Archive | Essays

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


Two Best Buddies. . .

Two Best Buddies. . .

I was at the sink in our home in Florida when grandson Josh came in with this bear and I gasped!  When I found my voice I asked if he was staying.  The answer was we don’t know if he fits.  Fits whom, what or where?  After a few skirmishes,  Leroy fit our hearts nicely.  That was in May of 2015 and he weighed 120 lbs.

Locations changed and he made the trip with son John and Rottweiler Cooper in the car to California.  After a few incidents we settled in our present home and Leroy and Cooper were at home again.  He was a free dog (there is no such thing) because his family needed to find another home for him when conditions changed.

He is a Newfoundland and now weighs in at 185 lbs or thereabouts.  I thought when first seeing him that he was not very smart looking and had a face only a mother could love.  And he drools and has allergies.  But I learned he is very smart but a goofball.

He is a love and here you see him sit with his good buddy sizing up the situation.  Leroy waits patiently for John.  I am the food lady with treats.  He can tell time and alerts me to his dinnertime.  He finds me wherever I am and I say give me five and I put up my hand.  He settles down and is quiet until I am ready to get his meal.

He is still young so his enthusiasm shakes his entire body.  When he has authorized a visit of someone, he allows them be.  He is not just a dog,  but a companion animal.  He is a species we  have created by our need for a kind of companionship we do not find in others; warm in comfort, profusely loving and demanding little from us that we no longer can or wish to give time to.

One can argue the merits of such companions, but cannot argue their presence among us, almost in every household.  I wonder what we would have become without the loving presence of these animals in our lives.

I have a kinship.  I speak to them and pick up their thoughts.  It struck me when the back stairs were icy in Illinois and I told Cooper she would have to go out the front door instead of the back door where she was standing.  She turned around and walked down the hall to the front door and turned to look at me.  Now?

Granddaughter Jessie feels I love dogs more than people.  I laughingly say if I have to come back you will find me in a high tower doing research and raising dogs to anchor my humanity.    That conclusion comes at high cost.


A World Made Manifest. . . .


If it was a certainty that world creation was a fact, what kind of world would you create?  If you knew for a fact that your acts upon days upon days created just such a world, how would you change your behavior?  And what would be the attributes you would enhance that world with?

What kind of world would it be?  You think it would be different from where you are now.  It would be filled with actions that would not break hearts by words or deeds   .  It would be filled with responsibility because loving carries responsibility for who and what you love.  Children would be born of love and wanted for the best of what each parent was.  And considered a sacred commitment.

Children will learn early that actions have consequences.  There will be high standards and they will be considered the norm.  There will be values carved out of your heart and experience.  It will be a world of moral values and high hopes and the joy of learning.

And to sustain life,  all systems will adhere to functions that steward the world and Nature in harmony.  It will be a place of growth and it will be matched by those whose values are similar. 

This is the world of your graduation dreams.  One day it will be a fact we work toward because our father’s house has many rooms.  But we were told that but did not know we were all in the creation business.  How special will your world be?

A World Made Manifest. . .

This is a world made manifest
by yearning to touch what
the eye could see.  To be felt
only by hands tender as a baby
still fresh from the womb.

It is the world of thought
that brings forth the birth
of worlds, similar.

Without the need of
fulfilling vendettas, old wars
never fought to frightful finishes.

It will be a world of fresh grasses and
clear waters without the threat of toxins
to maim the brains of those too young
to complain and voice their wishes.

It will be the world that thought
brought to bear on hearts long singed
by ugliness.  Look toward the graduation
of a soul whose transit bears relation

to what life has chosen to negate.
It will be a graduation
of merit, a time for fruitful finishes,

the resulting birth of a yearning heart.


painting by Claudia Hallissey


With A Little Bit Of Practice. . . .



I was very young and just married  facing much doubt by the new family as to whether I would be equal to being the good wife required of my time and so I worked very hard at being good.  And good meant doing all those things I read in all the women’s journals of the times.

Looking back at my youth and being hard wired my eldest tells me now to working hard (I passed those jenny genes on to our sons) I learned to knit argyle socks for my husband because they were in style.

And he having the Scottish genes of the tailors and seamstresses and rag people as ancients called them,  yarns and fabrics were their livelihood and in earlier times they took the name of Taylor.  Those talents were not passed on but the love of good material was.

I came from a large depression family and learned to do without, so being tightly budgeted in marriage I knew how to carefully shop.  I remember using double pointed needles to knit argyles which I did by the drawerful,  (they also required hand washing and steel stretchers to dry)  now I use those same bobbins for these hats.

I had leftover bits of yarns which I have used through the years to make colorful hats on circular needles but I wanted to do something different when I thought of the argyles.  And with a little bit of practice, these are what resulted.

They are a fun project and good therapy and are unusual.  You will be limited only by your color sense.  Or non sense.  But with arthritic hands I wanted to not measure my time by spasms so have used straight needles to make knitting with bobbins easier.

I will also in another post show my good fortune in finding larger circular needles and super bulky yarn to make fisherman hats which are great fun.  I already have a request for three of them.

I was told by a teacher long ago in my journey that the work of my hands would be an anchor for me in my last years.  It was a wise counselor to make that observation and a puzzlement to me at the time.  But it is the work of our hands that ease the last times as the physical body begins to close shop.  I am ever grateful to have been born yearning to learn.


In Good Hands. . .


Many times I have said that this is a classroom and recently I was made to understand it will always be a classroom.  This is what is its purpose.  And my heart hit the floor when I realized it.  Our purpose here is to learn and to change ourselves into what we need to be.  Any fallout on an Other is from our abundance and by example, we teach.

That was the kicker.  All the effort, all the work, no matter how hard, was not for others as I thought, but for me.   Any good from me was because my cup runneth over.  Good that came from abundance was good, from duty, resentment clouded the issue.

Coming to mind again was the vacuuming I was doing when my grandson saw how tired I was and asked why was I doing it.  I shouted because I love your mother!  And his head swiveled and to this day I remember his look of surprise.  He does so much for others gratis because he is multi talented that I knew he didn’t realize that he, too, worked this way.  He was loved and what spilled over he gave from abundancy. His good given would be everlasting good.

We feed our belief system to build ourselves into what we need to be.  The good benefits us first.

It is a small hope that I harbor that the purpose will be for this planet to be simply united peoples.  With learning being our prime purpose of life, to learn of cultures and languages and what unites us all.  The only requirement is that we love life and think we can make a difference and Being is worth the work.  In all worlds, all worlds.

In Good Hands. . .

I will invite you to sit beside me
on my couch. . .
to lean into my arms to wrest
the fatigue from a body
grown weary with age. . .

It will come to nothing, this fatigue
with aging because the heart of you
is alive and well though failing. . .
Alive for the world you have prepared yourself
with work, with love, with patience. . .

How do I know this?

You invited me in to have a time
of repair of Spirit when I needed. . .
to sup at your table full of good talk
with laughter,

at the fire with corn in the one bowl
I shared with your sons. . .
to have sat to converse with topics
scraping the souls of their transparency. . .

These were the times I knew
my choices were good ones
and the futures of my worlds

in good hands. . . .




Have A Heart . . . Ours. . . .

In my life I have seen much damage done when people have been deeply wounded by emotions  that could not be handled or words that cut and sliced the heart.

Is it for us to walk untouched but acknowledging the emotions that devastate us and continue to live our lives with no further ado?

Emotions become a burden needing to be understood before they are shrugged.  Once understood they become integrated and no longer need to be carried as excess weights.

Emotions belong to Earth life and here they are learned.  There are worlds where emotions are an unknown, where to love has to be learned and compassion is an unknown.  Where caring must be learned for those of less kind circumstances and must be attended to.

Those of us who have read the Doris Lessing’s Shikasta series or Frank Herbert’s books of Dune know intimately and identify worlds  with emotional innocence and sterility.  They are a shock to the sensitivities but even harder to live with such persons.

We cannot write a check to feed the world nor bandage its wounds, but we can walk into the mud to lift our brother up.  That to me is what emotional understanding does.

The Counselor. . .

She sat across the desk, crisp and sharp
and in charge of who she was.
Emotion is not fact, she said, so separate
what you feel from what is happening.

Then why I ask is my heart breaking?
And with composure she assures me
my heart is whole.  She does not see that my world
is built on feelings that shape my days.

I was born to paint my life
with the wide brush of emotion,  to teach me to love,
to see, to care and learn to Be.  When love
withdrew from me and left me barren,

I knew I would not forget its power to lift
me high enough to touch the heavens
and care enough for this Earth I walked
to sweep the debris where others might walk.

To see the opening of the crocus in the covering
of snow to tell of Spring arriving and of days becoming
longer with light and caressing me with breezes
as soft as baby kisses.  She did not know of worlds

where emotions were not born yet,
where facts dealt the cards to be played,
where feelings did not lay color on days and nights
and where learning to live with feelings were reasons

why we asked to be born of Earth. . . . .she did not know. . .


Balanced Judgment. . . .

When appearance is all that reality is for some, that is all that counts.  It is a common reality.  Illusion is part of the game.

Jesus said that seeing you will not see and hearing you will not hear.  There is a world out there  they are not aware of and it would take a two by four between the eyes to make them aware, if then.

By their inability to see and hear, they put the responsibility on others and even that they do not see.

There is a physical limit, a mental and emotional one too that frames the question of how much can a body bear.

To maintain an infection free household,  the work falls on unsuspecting shoulders.   What good to have another sense and a responsibility to make a difference in this world if others can not or want not to share it?

How does one remove oneself and not be pained by inconsideration, obtuseness and senselessness of others?  Gaining another sense does not mean separation from self consciousness.

It means you are saddled with what you have been and then given another view of what you can become.  The dichotomy is excruciating.

But a gift of supreme value has been given to the seeker,  a gift of true contentment in being no matter the condition one finds oneself.  The word gift means something of value has been given by a giver.

And hopefully with it will be a sturdy constitution with sufficient self esteem.  And also held determinedly close will be the desire to continue to still make a difference in physical life because the dream was worth dreaming.

In the midst of sophisticated personal relations of knowing what buttons to push in this world,  the knowledge of ways of sophisticates can make one wash one’s hands of their supposed innocence.  Life continues its weights and measures and there is a consequential balance. 

If we learn nothing else, that lesson should bring us up smartly.

It Is Time. . .

It is time to call a halt
to the fatigue already overwhelming
and laying icy fingers upon your blood
and calling for your breath. . .

Too little now and too late,
but soon enough for meaning to come
pilfering through.  Lessons learned,
lives are lived without the intensity

concerning the air you breathe,
and bound only by their desire
fed by their anger and what life has denied them.
Life is a balanced judgment.

Next time conscience will lay heavy
on their unsuspecting shoulders.




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