Archive | Essays

No Place To Go. . .


I was told that what is done for one will be done for all.  Meaning for me that when one does something unusual or different, the potential exists then for all.  And this is how progress becomes a sure thing for civilization.  Evolution takes a step, sometimes a baby step, but it is forward.

There are others who have experience in matters not common.  I have kept notes on dreams and researched my experiences.  I could not speak openly and was cautioned much because of public circumstances.  Times are different and I speak for the children who are different. 

There are babies now being born who have been mentored and if they are fortunate and have support they will teach the lot of us from where they come.  In the Dead Sea Scrolls a disciple asked Jesus where we go when we die and Jesus answered, why do you ask when you never wondered where you came from?  He also said the ‘the twig is bent’  and religions don’t mention apriori, before we are born.

Most assume that all is formed after birth but every parent knows each child comes already predisposed.   My exasperated mother would gladly have told you about me.

No Place To Go. . .

Your words are strong my eldest says. . . .
and the road made accessible
for the rest of us.  No need I say, no need.
You will do what is yours to do
in your own way.

The road is closed with wooden horses
barring the way, not for repair
but because a new road is laid.

My Mentor said what is done for one
is done for all. . .so the heavens made bet
it would never be done but it seems
there was the surprise.  It is done.

They say they give an inch and I take a mile.
My verbiage is clear.  My focus enables focus
in boundary-less places as I weave
in and out of black holes and wind drifts
to find myself welcomed.

I have friends all over who wait
except where I am.  Here I am different
and in this place to be different puts one
on the outside looking in.  They do not know
where I am coming from.
My vernacular is not theirs and

I have no place to go with what I know.



I Will Speak. . . .

I Will Speak. . .

I sometimes envy those who chose to come to this Earth having adopted a religion or a way of life to concentrate on what lessons needed to be learned or just to enjoy life.  It is only delaying what must be done eventually, and that is to confront the history either chosen or mandated.  It will need to be done sometime and I give what blessing we each have, and give profusely.  It is a damnably hard work.

This poem, ‘I will speak’ was a Given, as much of my work has been.  The footwork was mine, every step of the way.  It was not my intent to post this particular one, but when my eyes saw it this morning, immediately was given the artwork done possibly 35 or 40 years ago when I was deep into the journey augmented by Claudia’s art work from about two years ago.  I could see the two pieces spoke the meaning of the poem. 

I leave the meaning to the reader bringing his or her own history.  My explanation would need explanations profuse.  We all are more than we appear and I have used up whatever bundles of energy lying about unclaimed.  I have picked these bundles up like an alley picker to bring me to this time crowding a century.  It’s your turn.

I Will Speak. . .

I will speak of the membrane
covering tightly the beginning
where memories are housed.

It is with comfort I see
in my head and feel in my heart,
spaces where I walked and talked
and hungered for Light.

It is a thin film covering
the foetus of memories
rolled up with bony knees
pressing my heart.  From where?

Except that place or places
I was cautioned about for being out too far.
I brought them with me, dressed
in pulverized skin that became coats for us
always too loose,

but garments we grew into as man.                                          


poem written in May 2013
Claudia Hallissey heart art
(my infant on wood plaque )


Interdependent . . . The Art of Being Human. . . .


What I have read and heard of independence makes me think  I must negate a life of work which I thought meaningful but not in the currency of the day.  It seems we lost our sense of interdependency and community and our sense of belonging to the human race.  It is evidenced daily by the lack of communication about memories,  our ties to the past as almost a temptation to the ugliness of nostalgia. 

It appears to be a coward’s way of living instead of living in the moment.  But the moment to me has no meaning except what the yesterdays have given to today to give it meaning.  It does not preclude my giving new meaning providing the significance  of what is brought to the moment by us.

For we are making a memory in the very moment we speak to someone.  They will look upon it as memorable or a nightmare.  It may not be  what is intended but because of their history, our giving to make it momentous, will be compounded by their input because of who they are.  And the who they are is what they contribute to this life.

That will be determined by birth, by parenting, by education and apriori, how the twig was bent with history upon entrance to life.  All of it goes to determine their survival.  Blanket judgements are often made leading one to think one’s life has been for naught , especially in the case of money in our culture.  To be accused of using someone as a meal ticket is highly offensive especially when the weight of the burden is unknown.

In a partnership much needs to be considered.  When one is caregiver of family along with home and property manager,  though money is not brought in, money for services does not leave the premises.  These have to be counted as salary for services rendered. 

Much is demanded from a union in a complex world, especially with children and in this day, with extended family under one roof.  And often the nature of a relationship determines what the surviving spouse needs to complete life.  When aging health problems require help, it is a comfort not to use what little energies are left to battle the details of healthcare.  Speaking as one who closes a lifetime and able to contribute to the household, it is a relief not to feel a financial burden to the family.

Looking back on the years of marriage to a public person and being the parent on the premises, maintenance and caregiver of property, and yes I was owner of the trimming shears and pruner,  shovels and wheelbarrow, the edger, mower, and snowblower and knew where I put them, had I been hired I would have been wealthy after 60 years on the job. 

Plus 20 years of on the job training by a mother who was at heart a top sergeant.  When a neighbor saw me painting the side of the house he yelled across the street and asked if I was for hire.  Mister, I shouted,  you cannot afford me and neither can my  husband but he doesn’t know it!

We weigh carefully our judgements.  Independence is a marvelous word when we are in good health.  Until the first calamity we can be reckless.   When time comes we all wish for a derrick to get us out of our chairs.  It is a sure thing for most of us because medicines keep us breathing but not mobile. 

I am grateful for the cherished young who love me.


Hone the Diamond, Light the Candle. . . .Vote!


What I need to say are words that will convey the importance of the privilege we will let pass if we do not get people to their feet and lower the lever on the machine that will give them a future.  Yet.

How not to give away the chance to make a difference as large as the next person beside them.  It is a big thing we would give away,  a chance for this classroom to continue and still be the best in the universe of worlds.

Would we be able to see our image in the waters, or in the mirror or in the eyes of our children or grandchildren and say that we did not consider the vote important enough to guard against what we saw written in our minds and hearts and walls and sky of our time?

How do we not become a throwback to the place we disregarded callously when called upon to do such a simple thing as cast our ballot?

Whether we believe in life everlasting or not or the means of our Being, the fact of the matter is that our souls and minds are evergreens, are daffodils and we live forever somewhere.  And we do have memories and all of us are facts of those memories and we live them day in and day out.  We live our lives trying to make peace with them.

And we are now on the brink of another election to determine whether only our country continues in the dream of a democracy which has been our heritage but also whether this world continues to be the best classroom in the Universe.   We hold the action in our fingertips and it is as simple as holding a pencil in some places, or a lever in others.

It is as simple as writing off our climate as a pipe dream and leaving pollution in the lungs of our children or lead in the water bleaching the bones and brains of them also.

We are sending troops to the borders with weapons to ward off babes in the arms of parents and those babes are holding sippy cups.  My father was an immigrant. I grew up on a street of immigrants.  They paid taxes and worked and kept us in schools.

This democratic country was one they were allowed to enter to live freely, pray privately and work without peril.  Their children grew up and married whom they chose.  Over the years the work involved with assimilation continued not easily but continued.  It has been a work of centuries to  become civilized, to become gentle and kind.

We do not welcome rhetoric that inflames the mind and body to violence.  That inflames the people to hate and insults the intelligence of common sense.  We are dedicated to hone the facets of the diamonds we are,  the best that a democracy has shown evidence to grow in its delicate atmosphere of acceptance and tolerance. 

We are the envy of a world that knows what can happen when allowed the freedom that has been our foundation.   And  has seen how quickly it can be decimated.   It is up to us to light the candle.

Eternity is a long time to live with regret.  Pull the lever.  Vote.



The Garden Gnome. . . .


The Garden Gnome. . .

Already Fall has sent her messages in the form of cold, rainy days that speak of Fisherman hats and boxy bonnets and warm jackets.  And it would not be remiss to have warm mittens in the pockets of those jackets just in case. 

These past weeks have spoken of the lush harvest gardens for the spirited gnome that inhabited them.  Fun and games were the agenda and with mom and dad having some free time with the smiling elf, the photos will help us remember.

In the coming months of dark and wintry days they will again bring to mind a miracle year of good health and fun times and sunny days.  It will be a year for Emma E. this next month since she came into the world determined to live her life as she deemed.  And it has been another life like her father’s beginning as a preemie also when I said unbelievingly that he would have made it somehow in pioneer times on the prairie. 

Somehow I think that there are those souls whatever the circumstances, even in the barest of times, would make it somehow.  I am not sure how, just know it from observation of my nearing century mark.   This is our Emma E. one month shy of her first birthday.  Pulling herself hither and nigh and ready I think soon to tell us what it is all about Alfie.

We need reminders in these times that the real miracles go on within four walls of every home.  For they are the barometer that judges the coming times ahead of us all.  We cannot make mistakes with the children. 


photos by Aline Stern


Imagine. . .the godmen. . . .


Not many understand the full meaning of unconditional love.  By being kind and thoughtful, loving and caring, can these be given without ulterior motive?  To many these things given unconditionally speak of a people eater.  To some this loving seems conditional because by loving so you intentionally will demand some kind of response. 

This is a big lesson to learn.  That someone could love you because of who you are and not demand a piece of you.  Unconditional love is given from abundance.  Conditional love is an oxymoron.  You cannot give what you cannot spare.

If spoken from what cannot be spared, it will demand a piece of you.  Like a pound of flesh.

Love is not earned by physical acts.  There is nothing required from unconditional love but much given.  For the just reason that love is not earned by doing something but because you see in the individual what he himself does not.

You give from what you are.  From abundance.  You give from what you have because it was  a Given to you at some time.  Someone you respected saw you for whom you were and loved you.   All that was required was to accept it. 

Most do not know how to accept unconditional love.  A catch to it?  The only catch is feeling worthy of this gift.  Who first told us we were not worthy?

Conditional love shifts.  Unconditional love remains steady.   And benefits all whom you come in contact.  Imagine a world where love is an evolutionary step.  Just imagine the godmen.  Imagine.

Abundance. . .

In my abundance, I come to you.
In my abundance, I love you.
This love shackles you not
nor binds you tightly in chains.
It gives you freedom to soar
where your spirit wills
and in the same abundance
finds you winging back to me.

Run quickly from a love
which possesses by need.
Its momentary satisfactions
bind you to a life of servitude.
Its very negation of freedom
murders the giver and the recipient.
Love beckons not out of desperation,
but out of abundance.
It is life, calling to life.
It is life, begetting life.

Come to me,
when in your abundance
you would find annihilation in not giving.
When in your joy of living
you would find death in not loving.

Come to me then.
For in my abundance I come to you.
In my abundance, I love you.
And in our communion,

the Spirit lives.


art by Claudia Hallissey
Poem Abundance in Psalms of Love
available on Amazon



It Will Be Said. . . .



It will be said. . . .

(It will be said that I talk to myself.  If this is the case, I challenge all to find words for what I do and ask that you find words to describe and do  likewise.  Perhaps you will find not words in our language but a symbol that could be understood.

Some will find my work unpalatable.  I walked the streets with a rumble in my gut and a head ready to implode and wondering again if my world was going to crash.  I had to keep it steady for three good reasons which were my sons.  So I walked until I steadied myself.  There was no one to lean on.

I thought of the roomful of psychiatrists I talked to who asked me to tell them what happened.  They could not find a diagnosis in their references to label me.  They thought me articulate and rational and coherent and obviously alive to question a something not familiar.  Some never heard of the road to Damascus.

If this is my Greater Self, (I call them Teachers)  then find yours.  If yours does not answer your thoughts, are your thoughts not worthwhile?     

In the past year I have written about the worlds I am familiar with in concentric circles and gentle fishes called Nords and Kerns and drawn pictures of mountains with trees I later learned to be solar catches for homes without the need for chimneys.  Look through the Archives in my blog and see what I try to say without upset. 

Time has us by the throat.  We must educate or lose our blessed classroom.  We start again with the children who understand quantum theory.  They have lived it.  Carefully listen.  The following is an excerpt from a lecture by the Teacher dated February 1, 2018.)

On Simultaneous Time. . . We deal with linear measurement where you are.  It has stabilized the environment making teaching easier and learning a respite for the tired mind.  We say that the child’s play has to stop.  Because children now being born are versed to the enth degree with how it is in worlds with which they are familiar.  And are thrown into the hodge podge of linear measurement which is kindergarten for them.  They are already versed with the thunder rolling God of whom you write.  Your version is what they understand but is not the easier grandfather god being taught who takes the child in his arms and forgives all.   Since we are dealing with becoming and already your readers have taken upon themselves to think as becoming other than what they are, we make progress.

So now we insert that all this has connection.  It is of importance that the simultaneous world of time and events are still happening is essential to growth.  We have here your ability to live almost to a hundred with the idea sustaining you through the years.  You take events and artifacts in your night travels from one culture and take them with you and display them with artifacts of the world you are in.

Where do ideas come from? In your world you use technology other worlds are already using.  Brought through dreams, meditation, through conference with other entities which often are silent but portraying ideas through icons.  Emphasis is always on progress with integrity.  You get that and see that.

The past is still happening, the future has already happened and here in the present we race to  catch up with it.  The babies are born knowing this and if their vocal apparatus was mature, they would be shouting at us.  This is the first concept that must be integrated.  It is necessary for man to relate to his history.  See where man has been and where he is today and what he has not learned.  If not learned,  it is repeated and circumstances next  will not be as conducive.  The past is still happening, the icons are being smashed, symbolizing centuries of man’s desire to translate the divine into the material.

Not only does man smash the icons but also the humans who built them.


Life Anywhere Is Our Destiny. . . .


Life Anywhere Is Our Destiny. . .

It is sweet breathing the elixir of rarified air and to be alive anywhere always is our destiny.  Life is everlasting.  We seem to forget that in the midst of making a living.  It is necessary knowledge in making a life.

The Master said suffer the little children to come and we suffer as they refuse to grow up.  Somehow to continue the playthings of the child is thought to be appealing and charming and essential to enter heaven if there was one.

As a result we see no progress being made where growth is necessary for the betterment of mankind or peace amid cultural differences.  We see ‘king of the mountain’ and ‘my god is better than your god’ still the games of the big in body children.

The Master spoke from a knowledge which was written in blood and bowed only to his greater self, a participant to the becoming of the Greater Mind.

The Our Father, Otche Nash of the Universe is the glowing ascent of man’s bowing to the Greater Mind.  All minds contribute to the vastness of it.  All input is regarded of major dimension.  We contribute to the All in All.

It is time that man sees what it is he contributes.  He is here to grind out a living from rock.  He is here to chisel an understanding with mallet in hand.

He has to grow up and be accountable.

A Truth. . .

I was told
that life is everlasting,
everlasting and everlasting.

And when my mind and my heart
and the fabric of who I am
accepted this statement,
I found I was very tired.

But I am reminded that still to come
are worlds of promise, whose substance
I have only glimpsed.

I, too,  remember my eagerness to taste of the apple.



Sometimes From a Distance. . . .


Sometimes From a Distance. . .

I recently told my readers that I would post the fisherman’s hat which I knit with thick and burly yarn.  Aging plays havoc with arthritic fingers and new ways have to be found to do the things I once found great pleasure in doing. 

Or told myself that I was contributing to mankind’s evolution by holding conference with the sages long forgetting what contemporary earth life was like.  I knitted in various colors shapes of sweaters and mittens and socks, waiting for loves to come home from whatever dreams they were dreaming. 

An aged one was asked how she became so wise when her life could not afford formal education.  She simply said, I knit.  And they who know don’t speak and they who speak, don’t know.  It has always been thus.

Once one sat hunched with crooked fingers and heavy thread boiled in herbal waters, subtle as the earth was, and knit the garments that did not pretend other than keeping out the cold.  Her thoughts were in conference with the sages and questioned what plagued her mind. 

And I sit here now questing still because the hunched back of one sat and with gnarled hands knitted into my mind those questions centuries before me.  And I am grateful.  The quarter inch progress in evolution has my progeny accessing what I could not.

Because I know. . .

I see worlds in motion, taking a portion
of each one’s talent for their own survival.

This is what I do with my hands,
this motion of knitting yarns to form a piece
of world to fit the mind of an elusive soul.

See here, I, content in what I do, I free a soul to do
the Great God’s bidding
in keeping only one world in motion.

See again. . . I give of my Self in this time,
to free an Other to build what may be
the perfect Universe or many.

So content, this that is mine to see, a great plan,
a strategy, unheard of.  It may not be for centuries
that my knitting fingers will alert the senses
of a soul to keep in motion, a Life, a Being, an Idea.

Sit here with me. . . and show my hands what to do
and they will do. . .The task, so simple will gather
other talents and make for itself
the grand design, futures down the line.

A bidding the nature of what
has never been seen before.
I know it and because I know,

you will know it also.


(Modeling the fisherman hat is Mela , our
newest addition to our family.)



The Great Ahhhhman. . . . .

Your Answers Will Be Sufficient. . . .

The path to understanding the other is begun by understanding ourselves.  When we begin the inward path to self knowledge, we can then view ourselves with compassion and then view others with compassion.  All knowledge is applicable to the self.

It is not worthy of the name if we use it to manipulate and maneuver the other.  Then it is a game and all the world knows this game.  It is played all the time and with huge stakes.  Insight implies that the sight will be applied inward.  If it is not, it becomes manipulative of the other.

It is said that some individuals take everything personally.  That is why we have Earth Life.  If it cannot be applied inwardly and used for growth, of what purpose is it.  Granted, some things are just for fun.  But laughter, genuine laughter cleanses the toxic wastes from swollen glands.  It is good and refreshing  to be able to laugh at oneself.

It is only the secure one who can afford to sing in the shower and to yodel with the grandest opera shows a security not too many demonstrate.  To be able to take life lightly displays a growth not to be measured in the local currency.  It is the individual who has gone the route  and has placed things in their proper perspective.

It is only with inward growth can we see that life is not a death matter, that our selfhood does not depend on the trends of the moment, that our lives do not depend on what importance the world credits but what our own premises are.

Who we are, what we are, where we come from and to where we go is not adolescent fare.  It is the meat of our lives and the wine of our maturity.  To understand the why of ourselves, why am I, is the beginning.   It is not downhill all the way but to those who reveal themselves, to them it will be revealed.

To be able to say I know and am known is a beginning of the long trek homeward.  You will not be destroyed but you will construct on solid ground with secure footings.  Shifting sands will not trouble you and your own eternal why is on the way to being answered.

Your answers will be sufficient for you.


(excerpt from The Rib Cage. . . )

For in that place in you
which rocks with pain
and fills the night with cries,
we hear. . .

There is no thing that fails
to place itself forever in the Universe.
All is seen, all is heard and from
the rib cage housing the great heart,
the ethers carry

the great Ahhhhh Man. . . .


art by Claudia Hallissey


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