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The Obligation Of Knowledge


The Obligation Of Knowledge

The Teacher speaks. . . .When you realize that understanding is a bigger or heavier burden than not understanding, your behavior or course of action is already decided.

The reason is this. When you have the knowledge, you have the obligation. Not knowing the reason for a person’s behavior gives one the right to rage. Knowledge takes away this right. Yet who is to blame for this behavior, if blame is in the picture? There is no one. There never was. Each person is a result of a compilation of errors destined for the head of man. And yet within is the spirit destined also for refinement, for an attunement that would bring the human species to the finest place of all. It is a testing ground for angels; each being the angel that decided to try his wings in a place that doesn’t allow flight but instead demands a rooting.

Some behaviors one can ascribe to fact. Yet most things properly belong to a generation of characteristics. Or many generations of characteristics. Not all things are a learned behavior to gain certain results. Some things are passed through the genes. And do not need to have anything done about them except to talk of them and aired. There is generally a self righteousness about ourselves because we have nothing else in our frame of reference.      We do what we do because anything else would be foreign to our natures.

When you understand the why of behavior you realize that understanding does not necessarily make the behavior easier to live with. But when you understand, when knowledge is yours, the obligation to do the correct thing is yours also. It is an incomparable growth experience.

No one said it was going to be easy.

Genetic Memories

Lurking behind every door are ghosts
from a shadowy past,
eager to be translated
to a dubious present.

Impregnated in genes
are the memories of these ghosts,
split second DNA, with desire housing
the delicate substance quoting life.

Stupid am I to allow
others’ memories,
lurking in my fresh Being,
to suck life out of my present.
But power filled, even to think
that I could release their tenacious hold
from a life unfulfilled
and requiring recompense.

Helplessness rages simultaneously,
pleading a judicious balance
to satisfy life’s imbalances,
yet knowing,

I cannot do it.




Art by Claudia Hallissey











I Would Teach



I Would Teach


There is one thing I would teach if I could it would be that who we are is always safe.   A reader who caught the essence of what I was saying, had commented on a post that it made her feel safe.   More than safe I would add,  we are in the lap of eternity.   I was thinking,  the reasons for our lessons, if they can be called lessons or simply the consequences of earth life, is these are logical outcomes for what we inadvertently or knowledgeably do.  Since we were before we are, we somehow sent this earth rolling in this marvelous sea of great tranquility, called the Universes and had as its basis, safety of its inhabitants and also logical consequences.  The underlying basis has intelligence and that intelligence evolves as our intelligence does but in greater leaps.   Much greater leaps; unimaginable.  And if we call this intelligence God or Father or simply Life, this intelligence is the primary factor of all the Universes.

I don’t know if the Big Bang theory with its mating molecules was its beginning or if some other factor sent rolling in this vast sea even had a beginning.   I cannot with this brain fathom that.   What I am certain of is the underlying factor of these Universes is intelligence, which makes my heart beat steadily and because we are its children, or its product of love or idea, also are buds of intelligence set on a path of growth, however long it takes.   The very primary,  the very smallest of life’s instinct that has life and intelligence as its point of existence, I would call the God Participant.

There is nothing, not a thing, no thing in this world should be taken as a granted, as a nothing or non life because we have as its center, life, the smallest particle, the God Participant, growing into its full capacity of intelligence.   And from that point, to whatever ends the participant succeeds will then be  another meeting of parts in its composition,  again growing toward other forms of intelligence or other forms of life.

This may not sound like much but to me is more of what was the beginning and intention of life than the unpalatable that had me wondering why when I was trying so hard to make sense out of my life, there was only nonsense.   I was throwing up all the years of my existence and I was dying.  I was not let go and have come to these conclusions giving me life and more life.   I now know from where it is I come.

And I feel I have scaled the wall.

photo by Christina Socha


Industry And Creativity


Industry and Creativity

 Our world needs our arms and legs and talents.  Heaven needs our industry to keep our planet afloat.  We are industrious and we are also creative.   And to be both is what life is all about.  We construct our lives by what is imaged and we create in physical space what we envision.   This planet is the best classroom ever because what we envision we can make manifest as quickly as we gather materials to do so.  There are those who  never take  time to process information into something they can do within the framework of where they are.   They hasten to buy it all and wonder why there is so little satisfaction in the acquisition.

 Taking an idea, we soon find it gives birth to many more.   For some of us it is like looking up a word in the dictionary.   One word gives rise to another and soon we  spend hours looking up words that pique our interest and add depth to our vocabulary.  What is needed is time for solitude to sift and sort and explore.  Everyone needs solitude, from the toddler to the elder.  Time is needed for an idea to come to fruition.    It cannot be done in front of a screen designed to constantly stimulate without time for employment of an idea.   A  ‘go to your room’  was never argued in our home for it meant there would be uninterrupted personal time.  Personal time meant personal space was not violated.  It was time where thoughts could roam the ethers and come back full of substance.

 I was grateful for hours spent observing  work done by my brothers and our sons.   Learning to do was my genetic heritage.  With the birth of grandchildren also came the birth of woodworking for me.  Starting with plaques I soon ventured into toys.   It was also grief therapy needing to heal a breach in the family when our David died.  The shaping and the sanding were helping put love into  toys our grandchildren would be playing with.  Working with our hands is part of who we are as human beings from the first wedge and mallet we shaped from rock.    This may sound like old fashioned work but one might find it a delightful addiction.  And though we might think otherwise,

 most of us were not to the manor born.

(Some of the Pink Feather Fleet were space vehicles.   Of course,  of course.  That is why I called them Illusion I, II,  etc.)


To Research Oneself


The Teacher Speaks. . . . .For the one who searches the Heavens  for his answers and then hopes to find the answers in his actions, his activities and in the midst of his affiliations,  he might find them there if he chooses so.  But chances are the answers he seeks will be in his living room in the wise hours of the morning.  Or in the closet of himself when he unearths the meaning of who and what he is.  

 The largest undertaking of one’s life is when one researches oneself.   It is no small matter.   It is all that matters.   It can be done in the kitchen of the house,  in the classroom or the market place.   It is done anywhere and the truth of the matter it is seldom done,  period.   Not many wish to give up the day’s entertainment in search of one’s identity.  Too much trouble and too much hurt.   One finds that nothing has meaning without the central meaning of life.  One must have a healthy core for the fruit surrounding to have texture.



I shall teach you
about your root.
The fog will dissipate
and you will walk in truth.

Truth is fashioned
to resemble you.
Perfect in beauty,
laying dormant,

only to be awakened
from the impenetrable error
you hostage.

will no longer companion you.
The veil will be stripped away
and you will be set free.

No longer will you agonize
about beginnings and endings
and have terror ripping you
to the grave.

Space will be encircled
and no longer will you be paralyzed
at the thought of oblivion
and you will know

that you can go home.

                                                                                                  photo by John Holmes


And We Live Again

IMG_20140730_134706_646 (2)the music tangles
in the wind
of muted sound
and we live again

When our son became seriously ill and I could not find holiday cards that spoke to what my heart carried,   I started to make Christmas cards.   The first card was made with construction paper  and carried a poem of mine that I had a local printing company print.   That Christmas I learned of many who were carrying heavy burdens who appreciated the card.  One man said that he told his wife Eleanor, we will frame this and I will live!   He had just recovered from a heart attack.   He said I will be reminded every day and the card in a frame on his dresser was his reminder.  We do not know when we make the effort to do a something how far the ripples will reach.

 This wall quilt is a fabric version of a Christmas card I made when we as a family faced an unthinkable future.   But we learned many things and were gifted with joys never thought possible.  To begin to do with one’s hands and mind is a gift of unmeasurable dimensions.

 One of the most important lessons we can teach our young is to begin the task, whatever it is that one desires.   Even when we don’t know how to do something, beginning will be the largest hurdle to overcome.   When we begin,  we will be shown how.   In just measure  commensurate with our abilities,  we will be taught.   And this is how we learn.  This is how we accomplish what it is that is our heart’s desire.   The materials may not be the best,  but whatever we have on hand is what we use.   Eventually, ways will be shown and events conspire to place within our hands what will not only be useful, but necessary.   But we must begin.

 Not everyone will be an artist, but we can do what is within our capacity.   Our technologies have placed lessons on television, but we find ourselves judging what we do with professionals who have spent lifetimes doing.   We can express ourselves within our means and do something we have not done before.   Our efforts at what we are able to do are commendable.   And these efforts are noted.   They allow the god within to cheer us on and say now we can do this and this.   It will be with effort and care and we will do better and better.   And one day we will call ourselves primitive artists but more importantly we will be able to take another step in conquering the fear that we cannot do anything.


A Silent Thank You


Hey there, mister. . . .are you ready?   Almost,  he says and in a few minutes he appeared.

Where are we going,  he asked and I said to do some errands .   We can walk and because it is early,  it is still cool.   We did not hurry along,  just sauntered.   As we came to the corner we heard a marvelous bird song.  We stopped, looked at each other and then he pointed up.   We saw the solitary bird singing his mighty song.

 The little one squinted and said I see you and I hear you.  And the bird stopped his singing.   Ohhh the young one said.  We waited and then walked on.   It is okay,   I said.   We continued to the next corner and there was another clear song.   We looked up and he said whispering,  I not say anything.  So then I said,   I can hear you but I cannot see you.  And the singing stopped.

 They not like our saying to them that we like their singing?   I cupped his face with my hands and said,  I think they are surprised that we take the time to listen.   By listening we say thank you quietly  and they hear our thoughts.   He took this thought and nodded yes.

 A few blocks later there were songs being sung though we could not see any birds.   I felt a tug and looked down at the questioning face and in his grateful voice said we do not see you but not stop your song.  And they continued to sing.

 I also thank them he said.   Do other peoples give thank yous?   I guess not too often I said.  We forget as we get older I think to give thanks for what we do not see even when it is beautiful and we know even when we do something good and could not do what we do alone without some help.  Like the singing and the morning and the night when we sleep.   I ‘member always now, he said.   I don’ want the singing stop ever.   Not ever he said.  My heart be sad then, he said.  Very sad.

 Mine too,   I said.   Mine too.


Invite The Heavens

where the heart isIt is a sacred alliance,   this familial connection.   So much depends on it.   What happens within four walls is more important than what happens on the outside.  What is happening in the world at large was predicted when my generation went out the front door to kindergarten.  Character is formed within the first five years and the rest of life is formed about these five years.

 How else to teach  honor,  love,  and courage except at the mother’s breast and father’s knees?  This is where we shape our children.   What goes on within four walls will soon find results in the outside world.

 Where else to honor the human except as siblings learn to love each other?   There will be no problems in the classroom when differences are honored at home.   To share,  to respect the rights of others,  to honor and to stand courageously to guard the rights of all beings,  these are the tools of life learned before the door opens onto the world.  How else to abide by the laws of usury except by ethically using what was taught at home?  Then we need not worry what happens  in the boardrooms,  the conference rooms,  the summits when the lessons of life were sacredly held at home.

 If it seems that heaven has given up on this world,  perhaps we need to monitor our thoughts and actions to see if perhaps we have given up.   If as the greatest metaphysician said,  as above,  so below,  we may find ourselves right back on the frontline again.   And our surroundings may not be as choice.   We may be walking in ash.

 What are you feeding your children?  Would you invite the heavens to sit at your table tonight?

                                                                                                 sacred permit


Become The Friend

DSC_2948When the burlap arrived I began to  learn how to work with the fabric.   My first attempts were successful because they were the tried and true ones that I used with ordinary fabric.   This wall quilt was the first attempt to write directly on the burlap.   It became a quilt that built itself as I went along.   The more I thought of the phrase it became apparent how it applied to every age.

Whenever the question is asked as to how this pilgrim journey should start I want to say become the kind of friend you want in your life.   To me this tells me how serious and willing the person is in seeking for themselves what is necessary in their lives.  This particular exercise will not  be devastating to the psyche but it will convince the individual if the effort is worthwhile.  It is not the easiest junket to be sure.  And to the young one whose family perhaps is relocating and parents are met with ‘but I won’t have any friends!’ it will be a start in a definite direction.

For the novice it will be a study of what their own needs are.  Or their preferences are.  It may mean a centering down or a reaching out.   Whatever the need will be the beginning.   For the younger one, it may be a matter of wants.   What it is they would like in their lives.    The parent     can say  become the friend you want in your life;  become that kind of friend as the example.   Beginning the inward journey is seldom a frivolous matter.   It generally begins when one recognizes the fact that systems are crashing and there is nowhere to go but in.

That first step is the hardest one.  No matter the age.


The Road Hardly Ever Chosen

IMG_0210-224x300A Teacher Spoke. . . . you spend time patching up the grill work only to find that the holes are supposed to be there for that is the way it was designed.   That is where it is you are.   That is where we have come and there is no turning back but straight on  through.  You wondered whether there would be confirmation at all that the church has taught and you would be reborn.  You did not stop at reborn.   People do.   That is a way station.  But you clambered aboard the train and got off at the next stop and the next and the next.   And at every stop there was a something else; another something.  But we did not stop you.   We saw the integration taking place and we did not stop you.   We saw the pain involved and we did not stop you.   We did not call a halt.  You did not say, enough already.   Well,  here we are now,  not at the end of the road but at another way station.   What have you found?  Another place of unrest.  You  think but what is there that recommends life to me?   And we have to answer,  only you.   You have to see within yourself your reason for coming,  have to care enough to burden yourself and have to see the broader picture carrying down the road  a host of generations.
(May, 1986)

The Road Hardly Ever Chosen

Philosophies are born to work
but only after the heart
decides that what has been
the dailyness is no longer tolerable.

The war begins somewhere
for the man in the street.
A rock is thrown
and mayhem results.

For one like me,
darkness was never preferable
but the Comforter was alerted
and chaos was averted,
allowing a life’s drama to unfold.

Wretched, gulping gasps
spilled life’s dogmas
over enameled surfaces
to display the rot
of the untenable, unable.
The mind’s search for the acceptable,
the palatable, began.

One does not assume
another man’s efforts
and be able to claim them.
Like a stretched out garment,
the fit is always questionable

It is not to be.
The garment one wears comfortably
as a final one must be
constructed in confrontation
of life’s ironies and indignities.

To insult the psyche no more,
it is not by error
is it called the hero’s journey.
Fortuitous it is when one chooses

the road hardly ever chosen.

June 14, 2014
art by Claudia Hallissey


Today Is Eternity

002-1 final edit  (in memory of Diane Rybacki)

The Universe is a benign place.   Our planet, in this best of all learning places,  needs our actions,  individual as they may be,  to survive.   And it needs us to learn from these actions.  Then we find that the Universe becomes caring also because it needs our actions to survive.   To Be becomes a critical imperative for all.

We see that our actions,  some of which we are not proud,  are indelibly written in our genetic history.   We wish that we could unsubscribe to them.   We are not always at our best and hamper our progress at times.   We can rewrite our history by cumulative actions giving our best to those situations serving the greatest good.   I ascribe to the divine in man,  yet  he takes too much rest in the cliche saying he is ‘only human.’  What needs be done is to strike a balance.

I was told to ask my questions from that place where angels know the weight of the feet and the heavens watch that we do not place them on the minds of those about us.  I have kept this thought during the long stretch of making a road where I could rest easy but have not found it yet.  In my memory with a putting place is a mushroom cloud rising and spreading its death on even the innocent.   And the innocent were routinely drilled on how to hide beneath  schoolroom desks.

I have learned that those intent on sealing their immortality play with stakes that are bigger than their mini minds and lay to waste a world to sodden ash.   The world as they know it will disappear and in its stead will be the sulky ash that they will trudge in hip boots to protect them from contamination.

Some do not know that today is eternity.


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