Archive | February, 2015

Who Will Teach The Children?


The Teacher  (The Socratic Departure)

I will drink this cup of gall,
swallowing the bitterness
setting fire to earth’s waste.

But first I caress this chalice.
Its depth mirrors my heart,
shaking the foundations
of my very own selves.

Now splendid trepidatons
challenge the ultimatums
by which the earth rocks.

Challenge me, o gods,
not to see the outside
that has no bounds,
nor the inside that does not
set feel to the outside,
nor the depth
which encapsules other worlds.

Winds that know me by my name,
sunlight that weeps with my tears
and the night sky which covers
my brittle bones with the white moon
will continue to call me . . .and remember.

I will drink of this cup and
set loose the forces
that muddle the minds of men.

In chaos they will seek order . . .and there is none.
In the written word
they will seek understanding. . .
and there is none.
In the marriage bed they will seek delight. . .
and there is none.

Cross the stars.  Challenge the arch angels.
Banish the gods.   And quickly I will drink of this cup.
But tell me. . . . .

Who will teach the children?


You Must Not Think





You Must Not Think

You must not think
it’s useless to have trudged
the overgrown path
to make a road
easier for the one to follow.

We must grow up
and put on training pants.
It is time.
We must develop discipline
to house the night’s pleasures
and discipline
to work our days.

Evolution is what the name
of the game is
but it really is life;
a way station only to the stars,

on the way home.


Consider These. . . . . .




Consider these. . . . .

The Knowledge says that let this pass if it is Thy will.   The heavens say to look beyond the light into the face of the morning sun and see that the light beckons and extends.   It would grant you peace should you let it.   It will grant you life, should you welcome it.

The memory bank is filled with uncashed checks.   Is not the resolving of the unresolves where the real money is?

If one sees a problem, make certain the individual concerned views it as a problem also.   Otherwise you will work the blind alley and nothing will be resolved.   In this case the old expression for the people involved and not concerned is ‘leave them to their own gods.’

We are now knowing what the high cost is of the sins of the father’s bigotry on their progeny if only connected by centuries of indirect descent.

The kinds of bigotry caused by preferred prejudices are shadows moving on a wall that keeps moving.   It is very slippery. It leaves soil on generations that even bleach cannot reach.

Because of the sheer devastation of persons, the Gnostic Gospel of Phillip was right.   The gods should be worshipping man trying to clear up the ancestors’ unresolves.   The devastation pollutes the air and pollutes the heart.

When memory is finally restored of many lives and many loves,   will we find the worst bigots to be those most recently freed?


photo by John Hallissey


Life Everlasting





Life Everlasting


Without ears to hear, he hears.
Without eyes to see, he sees.

With heart he understands
the small musings
of this limited mind.

I can see, I say
for this is mine. . .
only with how I perceive
this limited existence.

Fair enough,
for this time,  I think,
but only for this time.
There will be other times
when it will not be enough. . . .

And then I grow
unto his splendor. . .
I will be guided
unto his doorway and
I will be led. . . .

And again, I will find
my way home.
Again, I will be led
and there will never be
a final time. . . .

It only begins, here and now
and again it will be

time to move on.


Choice Goods


Choice Goods

 I would like to live long enough to see the children who are born with more than the usual five senses come out of the closet of mind so they will be asked what they see, hear, think and what they remember.   And be looked upon as someone highly gifted and of high caliber.   And there will be a time when being however different will be accepted and not something to be shucked away as an embarrassment.

It generally happens at a family gathering when a younger participates innocently in the conversation by announcing that they met  Uncle David or Aunt Susie  before they were born and proceeds to describe them accurately.   Silence follows this revelation and someone hurriedly changes the topic.   Again the embarrassment is not lost on the younger.

To be held up as an example of ridicule from the time one becomes a subject of reason is not easy.   To need to monitor oneself from the time of kindergarten, always told to watch what one says destroys any spontaneity.   To be different than one’s siblings already puts the different child on the outside looking in.  The isolation of such a one is abhorrent.

 We in the western world have a history of brutal force used to show what dancing with spirits was all about.   In this country we have a sordid past from the time in Salem, Massachusetts which is still alive in many, many people.   They make circles with their fingers in the air when showing their unmerciful disdain for those who walk with one foot in other worlds.   Their palpable fear is employed dramatically in the removal of those who harbor any form of uncommon thought.   The devil for them is at their heels when one of these uncommon differences happens in their family. They become stone faced and do not stop at whatever means necessary to remove the offending behavior or even the person.

 With a hundred billion planets floating about, how long will it take for people to yield to the fact that intelligence also lives on a planet or two or maybe all surrounding us?   That maybe we can exchange hello’s, just maybe?  And perhaps those about who have more than the usual five senses and whose heads and hearts are open to unknown worlds may teach us something?

 We ask the question when a beloved hovers near their final breath and we hope there is a something beyond.   We should have been researching the first question which was from where do we come?  Even in the Nag Hammadi texts Jesus is asked by a disciple where it is we go when we die and he answered why worry where you go when you never asked from where you come.  A bit slow we are it seems.

 Look to the child who asks the why’s and has invisible friends as he plays on the floor with his legos.   Or the daughter who serves tea to her dolls with significant names and converses with them in grown up language.  Children come with a sacred permit.  These children are choice goods.   They will one day create the world we hoped we would inherit.   They deserve our support.

 And it is our sacred obligation to do so.


You Washed The World




You Washed The World

You washed the world
with my love
and took it and made
a valentine of my heart.

You washed the world
with a blanket of snow
and lace formed on my eyebrows
and made my lashes
heavy with snow.

You threw me down
and I made an angel
with wings outstretched
and I stood in my finery

and it never faded nor melted.



This Valentine Heart

IMG_20150128_124139_794Believe because it is true. . . . .

As we approach Valentine’s Day, to all who are bereft and do not or have not known love, what is missed is something you have known somewhere at some time else you would not know you miss it. One day it will be yours again.

 It will be a Given and you will know it because your name will be on that Valentine and you will be cherished for who you are.   It is a love you have known and matches what is in your heart.   You will broach the heavens this night and take a walk through the Galaxy and swing through the stars.   You will see again the love you embrace in your heart and know that forever you have had arms to enfold you.   Never were you abandoned. Never. This poem is for you.

This Valentine Heart

I lay my heart
crimson in splendor
beneath the branches
on fresh fallen snow,
open to my god. . . .

Here it is I am
with all that I’ve gathered;
completed to form
just what you see.

The flakes have scattered
in splendid ways
to carpet the floor
as bed for my heart.

Pick it up if you please
but handle with care.
Sorely I need,
a tender touch.

Life has tested me
to rare form.
I worked it all like Job
and wanted not to fail.

See, this Valentine heart
laid splendid on
the floor of the forest
but  loved to the ultimate

by the god whose creation I am.


Valentines For Ever’one


‘Til ever’ name is called

Can we make valentines,  he asked?    The younger looked as if he was torn by a big decision.

 Why make them, I asked?   ‘Cause there are lots I know and they be real from me,  he said.   How real I asked and he looked at me puzzled.   I waited for an answer I thought would clue me to the crease on his forehead.

 So’s they know I care he sputtered.  Don’t you know that for sure?  Again I waited.   They just don’t know, he said,  they don’ know.   What are they supposed to know I asked.  He came over to me and sat on the floor at my feet.   ‘Member, he said,  when you were like me and nobody ‘membered you  and your  name not called out and there were lots an’ lots of valentines in the heart box your name not on  cards?

 I looked at this tender younger and wondered where he wandered.   My stomach knotted as I remembered the little girl that I was who sat and hungered for my name to be called.  The teacher was almost finished and looked around and said I have a few more cards yet and one had my name.   I rushed to claim it and knew it was from Guess Who ?  But many of the cards were from guess who?  because boys and girls knew the word embarrass.    Much later we learned that our teacher checked off names as she called them and to make certain everyone had a valentine she had a supply in her desk.   We did not know it then of course.

 And what are your plans I asked.   He said in his take charge voice it was not nice for some not to get cards so I give ever’one card and I make them so they be real.  Good thinking I said but no favorites?   When time comes for favorite I give real valentine.   That be my heart he said.   That be real valentine, think so, yes?

 I lifted him up and hugged him.   Whoever gets your heart will be special because you are special.   ‘Til I be grow up,  he asked,  you be my valentine?   With pleasure sir,   with pleasure  I said and hugged him again.  So we went to make valentines for ever’one so ever’ name is called.  It would be awhile before I learned that ever’ name is called.


The Prayer Altar


The Prayer Altar

There are always memories that burn the heart.   The only thing to do is take them to the prayer altar and do with them what you will.   If you cringe at the thought of prayer because of discomfort for whatever reason, think of prayer being the quiet internal place when your heart is allowed to grieve unashamedly.   No look at the bright side talk allowed at the prayer altar.   It is the private place where you are with what you think highest and best in Mind and come naked to it with whatever justifications you require.

Forgiveness is easy when memory fails or the heart stops caring.  Forgetting also comes easily to some.   It is somewhat a matter of genes and brain power, whether sufficient or insufficient.  When intelligence and sensitivity allow memories to live on, it is hard to forget.  It is not always a matter of will.

We assume that forgiveness means that the times will be forgotten.  But when the times are entwined with memories that you wish to keep alive, it becomes impossible to forget.  And when there are children involved, we know that children are aware of events because their questions are on target.  Foolish are the adults who think that only what they wish to be known is what others know.   Children intuitively connect the dots and others, not emotionally involved see events in bas relief.

The past, the present and our futures are connected.  The lines are not straight but wiggle and connect various aspects of our histories.  In dismissing one aspect or set of memories, we must be sensitive to other portions  we wish to keep close at heart.   There will be those jewels of our past we hold alive in us, polished by the many times we bring them to mind and the arteries within us all that connect our hearts.  These connections are ours forever.   They are eternal.

Art by Claudia Hallissey


Running Toward One’s Truth. . Paradigms


A child’s albatross. . . . .The old adage of what is done in the home must stay in the home is a bird wrapped around the neck and the damage done to the children is inestimable.

 Stay away from the classes where teachers are known not to ruffle feathers.   You will be comfortable and safe and learn nothing.   No thing.

 It is unwise to allow other people to form your opinion.   It is like second hand smoke. . . dangerous.

 Welcome diverse opinions when it forces you to rethink your beliefs.   You may one day have to publicly own those beliefs.

 Better than just believing will be the day when one will be able to say I know and claim this knowledge as one’s own.

 There may be those who think your value system is off the wall.   It may be that your bar is set too high for this world and in place for the one you will graduate to.

 We are our own relief (r is correct) system and no other.   Somehow we have to find our way.

 Follow the one who sends you running to your own corner to sort out your thinking.   Especially if she has forced you into thinking your life depends on you.  Scary, isn’t it?

 Sometimes we have to crash the gates of heaven.  In this day of great cacophony and so many devices, a simple knock is not heard.

 The best that money can buy is often what money cannot touch.

 Sometimes our lives feel like a harvest of obstacles.

 It takes a long time for humanity to grow up.   And some play at it better than others.

 Even in the face of world chaos, we only add to it if we don’t clean up our own messes.  And yes the bathroom must be cleaned, regardless.

Sculpture by Stanley Rybacki


Powered by WordPress. Designed by WooThemes