Archive | Essays

Centuries To Arrive. . . .

Centuries to get here . . . .

There are those of us who are sensitive to our inmost thoughts and often we consider them nightmares.  A favorite writer tells of his dreams that leave him unanchored.  They take his equanimity and disable him.  Like his, my journey for years left me with events that had no putting place.  Our memory banks are similar.  Children with bloated bellies and tears and clenched fists.  Sacrifices and incense and swords and hot sands in strange places.

I would suggest the library with its Metaphysical shelves as study for the saints and souls who trudge the inward path.  Books were my support because I did not find an Other to match my  path.  I could not share my nightmares with an Other whose survival depended on their soup bowl not being broken.

Who would understand falling into a limitless depth with shrieking voices on the way to sleep to be caught by strong arms and lifted into Light?  And when doors opened within the brain to hear music drifting with arias never concluded and the noisy games in the gym forever unending?  I am a generation older than the writer and it has taken a lifetime of footwork to realize it is a gift given.

There are reasons and all not brought to satisfying conclusions yet.  Enough though for this world with our finite brains to show others have  journeyed and written  to let us know they have gone the route.  Religions have not focused on the larger picture. Their eventuality will be the absorption into a greater spiritual reality. They are appropriate for this planet and its peoples on diverse paths with more narrowed focus and needing support.

The larger picture requires a stretching of the psychic muscles that seem to embrace what is considered bizarre.  Only so because trying to pull the greater picture through the narrow aperture distorts the vision.  Other world experience cannot be drawn into this physical reality with its boundaries.  They belong in the world they were dreamed.  You travel centuries to remember them.  Research them; you are special.  They are earned glimpses so take pride in your journey.  It has taken enormous courage.

Life Everlasting. . .

Without ears to hear, he hears.
Without eyes to see, he sees.
With heart he understands
the small musings
of this limited mind.

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 again, I will find
my way home.
Again, 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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The Sexual Revolution. . .

The Sexual Revolution . . .

With all that is coming out and many falling from grace,  I want to add some thought to what is happening.  After a lifetime of building a philosophy because I felt bereft from birth without one, I have studied on a daily basis and have come to some conclusions.  They may not sit at all with some,  but I want to add some things to consider.

Out of  experience with memory has come the fact that we are more than who we represent.  I think, as my poetry says,  that bleed through is memory.  This bleed through of people that I write about are portions of who I am,  in different areas as real as I am,  or not.  Perhaps as I have written,  they are more real,  and I, the illusion, in this particular reality we say is stable.

If all time is simultaneous, as quantum theory suggests,  and I know is, since I have walked with a foot in another world all my life, then we contribute in ways unimaginable to the  continuity of cultures that we cannot altogether understand.  My ability to use power tools when I was into woodworking, my ability to work physically hard at work that threw an able bodied man into bed,  my ability to understand the so called legacies of males, like construction,  have given many pause and questioned my female sexuality.  Not the least is my feminine desire for male appreciation.  But I do not discount my very real description as being harvest for the flies in the sun beaten sand as I walk the camel.

I see myself incarnating both as female and male in lifetimes either simultaneous or linear.  Have I been as open and transparent as I have been in this lifetime as a female when I paraded my sexuality as a male?  Did I overstep and take advantage of those when I held the power of their intent in my hands?  I wonder how much I contributed as a male in society and maybe much but denigrated to a nothing by the sorrow and hurt I caused in order to build a self esteem that was wobbly.

Only if you have wondered the source of your being and place in life can you see how vulnerable mankind is when wearing the costume of choice in a life of perhaps not choice but chance.  Has the problem been all male?  I know the diminishment of being a female.  I am 86 years old so I am not new to the gender.  I recognize the soft self esteem of many males throughout my life and coming from a lifetime of 12 males,  2 fathers, 6 brothers, a husband and 3 sons,  I think I know them quite well.  It took only me to know my gender.  In fact the psychiatrists agreed many times that I did more analyzing than patients on the couch.

So in fairness, because until the veil is ripped away and I know myself truly as who I am, I have to acknowledge that through Earth’s life, and the beginning of time, I walked and talked and set to dreaming, and took advantage trying to assuage the tearing away from my Source.  And I am sorry, but  if mushrooms and daffodils both get many chances to perfect life’s dream,  I don’t think one lifetime does it for any man or woman.  We come back time and again trying to get it right.  We make our mistakes and unless the boot is lifted from the neck of evolution, do we get to move forward.

History has shown how man has gone off to hunt, to war, to spar with the forces of nature since time immemorial.  He has kissed his wife goodbye and patted his children on the head to be good and gone off happily too many times for adventures to escape the boring drama of domesticity.  Women have known this from the beginning of time and they assessed the work left to them as they were left to parent the sons as well as the daughters.  The shot of adrenalin to the male bodies as they drove swords into one another since their beginning  was the aphrodisiac to their lives.  As civilized men they abhor these seizures and that is what they are.  And vow to do better and raise sons of civility.  But violence and wars are still on too many agendas.

We are in the midst of cultural change.  It is time and women’s lamentations have risen cosmically high enough to warrant action.  It has taken a long time since Betty Friedan shouted No, never again!

But hurt and sorrow should take us all to the classroom again.  To the classroom to heal ourselves, both men and women  and to learn how to raise sons and daughters with self respect intact.  We need to find out who first told us we were no good.  And why we believed it.  The boot has been lifted from the neck of evolution.  We hope to see progress again.

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Taking It Personally. . .

Taking It Personally     . . . (we were having breakfast with a young friend)

From a journal entry after the breakfast. . . . the Teacher speaks . . . Your justification of man at the breakfast table yesterday proved a point.  The mate said that Jacob was not what you thought  him to be.  And you had said that you could only take your frame of reference and apply it to other people.  And if you endowed them with the highest and best that you knew and the depth,  then that was not such a bad thing to do.  If you generalized in such a manner then you indeed endowed them.  The young friend was surprised and his eyebrows shot up.  A nice gesture.  You are familiar with it.

You justified all men and hoped that someone would be around for your justification when you needed it.  Will you need to be justified?  You think all men do.  But will you?  Have you done to the best of your ability what you know to do?  Have you swept every corner of your mind?  Is there that which yet must be brushed clean?

Only you will know this in the days to come.  Only you will know it when you are pressed by emotions still to be filtered.  You think what yet?

Only what is ours to choose.  And if you choose nothing more, nothing more is required.

It is not an easy route you have chosen to do.  Nor is it one that most would find themselves on.  You take it all and then apply it to yourself.  You are said to take it all personally.  And personally is the only way to process information for any meaning to be applied.  It must be personal.  It must be meant for you.  If it is not personal,  you are a passer through. . .

From The Beginning. . .

Except in the quiet of the night
when the demons plague
the early hours and the babies
cannot sleep that the pleadings
are ignored.

It is when the ghosts trip the light
and hide beneath the covers with
the bodies that sweat.  And shake
and rattle the headboards. . .
It is when the praying begins and
the begging does not stop.
You know that as well as I. . .

We have heard it since
the beginning of time.
And advantages taken and innocents
pay to assuage the egos that cry
for their mamas.  What to do. . . what to do?

The fathers will not leave their warm beds
to hug their sons and lay waste
to their fears.  And tell them that the love
they left will always be there for them,
for the fathers do not know.
They still cry for the warm arms
they know and the pain does not let up.

One day every inlet of the sea
and in every cove of the dunes
beside the sea we will see that life
is fair and sweet and good.
And in every imaginable
hiding place life will prosper

as it was meant to from the beginning.

 

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Love Is The Currency. . .

( I had written. . . )  I really need some one to listen to my words and consider them and tell me there is rest and love and ultimate design in all this.  That I can look at the morning and not feel it will be snatched by high noon.  That I can walk through the day, at ease with my surroundings and not feel the butterflies nesting in my gut.

I want not to feel Emerson’s under-riding bitterness trying to make good out of despair, (or is it my despair I read into it?) which borders on the arms flailing and saying, what is the use?

I want to be the one who looks and does not wonder at the immense goodness and does not feel it is a throw of the dice.  Make sense?  I want to make sense.  I want to make a whole lot of sense.  I want to rid myself of the feeling that I make no difference while I make a difference.  I want to know that my order in this particular place is of importance in a world of no order.

I want to know that my attempt at understanding is noted in a world of innocents playing with rotten toys.  I want to stop hurting.  I want, I want.  What  I want is a must be in this natural existence and what is needed to maintain equilibrium in this precise classroom.  Nature requires it.  It means I love my Earth enough to hold on to her tightly.

(This could have been written yesterday and I suppose it was since all time is simultaneous.  But I was just 52 and struggling with the injustices and insults of the world I saw centered.  It was a silent struggle as most inner journeys are when commitments and conscience are shouldered.  We don’t know it is a journey nor are we aware of options.  For some, there are no options;  life simply Is.)

I Come Bearing Gifts. . .

I come bearing gifts,
an open heart,
an open mind
and open arms.

Love is the currency
used to procure these.
Yours given unsparingly
and mine given
in gratitude

for the constancy of a similar heart.

 

(this poem was a Given at same time as the above was written.)

 

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All Time Is Simultaneous. . holographic universes. . .

June 17, 1984 journal. entry edited only for space . . I was sitting in my chair at the dining room table reading the paper when glancing out the north windows I caught sight of Michael emerging out of his green truck.  He was drinking water out of a peanut butter jar and the setting sun shone on his curly head.

I yelled to him as I heard the gate slam and told him to wait while I put Princess in the basement.  I then went to the kitchen door and found him standing and looking at the paint job on the house.  He came in for a minute still drinking his water and I showed him the drawing  of the patio cover we wanted.

He then had a call from his daughter to come home because there was someone to see him.  He left and walked down the back yard walk.  I yelled to him that he parked his truck in front and he said his truck was in the alley in front of the garage.  And he knew where he parked his truck!  I followed him to the back gate and sure enough, his blue, blue! truck was there.  The new flat bed.

I heard the words simultaneous worlds in my head.  And knew that for every aspect of my world here there is another impinging in identity on it.  Though sometimes not up to date as with Michael’s blue truck which was only two weeks old.  But it was in his green truck I saw him pull up front and talked to him at the gate.

Later that evening family friend John stopped by.  I raced to put Princess again in the basement and went to open the front door only to find John not there.  Ten minutes later he drove up and I asked him where he had gone.  He just left home because he had been packing but according to my vision,  he had already arrived which was why I put Princess in the basement.

It was not until 2015 that I read Michael Talbot’s Holographic Universe and realized that all my life I had walked with one foot in other worlds.  Quantum theory talks of time being simultaneous. The past is still happening and the future has already happened as we race in this present to catch up to it.   It is a difficult concept for most people.  Linear measurement makes it easier to learn when things appear stable.  That they are not is the reality.  We do ourselves and the worlds at large a huge favor when we push the boundaries out to allow beggar’s room for our Spirits to expand. We are different but our intent is to do good.

It would have been a comfort in my life to have a hand to hold that understood this concept.

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Wandering The Galaxies. . .

Wandering The Galaxies. . .

Again,  I am here with pictures,  primitive to be sure,  that I drew of what I encountered in  the dream world written on September 9, 1991.  Previously I had shown the pictures I had drawn of the gentle fishes in the post on this blog called Worlds I know. . .to speak of. . . which was on September 3, 2017.   I wrote then that as I continued working on cross referencing my journals with other work which corroborates them, I would share the pictures and the journals.

I came across the notes I had taken when rereading the journals of the pictures you see here.  I knew I had the sketches and showed them to my son John.  He said I was ahead of my time.  This week we activated solar panels on our home  after much protocol.  There obviously are worlds where other forms of energy are utilized to a greater extent.  I share a part of the journal of that date. While I was not fully awake and the dream was fresh,  I drew the sketches you see.  My input to the dialogue taking place was . .

(The energy on the mountain.  What I thought were trees in the vision, shaped like trees, were not were they?  They somehow brought in energy to run houses without chimneys.  And from those strange shaped trees I thought on the mountain.  From a distance I thought them trees, but they were energy sources, weren’t they?  I wish there were credentials to back me up, but then I wouldn’t have taken this seriously but just a powerful play . )

I could not have envisioned this on my own nor have thought one day to be living here in California where solar panels would be discussed to offset the high cost of electricity.  But almost 30 years ago I had  sketched other worlds where gentle fishes and houses without chimneys were evidenced.  I had heard of Rachel Carson and her worries for this planet.  My concerns were immediate and I was the person on the premises needing to deal with why my world was wobbly when I tried so hard.

I told my sons I needed a Hazmat suit when I entered my workroom.  The emotional vibes are hard on this aged frame from a life of memories relived.  Memory is both joyous and painful and always entwined.

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Reverence For Learning. . .

If I was to be an earth shaker,  I would first shake man.  I would have the apples fall down on his head again and again until some sense would come from the constant bombardment.  I would ply him with this food that tells him who he is.  I would have him search his inmost self with the intensity that would move mountains.  And I would tell him that all he needs to make his world a fit place to live is to first know himself.  But that has already been written, hasn’t it?

How to get him first to look within, to study his own motivation and to dispense with his own alibis before he can begin to attempt to disassemble his brothers.   I wish I had the ability to write what is in my heart.

I wish that I could roar from the top of the highest mountain, the highest building in the cities of men, to tell them of their cosmic connection, of their divine origin and let them bask in their own glory.  I wish, I wish, I wish.  How do I do that?

How do I tell them that their god is all that they can wish for?  That their brother is indeed themselves walking the path that will lead them to the mansion of many rooms.  That their sisters are truly sisters and color neither separates nor delineates their origins?  How can I even venture to tell them that their godhood is within and there never was  reason to believe otherwise?  The Master told us that.

How can I tell them love has all the potential of healing the mystifying elements of earth life and  they would indeed no longer be the enemy?  Where is it said that man must crawl on his belly to be able to stand in the true reflection of what is his birthright?

I would take him and stand him up.  I would take his face between my hands and shout at him that he is magnificent.  I would continue to shout until my voice drowned out his negative teachings of centuries and make him repeat after me.  I am he who walks with my godhood intact.  I am he who walks. . . . .

 

(I wrote the above in a journal entry on September 6, 1982 when I was 51 years old.  I am now 86.  Many times I have written of my Independent Study Program which I have continued  daily since I became a parent over 60 years ago.  I felt our children were special and I wanted to be equal to their needs.  I began my ‘need to know’ seriously.  I wanted to answer their why’s adequately and with knowledge. 

I did not know the depth and height this journey would take me.  I did not know it was a journey.  Only now I realize in working to cross reference my work of 60 years,  that the injustices I have seen throughout my life are now surfacing onto the international scenes.  I see support systems coming to life with hope for the future.

The above thoughts have deepened and broadened and integrated in my philosophy. I was mostly silent with my thoughts because they were unusual for my day.  Being told I was out of step I now find the opposite to be true.  I have found as those in ancient days that the inner experience is our most valuable guide.  The heart’s intent with clarity is the valid one.  All of life’s experience cannot be proven in the laboratory).

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Angels Unaware. . .

 

Angels Unaware. . .

Seldom do dreams stay with me,  and though there are many diverse opinions on the importance of dreams,  in early times they were taken as imperative directions.  This one has stayed with me every day for a week.  It was a dream of deaf children and it seemed it went on all night.

There is a young woman hired to work with the deaf children.  She is well spoken and extremely good at teaching.  She is patient and clear in methods.  She is persistent in getting the children to work at being understood.  She teaches  body watching, body language, lip reading and any intuitive impulses.  Emphasizes words forming in speech and eye contact.  She  teaches ways that the body can use muscles  to work organs for added functions.  Since ears do not hear, she knows that other parts of the body are called into use and do what the ears cannot.

Most people do not know this.  Most people do not know there are other ways to hear than by ears.  Other parts of the body can be called in to substitute for what the ears cannot do.  She is good.  And helps many children learn to speak where before they wandered the silences.  The group  is so impressed with her work and success with the children,  who learn to speak  well and clearly,  sometimes even the average person is not convinced the person is deaf.

At the awards evening she is praised  highly because of her  excellent work with everyone in tears.  She stands up to give her gratitude  for the awards and is so overwhelmed she starts crying and the words out of her mouth are MY FAWA TOL ME I WA NO DEF! spoken like a deaf person with imperfect diction.  My father told me I was not deaf!  And my heart just about stopped in the dream and I realized that she was deaf and spoke like a deaf person but when not under emotional stress was clear in speech.

I was weak, though lying in bed, with the knowledge that here she was teaching what she had been taught.  Her body took over for her ears and she was able to teach because she knew how.

The dream has stayed with me and so have the questions.  Does the story tell of the young woman’s deafness , of her inability to hear but because her belief in herself and love of her father and his faith in her abilities, was able to call upon her body to use its self to the utmost and have her other organs and body do what her ears could not?

I remembered the story of the blind woman who worked in an office building who was legally blind and ran a concession stand who commented on employees’ new clothes,  a blouse or a purse and the person who told me the story insisted that the woman could not be blind.  She was and I remember telling the person that there are other ways of seeing than with the eyes.  I did not know how,  but I was certain of what I was saying.  Now I am more certain.  My own experience with deficiencies has proved to me that the body wishes to accommodate us.

When the footwork is done,  when the desire and intent is real,  heartfelt,  because the heart does not respond to any but intent that is truthful,  the work begins to show results.  It may not be in one’s  lifetime,  but in lives long after us.   We are in the larger picture with names attached.     Not only are we our own keeper, but our brothers’ keeper also.  We are the angels unaware.

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A Balanced Judgment. . .

Many Chances. . .

I had written that it is a wonderful play on words when we are given a phrase and then run like the wind with it.  I had written about  ‘a sense of snow’ and someone with this sense can tell you many things when seeing a footprint in the snow and who made it.

There is also a sense of time and also a sense of place,  a sense of self and a sense of who we are and what we bring to the moment.  It sums up what we do in gathering ourselves,  the many parts of our self and bring to the present moment the substance of us.

When we see our place in the larger scheme of things, when we enlarge our premises and push out boundaries, we see how we contribute to universal evolution.  It is our purpose in life in this dimension to contribute to all of life.  When we become aware of our sense of this, we cannot become unaware ever again.

(I scribed the following for a journal entry. . .’unite whatever effort in mind with hand and you will have consumed an enormous portion of this life.  Be it for the benefit of mankind and you will have found your life’s purpose.’)

In that same journal entry I mentioned that we had friends over for dinner that night and were enjoying the conversation concerning issues ongoing and deeply felt.  We were discussing Mozart and the movie about him and at one point the conversation was silent. 

It was everyone’s question which was why it was voiced.  Why,  a kind and gentle man asked,  why would God have put such wonderful music into such a vulgar man?

Precisely why,  I said, precisely why.  And no one at the table understood my comment nor saw the connection when I explained that it was sobering to offer judgment without knowledge of the substance of the subject.  Persons are vast subjects and to presume judgment limits all parties.

When there is a sense of self and many selves,  all in evolution,  and we are aware,  we see the fullness of who we are.  As the wise Ethel Waters said, ‘I am somebody.  God don’t make no junk.’  We are not a whim of the Potter.  Life is a soul keeper and we are given many chances to achieve our potential.

(Excerpt from poem)

When I Change My Life . . .

When I change my life for a new one,
I will have another chance
to love, to feel, to laugh
and to stretch my psychic bones
and shout to a world a hello again!

When I change my life I will remember
what made my life sad and
not to do it again and what made me glad
to remember to do that again.

I will remember why you cried
and why you went hungry.
I will remember we are two haves
and I will share what I have
and you will share what you have.

It will be a better world and
we will work to make it so.
I can say that because I know.
If daffodils get many chances
to come up new and mushrooms too,

am I not worthy of many chances?

 

 

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What Is A Mind For? . . .

What is a Mind For?. . .

When I read that it is nearly impossible for a youngster in high school to take upon themselves a novel and read it through to  report on it,  I had trouble believing it.  A high school student?  And the reporter of the article also had trouble.  She took a difficult book and it took her three times to begin and finally stay with it.  She was a young woman faithful in her reporting.

Because of the use of devices and the brevity of transmitting language, the young are losing the ability to keep in mind sentences longer than a few characters.  Texting someone a hundred times a day perfects this ability to transcribe thought.

And to keep a sentence, let alone a paragraph in mind for a complete thought trashes what centuries took to make civilized countries literate.   What went into making us humans and to help evolve our species has put us all into the lane for Sunday drivers.

We have lost a generation that was going to save the planet and help mankind big time.  We have instead a distracted generation that checks their devices all day to see their Likes from those invisible but yet influences their behavior to such a degree that relationships between touchable humans are ignored.

Discovering exciting information or pursuing insightful curiosities are not enticing.  Learning requires focus and a challenging pursuit of something that changes one’s life to broaden one’s frame of reference.

The explosion that occurs within our mind when something is learned is not forgotten because it is never experienced.  From the toddler who swivels to music by pressing a button on a toy that blares rhythm is enough because it brings laughter and applause.

It is with effort that the first Dick and Jane equivalent is attempted.  They soon know the pictures on their tablet can be changed within seconds.  Focus with study is not learned because effort is required.

You think too much, I soon was told.  You read things into conversations.  That was not said, they would tell me.  Stick to the point I heard.  Answer the question.  Spare me the drama was the demand.  And the list was endless.  I was young and wanted what the adults knew.

Tell me what you know about this.  But know they did not because they had given no thought to the subject in question.  I was asking them to reveal their inadequacy and they resented that and me.  My intent was to connect.

How can a language be a weapon of war?  Easily.  Maybe we will regress to grunts and groans again and leave body language to add meaning to a question.  It was during mid life that courage came to answer to ‘you think too much’ with ‘what’s a mind for?’

The Talmud teaches the purpose of life is to learn.  What we fail to learn and live will be repeated with ongoing life in worlds and circumstances not so pleasant.

The heartbreak will be in not reading a book is because they are unable.

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