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Maudie Update. . your way home is well lighted. .

 

 

Maudie Update

Last week when I posted  Again Maudie??? and asked if doves or birds blinked intentionally, on Saturday’s 15 July entry I knew.  As I bid good morning to Maudie she blinked several times.  Her eye was pinned on me and a veil dropped,  a light grey, greenish color and covered the eye.  She did it several times and drove me to tears.  She knew I questioned and she answered me.  She was turned the opposite from the way son John took her photo.  She is a dear and a good mother.

Since them I have watched her peck the eggs and the babies hatched.  I have watched her feed the babes and groom them and I have watched the babes grow overnight and inch their mother to the brink of  falling out of their nest.  I have encouraged her to push them out so they could learn their wings will hold them up.  I have stood and sat at the sink and when I turned away of course the biggest babe flew off.  And hours later the little one found his wings fluttered and gave them a try and took off.  The nest is empty.   Every species has memory and we are connected.  Maudie is a wonder and I suppose together we are both a wonder.   My loss is again a physical loss.  But my experience has taught me much.

And if I deny my experience,  I may as well deny my existence.  And I am.  If nothing else,  I am.  Nothing teaches as well as experience.  I am sure someone else said that sometime.

Journal entry
April 5, ‘84

‘the sun still shines,
the snow will come
and so will the night.

But your way home is well lighted.’

 

Journal entry
January 23,’86

The son asks,  ‘should I drop Philosophy?’   ‘And I say. . . .there is no other class worth the taking.  Except History and Literature.  And Humanities.  And some others like Ethics and the Religions of Man.’

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Seriously Consider. . .

 

Seriously Consider. . .

 

I go back to thinking time and again that one cannot ask to govern a body of men when one cannot govern one’s own body.  And for those who say one’s private life has nothing to do with one’s public competence,  I say character will determine private as well as public behavior.  One cannot perform better in life than one is a person.

*****

Angels are about you.  Sometimes the costumes can fool you.

*****

Information is often beyond what the individual can assimilate. It is for the taking but not for the assimilating.  It somehow has to fit before it can be worn.

*****

There are those whom you cannot take seriously but you must because often they hold tremendous positions of power to do ill.  They do not know the meaning of seriously.  One day they will.  Then the memory will nudge and the terrible weight will fall upon them and they will know that between men there is no other god but the weight of words with whatever intent spoken.

*****

Three things have guided me.  To do some good,  to do no harm and to never ever be afraid.  The latter is the hardest to learn and the most important.

For to exhibit fear gives the hoodlums advantage to take over the world.  And then it is no longer free to the majority who approach life in a concerned way.  This will no longer be a classroom but a prison.

It will not be the learning  experience for further evolution but become the place where those of ill intent are bent on destruction.

*****

In this world such little emphasis is placed on words like truth and character and bonding.  If in another world you learned these guidelines of the heart,  its absence has filtered down to you in this world and has caused you grief.  The unease devastates with nothing tangible to grasp except to say you don’t feel well.  And well you are not.

*****

The first step inward is the most difficult one to take.  Most will run away from rather that toward themselves.  Most do not know themselves well enough nor trust themselves well enough to take that first unsure step.  That is where the work begins.  It is foreign territory to most.  It is territory that the Science Gods have filled with curious creatures and religions have filled with devils.

photo by
John Holmes

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A Chance For Love. . .

 

 

A Chance For Love

Each day is a new beginning,  each breath the birth of a new world.  Time now to forgo the past and give life a chance.  Accountable we are and to allow that to become a fact,  it is the moment to begin anew. 

 The poem will only take on meaning for those ready for it.  It becomes self explanatory and within one’s frame of reference,  a truth.  It will not distort nor become a trajectory for misguided action when viewed from the heart, one’s true compass.

A Chance For Love. . .

Each time is a new time.
Cast in the shadow
of a rock, a cave,
or even a cove. . .

Simply set and
inspired by a rolling coast,
a sunset,  a glimpse of
a new place. . .

New tidings of good cheer;
a glass of sweet wine,
robust, quaffed in slow gulps
but favored by a thirsty throat.
Ever new, ever fresh
as a new beginning.

New worlds,
hammering their impatience
with promises;
limited only by how much

we are ready to forget.

 

photo by
John Holmes

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Time For Work To Be Done. . .

It was a desolate landscape.   There were ice mountains in the background.  There was a building,  more barracks like  with  no thing,  nothing around it.   The moon was white and things were outlined but barely so.   Sparse would be putting it gently, but desolate and bare of life would say how tragic it felt.  I could not say what world.  But unfinished work it is.

What if we find ourselves  doing the work of mules in places that need our talents in  very practical ways?  Would we not answer the call to help in the vineyards  with things of value that moth and rust do not destroy;  things of the mind?  Jesus said, as above, so below when he stood on the rock.   Life on Earth is the reflection of Heaven and we the reflection of what we hold as truth..  Are we not all unfinished work?

There is unfinished work everywhere.   I cannot go back ever to not knowing.   There are worlds needing what we hold as valuable, what we can only take in Mind.  We may look like mushrooms but our hearts are daffodils.    It is a good thing to keep in mind.

Jubilation On The Mount. . .

You go out too far, she said, too far.
But that is where the work
needs to be done, I said.

Jubilation.  There will be time
for jubilation; a time for frolic.
We will drink the variegated drinks.
And we will dance.

There is a time for work
in the far place,
where the vineyards
need to be planted but first
the plowing must be done.

Until the time
I do not care to stir the ashes
to bring forth another fire,
I stay.

Where I am is reason enough.

                                                                                                                                         

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Beyond Morsels. . .

Beyond Morsels. . . .

When one needs a fire to rest by, one often  has to build it first.  But no fire made by other hands warms as compared with effort gone into the building and fanning of one’s own flame.

*****

You cannot list the world’s disorders without revealing yours in duplicate.  You identify them because you relate to them by knowledge of experience.  You cannot blame others for what they are unable to relate to,  seeing nothing of themselves in the ills surrounding.  And not being able to identify them,  they cannot do something about what they cannot see.   How to open eyes and by what process?

*****

He spoke a good song but he did not sing it.

*****

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

*****

The right to truth is mine to uncover.  The right to conceal belongs to the Other.

*****

When illusion hides the reality, the bears become frightened.  And they stand and attack what could be their greatest gift.

*****

Sometimes it seems that nowhere is the rational voice or the clean motive.  And there are none. There are only people who justify themselves and give forth with their justifications.  And the justifications are needed.  They could not continue otherwise.  Are we not one of them?

*****

To think is to act.  To the Others it appears as doing nothing.  But it is a supreme undertaking one approaches.

*****

Conscience is installed to monitor one’s life for one’s survival.  Conscience is memory of acts done to one with a memory of pain.

*****

We are our belief system.  As we stand, we teach.

*****

There are worlds being spun out of glossy webs that bespeak of spun sugars.

*****

You cannot fool the nature of souls and souls have a way of propounding the innocent and the complex.  In the midst of all that is done,  the soul will fathom the doer and know beyond doubt what the motive and process has been.

 

art by Claudia Hallissey

 

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The Laughter. . .

In a lifetime of many years,  certain things stand out as a moment imprinted on a mind to last forever.  One is the good fortune of living as a neighbor to a family of daughters.  Their laughter in the course of days that presented worrisome events,  was the hallmark for life,  that somehow my own handicaps would be overcome.  Open windows threw the girlish giggles across the lawns and into my heart.  They meant that life could be lived even in the midst of heartbreak and work to cow a giant.

I am grateful to have heard that laughter.  Grateful to the parents under enormous events that all things can be borne and laughter when allowed its moment,  can lift the hearts of all within hearing it.  A boisterous laugh,  a giggle,  a laugh so hard it makes one sneeze,  are a measure of the soul’s ability to harness the serious life.  It imprints the mind and assures us that all things pass but the laughter is memorable.

The Laughter. . .

In the dim light
of the silent candle,
while seated at the kitchen table,
I heard laughter.
It rose from the belly of one
seated at another table
and hit the ceiling with a loud guffaw.
The ceiling fan threw the laughter
out the windows to the winds,
carrying it afar.
My heart welcomed the sounds
for safekeeping.

The girlish giggles in answer
roamed the table
and shushed the corners
of the room and I wondered;
the girls, where did they go?

Now I sit and pound my keys
to a fine fettle
and ponder the turn of wheels
that held the world
at its pivot.

And wondering what happened
to the laughter
and why did it die

when we were so hungry for it to last?

 

photo by John Holmes

 

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A Place Of Rest. . . .

There can be less stress and stronger heartbeats if the persons involved could call upon what it is they know to help relieve situations,  and if not situations,  then relieve themselves .

In every place,  in every nook and cranny that houses a soul,  there is a place to go.  If not physically,  then within.  To be able to turn to it, whether there is a window or a corner holding an item of interest or rest, or within where there is a place that has a familiarity surrounding,  there is a respite.

For however brief the instant,  it is always a place of rest.  And in this place there may be tears of relief,  of sorrow, of joy and a minute of gathering one’s resources to continue on where one is,  but with a visible difference.

And the difference will be an attitude or direction, or a concrete, so it would seem, act.  It is important to have this place.  It is a holy place within, inviolate.   All people have it, but do not think of it this way.  In a crowded situation it may be a bed no one is sharing at the moment; a place to recoup one’s losses.

The window overlooking a noisy street, or a patch of snow or green,  with perhaps a tree,  or even a piece of crockery,  or a basket on a shelf,  just a thing of rest to pull one together time  and time again.  It is necessary regain footing,  to focus inwardly,  to call all component parts of self together,  for a homecoming.  It is as necessary as the next breath we breathe.

And going back we learn to draw on what sustains,  what satiates the deep thirst and not what crushed our spirit.    And doing so we are equal to another run, another try at what gives life and does not take life.  We fulfill the reason for being,  our wish to make a difference.

Soft Wisdom. . .

Heretofore wisdom
had come slashing
across the mind and
in its wake, devastation.

Ravaged emotions
left one naked,
awash in body tears,
stripped clean and vulnerable.

Like a caress, soft wisdom
finally arrives
compassionate as a lover

to find the moment quiet.

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Gift of Thought. . .

Unless you can share your heart,  you cannot enter into a liaison with anyone and raise a family.

*****

Take love and use it and it will heal the rift which threatens to become a chasm man will never be able to cross by himself.

*****

To ask in thought for help presumes the presence of an Other.  It is a love affair of the greatest kind.

*****

Heaven aims to educate the heart which is ripe and open.

*****

You cannot force feed a menu when the seated are not hungry.

*****

The continuity of life is the only view worth harboring.  How else to explain the eternity it takes for a mushroom or daffodil to reach full potential?  One life does it for a human?

*****

Trash sells   but so does garbage when all that is required of the product is to chuck it into the nearest field as fertilizer.

*****

In our solitude we don’t have an audience of peoples; we have an audience of souls.

*****

You cannot fix much, can you, when no one puts a name to what is broken?

*****

One thing I have learned.  If it is not done here, where I am and see it to do, it is not done elsewhere.  I must do it now or there will not be this particular chance nor these favorable circumstances ever again.

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Little Mercies. . .

 

 

Little Mercies. . .

 

Dickens said. . . ‘I wear the chains I forged in life’

For better or worse we forge them link by link.  And I like to think they are good habits of ours that I call little mercies or the more common,  tender mercies.  I felt this many times.  I often started something I could not stop because people I loved depended on that little something.  Whether it was a fire in the fireplace when the grandchildren especially visited or I set the table a certain way with cloth napkins for them or when I make Christmas cards.

“I am going to live, Eleanor’,  George said after his heart attack.  ‘I am going to live and we will frame Ronnie’s card and put it on the dresser.’   And he did and he looked at it every day and had many long years.  And Marylouise said I set your cards on the mantel where they stay .  You have no idea how many times I look at the rose card and it gives me strength to go on.  And this is one of the reasons I was born, to stretch out a hand.

Most of us have no idea when we do a something that encourages an Other.  I was fortunate in that I learned and people have told me when they have been touched by something I have done.  How very important to do that little act of mercy.  I have heard a harrumph when I have labored over a something with someone standing nearby and succeeded to follow with a heavenward thank you.  Even as a child I understood that heaven seldom gets thank yous.  When was your thank you sent heavenward?  Send it now. . .

Thank You

My days are littered
with murmuring thank yous
for gifts unbidden. . .

for the stray thought
giving answers
to questions I did not ask. . .

for the beating heart
too tired even to stop
and glad that it did not. . .

for the quivering morning
poised to take flight
through a day hard pressed. . .

to a night, bidden
with unfaltering love
as a thank you. . .

for a day loved through. . . .

 

photo by
John Holmes

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Think It Through. . . .

Think It Through. . .

All thought which holds the life’s crucible for an Other’s well being is prayer.  Any conversation which holds the good of Others in its heart is prayer.

*****

What seems like a tragedy in the absurd and obscure is indeed a well thought out and prescribed drama. . . oftentimes.

*****

Bless the good day and blow the winds of fear as far from as to the ends of the Earth.  The alternative is more of the same in a place where progress is not as swift.

*****

Tears aside,  there is eternal life within each and for each to discover.  One cannot hand it to them already chewed.  It is theirs to do.

*****

Wait not for death.  Be vigilant only of life in all its forms, in its entirety.  One cannot break a will which heralds its own functioning to its own existence.

*****

It is enough that the articles of faith be hidden for as long as they have behind the façade of the mind grown into habitual lack.

*****

It is time for even the skeptical mind to be convinced that what is seen is not necessarily all there is to be seen and what is heard is all that is being said.

*****

You cannot know what deep is until you have fallen into a hole.

*****

You cannot rush in and guide the cart to avoid disaster.  Disaster brings lessons which cannot be learned any other way.  Even when the extra work falls on your shoulders.  Suck it up.

*****

We walk on cobwebs but we are cobwebs.  We are not certain what the final outcome will be.  What we are certain of is the process.

*****

Don’t lose your grip.  Heaven is tightfisted also.

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