Archive | November, 2017

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.


A Chance For Love. . .

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.


The Uncovering. . . .


Teach The Lessons Well. . .

Again from a journal entry the Teacher speaks on evolution. . . in the evolution of genes,  in cleaning up genetic history, we talk of literally thousands of years.  But with emphasis not on the helplessness of man,  but with concerted thought and concerted direction,  there can be a manipulation of behavior with new guidelines instituted.

Man will manipulate those genes contributing to defective bodies with no question.  But the kind of manipulation that requires change in behavior brings on argument.  Man has been fed the cliché that says the only person you can change is yourself.  What he must realize is that by changing himself, he changes the behavior of all about him.

Behavior that reflects constructive change, reflects goodness and well being outwardly,  in every area of public and private life is a large morsel to contend with.  The change will be reflected not just in superficial dealings with each other but also in personal relationships.

We say make certain that in all areas there is a behavior that reflects the kind of goodness we choose to like about ourselves. Because of the courage required to come forth many are now speaking of insults to their persons for generations.  The revolution has begun and if fortunate, in time to save this blessed classroom from future horrors.  And we must teach this lesson well.   By example.

(I wrote the following poem in 1986 and know the full weight of it.  Please take a moment and read it carefully for the meaning is in the uncovering, literally.)


The Uncovering. . .

Written in the minds of men
are stories waiting
for the uncovering.
Skirting about,
rising through the surface
of parchment shielding the brain
from eruption, are memories,
waiting for recognition.
The memories lay in imagination.

Housed in quarters of familiar terms,
the storehouse yields what man
can comfortably accommodate.
Open wounds charitably protected
from untoward blows,
form reservoirs for occupancy.
Listing toward comfortable complacencies,
which have nested in protection
in an accommodating psyche,
the lessons will prove invaluable.

Couched in terms needing no explanation,
the thoughts will yield improvement
destined for the lot of man.
Singular in judgment, new to the thinker,
the thoughts will lodge immovable
and looking for completion.

The idea will find its home
in the minds of all men
and the revolution begins.
The learned ones will marvel
at the evolution in thinking
and peace with brotherhood
will slowly mark its beginning
in the house of one man.

Nestling in the home will be the children,
safe from untoward shock.
They will be remembering another place
where the promise was given.

It will be as they expected.


photo by Jon Katz


Happy Thanksgiving. . . my heart’s gratitude. . .

How Much Of A Difference. . .

It was morning,
though the night still hung heavy;
the clouds hovered,
the sun unable to rise.

The children gathered for breakfast;
morose and angry,
heavy still with sleep.
Mother looked with unhappy eyes
and father, already delayed
flew out the door.

What could she plan
for this crew this night, she wondered,
as she scrutinized each face
when they exited.

That night the same faces
appeared to sup together;
hostile, unable to summon
the good things of the day.
Seated, they glowered
and the mother, with hope
passed the platter.

Have some love, she murmured
as she handed the plate to the eldest.
Puzzled, he helped himself
and in unbelief said to his sibling,
have some love.

And around the table the faces changed
as the platter of love was passed
and with a whisper bestowed its blessing
by each and every one.
The father then picked up a plate to share
and to his surprise murmured,  I pass peace.

And around the table peace was passed
to accompany the main course of love
and talks resumed and the world
was given another chance.

On a level we cannot enter,
we cannot know how much of a difference
it takes to make a difference.

Or how little.

(It is my favorite holyday.  I share my heart’s gratitude for your time and comments.  When time is the one thing we can share,  I especially am grateful for your gift.  I treat it with great care and reverence and hope I give something of value in return.  It truly is my heart’s gratitude.)


A Need To Know. . .


In the sixties I wrote a poem called Resolution which ended with the following lines.

(excerpt from Resolution)

I have come into the Light
but what to do?
On the day I was one, I became two.
Now I am two.

What to do but seek and seek again
until I find I walk this earth

not godless.

And following ten years later I wrote having chosen the Nazarene as my mentor. . .

(excerpt from Cactus Jesus)

You said that when I knew you,
I would know me.
We are gods on common ground,
knowing we choose our own Golgotha.
Seeking your divinity,

I found my own.

(from journal entry October 16, 2015. . the teacher speaks.)  and the god within had a voice needed to be heard and accounted for.  You wrote those words a half century ago.  Yet you never tried to unwrap them because the need was not there for them yet and neither was there the courage to respond with a yeah, now  I am not godless.  You have the Within God and this has been the secret with the many. You have known of it for sometime and long before you were already talking about marching orders and that was when the children were small and needed the teacher mother on hand to give them their enchanted childhood.  You know even now that you were given the necessary guidance at the time.

We know the involuntary knowledge puts you on some edge of something.  Should you stand and speak for the god within what would you say that would be convincing?   Does the average person want the tyrant task master of your life who has been your goad for over 85 years?  Coupled with your mother’s jenny genes?  What of those who find that they can talk down the desires of that inner god and outplay him/her and quiet their conscience? 

I asked my friend Kath why she went to church on Sunday.  She said she hoped that what Jesus said was true.  Knock and the door shall be opened.  I don’t think a knock would be heard in these days of devices and loud noises.  I had to crash the gates to be heard.  There is a Comforter or a god within that is to be heard bringing to mind all we had forgotten to remember.  A friend laughingly said it was an argument as to what we remember and what we need to learn.  A need to know was my ohm and armor.  And what kept the bridge at a safe distance.


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?


Hunger For Knowledge. . .

Hunger For Knowledge. . .

The hunger for knowledge knows no bounds and the kind of acceptance which bespeaks the heart which no longer cares enough to fight for its own existence nor the existence of an Other will soon lose the fight altogether.

Caring is in style.  Nurturing is in style one way or another.  What is needed is the educated mind which will carry the argument complete with commitment and put priority on that which will sustain the life for humankind.

The greater picture is paramount to survival.  The importance of the microscopic family is only a version of the larger family of man.  The survival of the larger unit depends handily on the survival of the smaller one.  And our own action will depend on the latter.  And there are those for whom even this knowledge is evaded or hidden.

And they who know how much there is to learn are well on their way toward the beginning where mind is All.

Who I Am. . .

I am the dream
that came to awaken
the sleeper that was me.

And now I take
the utmost care
in harnessing the glimpses
of a soul in motion.

Somewhat tardy, I think
and I say in this case,
quite late.
I’ve waited too long.

And the dream
is no longer about
who I was but is now

about who I am.


Taking It Personally. . .

Taking It Personally     . . . (we were having breakfast with a young friend)

From a journal entry after the breakfast. . . . the Teacher speaks . . . Your justification of man at the breakfast table yesterday proved a point.  The mate said that Jacob was not what you thought  him to be.  And you had said that you could only take your frame of reference and apply it to other people.  And if you endowed them with the highest and best that you knew and the depth,  then that was not such a bad thing to do.  If you generalized in such a manner then you indeed endowed them.  The young friend was surprised and his eyebrows shot up.  A nice gesture.  You are familiar with it.

You justified all men and hoped that someone would be around for your justification when you needed it.  Will you need to be justified?  You think all men do.  But will you?  Have you done to the best of your ability what you know to do?  Have you swept every corner of your mind?  Is there that which yet must be brushed clean?

Only you will know this in the days to come.  Only you will know it when you are pressed by emotions still to be filtered.  You think what yet?

Only what is ours to choose.  And if you choose nothing more, nothing more is required.

It is not an easy route you have chosen to do.  Nor is it one that most would find themselves on.  You take it all and then apply it to yourself.  You are said to take it all personally.  And personally is the only way to process information for any meaning to be applied.  It must be personal.  It must be meant for you.  If it is not personal,  you are a passer through. . .

From The Beginning. . .

Except in the quiet of the night
when the demons plague
the early hours and the babies
cannot sleep that the pleadings
are ignored.

It is when the ghosts trip the light
and hide beneath the covers with
the bodies that sweat.  And shake
and rattle the headboards. . .
It is when the praying begins and
the begging does not stop.
You know that as well as I. . .

We have heard it since
the beginning of time.
And advantages taken and innocents
pay to assuage the egos that cry
for their mamas.  What to do. . . what to do?

The fathers will not leave their warm beds
to hug their sons and lay waste
to their fears.  And tell them that the love
they left will always be there for them,
for the fathers do not know.
They still cry for the warm arms
they know and the pain does not let up.

One day every inlet of the sea
and in every cove of the dunes
beside the sea we will see that life
is fair and sweet and good.
And in every imaginable
hiding place life will prosper

as it was meant to from the beginning.



Crashing The Cosmic Gates. . .


Crashing The Cosmic Gates. . .


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


The soul tries on all attitudes to see which one fits the present world one lives in.


All conditions can lend to growth because all conditions contain lessons.  Mankind’s wish to be taught by osmosis without effort would further enhance his physical playground.  Fun and games would lead to the top of the class?  For sure.


Enough times told, even the body begins to change its habits.  It matches the words the  mouth spills.


Any degree of questioning leading to any degree of study lends  a higher quality to a life which beggars.


We lose sight of the dream when we forget that we had dreamed it.


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


What was not fulfilled at the time needed will be sought for in every corner except within the person himself.  And another generation to shoulder the search for ancestor’s anguish.


photo by John Stanley Hallissey


Times Such As These. . (do we not learn, ever?)



Times Such As These. . .

I lock up the room
and pocket the last remnants
of words laying about

Fearful that pieces
of my heart may be found
scattered among them.
And why not?

Times such as these
leaves us with little salve
to heal the open wounds
which once were hearts.

For whom do we weep?
The children whose siblings
will no longer come to the table
to convey with no doubt
the events which took their innocence?

Or the parents
whose hearts were transplanted
when word came
that these unspent stars
were already breathing the rarified air
as heaven’s most blessed?

Look at us here.
Pleading that our children
will be safe as they try to understand
what we in our dotage
have not learned.
To resort to arms

means death in any country.



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