Archive | August, 2014

The Obligation Of Knowledge


The Obligation Of Knowledge

The Teacher speaks. . . .When you realize that understanding is a bigger or heavier burden than not understanding, your behavior or course of action is already decided.

The reason is this. When you have the knowledge, you have the obligation. Not knowing the reason for a person’s behavior gives one the right to rage. Knowledge takes away this right. Yet who is to blame for this behavior, if blame is in the picture? There is no one. There never was. Each person is a result of a compilation of errors destined for the head of man. And yet within is the spirit destined also for refinement, for an attunement that would bring the human species to the finest place of all. It is a testing ground for angels; each being the angel that decided to try his wings in a place that doesn’t allow flight but instead demands a rooting.

Some behaviors one can ascribe to fact. Yet most things properly belong to a generation of characteristics. Or many generations of characteristics. Not all things are a learned behavior to gain certain results. Some things are passed through the genes. And do not need to have anything done about them except to talk of them and aired. There is generally a self righteousness about ourselves because we have nothing else in our frame of reference.      We do what we do because anything else would be foreign to our natures.

When you understand the why of behavior you realize that understanding does not necessarily make the behavior easier to live with. But when you understand, when knowledge is yours, the obligation to do the correct thing is yours also. It is an incomparable growth experience.

No one said it was going to be easy.

Genetic Memories

Lurking behind every door are ghosts
from a shadowy past,
eager to be translated
to a dubious present.

Impregnated in genes
are the memories of these ghosts,
split second DNA, with desire housing
the delicate substance quoting life.

Stupid am I to allow
others’ memories,
lurking in my fresh Being,
to suck life out of my present.
But power filled, even to think
that I could release their tenacious hold
from a life unfulfilled
and requiring recompense.

Helplessness rages simultaneously,
pleading a judicious balance
to satisfy life’s imbalances,
yet knowing,

I cannot do it.




Art by Claudia Hallissey











I Would Teach



I Would Teach


There is one thing I would teach if I could it would be that who we are is always safe.   A reader who caught the essence of what I was saying, had commented on a post that it made her feel safe.   More than safe I would add,  we are in the lap of eternity.   I was thinking,  the reasons for our lessons, if they can be called lessons or simply the consequences of earth life, is these are logical outcomes for what we inadvertently or knowledgeably do.  Since we were before we are, we somehow sent this earth rolling in this marvelous sea of great tranquility, called the Universes and had as its basis, safety of its inhabitants and also logical consequences.  The underlying basis has intelligence and that intelligence evolves as our intelligence does but in greater leaps.   Much greater leaps; unimaginable.  And if we call this intelligence God or Father or simply Life, this intelligence is the primary factor of all the Universes.

I don’t know if the Big Bang theory with its mating molecules was its beginning or if some other factor sent rolling in this vast sea even had a beginning.   I cannot with this brain fathom that.   What I am certain of is the underlying factor of these Universes is intelligence, which makes my heart beat steadily and because we are its children, or its product of love or idea, also are buds of intelligence set on a path of growth, however long it takes.   The very primary,  the very smallest of life’s instinct that has life and intelligence as its point of existence, I would call the God Participant.

There is nothing, not a thing, no thing in this world should be taken as a granted, as a nothing or non life because we have as its center, life, the smallest particle, the God Participant, growing into its full capacity of intelligence.   And from that point, to whatever ends the participant succeeds will then be  another meeting of parts in its composition,  again growing toward other forms of intelligence or other forms of life.

This may not sound like much but to me is more of what was the beginning and intention of life than the unpalatable that had me wondering why when I was trying so hard to make sense out of my life, there was only nonsense.   I was throwing up all the years of my existence and I was dying.  I was not let go and have come to these conclusions giving me life and more life.   I now know from where it is I come.

And I feel I have scaled the wall.

photo by Christina Socha


The Embrace (a toast)

The Embrace  (a toast)

In the clasping of the body, arms which embrace, in the coming together is a unity that nothing can impair.  That it is truly locked in time. Somehow the eternal has been grasped and time is not of the essence.

That there is a space for this oneness of divine souls, that this embrace is of sublime importance. That in the annals of created history this will be recalled.  It will be a fixed event we can visit and be reaffirmed. It will have happened, have been, be and is.

For this event we raise our glasses and bless this union.

Art by Claudia Hallissey


Arguing Her Argues

Scan0002 (2)




Arguing Her Argues

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

Did you not think
I would not know this?
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.

August 14, 2014
Art by Claudia Hallissey





It is August
and there is
a sliver of breath
inside the sill.

The deep breath of autumn
is, I think, a matter of time;
perhaps only in the memory
of the child anxious
for the world of new books
to open.

Anxious for the toys
of summer to be put aside
to make space
for new thoughts.

An old lady now
but still waiting with anticipation
for the long, dark nights
to be filled with time.

It is necessary.
It will take an entire season
to adjust mind, body and soul
to a new way of thinking. . . .
about who I was

and now who I am.

August 14, 2014
Art by Claudia Hallissey


Industry And Creativity


Industry and Creativity

 Our world needs our arms and legs and talents.  Heaven needs our industry to keep our planet afloat.  We are industrious and we are also creative.   And to be both is what life is all about.  We construct our lives by what is imaged and we create in physical space what we envision.   This planet is the best classroom ever because what we envision we can make manifest as quickly as we gather materials to do so.  There are those who  never take  time to process information into something they can do within the framework of where they are.   They hasten to buy it all and wonder why there is so little satisfaction in the acquisition.

 Taking an idea, we soon find it gives birth to many more.   For some of us it is like looking up a word in the dictionary.   One word gives rise to another and soon we  spend hours looking up words that pique our interest and add depth to our vocabulary.  What is needed is time for solitude to sift and sort and explore.  Everyone needs solitude, from the toddler to the elder.  Time is needed for an idea to come to fruition.    It cannot be done in front of a screen designed to constantly stimulate without time for employment of an idea.   A  ‘go to your room’  was never argued in our home for it meant there would be uninterrupted personal time.  Personal time meant personal space was not violated.  It was time where thoughts could roam the ethers and come back full of substance.

 I was grateful for hours spent observing  work done by my brothers and our sons.   Learning to do was my genetic heritage.  With the birth of grandchildren also came the birth of woodworking for me.  Starting with plaques I soon ventured into toys.   It was also grief therapy needing to heal a breach in the family when our David died.  The shaping and the sanding were helping put love into  toys our grandchildren would be playing with.  Working with our hands is part of who we are as human beings from the first wedge and mallet we shaped from rock.    This may sound like old fashioned work but one might find it a delightful addiction.  And though we might think otherwise,

 most of us were not to the manor born.

(Some of the Pink Feather Fleet were space vehicles.   Of course,  of course.  That is why I called them Illusion I, II,  etc.)


If We Sing To The Children



If We Sing To The Children

I wear these memories
as a cloak to ward off the chill.
Emotions forgotten, but like new now
ripping along my arms,
settling bumps in straight rows
to my heart.

Kindred hearts, matching
my own heartbeat,
with eyes like mine and
reflecting our souls.
Music in voices saying,
‘and when I look at weeds beside the road. . . .
but you know,  you know. . . .’
And I do, I do and we look with eyes
that see and ears that hear the song
of the bird before his sounds
have escaped his throat. . . .
and the music rumbles in our blood,
coursing through our hearts
and gives life only
to those who are ready to listen.

Not many to be sure,  not many,
but if we sing to the children
perhaps,  just perhaps,
the earth’s cacophony will one day
be harmony.

It is our heritage;
from where it is we come.
From the farm country I was given
a substance that does not spoil,
that does not turn sour
even in the residue of life.
It is not dregs that I drink.
It is the cream rising to the top of the milk.

I needed to see a skyline
with no obstruction and with no words

you laid your hearts on me.


8/11/14                                                                      photo by John Holmes


Bless The Experience



This particular post has been a favorite one of many people.  It is to me because of various reasons and I need to remind my self  that blessing an experience,  especially ones that are painful to remember,  is as necessary for my well being as giving silent thank yous for the many good experiences.   The painful ones have broadened my premises and expanded my vision.  And have kept my heart beating when I would have commanded it to stop.   I introduce this post to my new readers and remind my self to be grateful for life’s entirety.  And to the muses who sent it to me and nudged its posting again.


I learned something today.  I learned to ‘bless the experience.’
For if the experience has been a negative one, has left me with
a hurt so deep,  has filled me with anger,  then I must bless it.
For in the blessing I remove its power to hurt me again.
I leave it impotent, unable.
I’ve taken the wind out of its sails and there it sits,
blessed for the teaching but unable to wield its power over me again

If the experience is a positive one,  I bless it.  In like manner,
it will remain powerful and upon recall,  able to confer
its goodness time and again.
In my thinking happily on it,  I will automatically
bless it again.

Life is a blessed experience, all of it.
Bless it generously and gratefully.
It teaches us magnificently and impartially.
These are the magic words.
For in the unhappy experience we are taught swiftly
and surely and must bless the lesson.
In the happier one our pleasurable memory is our reward.
In blessing all of it, we make our truce with life

and secure our place in it forever.



photo by John Hallissey



To Research Oneself


The Teacher Speaks. . . . .For the one who searches the Heavens  for his answers and then hopes to find the answers in his actions, his activities and in the midst of his affiliations,  he might find them there if he chooses so.  But chances are the answers he seeks will be in his living room in the wise hours of the morning.  Or in the closet of himself when he unearths the meaning of who and what he is.  

 The largest undertaking of one’s life is when one researches oneself.   It is no small matter.   It is all that matters.   It can be done in the kitchen of the house,  in the classroom or the market place.   It is done anywhere and the truth of the matter it is seldom done,  period.   Not many wish to give up the day’s entertainment in search of one’s identity.  Too much trouble and too much hurt.   One finds that nothing has meaning without the central meaning of life.  One must have a healthy core for the fruit surrounding to have texture.



I shall teach you
about your root.
The fog will dissipate
and you will walk in truth.

Truth is fashioned
to resemble you.
Perfect in beauty,
laying dormant,

only to be awakened
from the impenetrable error
you hostage.

will no longer companion you.
The veil will be stripped away
and you will be set free.

No longer will you agonize
about beginnings and endings
and have terror ripping you
to the grave.

Space will be encircled
and no longer will you be paralyzed
at the thought of oblivion
and you will know

that you can go home.

                                                                                                  photo by John Holmes


The Day Is Good Bread

Resentments hang heavy on the heart.

Heaven teaches by the only weapon they have.   That is Conscience.

Beware the one who sings loudest in church.   They may be pleading a cause of which they are not proud.

Swift action by the wrong person often takes the decision out of the hands of the one who should be making it.

When the premises are broadened and the frame of reference pushed out, the view is expanded.

You cannot stoop but an other’s back is bent.   You cannot breathe but an other’s breath is taken.

Privacy is the ultimate illusion.

Work, lovingly done, is prayerful attendance to life.  It is reverence toward life.

Words will hang a person.   Words are nooses with scaffolding complete to hang the man.  Words will    by themselves come back to haunt.  This is what the weight of words is.

Parenting is a sacred trust.   And children come with a sacred permit.

Every world requires maintenance.  Even Heaven.  So we better get in the habit of cleaning up our own messes.


Powered by WordPress. Designed by WooThemes