Archive | Earth

Sufficient Unto Itself . . .is the day. . .

Big guy, our Newfie, came in to get me up this morning.  It was early but I said give me five.  Which means I need more time.  He left me to take guard outside my room until I said let’s go.  I grabbed a throw since it was dark and cold.  And prepared for time while he had a long drink.

The sky was red and Sailor, I thought ‘red sky in the morning take warning.’  Followed by ‘red sky at night, Sailor’s delight.’  It was a melding for me, a uniting with All That Is.  And whispering to me were the words, ‘Sufficient unto itself, is the day, thereof.’

I am able to hold conference with my constituents easily.  But I would have difficulty explaining how I get there and you would have difficulty believing me, except you have my words in front of you.  I tell you true within the frame of reference that is mine and though criticism comes with my alibiing everyone else,  I have not done so with myself.  I have loved my Earth, unabashedly and am in conference with my Teachers.  (I had previously posted. . .excerpt. . .)

And when we left the city to breathe clean air I marveled as a young girl going to the outdoor privy and stopped at the back door before going up to bed and dipped my heart to blend the night sky to drink of a million stars and wondered how rich could a 12 year old be with the night so private housing so many brothers?  And the air circled my pajama legs and I gave thanks to the clean air and promised to be a caretaker of a place I loved.  I would dip into my bucket of stars and reach for a nugget and it would translate my efforts and keep me fed.

I would teach everyone to take care of our land because it is our home and we live here.    It gives us what we need to live and heals us when we ail and loves us as its children.  It is our mother and we must help her.  And now after a lifetime,  I am hampered by bones forgetting to bend, muscles forgetting to stretch and a heart that cannot forget how I have loved this parcel of a universe so generous with this gift.

How Much Better It Would Be. . .

How much better it would be
for this noble planet
if we cherished her like a lover?

Or loved her as a mother
who adored her child and
wiped the tears away with a soft linen?
Or as a father whose arms surrounding the child
are as steel beams supporting
the frame of the tallest building?

Who would not want these for himself
if he could articulate what would heal
the dichotomy within?

Too few of us around
who love our home so fiercely
we would protect her vital organs.
The sun sometimes is hidden from man
and the moon embarrassed
to see its light dimmed with shame.

When patches of earth split
from the shock of no rain and dust rises
and rolls across open land,
we wish then not to shake dust
from our boots but to greet a sunrise in splendor.

Offer me this, the Earth Mother says,
that you will raise your arms
only to surround an Other in love.
Promise me this, again she says,
that the swords will be laid at the foot
of the evergreens, now and a boot will never
crush an Other’s right to live.

And I will forever cherish your children.

photo by
John Hallissey

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The Farm Woman. . .

 

Someone probably said, considering there is nothing new under the sun, I knew the journey my spirit would take would be the one closest to my heart.  That would be  the earth and sky of course, a farm.  

The details would be only as difficult as I could overcome and not more than I could handle.  I would of course argue that premise.  In retrospect it was the most influential segment of my life. 

Directing and encompassing the who I became to love the Earth Planet as the grandest classroom ever given to viable, developing creatures with potential who worship learning. 

Having said that, my wish is for overwhelming intellects equipped to keep our planet safe and prospering healthily so the young need not worry they will have no dotage. 

It is a beacon to the Universes and we are more than one.  And nowhere are the conditions as ripe for  ideas with materials  becoming expressions as this planet.  Pray that we take only good what moth and rust do not destroy when we terminate our stay, so that we only enhance life elsewhere in whatever form, in gratitude for what we are gifted.

The Farm Woman  . . . 

Woman of the Earth, you are loved.
You gather the fruits of your labors
to your bosom and feed the children.

You’ve inched your way along the
dusty path with back bent in great fatigue
and cultivated rows yielding wise fruit.

You would feed out of your mouth those
you think hungry and then beyond measure.
The fruits are the heart of your labors , the harvest of
your mind’s philosophy, spilling indiscriminately.

Who is left to feed you, farm woman?
What commissary is left open to feed your
hungry soul after hours?  What bookstall will
house the words between stiff covers
to increase your harvest?

Labor, till the sun closes its blinds on the day.
Restless legs will speed you through the night

to find the bins ever full.

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The Children Will Lead. . . but You Are The Answer. . . .

 

The Children Shall Lead Us. . . .

Young people,  some only in grammar schools,  around THE WORLD have taken leave of their classrooms today to strike their concerns about the coming death of their best and only classroom.  It is this planet Earth.  Our only home as far as most of us know, this lifetime.

Many of the young  have memory and they know that nothing is given but what something is taken away.  For many lifetimes our planet has given us lush greens and vibrant blues and sundry good to avaricious hearts.   They know who these are among us.  Yet we know  we all plunder our Earth Mother,  in the substance thrown away and her largess of native goods taken and trashed.  We all participate in greedy behavior.

We either sit on arid land pleading for water or wading in hip boots in the living rooms of our once homes.  Or picking up the matchsticks of our beloved countries in the residues of tornadoes and hurricanes. A doomsday on this planet of great numbers?  In many areas, it already is.  Who cares?

And what difference does it make?  Well I care and one day you will care a lot and it will make a big difference.  You are its prayer, its question and its answer.  Only you.  In you are the answers to what your life means.  There are no other answers.  You are the answer.  You are the unsuspecting shoulders upon whom the answer rests.  You will be the answer to who cares and you will care a lot.

Your God you pray to is not always merciful.  He respects what you would call my stand alone responsibilities.  I respect without argument an angry Cosmos that has the power to strike at the core of us and hit home.  This is my beautiful planet and I in pain realize we are a reflection of that pain elsewhere.  I work to relieve it.

Primary kindnesses must be granted to all facets of nature, from the glass of water to the earthworms that fragrant the soil.  Every aspect of life, every aspect of guarding this planet from dawn to the whispered good night in love to our Earth Mother.  I tell you true.

You will care and you will care.  A lot.

(a pleading to us all. . . )

Let our hearts lead us
to that place where
we intuitively cherish the mother
who feeds and clothes us and
gives us sustenance.

Let us not forsake our responsibilities
to those yet unborn but whose futures
we have already mortgaged.

Blessed Spirit, enliven our curiousity
about our daily world, remind us
that the bird’s song needs our
acknowledgement and praise,
that the sun needs our greeting
and the night wishes it bid good.

As we nourish those of our commitment,
speak to us of our commitment
to the home we know, our planet Earth.
Let our love guide us to make beautiful,
to make secure and to guard diligently
what has so faithfully harbored us.

In love we pray,  Amen, amen.

 

{the pleading scribed April 5, 1991}

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The Earth Gods Know. . .we do not swim alone. .

 

 

 Journaled December 1992 . . . following. .the Great Nor’easter. . december’92

Nature expounds her presence with all.  She ventures to shout her presence.  She sends storms and pestilence and calm days and sunny skies to announce her presence.  She grants to all the balm of her existence.  But she angers and cries .  And in frustration teaches what no other thing or method can.  She is a great lady but given to little patience.  The earth is in dire straits, she says.  She hurts and I cannot let her bleed to death.  So she rages and fumes and she tires.  Will she give up?  The earth gods know.  The earth gods know.                (Hurricane Dorian devastates. . September 2019)

January 2019. . . . in a previous  entry I ended with the thought that we are the Intelligence undergirding these universes and we are the power beneath it all.  I had written that my studies had taken me to that place where I knew Spirit or the God Force or whatever we call this Intelligence that rumbles life into the universes, but we are part.  God Participants.

We are the intelligence or the life force.  And this morning I see that if anything is not done to correct the injustices or the inequities that harm and hurt peoples and beings, it is not done because we are doing nothing.  What we are doing is participating in the harm and injustices.  Doing nothing to stop them because of fear or because we are benefiting from them.  So we are the cause and the cure.

That there is an over-riding good that belies the insignificant I. That there is beyond the benign the stretching of invisible good that overshadows all.  It is or has to be because we would have long destroyed all life.  The sparklers are held by a something I cannot fathom but whose potential is ‘becoming.’  What I can accommodate with utter imprecision is the desire to see that balance is achieved.

That there is something that is so good  that no evil can touch its core of perfection.  I call it the Great God or possibly should call it the Great Good?  As I said in that entry when I stumbled with that undergirding,  is that we are part of that Spirit. . . as it was in the beginning, a god participant  meaning we were of one name.  Genesis chapter 1 verse 26 and god said, let us make man in our image.    And I said so long ago, or was it only yesterday in quantum, man is basically good because man has the Divine Within needing to be acknowledged.

As long as we try to explain the hard sweat work of good that people do as in doing what is best for humanity, we will enhance life in all universes.  Because as the boy child said to the Lady of Blue Cloths,  we are being watch-ed.  We are being watch-ed.

(I seem to harangue on this subject of this noteworthy classroom, but we must always keep the larger picture in view, even when what we do seems so small.    We do not swim alone.)

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For Me, it is Eternity. . . .

 

I was sitting and looking at our landscaping and thought I must remember this.  This is for eternity for me.   It was the end of the day and the sun was setting.  I feasted my eyes on my surroundings.  And my eyes took in every detail and when they fastened on the next door tree of flowers I  thought out loud, Look at what the Great God wanted my eyes to see!    And not just a bouquet, but a tree of flowers!  Goodness, mercy!  A tree of flowers, not just a bouquet.. . . .and the sky was fading but the sun stayed on the tree.

And my next thought was of my Mentor, the Nazarene, and his words of Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. . . And we desecrate and decimate our land and pulp it to a nothing.  We obliterate the species in numbers and prevent the trees of flowers from succoring us and the species who hover, supporting us.

I have long argued that this planet should have been kept for graduate students.  Those who have earned the right to live on her by doing the footwork, not necessarily those only educated by the elite schools of thought but by those educated by our hearts.  But the argument was that Earth’s obstacles would be so difficult that the heavens thought this lush land of beauty would soothe and nurture the soul to health and progress and life in all dimensions would benefit.

But it seems in great numbers the sophisticated had soon developed street smarts and were loathe to give up their toys.  So now we work hard to keep what we still have and guard with our lives the beauty of this planet while we live so that our progeny will yet taste of her goodness.

And I repeat the words of my mentor and friend, Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. . they know not. . .

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One World At A Time . . .is enough?

Our focus is a small world. . .

When I read this poem I take on another perspective.  It is a small world that we focus on here.  Never aware that there is another world to the left and one to the right and beneath .  Vast. . .  I see me holding tight to the frame of thought simply to get through. Still conscious of too many things.  I feel like a stick figure when taking on this perspective.  And yet my head feels  ‘out there.’

I wish we were in class so I could hear your thinking.

 

 

 

 

We Trod The Path . . .

We trod the path, hunched
and pull our faces in.
We bend our heads. The wind
is strong when you walk into it.

But I take your hand
and we struggle against
the icy rain pelting our faces.

We’ve walked this route
in centuries past, guarding ourselves
from saying too much.

We were different then.
Simple, direct and not fashionable.
We were honest in our appraisal.

We’ve become alien to our prior selves.
And I can’t say it improves us much.

What do you think?

October, 2012

photo by Joe Hallissey Sr.

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Our Connection To All That Is. . . .

                                                                                                              We Honor Your Life

 

(Sometimes there is a need to be reminded of the good the best of Mankind does and this is one of those times.  This essay was one of the first I did for my blog and there may be new readers who missed this. In these times when we have been stressed in ways not known before,  we offer our gratitude to those who have dedicated their lives to better the greater life.  Our lives have benefited  and our gratitude extends to the families for generously sharing what was theirs.)

I received an e mail with photos of several large elephants making their way to the home of a man who had befriended them.  This person was Lawrence Anthony who spent his life caring for elephants in South Africa.  His death occurred on March 7, 2012.

Two days after he died, elephants showed up at his home led by 2 large matriarchs.  Up to 31 of them walked over 12 miles to pay homage to his family. The question was asked how did they know of the death of this friend and how did the word spread.

Growing up on The Farm I saw old farmers in the area in direct communication with their animals not only verbally but with body language.  There was a symbiotic relationship between them and they were of one heart.

This is how word spreads in the wild or anywhere when the relationship is of heart and is understood.  Our vocabulary has no word for this.

Having read where some dogs have the intelligence of a 2 or 3 year old toddler, I am in awe.  As one who has talked to animals, mostly dogs, and listens to them,  they tune me out as often as children do when they see no evidence of need.

Elephants paying homage to their friend, is not surprising.  We are all connected.  There is a common thread that unites all to all.  Most of the world believes that souls can participate in physical life by sending a fragment of their souls to inhabit life at some level.  Western culture is a small segment that does not hold this belief.

Elephants, most jungle life, dolphins, whales and others, have long been known to have language and systems of thought.  We cannot close out whole systems of life simply because we do not understand them.  Those who spend their lives in service to an assembly of creatures have learned to understand them.

Lawrence Anthony communicated at a level that went deeper than most people’s understanding of deep.  This connection to all life, to All That Is, is in everything.  I have written to say God in a Rock and beneath it also.

Earth day is upon us.  Every day has too many of us shaking our heads and saying it is a mystery when something happens when we should be framing the questions and looking for explanations to why or how.  You are worthy of answers.  Do you have courage to ask the questions?  I know it is hard work.  I know.

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Listen World, Listen. . . God In A Rock. . .

Listen world, Listen.  God In a Rock. . . .

(As we head into Earth day, I am approaching my 88th birthday and my world is iffy right now and if I could leave a letter to beloveds I would say this. )

There is a connection to all of our Earth.  From the sky to the ground, the mud , the parched soil, the flooding rivers, the oceans full of debris, of everything I breathe.  There is a connection.

The rain, the snow, the earthquakes and the tornadoes plus all that cannot be imagined by the mind that writes these words.  All of these are connected.

And if we think from this minute on that we are separate, that we are not connected, when all of these   malfunction and we cannot draw breath, we will know how connected we are.

It is our purpose in life to protect our surroundings with every means we can.  From the wrapper of our      candy or what we dismiss as garbage, to what we hold to be holy in hand and our mind.  Because it can go down the tube again as it has in our past when mankind looked upon life with common disdain  and treated our Earth as a compost heap.

It can be taken away.  Not by a grandfather god whom you may think sits in judgment but by our carelessness which assumes Earth to be a disposal to grind our refuse.  The world cannot absorb and decompose what is not natural to it.  It accumulates and kills all life.

It does not take care of itself.  Our lack of caring transfers to everything we touch.  Everything.  We have lost our respect for our laws and institutions which have sustained us because they were built on foundations of need , of prayer, of yearning for respect for our divine selves.  We knew of our cosmic  beginning,  as everything was and is and will continue to be.

But what we lose is everything with our disrespect for ourselves because this is what decimation of our earth amounts to.  Basically we have lost our respect for who we are and who we brought into life through our loins when we loved an other for the right reasons.

Not for anything we labeled other than the highest and best we could feel and give to an other because  we knew love.  But we denigrated even that to bedroom gymnastics with babies being brought into existence not because we loved wisely and well but by careless consequences.

We learned how to do that so well, haven’t we?  Our world now bursts its seams with souls we cannot feed, nor time to love the babies.  We scramble for space with fertile soil to grow food and house 8 billion people.

Listen, world, please listen.  We stand now to lose the classroom that the universe waits in line to enter.  It is  the best classroom where manifestation of the idea can be handled and utilized to the highest degree.  It is the place where love manifests in a human being with mind and body and soul.

It is a god participant in stature and thought and dreams.  This is the bedding that will send our least imagined, last imagined, unbelief into soaring magnificence because it is the sendoff for the Becoming of what cannot be envisioned.

How else to bring the mirror in front of our faces and say look at yourself?  It is you, us, me, that has the world in its hands.  The universe that we cannot yet comprehend cannot be put into the laboratory to say this is how it works.  Because that knowledge we don’t have, has not been conceived and will not ever be writ.

I pray you see god in a rock.  I pray you see god laying beneath the rock.  In all its forms.  In the air we breathe, the sky that covers us, the earth that upholds our frame that took eons to stand upright.  Listen world, listen.  Take care of this planet.  For many it is the only place that is real to them.  For me, it is a place to love into being the souls I have chosen who chose me as mother and grandmother and  grandmother great.

I loved these souls into Being.  They in turn have loved their worlds into Being.    Look about you.  To the morning that will not come to those you love.  To the day that will not harbor the ideas they have crafted into being.  To the night that will cover them with love so they will engage also in what will give birth to more dreams.  Would you deny them this?

They have your name attached to them.  They will carry what you have done, and not done.  Those ideas and thoughts of omission and commission.  Our Mother Earth.  Think how we refer to her.  Mother Earth.  There is not one of us who leaves her at the end of our lives without our thought always linking to who we refer to as Mother.  It is with love, either hoped for, missed or known.

Give your remaining days of caring onto her.  Do what is necessary to restore her well being.  She will take care of you and what you have loved into Being.  Do this for her and in so doing you will not have to pick up your mistakes which are costly.

Our names are attached and the mortgage is for eternity.  Yes, eternity is forever, starting now.

photo of Rock from
The Farm. . .Kathy Qualiani
Photo of Emma E.
by Merideth Hallissey

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The Earth Gods Know. . .

 

I scribe.  The teacher speaks. . . Nature expounds her presence with all.  She ventures to shout her presence.  She sends storms and pestilence and calm days and sunny skies to announce her presence.  She grants to all the balm of her existence.  But she angers and cries .  And in frustration teaches what no other thing or method can.  She is a great lady but given to little patience.  The earth is in dire straits, she says.  She hurts and I cannot let her bleed to death.  So she rages and fumes and she tires.  Will she give up?  The earth gods know.  The earth gods know.

It is a good world.  You had a dream, once.  We watched and talked amongst ourselves whether it was worth it.  And how could you be so intense when none about you were.  They took it but did not see from where they supped.  They drank and they did not see who poured.  The warm milk, the bread, the shot of dry whiskey that burned the fire in their belly. . .

(I say, fire them up.  Teach them all.  The elders their responsibilities as well as their rights.    And the adolescents who have the fire in the belly, to quarter it and contain it and put it all to constructive use.  And to the babies, these who have memories that will not quit, do not let us disappoint them.  For we will have a generation of vipers on hand and we will have done it.  We will have terrorists of the first order and we will have no one else to blame but us  . . . .again, all time is simultaneous.  From a journal of December 6, ’92, valid then and certainly NOW.

For Now. . .

Let your mind answer
your heart’s murmuring,
for in the sanctity of self,
you will see your divinity.

In the august crucible
that is Earth, latticed by clouds
hovering the trees,
you gain your peace.

In the musing of the grass growing
to reach its height and to color
the bare earth with a carpet
you feel the hallowed crest. . .

In all, gently tend
the heart’s rending and choose
the teachers who match
the performance. . . .

of your innate goodness. . . .

poem written
August 9, 1985

photo by
Kathy Rybacki Qualiana

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My Earth, My Earth. . .

 

How often have we said ‘it just doesn’t translate.’  Meaning that the nuance of the word is so important that when it isn’t there,  the meaning alters.  The word insensate is such a word.  The meaning of sensate means that there is an appreciation by the senses,  that what is perceived is beautiful and appreciated.  According to our dictionaries the word insensate means brutish, mad, inanimate or lacking in sensibility.  And what I mean when I use the word is that the depth of feeling is missing.  Small difference?  But in the meaning of the poem,  with what I perceive,  the difference is enormous.  Read the poem with this in mind.

 

 

 

My Earth, My Earth. . .

Though others reside,  it is my Earth.
This is how I feel where I live.
Do others?  I don’t know.

From a cosmic view this has to be
the most beautiful place in this Universe.
I can see coming back if only
for the first snow,  to taste
the cold air on my face,
the wind through my hair and
the breath of the elixir swimming
through my lungs.

Heady stuff?  . . . I know that.  I know that.

But to me the rest of the Universe
sits hot and heavy on my head.
Too much still with me
filtering through my senses to
make me altogether too conscious
of who I am yet.
Maybe only because

I cannot perceive an insensate body. . . .

 

Photo by
John Stanley Hallissey 

 

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