Archive | July, 2017

Come Veronica, there is a bridge we can sell you. . .

The old argument came up about my impracticality. Others have difficulty following me.  Yet I was seeing to home maintenance over the years with no help, 20 white shirts a week ironed, suits pressed, meals on time, lawns manicured,  and best of all, children reared and raised in love.  And office work for those many years.  How impractical?

Our teacher son said that had he seen the growth in his students that he saw in his grandmother after she arrived to be in my care,  he would never have left the classroom.  I see as I always have so why must I explain connections to make a problem understood?  Mine is not an engineering mind and am not credentialed.  How do these people get degrees who don’t see the commonplace?  The teachers asked me to explain my day of choice.  The following I lifted from a journal entry of October, 2010.

(Wonderful day raking the leaves.  I felt as if I were a violin and the heavens were playing me.  The heavens were the bow that played on my heart and I sung with a high vibration through almost two or more hours.  It was wonderful.

This day was a gift.  This is how I connected in our yard with the All that was in me and in everything.   I was the god and the god was everything about me.   In my arms and the swing of the rake and the beauty of the day and the breath I took with my body.

I was the song and the instrument on which the All played.  I was the melody and I was the song.   And the day was the symphony behind me.   It was how it was for me when I was twelve and we moved to The Farm.  I connected with my earth and my earth was me and I was the god and the god was everything.)

The Teachers responded with . . . only another like you would relate.  The connection you have with your earth and you said, in love with it, is what we wanted for everyone.  How would you go about teaching this connection?  Or explain it to your beloveds?  You tell about virtue in labor and beauty in the doing,  and they resent you.  Not everyone sees the connections.  To them physical labor is grunt work.  But you sing with it and though your body pains,  you praise the day.  Who understands this kind of thinking today?

People text while they walk,  while they motor and while they make love.  What world could we give to you to teach virtue in labor,  beauty in the doing?  Come, Veronica,  there is a bridge or perhaps a world to sell to you?

Listen To Me, dear Earth. . .

This space where my sounds
break out into form and
I see, I see, and I knew it
all the time.

So listen to me, dear Earth,
and sea and sky,
for I speak your language and
hear your sound and hear your music.

And it is all for me,  for me.
The tension in my body
is the lyre upon which your music
is played.

My mind is my opening to worlds
that I know exist and can feel
through the thoughts winging
sometimes painfully against my ears.

Listen to me they say, and hear, hear.

(poem written in August, 1982)



photo by John Holmes


The Vault Of God. . . you know, my friend, you know. . . .




‘How did you know to do it?’ he asked.
I loved and raised babies and painted roses
on their cheeks and planted evergreens in their hearts.

Now you should put the sabers
at the foot of the evergreens.
The dove sings high, gargles her song at times,
but you know my friend, you know.

                                                                                                             The PoemMaker

In every time and place there is a one who will dip pen
in the heart and write.

                                                                       The Philosopher-King

The rose will bloom in December, I promise.
And I do not make promises lightly.

                                                                         My Mentor, the Nazarene


(I knew that eventually I would have to define my god or what it is I have held as my truth.  Having been brought up in a traditional orthodox religious home,  from the beginning I was watched. And heard the apologies to the priest about what I was saying.  Somehow it is important I put into words that are understood what is my knowledge or what I came into the world remembering.    I overheard a new reader say he gave up on me  because he had to resort to the dictionary for every second word.  My favorite English Lit teacher says my language is often archaic.  But considering the ancient world I volunteered from,  to me it’s understandable.

I am not credentialed so my education has been for well over a half century a daily independent study program.  When my world slept,  I went to the books.  Thought given and integrated and practiced.  I cannot quote theories and postulates,  I write what I know and after much struggle,  am lightly editing my last journal entry of July 23, 2017 that tells how it is with me.)

We are given to speaking in a lofty language too so bear with us. What you are searching for is not without peril for you delve into territories best left to those whose ambitions list with the arch angels.  You form a doctrine also best left to the farmers of the soul whose intent is to feed the people.  You love your humans and do not leave them adrift.  But we educate.  Your dreams also are  lofty at times but we lift when we can and surprised are we at times.

What we can do is give you a premise.  A premise with teeth but not without bite.  You wish to give what people will find comforting and yet something to grow on.  And think.  Work is something people avoid when they can but we give it a go.

Ineffable.  That which is too lofty, too sacred and must not be spoken of.  Must not be spoken of.  Yet if we are to see growth and a planet not in peril,  we have to work.  Ineffable.  The rolling thunder of which you speak, the implicate and explicate is what the scientists call it.  We call it the core and outer limits of the dream as you say.  You wish to enhance or enclose with an embrace the awesome splendor of the love you find permeating. You live in your god since he is All That is.  The outside of you is the inside of his outside and this you knew from the beginning.  The awesome splendor of the embrace is what your god is for you.  Awesome.  It is a word that people use and can relate to.  Yet it does not answer the question why the killing of 6 million humans was not sufficient reason to stop one human.

You will not find a reason within human intelligence to explain that symptom of depravity exhibited by a human toward other members of his species.  How could your ten year old heart at that time be ravaged by its knowledge and not the god to whom you were given for safekeeping?  Though your parents held to the Grandfather God concept,  you did not even then. What you ask the human mind cannot grasp.  But maybe we begin to explain how goodness can operate without emotion and still be considered above evil.

It seems the word ineffable stems from being not spoken in terms of outside the sphere of sacred.  Sacred is common with you.  Beyond sacred is ineffable.  Not spoken of.  You find this difficult; hard to live with a concept beyond the realm of speaking.  You think and therefore have the right to speak providing you intend no harm to the house of another nor to break the rice bowl from which he eats.  So we adhere to these concepts.  But there is a realm of existence so far beyond where we are and you are that it cannot be spoken of because there are no concepts beyond the immediate conceptual. Simply Is.  All else Is.  Or are,  steps toward getting nearer to that place where awesomeness will begin to conceive a form holding yet further realms of thought not possibleRealms of thought not possible for the human brain.

It seems nonsense and yet,  yet,  ineffable is the word to use.  Too lofty, too sacred and not spoken of because there are no words in the human lexicon,  dictionary able to describe.  When people speak of the god they believe in who has a hand on their shoulder it is a leaf that they feel and lean on.  A leaf.  The tree itself is a mighty redwood of understanding with roots going down levels of life that consume Every Living Thing and whose height is above sight.  When man says there is no god he does not feel the weight of the leaf yet.  He still has many lives to go to get to that point.  Ineffable.

You see the word in conjunction with the mighty redwood.  Man is a lightweight against the leaf but when he feels it,  it is progress.  For there now is the presence of Conscience.  You see the sacredness of life and the child hurting.  Many have not reached there yet,  thinking still that all is a match of chemicals,  hormones mostly that propel humans.  Humans you say are divine and place them in Genesis where the beginning was.  They cannot assimilate that information and cannot relate.  Knowledge rises from within and is a Given.

Ineffable.  Beyond the scope of humanity because there is no form, no concept of the word becoming.  God is a thunderous roll of Becoming Yet To Be and that is why minds say that life is everlasting and everlasting.  The residual of that thunderous roll to becoming is left within Mankind and is the god within.  The leaf maybe they feel.  That they humanize that weight and say their grandfather god will open his arms to them may be all they can handle at the moment.  That there is a stronger someone than they is what they need.  Someone to justify them.  And what they do.  And even if what they do is not good it may be what their human father commanded,  wished,  or taught so they are obedient to their human father god.  You see the evolution and why it stagnates.   Education is required for growth of the human spirit.  We begin again.

The Vault of God

And the inside is the outside
of the inside of God and I am he, or it or she.

Just as my children were part of me, the
outside of me, while inside, yet separate.

I am they, that part of me that flows
through them, yet are they separate and

they are part of me, an expression of
who I am, yet separate.

With my memory bank, just as I am the
holder of my mother’s memories,  I am

the vault of her who had me as her
expression.  I am the vault of God who

expressed himself through me and I am
the holder of memories.


(I told a long time friend that for me God is a verb and Jesus is my Mentor  A verb cannot cuddle nor is a comfortable pillow.  But I was not then at the place of rolling thunder yet nor where all time is simultaneous that quantum physics espouses.  So there was a lot of growing to do and much living yet to thread through.  My mentor became my friend as I was held accountable and as I sought his divinity,  I found mankind’s, and my own.    In the Dead Sea Scrolls (The Nag Hammadi Library)  Jesus said ‘I shall give you what no eye has seen,  no ear has heard and no hand has touched and what has never occurred to the human mind.’   Even with no credentials and whatever our persuasion,  we all have a highest and best we hold onto.  It is a good beginning.)





The Love Offering. . . the word is god. . . .

They were just children with a love offering.  It glinted in the ground and when picked up it glittered as a star in the sky.  Of course it would be given to the one loved most!  And with grimy hand and full heart it was.  With words accompanying the gift,  they spilled as starbeams through fingers. 

It was met with laughter at the piece of broken bottle swept in by the now polluted waters, with the love words washed with even more laughter.  And the child ran and hid and forever found words choked in throat too tight to speak.  And chatter found its way into conversation during lifetimes of too many words, none spoken ever with truth. 

Devices soon replaced the human voice in pillow talk and words were shouted in derision, in hostility,  in raucous laughter but seldom in measured voice which would take counsel with the sages.  Humans soon counted on one syllable words,  incomplete thoughts and reverted to gestures when language which had taken thousands of centuries to master came to a halt.  Even though in the beginning we were told that the  word is god. . . . we took away the child’s most important tool for growth and smashed it with our jealousy at his innocence as ours had been smashed.   And evolution stagnates.


In the beginning was the word
destined to touch the mind of man.
But the prevailing Spirit in its wisdom saw fit
to encumber each with the power to discern.

Meanings floated into space,
shaping themselves to fit the receiving mind.
Reaching their destination,
their shape changed to fit the owner.

Such turbulence!  Such uneasiness!
Albeit because the word had taken life and risen
to meet the heart’s need.
The speaker’s heart had taken its intent
and placed upon the ethers the heart’s desire.
It gathered cadence as it rode
to meet the receiver’s prejudices.

The sender’s intent lay silent, lost.
The heavens only acknowledged
its primordial meaning.
Can it be said in truth
that the word be god?
It is.
For within its power to create
it moves with desperation to voice feelings,
to give breath to visions and to heal.

The word created creatures and dynasties,
wars and rebellions, held peace in abeyance
and brought us to life.

So speak softly when speaking.
Words carry the weight of the heart
with intent to topple empires
and worlds and men.
In the catalytic movement
of the word, the world’s heart beats,
years are gifted
and man’s future secured.

It is all we have.


painting by
Claudia Hallissey





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


On The Universal Watch. . .


There is a universally ineffable, inherent bedded value in all life that holds us all accountable.  It is this which we must answer to.  Not because of  Others’ intent,  but of our own basic divinity, our own intent.

We may try to dismiss this urgency within us,  but we cannot destroy it.  It will continue to disrupt our sense of ease but will eventually cause such dis-ease that self confrontation will be the ultimate dismissal.  Intuitively we know this.




On The Universal Watch. . .

Glancing into the icy calm
of the darkened sky,
leaving little to the night’s magic,
is a knowledge from minds in action.

Saying little in languages understood,
it moves itself with intelligence,
looking for evidence bespeaking intent.

Always wary, ever beseeching,
reaching conclusions seeking
a desired peace with an enduring future.

Not only one world in motion with
an anxious search, but many
whose futures are determined by the
results of a whirling planet
whose emotions are in turmoil.

A learning place, a starting place,
whose tentative decisions determine
the times to come dependent on
the unbridled, unharnessed emotions
of a childhood still groping.

Worlds looming as non entities,
not proven  by the laboratories
of the science gods,
is life in other forms;
as intelligent, viable, thoughtful,
as intent on living within the realm
of their possibilities as we on Earth . . .

Searching as we do as gods for an enduring Peace.




Trust; Maudie Again??


Maudie Again?  Impossible!  Maybe????

In April of 2016 I wrote of Maudie and Jack,  the doves who took up residence one year beneath the patio cover of our Michigan home.   They sat on eggs  and hatched two babies.  I did not take photos of that time but I did take notes.  Since then there have been three moves to where I am now in California,  and to my surprise beneath the patio cover here,  a dove sits on her nest and eggs, however many I don’t know.  My son John took the photo of the dove and lo,  she does look like Maudie.  I don’t know how long doves live nor how far they can fly.  It seems impossible that it could be Maudie,  but who is to know for sure?

She is about ten feet outside the kitchen window and I look at her and she sees me.  Her beak is turned toward me so I think she is looking at me.  Her eyes are steady and I don’t know if birds blink intentionally.  But she is beautiful.  It just seems more than a coincidence that another dove should find the home I live in to be of such a secure place that she wishes another family to be born where I am.  My grandson William could not believe that first Maudie allowed me to move her and her nest from one place to another without a squawk.  A loud racket at least.  But she didn’t.  And he is much older now so I wonder what he will think of this dove sitting on another nest beneath the patio cover a world away from the time of the first Maudie.

In the previous essay I wrote that I learned that creatures,  no matter the species,  have memory.  Birds are not forgetful.  Maudie remembered my care for her and her babies from previous times so she built her nest outside my kitchen window the first time.  Well,  I am learning,  there is either a telepathic chain of command or memory bank that involves all of us.  And I am confronted every day with opening my mind to the vast encumbrances that preclude our thoughts from encompassing a very primary fact.  That there is connection with all of life,  even with the most mundane.  And the bird species is more than simple,  they are as complex in miniature as we think we are giants in intellect.

I will keep you in the loop with my companions.  We are at the edge of understanding.

AT The Edge. . .

We are only at the
beginner’s edge of understanding.

So much yet to learn,
to ferret out in languages understood.
So much and yet so little time.

Let us then be serious
in offering our blessings
in gratitude
for what has been given.

But let us choose our illusions
carefully.  Relationships have
been formed and dissolved
under illusions.

And we too?


photo by
john stanley hallissey


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


Rolling Thunder . . .


Last week I awakened with a memory of a place and trying to make sense of it.  I realized I was given a piece of action to remember.  I remember reaching for a  framed photograph of  silhouettes of the children when they were little.  It was lying on the floor and as I tried reaching for it,  it kept moving.  The whole room was tipping around and the photo was nowhere still.  I realized as I tried many times to pick it up that I was in rolling thunder and the implicate and explicate of quantum theory came to mind. 

According to Michael Talbot’s Holographic Universe, the physicist David Bohm says this deeper level of reality is the implicate or enfolded order and the explicate,  the outer or unfolded order.  I remember it as the central part of the dream and the outer fringes.  This is what every aspect of life  means to me when explaining the rolling thunder of the universe.

Our Earth is the classroom of stability, the learning place that makes it easier to accept life and its principles, to adapt to  and is wonderful as the learning classroom it is.  The stability can be counted upon and makes it easy to acclimate to life and makes excellent sense to want it as a someplace to return to.  Which is why it has a growing populace who learn the rules and apply them from lifetime to lifetime.  And the sophisticated soon learn the place to excel is the Earth planet and the waiting list is unending. 

I wrote Rolling Thunder last year and thought it might help with the explanation of the nighttime excursion. Since I see all of life connected,  it was a natural selection to the dream sequence of last week.  I hope you read it with an ahhh sooo maybe ??!!

Rolling Thunder. . .

from what was a formless start
were pieces sent scattering
into a nothingness. . .

Our Consciousness spoke
one to the other and the thoughts
formed a place ready to hold our dreams.
We then broke off pieces of who we are and
went in search of meaning. . .

For sport, for something to do to fill ourselves,
for then we came to that place where thought
demanded a something to hold.
It was called Manifest.

This thought was like rolling thunder
with a threat of storm.  It was filled with power.
That power engulfed the whole of us
and we emerged as Man.

We grew and contributed to this great turbulence
and life took on a beauty which ennobled us
as creatures of this space now forming worlds at once.

In the center we knew our sense of power,
like thunder rolling and even now continues
its unrolling the events from our lives and dreams
and as it all enfolds it becomes part
of an Other’s dream.

The dreams unfold and pieces spark Other’s dreams
into an unrolling of the Great God’s Becoming.

It is with this understanding that the why and how has
neither a beginning nor an ending but is everlasting.

We always were soul stuffs and
were known by one name.
And when our thoughts grew with power we came into
Being and are known by one name again.
It is Creation we are involved with.

And we light up with surprise.


photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.



Pieces of Mind. . .


If it were not for those who make connections with events,  mankind long ago would have eaten dirt.  And it would have been the end of the sojourn.


Heaven opens momentarily and closes  but the glimpses from the view linger and haunt one forever.


We endure those things we are powerless to change, no matter how wise the intentions.


Commitments, destined or chosen, determine choices and sometimes close choices completely.  Conscience will help determine needed adjustments in thinking.


It is the lighted candle that sparks the heavens.


Life is a balanced judgment.


In the silence of who we are,  we take flight.


When we ravage the psyche of children,  they in turn have difficulty cherishing anything with reverence,  especially their Earth Mother.


You must give them tools with which to work, not crutches.  Tools.


It is not the mystery of life which stuns man and does not beguile him to further thought.  It is the work involved.


The long face of gloom does not become the human at all in the face of so many small victories, but the constant  grin bespeaks an empty head too.


Considering the condition of the world and considering who we confine to psychiatric wards,  the question should arise,  how one defines who is mad in a world gone mad?


photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.


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