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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.


Skimming the Ethers. . .


Mother to child with expanding knowledge. . . ‘I don’t care in what lifetime you were Pope but in this life you clean up your own messes.. !  Now!!!


We clean our own doorstep before the children go out so that they do not step into the muck and mire we neglected to take care of.


You cannot walk with your eyes on the horizon when there is so little good housekeeping in evidence.


Make certain our yard is clean before we take the position of giving direction to our neighbors how to clean up theirs.


There are no cavities as large as the one man digs for himself.


Desirable behavior is behavior that will have no ill effect on the young who look hungrily for role models.


You cannot fix much when no one has the courage or the intelligence to identify what is broken.


We must teach our young that when we see good to do we must do it because this chance will be lost forever for us in these particular circumstances and who we are.  It will be our loss.


And to argue what is good is to beg the question and give the recalcitrant time for argument.  They are sophisticated and well versed in their reasons.  Good requires work. Of course.


Heaven is not the font of wisdom and makes many errors.  Proof is the world we inhabit.


Alone till the night comes to bind us and the day delivers us to each other.


photo by Joe Hallissey Sr.
Monastery in Gurnee, Il.


Gleanings. . .

Reason will convince in its own time.  Violence never does.


Reason will convince doubly with example.


Life is purposeful, though not entirely reasonable.  There is no more reason above man than there is where he is.



All of Earth is a demonstration in belief systems. This is the place where diverse belief systems can coexist with freedom and life can go on within the system one chooses.  This is assuming man realizes where his freedom ends and an other’s begins.


Man must come to terms with the fact that there are many systems with validity.


Principles do not work by magic.  They must be understood and applied where you are and then you take them with you wherever you go.


We can say that the outer reflection is what is evident to the internal house.


The philosophy one chooses must be applicable where one is.  It must be understood.  Only by swimming in it does one understand the shape of the tide and the temperature of the water.


The moment we say ‘who am I to know?’ we are not worth the knowledge.


What The World Needs. . . .

The Tender Embrace. . .


We all speak from memory.  Whether it is ours or not, it makes little difference.  For within us it is so that the one time speaks for all time.  And everything else is a variation on a theme.  I could not know how deep the emotion which evoked the tears.  Enough said that at one time in a history it happened and given a glimpse this photo brought forth another ocean.

The words were a Given.  From this point in time, the meaning is such that it brings hope.  For what I don’t really know but that they make a difference is one.  It is a Christmas gift to all with what the heart of Jon Katz caught with his camera.  Eloquent.

We Need Not Speak. . .

We need not speak.
Centuries ago we passed
from realms noted for words.

We now simply look
toward the Other and know
by obvious signs what the Other seeks.

It is a far cry
from the world of words where
the simple I  love you spoke
what reams of paper
could not properly say.

It was a love letter that united
planets of thought
that we searched.
I will miss these words

spoken from lips pressed
to my ear only to have
the world know
by the tender embrace                                                                                                                        

that the words were meant only for my heart.



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)


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