Archive | Observations

Around The Bend. . .

 

Today I sit in the midst of my birthday of 87 years.  It is quiet.  In rereading journals where I was told if you want a good book to read,  write it,  I am finding truth. Rarely do I remember if it was cereal for breakfast and therefore rereading the saga I wonder what comes next .

The Teacher asked in a September 2013 entry . . .you saw an event and caught it in flight and reacted and saw the lesson in the event.  Tell us how you do that. . .

Because I felt sorry for myself that day this was the answer. . . .(My spontaneity as a child was shanghaied because I was born seeing the thought and it was then engulfed in the larger picture with its application within life and lives and results following.

The consequences then run through but the spontaneity is gone and the moment lost.  The result, the lesson, the appreciation is deeper and the entire action is molded into a lesson and humanity benefits, instead of just the impulse of the person.

You have in me no game player therefore someone they say who spoils the fun and doesn’t know how to play.   Not invited to go along because I spoil the fun.)

Within the brackets above was from the entry.  I add, I think life is beautiful as is and needs no embellishment; the storyteller really needs the exaggeration. Games are often played to show superiority, king of the mountain syndrome.

Compensation is at play giving me ‘language sparring’ for diversion.  Great fun and like the poem following,  a surprise and a lark.  The response to Around The Bend was great so I run it again.  Aww shucks.   It seems I’ve run out of cola.

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 and 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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A Mother’s Dictum—Eternity Is A Long Time. . . .

Not often do I go back in time to relive something so intensely fierce that it can undo my mental health.  Yet I was driven to remember when I found our ten month son missing.  We were living in Tokyo at the time; my husband in the military.

Our lodging was in an apartment near the University with a landlady who was a mistress of a Japanese businessman.  It was a new apartment, sparse though close to the base, in a Japanese neighborhood.

We were on good terms with the landlady whom we called Oksan.  She loved our baby son and yearning to have a child of her own, sat and rocked the carriage in the secluded garden while he slept.  She asked to babysit for short periods.  I was uneasy with her yearning for a child but relented.

I went to the commissary one day and when I returned Oksan was gone with our son in his carriage.  She had not said she was going anywhere only that she would sit.  I put away the groceries and waited.

I soon became frantic and went looking for them.  I ran like a crazy lady from stall to stall on our street asking everyone if they saw them.  They could see I was panicky but why, no one understood.

The students on break at the University understood somewhat though they did not understand the panic.  I called my husband at the base and because he was an officer, could come home and brought a man who spoke Japanese.  Not understood was my fear.  This was after all Oksan and why the panic?

The fact that my baby was gone, in a foreign place, with a someone who wanted him to be hers, did not register.  Overreaction they thought.

Sometime later she did return of course.  Our son was asleep in his carriage and she had gone visiting.  Fortunately, soon after we returned to the U.S. so I did not face the issue again.   What brought this memory forward?

One of this week’s immigration policies would be to separate the child from the parent at the border.  I am horrified at the thought of the panic in the child and the fear ridden parent seeing the young children taken.

My heart will stop if I linger with this now.

I cannot believe such insensitivity would exist in anyone’s belief system.  I cannot fathom a government policy stating this.

I was just 20 years old when this episode happened.  For 9 months this child grew beneath my heart and 10 months in my arms.  The intensity of my fear and panic I can taste again.  I would only say don’t mess with me guys.  Eternity is a long time.

Beneath My Heart. . .

How could I not love them?
They grew beneath my heart,
waiting for my heart to beat
so that their’s would continue beating.

Did you not think
I would not know that?
And they would be reason enough
for me to keep breathing?

You did not know me. . .
Like a bear
I would fight for my cubs.
I made them. . . .

They wear my name
and one day they
will remember. . .

who taught them about love.

 

painting by a local
Japanese artist 1953

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To Savor The Minute. . . .

Sometimes it is necessary to be reminded to unglue ourselves from what is inundating the Ethers, to look upon each other as the most important for the moment.  Take this as a gentle reminder.  All we have is this moment. 

 

To Savor The Minute. . . .

Could we take the time
to savor this minute?
Hold it close?

There will be more minutes,
but none more special
than this one.

It tells me that you
treasure our friendship
to show our true feelings

that connect us,
one to the other.
I will remember the marks

on my life you put there
when you took time to rescue
the self I thought I lost.

Today I am whole.  Forever drawn
as a heart beating steadily as if
with an inserted pacemaker

but  with gratitude transcending its beat.

 

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When The Plough Seems Too Heavy. . . . .

 

Gleanings . . .

If you do not intend to look back, remember to lift the plough.  And sometimes the plough seems too heavy to lift but we push on anyway to find it is a joy and a privilege.

*****

Always state the condition of the heart in preference to appearance.  You will then see with eyes destined for immortality while you walk.

*****

Sometimes doing nothing at all helps a someone to mature faster than times which are hard on the heart.  Or doing nothing at all ruins a person more quickly by hardening the heart than times which are hard on the pocket book.

*****

Listen carefully to my heartbeat for you will hear your own.

*****

The greatest gift is that of the thinking mind.

*****

With the shrug of the shoulders, no work is ever completed.  It is with the footwork involved that we see what the work has meant.

*****

Do not expect what cannot be delivered.

*****

When you lament where is the end and in what universe is it all and then to conclude it is all universally good is not valid.  For then when you see where it is you are, the last chapter would be writ.  There is no last chapter.  Life is everlasting.

*****

With aging the blanks in memory are embarrassing and the pressures of the fast moving society makes them appear more frequently.  It has always been thus.

*****

Everything becomes a moral decision if one holds the long view.  Yet the long view is the only one and demands it lest there be no tomorrow for those whose propensity is for instant gratification.

*****

To suffer is to be aware of the damage you do to the ones you care about.

 

photo by
Kathy Rybacki Qualiana

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The Old Country. . .

 

 

Home of One’s Soul. . .

The Teachers Speak. . . Every so often, out of one’s domain, there is an isolation that swamps one. It is difficult to shake, and yet there it is, evidence that this is not home. There is a portion or many portions appealing to one, yet basically, the at home feeling begins to leave.   This is when one digs in and brings to light all those things that brighten the soul. Dig into your handiwork, give yourself some leeway but stay with the program, stay with the route. You will find that the isolation will fade somewhat and again you will regain your sense of belonging. But do not distress yourself about it.   It is a pure longing for the home of one’s soul. It will come about in its own good time and the journey will have been worth the while. And what is gained along the way will add simply more weight to the gems in your pockets. (scribed November of ’94)

Across the Mind’s Eye. . .

Laying like whipped icing
on the wedding cake,
the drifts of snow across the mind’s eye
left a clear path to the heart’s memory
of the other winters when love
closed the doors of the world
and cherished me.

What were the winters like
when the snow stood high
and like lover’s swords sliced a path

and found where I was?

poem written Nov , 2011

 

Deep within are memories brought forth for a reason indecipherable.  Simply as the poem says, across the mind’s eye.  Yet sweeping the body, finds the knees weak and my heart laboring.  One wonders then from where comes the love, the cherishing.  It is deep within but the source cannot be brought to mind. Still the feeling is unmistakable. And the knowledge stays that somewhere that world is intact.  And a matter of time only, time as it is known where I am, folds unto itself and puts me back into the ‘old country.’

One then does not argue with this because it is not belief, but knowledge.  And it was yesterday though a lifetime has been lived since.  Puzzle?  No, because we learn that linear time belongs to Earth but confirming that all time is simultaneous.  (April, 2018)

photo by Joe Hallissey sr.

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Truisms. . . .

The heart will determine what the head sees and put into the eyes the meaning of it all.

*****

Time is not of the essence, but quality of thinking is.  For the thought was already a thing in process before the action cemented it.

*****

By their actions you shall know them.   By their actions you will see the fruits of their days.  And by our action, the heavens know the thought processes involved.

*****

Some prayers are answered and some are not.  The final question should be, why not mine?

*****

To change even one behavior pattern will demand that all behavior patterns be changed.  And many are not equal to the work.

*****

It would also say that there was a deficiency in behavior and the need to say I was wrong.  And with advancing years can we wipe out a life while still living?

*****

Heaven is an earned order and until one approaches the place where admission is qualified,  one cannot enter.  The homework first has to be done and the mind alerted.

*****

Work has taken on an onerous meaning.  Play has taken on a sensual meaning.  Neither are correct.  Neither give full sway to the correct and apt meanings.

*****

A creative shining spirit is fun to watch.  It is one, on whom the heavens bank their monies.

*****

It is far easier to prolong a situation waiting for it to work itself out.  Confrontation is not for everyone.  Especially when history has shown  the one on whom the  workload will fall.

******

Sometimes the need to be wanted is only bested by the want to be wanted.

*****

Kindness is never out of date nor is it old fashioned.

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Life’s Observations. . . .vast. . . .

 

 

Life’s Observations . . .

Sometimes one tires of treading lightly on psyches with cushioned feet.  Perhaps there are times    to wear what once were called old army boots.

*****

Power comes to those who are able to bow down the strong.  And it happens at every level.  When knowledge becomes the tool, then it is apparent where the weapons of war are used.  It is called manipulation.

*****

Let others tend their own gardens.  They planted the seeds and now are unhappy with the fruits??   Poor babies. . . .

*****

We all find eventually that every day is a day of generous offer.  Need to say that again???

*****

Keep this thought in mind when complaints lace your language ad infinitum.  Ad nauseum.  There are lives lived beneath the furry evidential of every day life.  That there are memories of past lifetimes, of lifetimes still in the process of completion.  This is what is meant by the quantum theory that  All Time Is Simultaneous. Just an example of the past is still happening.

*****

Our narrow focus keeps us zeroed in on what is our reality.  And makes the lessons easier to learn.  Best we get on with what is ours to do today before tomorrow’s needs make the burden heavier.  Your language then might curl hair if heard.

*****

Words lacerate.  A bite that breaks the skin by either a child or puppy requires a tetanus shot.  It is too bad there is no tetanus shot for words that break hearts.  An I’m sorry is not enough.  Just doesn’t cut it.

*****

A change in values is the most difficult change to make.  Change directed at a value system, injecting it with heart is the only change that makes the difference.  A value system is how a life directs itself.

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Upon Entry. . . a warm fire. . .

So much weather and all else happening that it is time for a light repast.  It is time for a warm fire and a hot something with a bit of spice.  It would be looked upon favorably.  It is time for the head to rest and the body to recline.  But only for a time.  And then again we pick up the cudgel to make a new path.  For that is our destiny.  And we revel in it.  With a large ahhhhMennn!

 

 

 

 

 

Upon Entry

Upon entry, we shed
the mufflers and the gloves,
the vests and boots,
ready as any warrior to fight the cold.

The hot tea is
a choice companion for us,
as we sit and warm ourselves
before the fire.

A promised relief
we find in each other,
as we no longer find the joy
in battling winter’s discontent.

We know our blood thins
and our patience ebbs
since we do not run and jump
with glee as snow inches up.

We remember though
this once held joy in things
not common to advancing age.
A straight shot of something

would not be unwelcome in the cup of hot tea.

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Kindergarten. . .

To Play the Child. . .

For whatever is not made peace with, will piece the person.  It will break them into a million parts, never knowing it can be peaced, nor seeing how they contribute to it all, will leave the adult body still playing the child.

When one operates from a child’s reference point, one does not see one’s contribution to a problem.  And there is nothing within a closed memory that would make us accept responsibility if we are not equal.  It is a mess but how truly remarkable for the protection of the individual .

But how god-awful for those around.

 

 

Kindergarten. . . .

It is kindergarten
this place of play that tells us
that we are just boys
and girls and everyone
wants us to be happy.

And we vow again
like the tinker bell that
we play the girl at heart
and like the peter pan
we will not grow up.

And we are adored
to be just as we are.
Never growing up to do
those things of pain we see.
Never growing up
because to grow up means
to grow old and hurts not only bodies
but feelings we drown in.
There is no one to save us so
to grow old means we die.

We all know that song, don’t we?
There is no fun like ours
when we stay young to play
with the wind in our hair and
someone pushing the swings higher and higher.

Nothing is expected then, is there?
Everyday is a day to play.
And if we are lucky we will die
in our sleep and never have to think.

Where is the fault in that?

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The Bread Knows. . . .

Some days. . .

are a wipe out.  Only to do what one can.  The Rabbi Teacher asked only one thing.  ‘Feed the children.’  Sometimes the simplest command is shrouded by a complex system of thought.  Think so?

The Bread Knows the Feel of my Hands. . .

I know the dust of the flower
as the bees skin the petals
and suck the juices off their spines. . .

I know the touch of your hand
on the shoulder of my tunic
as I bend to kiss
the child of our union. . .

And know, however much I know,
the feel of the heart
beating against mine and know
to whom it belongs. . .

I knead with no passion
but stir lovingly into
a loaf of wonder. . .
crisp to the knife blade
it will be as it slices. . .

It is with love
I fold the dough onto itself
and it melds selflessly
into a loaf. . .

knowing all the while
the touch of my hand
with love caters
to our natural heritage. . .

both of us part of All That Is, life itself.

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