Such As These. . .(do we not learn?)

 

Times Such As These. . .

I lock up the room
and pocket the last remnants
of words laying about
unattended.

Fearful that pieces
of my heart may be found
scattered among them.
And why not?

Times such as these
leave us with little salve
to heal the open wounds
which once were hearts.

For whom do we weep?
The children whose siblings
will no longer come to the table
to convey with no doubt
the events which took their innocence?

Or the parents whose hearts
were transplanted when word came
that these unspent stars
were already breathing the rarified air
as heaven’s most blessed?

Look at us here.
pleading that our children
will be safe as they try to understand
what we in our dotage
have not learned.
To resort to arms

means death in any country.

 

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To Break The Waves, enough it is. . . .

After having been told a zillion times that no one would want my head,  I have decided that I truly would not want anyone else’s head either.  Because then I would not see the world that I love the way I do.  I would not see the pine trickle of a branch pulling itself courageously out of the trunk of the tree amidst a  half dozen other twigs and marvel at the beauty of it.  Or hear the young grandmother puzzle at the toddler wondering why is this child so angry?  And another placid?  And see the connections in all bornings from their source already bent.  Chance, you think?  My head tells me of no coincidences.

Understandably there are some who prefer to think everything is newly chaste.  But each of us has a history and life is a gift given.  It is with hope that we uncover its gems.  And profit from its lessons.

If You Can Bear The Truth. . .

If they should ever ask you
from where comes this knowledge
and you can bear the truth,  tell them.

It was written in the stars that I saw
with inner vision,  shining exuberantly
with a vitality that bears description.
It was hung and dried by a sun that had
dried my ancestor’s tears
for a million centuries.

The lyrics have pressed my ears
in moans that I find unbearable.
Does not everyone hear the cries?
If they should ask you,
tell them this.

It is the music of celebration,
when one, even one is freed from
a lifetime of servitude to anguish
clogging the throat.
This music is heard down long lines
of generations and will be mated
in their genes.   They will glory in
their freedom and they will live forever.

So if they ask you and you can
bear the truth, tell them.

It was taught by my Spirit
spilling into my heart with no reprieve
and into my mind with no relief.
It is a lifetime of no alibis and
a coping system diffused.

My teacher has no name,
still the imprint is within my genes,
implanted within my ancestor’s memories,
resting within me.

They do not rest while I cannot.
My songs continue, if only for me.

Enough it is for me to break the waves.

 

 

Photo by John Stanley Hallissey
(click on photo to fill screen)

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Streaming. . . .

All of humankind is in need of professional counseling, but who is going to counsel the counselors?

*****

If man is the result of the whim of the Potter,  how dependable is the Potter?

*****

Or is the lump of clay thrown out willy nilly and at the whim of the elements, molded?

 *****

Can any constructive change be considered not worthwhile and worth the effort?  When does ‘at what cost’ enter into the argument?

*****

The attempt to discern writing of the ancients is an attempt filled with trepidation.  As man and his language evolved , to trace early meaning accurately is to find a man with mind and an ancient frame of reference.

*****

When we fall down, we will get up only as fast as we are embarrassed.  Or hurt.

 *****

It is never too late to do a good thing.

*****

An accident is only an accident when we do not feel responsible.

 *****

Heaven is kind to allow us so much time as children, otherwise we would never be forgiven.

*****

As long as we have the ability to emote,  we have the passion to breathe

*****

The dismay which follows truth should not defeat us because in a quiet moment longer, the courage will be given for constructive action.

*****

Love life sufficiently and make it all sacred,  for it is.

*****

Kin have to become family before acquaintances can become friends.

 

photo by John Holmes

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With A Promise. . .

 

Fortunate are those who walk with their cameras at the precise moment a sunset images the evening sky.  And we are fortunate to have those photos in our libraries.  Most fortunate are we who have the intent of the photographer rising at dawn to catch the morning sky in colors unmatched.  Few are the photographers and fewer still the mornings to be counted on to arise in  the eastern sky with brilliant precision.  It is almost a game with the gods of how much do you care?  And with joy we are fortunate to have in our yearning a photo like this,  a treasure of Jon Katz’ discipline that brings him out at dawn  to capture the emerging dawn’s chameleon concepts.  And with his generosity I add it to my growing library.

With A Promise. . .

There will be a tomorrow
somewhere. . .
waiting in the sunrise.

Perhaps in the shadow
of the footprint
on which you stand
this moment. . .

Or perhaps in
the light of a morning
in a world not thought
yet into Being. . .

But you will have it,
earned by the tenor
of your days,
practiced diligently.

It will be met
with an of course,
having visited every night
and well met. . .

with a promise once again to reclaim Paradise.

 

photo by Jon Katz

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On Bended Knee. . . Peace-d

It is on bended knee that I approach my blog with what nearly a century of living has taught.  With what I have learned of our holographic universe,  acknowledging talents given at birth or contracted for I must speak my experience.

It is a linear world we live in to help us learn.  It can be counted on being.  It is also a prime example that all time is simultaneous.  The past is still happening,  the future has already happened and we in the present race to catch up with it.  The following was one of the first posts I wrote 6 years ago when I first blogged. My life has stood me in good stead.  It has been all of a piece and I would be foolish to deny it.

September, 2011. . . . It is a trying thing we do.  We want to understand what we remember of a specific time when all we have are bits of memories and what historians say went on at the time.   But we cannot take as fact all that we read or hear.  Everything written cannot be taken as gospel.   Everything heard cannot be taken without question.  What we have in our memory bank we get in snatches and try to make as much sense out of them as we can.

 For when we try to do more than this, we are playing a guessing game.   It is also a guess when we are not certain whose memories we are jousting with.   Are they our memories of this life or perhaps other lives of ours as more of the world believes or perhaps even of distant or ancient ancestors written into our DNA?   Are we responsible for unfulfilled talents or love not returned?   Can we or should we put to rest our ancestors’ anguish?

 And what about all the historians’ views of history?  How much of it is conjecture?   How much of it is piecing what bits can be garnered to fill in the spaces when the times themselves have left no record?   There is much that can be retrieved through concerted research.  But retrieved also must be the long lost habit of conversation with aging persons.  There is much that oral history will reveal that written history has neglected to mention.  

It is a hard work we do to find a putting place for memories.   But it is one way to find out who holds the candle for each of us. 

Peace-d. . .

The numbers are few
who can share in this journey
that takes a lifetime
to get to the heart of oneself.

One learns to walk through
the warm woods of one’s empty house
to find the communion
with invisible friends
when a soul across the table is not.

The immediate pressure of voices
long gone have ears aching
but there is a conversation of saints
and the company of good minds
commingling;  kindred spirits housed in thought.

Confrontation of points hidden within centuries
of genetic history has one acutely conscious
of love freely given and healing accomplished.
As we are given the capacity to love,
Spirit within gives that capacity also to the Other.

And pieces of The All That Is will be peace-d.

(poem written March,  2016)

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