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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.


From Where Did You Come ? . .

On September 28, 2017 I posted  a segment  called Angels Unaware.  It was about a dream I had that stayed with me and was highly detailed.  A young teacher of hearing impaired students was teaching them how to read people and speak with almost perfect diction.  The dream stayed with me and because it was highly emotional,  I wrote about it.  The topic was one of how our bodies wish to accommodate us by using its totality when parts of us are not working.

When parts fail, other parts of our bodies will take over and lend themselves to fulfilling those functions no longer working.  When eyesight fails, other parts of the body will take over and help us to see though our eyes no longer work.

I don’t pretend to understand how bodies work or why my own body works the way it does.  My family, both birth family and one I married into just never spoke about these differences except to caution me to be careful what I said in public.  It killed spontaneity and because our livelihood depended on the public’s good graces,  I seldom spoke in public.  Because I was a voracious reader I taught the psychiatrists much about phenomena.  One even suggested we bottle creativity and make a fortune.

Imagine my surprise when I read in USA TODAY on November 13, 2017 that sensors will be built into walls and household products  and clothes and perhaps into our own body to respond to how we are feeling and thinking.  They will be built into the internet of things (IoT) and become fused with artificial intelligence.  And unbelievably,  Facebook is working on technology that will let you “hear” with your skin.  I am not sure where I first learned of the body’s ability to refine parts to substitute for the parts that fail, nor in what world,  but I learned many years ago of the body’s ability to see when eyes fail.

I had a friend who often said to people don’t laugh today because next week you will be a believer. Please remember when speaking to a child that the child is much closer to their source than you are.  More often than not they remember from where they came.  When was the last time (if ever) you gave thought from where did you come?


Bread, not cake. . .


I want bread. . .thank you. . . .


I have worked out this loaf that pleases me greatly.  It is a favorite when it is fresh and toasted it is not to be believed.  An open faced cheddar sliced cheese melted on it to toast with a couple of slices of crisp bacon on top  makes it a meal in itself, with some fresh slices of cucumber and tomatoes on the side.

Few ingredients are necessary.  I had on hand a 3 ¾ quart stainless steel saucepan with cover and stainless steel handle that is perfect for a baking pan. I line it with parchment.  I did not have discretionary income to buy the elegant baking pan that was thought necessary for the no knead bread.  I had also on hand a stainless steel thin spatula from as far back as I started to cook and it works perfectly to scrape the dough into a mound.  These are the tools with a rubber spatula to make this.

My No Knead Bread

3 cups white unbleached flour     (I use King Arthur)

1 cup whole wheat flour               (I use good stone ground)

1 tsp active dry yeast

2 tablespoons molasses
2 ½ cups hot water       (put molasses in bottom of cup and add hot water and stir)

1 tsp salt                         (I use kosher)

(optional    –   added grains,  like millet,
bulgur,  flax,  oatmeal or even crushed granola)


The bowl should be large enough to let dough rise above double the amount.  I dip the measuring cup of flour in flour canister and shake to measure .  I stir all the dry ingredients very well to distribute evenly and add the hot liquid.  Mixture should resemble drop biscuit dough.  Enough liquid should be added to work dry ingredients into center of wet batter.  It should not be liquified,  just wet.  Stir to blend well.  Cover with plastic wrap or large lid tightly and put in draft free place.

I let rise overnight in oven with no heat of course or if I want it that day I put in oven with light on (some oven lights do with no heat on)  to rise in warm place.  The dough should rise for at least 3-4  hours and better if  time allows overnight.  But it can be done with no discernible difference in less time.  I have let it go 12 hours and as little as 4.

Spread a half cup of flour in a six inch circle.  When dough is double and ready, take spatula and gently turn out on floured counter with few motions.  Enough flour should be on counter to allow dough to sit.  Spread a handful of flour on top of dough and here you can add whatever grains you desire.  I add 2 tablespoons each of bulgur and millet and sometimes flax seed and a handful of oatmeal.  Sprinkle on top of mound of dough.  Whatever your favorite.

Take your steel spatula and lift the edges of the dough onto the center.  Keep doing it 12-15 times to make a firm half mound.  If you need more flour,  sprinkle more so it will not be tacky.  The less handling,  the better.  When you make  it several times,  it will be done in a few minutes.  Lift it into the pan lined with parchment.  Put the cover on and slide it into the oven for an hour with no heat to grow.

After an hour leave it still in oven with cover on and turn on  oven to 425 degrees.  Bake cold oven start for 40 minutes.  After 40 minutes , with hot mitts on lift hot cover off and put cover  in sink.  It will be hot so be careful.  Leave pan with bread in oven for another 20-25 minutes. Mitts on, be careful removing hot pan with bread and turn onto wire rack.  Peel off parchment and let cool before slicing.

This makes a healthy, excellent loaf and easier than going to the store for a loaf of bread.  My mother would be envious and grown men would cry.  That good.


Peace Of Mind. . . .

We persist in thinking we might make a difference because we don’t know when we might make a difference.

When illusions are unmasked, coping mechanisms prove unable.

Death is a triumph.  The tragedy would be had we never been.

A cynic is someone on the threshold of understanding.

Man’s God is a ‘controlled substance.’

Man is a prime example of ‘substance abuse.’

An image is a reflection of an idea.

All worlds are reflections of ideas in various stages of completion.

Love underwrites the hope always.  It has to be the basis for all of life.

We. . . are always safe.

Sometimes the body goes out of control and aches.  It is an ache with a memory.

If you are not gun shy after being shot,  then you don’t understand the purpose of a gun.

Within is the treasure and without the within,  there is no without


Worlds I Know. . . to speak of. . .

A few weeks ago there was an evolutionary find with a faceless fish.  I knew that graphic because I have what you see beside this in an October 8. 1987 journal entry.  I knew it was somewhere in my journals but there was no way I could remember where.  Last night as I was note taking I came across this.  In my night treks I have entries that depict worlds I encounter.  I will share them when I come across the entries.

From this journal entry October 8, 1987. . . .I wrote. . . There were so many exquisite dreams  or consciousness of worlds so gentle.  A Nord, a Kern,  so many little gentle  fishes and  animals shaped so strangely,  but so gentle.  These creatures were moving with their babies, scurrying every which way.  Blunt heads and tails moving.

So much is given, so much to write about but who cares.  I care and that is a beginning.  Why not create a need for something that will expand the limitations structures have given us.  Something that will move the lines out that will give my grands memories of life in other dimensions.  I cannot be certain,  but knowing who I am,  only within my structures, I can suppose what they are, carrying what I am in them.

 (the following quotes are the Teacher’s response from August 12, 1987 concerning the worlds I know. . .)  we are using what you do to the fullest extent and you will be remembering more and more of where you have been.. . The worlds you inhabit are worlds most avoid because they are unfamiliar and cause discontent and frighten.  You appear where you are needed and the one looking for you appears where you are.

They are not just one world.  There are places of beauty that still the heart.  Places of poverty that touch the living heart and strum with songs of despair that cannot but help but be heard.  There are barren places, lush places and places that speak of the mind.)


 (when I did the journal entry on the date, I drew the fish as I remembered them in the margins.  I copied them on the board this morning best as I could.  When I saw the graphic on Television,  I knew it right away!.  I am humbled.)


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

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

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

If You Can Bear The Truth. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough it is for me to break the waves.



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


Streaming. . . .

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


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


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


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


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


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


It is never too late to do a good thing.


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


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


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


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


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


Kin have to become family before acquaintances can become friends.


photo by John Holmes


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.’


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


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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