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Conscience. . .the heart’s authority. . .

By My Heart’s Authority . .

It was after our David left this Earth that I went back to classes at the University.  I was taking a class in English Lit when the professor and I were in a discussion  about religion and he said that no doubt religion was a great help to me during this time.

I told him I was not a member of any and he was aghast.  But how,  he asked,  with no religion, do you know what is right and what is wrong?

This time I was thunderstruck.  I, an adult, had had three children and was the parent on premises and in charge of many commitments at that time.  I was the authority on right and wrong and ethical premises since the age of reason.

I knew, without being told by anyone,  by my thoughts and reasoning and a heart whose veracity I did not question what I should and should not do.  (Some simply call it conscience.)

I did not need  those in high places whose power was mantled onto them by those whose authority has always been questioned and compromised.  Recent events have confirmed this.

I knew he was taken back.  Horrified would be the term.  And I too, wondered how one gets to tenure in such an institution of learning without conviction and assurance in one’s ability to meet life with maturity and lead the young to knowledge and confidence in judgment.

I trusted that to learn must also include the freedom to ask questions and search out what one doubted and did not understand.  What better surroundings than the classroom to catch the struggling neophyte safely?

I was told by my Mentor not to delve deeper than one can muster out.  My response after a lifetime of falling deep into the pits was to dig down as far as my mind questions.  How deep only I know when my head butts bottom.

And then I dig out,  with fingers and teeth if I must, to get a toe hold to climb out.  And then to climb higher and higher until one crashes the gates of heaven,  if one must.

If not, then it is all hope and conjecture and one continues to pay for a keeper.  Religions call it tithing.  Under the cloud of not knowing anything for sure.  And Dante’s Inferno is for real NOW.


Photo by Jon Katz
(Shekhina–Hebrew female counterpart of God)


The Who Of A Mystic. . .

The Who Of a Mystic . . .

Daddy, daddy don’t hit him! He is my brother!  I screamed and my father  was confused because he was protecting my life and my brother was out to kill me.  I was the younger sister who craved the balsam to squash with my teeth and his was the dream of building the perfect plane model.

I was the cause of the trouble and their emotions landed in my stomach as the anger of my father whose peace was disturbed and the frustration of my brother whose dreams were shattered.

My own emotions collided with theirs.  I was possibly 9 years old but already handicapped by a stomach that was a pit stop for the emotions of our whole family of ten.  24/7. . .

Born into this world with a foot still in the world I left is not easy.  It leaves one vulnerable from birth unto the grave.  Can one be a mystic in a secular world?  A mystic is someone who takes the essential elements from religions and the highest principles they claim from other worlds and tries to make them work where they are.

Children automatically do this. When thrust into a family who are simply versed in the secular and orthodox religions, is at best a trial.  At its most difficult,  puts one in a place where one is different but for unknown reasons.  Just different.  Not special, not spared, just forced to participate to be like everyone else.

And never knowing why one feels outside the circle, sees and hears what others do not, learning early to be careful with speech, never sharing one’s thoughts for fear of ridicule.  I ran home from kindergarten as fast as I could because hearing sirens I thought my house was burning and my mother dead; somehow feeling responsible.

Being born with memory puts one on the defensive early.  In religion class I told the priest what I knew.  And it was not what he was teaching.  My head spoke in languages with those I held to be mentors from an ancient past.

Into adulthood I was appalled by the actions and words of those held in great repute.  Yet needing to be sure of being an anchor to those I was committed to.  It is possible as I chalk off another year in my dotage,  I say it is possible to be a mystic in a secular world, but not without peril.

That I crashed in my third decade in the midst of life too busy for composure, was simplified by the psychiatrist saying ‘I don’t know how you have managed so well for so long.’

Life holds sounds more than the average person hears.  Life holds sights more than the average person sees.  There are more levels of everything evident than what daily occurs to people.  One cannot imagine what these words imply.  What more?

I try to explain but words fail.  Just as I do not understand why what is evident to me is not so to everyone.  I know this only because I have lived it and have had years of mental therapy.  The medical conclusions, ‘you’re different.’

I was happily raking leaves off a neighbor’s lawn because they were busy with family when another neighbor approached asking, ‘you doing this for fun or money?’  ‘For love’ I said.  Puzzled, she said ‘you are so different than others, you know.’  Lacking the courage to hear her reasons,  I did not ask why.

Life would have been simpler if I had parents educated in the deeper aspects of life.  Immigrants worried about bread on the table.  What we do is what we can do.  I took my commitments seriously and books were best friends.

I am, I guess, an example of someone living to old age with knowledge, not faith,  of life ongoing and other worlds.  The psychiatrists called me mystic when I did not know the meaning of the word.

Not easy, but unacceptable would be anything else.


We Are Common Knowledge. . . to grow up. . .

When one desires to lead as an example one’s peers,  one assumes a countenance of leadership.  One has studied and served in various capacities throughout one’s life to ably serve fellowman so that they will be free to progress in whatever area they require.

One does not play games with futures of people  and have them guessing on whether they as a country or as a world will survive.  Dealing with Nature as we know is enough of a challenge.  One does not take their time from the tasks of growth and progress which they require to aspire to their human potential.

Leaders free people of the task of worrying what government does that is detrimental to their well being.

This is the point of a democracy.  We elect officials to do what is best within laws which we voted  for and had instituted for the well being of all.

To prevent accidents at corners we instituted laws and lights to prevent chaos.  We have stop and go lights telling us when to proceed and when not.  We do not make a left turn after three p.m.  because this is what we know and this we learned when we became adults to drive.

And when we break the law we are hailed to stop and the local gendarme is a once classmate of your sons and is as embarrassed to arrest as you are to be arrested.

We hire lawyers to litigate,  congress to legislate and have the courage to make decisions not based on their reelection but based on their legal knowledge of the constitution which we had instituted as a protection of the people living in this democracy.  We hope that the people we put in offices and pay our taxes for their livelihood will consider the importance and responsibility connected with the work and position.

We do not want them to bully or be bullied, nor take advantage or think they are above the law.  In other words,  we want them to be as good as we try to be and better on the whole than what we think we are.  That said,  we don’t want to point the finger at their flaws and say they buffalo us.

We don’t want their dark sides evident in daily dealings with our futures.  We don’t want to point out that they are lacking courage,  lacking truth and decency, lacking the backbone to say this is wrong and hurtful when we  are telling them that we cannot believe them.

We don’t want speaking with forked tongues nor speaking out of both sides of their mouths.  We don’t want opinions changing because of a tweet or some slight by some talking head on the master screen that screeches day and night someone’s wind that smells to high heaven.

What we want are grown ups that have given careful thought, careful and studious thought to matters at hand by a bevy of cultures that are diverse in this world and have a validity of presence due all people.  We expect a courtesy of behavior giving also studious comportment to all people because  they are deserving of it simply because they are human.

This is too much to ask?  I ask you is it too much we would ask of a parent of a young child they had given birth to?  We would be dealing out in measure that which is courteous and loving because we are a caring people.  We would be teaching our children these manners because they in turn will mete out what they have been taught as they go out the front door.

This is progress and what we as people are concerned about.  We expect it of our leaders so that all humankind will progress and we as an example to all worlds will not be ashamed.  That seems to be a lost emotion in these times and embarrassment as a word for behavior seems also to be lost.

The only excuse offered by those committing these behaviors is the old cliché of being only human.  Well the divine also resides in us and we give a bad name to our divinity.

Of course the problem with pointing the finger at flaws of those we elect to govern is that the thumb points at us revealing our flaws in duplicate.  We can identify them because we can relate.  So the question is when are we going to grow up?

All of us have work cut out for us.  To educate ourselves and make ourselves well versed in what we expect others to do, to behave, to treat with courtesy, honor and trust that we would like.  We are all wounded with the arrows from our own bows.

We would like to hide our own faults and think only we know of them.  I heard with unbelief an elder say that people only know what we let them know.  If I know something and have seen it, then someone around the corner has taken a picture of it and the bird in the tree has carried the words and has sung them down the street and it is now common knowledge.

My god has spoken to your god and the gods’ network is as volatile and furious as the old boys’ network.  So consider that we are participants in both visible and invisible worlds.  Take a quantum leap because

we are common knowledge from the beginning.                                                                         


A Time In The Heart. . .









It never occurred to me before.  As often as I said that this is a classroom of a first order, and we must keep it not only for ourselves but for those to come,  it just never occurred to me that it was the purpose of the classroom to stay the classroom.  That things were not going to change because this is its purpose and any change must come from the individual.  We can be the example but change anyone, not.

The bottom of my world fell out when I realized that no matter how hard I worked, the only change wrought was what I did to myself.  I mattered.  The good I did was a spill off from my cup runneth over.  Good that came from abundance was lasting good, but when it came from duty resentment clouded the issue.  I think that is the kicker.

We feed our belief system to build ourselves into what we need to be.  The good coming from actions benefit us first or it is not lasting good.

Because people are born into different cultures, my small hope I harbor is that all countries are emerging as united states in that there is mingling and borning of different peoples everywhere.  Where children are born into a variety of mixtures and children are color blind.  And grandparents have to acknowledge eventually that whatever color our grandchildren they have our habits!  Saints praise us!

I may make peace with myself but it does no good for my neighbors.  They must make peace within themselves.  And thus within the cradle of the heart will be the birth of peace.  And Christmas is a time in the heart.  I wish each of you the best of these holy days or holidays.  Thank you for being in my life.


To Sweep Clean My Father’s House. . .

I Am Not Finished. . .

When I was a girl I learned only because I hung onto my anger (as fuel for my work) that I could find the energy to continue with what was demanded and not give up. This is what keeping on with keeping on means to me.  Anger ( used also by siblings), was a way to get the work done because otherwise we would be open for more criticism.

Many people work this way and it wearies them into confusion.  Not identifying why there is hesitancy about finalizing work, they unconsciously think finishing will finish them also.  They think they will not then have anything in reserve to continue their lives and it will end for them as the project they work on.  It doesn’t of course because when we are finished, whatever the results,  we are given another bout of energy to force us into action. Another memory will arise reminding us of unfinished business and because we are conscientious, we are off and running.

I have been inclined to use my anger throughout life in this way, to build on meaning and not to dismantle life.  I have worked until exhausted but gratified to have finished the muscle work, or the creative work, or the mind work that puzzled and tired me no end.  Did I learn something?  Of course, of course.

Heaven uses us in diverse ways.  Heaven does not waste incipient lessons.  There are some bright lights (not all of course) on the other side that can see the consequences of our behaviors.  Very little goes to waste in the skein of things.  Things heaven cannot do something about are as heartbreaking for them as for us.  But as we see the summation being of use in positive ways, the heavens also are spurred into activity that is consequential.

It is an effort that is unifying at best.  When we are open to the thinking, to the thought, we can see that we are an experiment in a new world of communal living.  We are of diverse pigmentation, of different cultures, of frames of reference that involve evolution on scales unknown to isolated peoples whose rituals of living are similar.  Our country is envied by worlds as the example of universal lives in progress.  Others are stagnant in their thinking, breathing the stultifying air of diminished lives but laughing at us struggling with self imposed obstacles, to be sure.

In the obstacles, the minor as well as major ones, are the lesson plans for growth and progress.  We make them ourselves for in the larger picture, the broader reference, we race with the greater god and the divine in us toward universal concepts still to be born.   It is only one truth toward life everlasting.  Count me in on the race.  I am not finished.

(Excerpt from poem)

New World . . .

What is dealt on a scale
are heart’s yearnings
toward new understanding.

Of a universe or more,
equipped to handle
a multifaceted life
with undreamed answers
to questions giving life
to new dreams,
giving breath to new forms,

and heart to life everlasting.


artwork by Claudia Hallissey


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.





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.


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.



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.)



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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