Archive | Touchstone

Running Late. . . .

(Of late my head has too many ideas  wanting  a voice, even when I sit  and want to write a simple catch up note.  The Muses, or my Spirit Within or God About seize the moment and wish it learned. . .so Jane, here is the letter I meant to send. . . ) 

Jane, how can I at 89 be running late for anything?  But I have just finished dinner for son John and I or is it John and me?

First off I made a good meal.  We had a hot bird in the fridge so I pieced small cubes of the chicken and sautéed them in butter.  Cooked some rice and made a tossed salad.  Simple?  It is when you put the rice in a bowl and your salad over the rice and spoon the chicken pieces over all.  Then put your dressing of choice over all.  We like Italian dressing since it only needs a simple dressing.

I learned late how to use and when to use leftovers.  The dinner today is simple but all the ingredients were fresh.  And when you cook simple you need fresh.  Old leftovers require a crockpot or pressure cooker to make yesterday taste like new thought. 

You would see the sense in that.  Son John found unbelievable cherry tomatoes .  They are about 1 inch size, like an iron alle. Growing up with brothers, I knew iron allies. You bite into the tomatoes and get a surprise.  Crisp and juicy and tomatoee.  I almost ate the whole package.

 I also wash and dry Romaine lettuce and put into towel lined plastic container in fridge.  Crisping clean it tears into pieces and our Newfie breathes heavy hoping for his pieces. 

 You guess I make even lettuce a spiritual exercise?  My eldest says I make vacuuming  one. But it is the difference between just eating with no memory of either the meal or the people or making it a nurturing event for the cook and all.

 You know my thoughts on putting heart into your work.  I have seen where it makes a difference to the ones sitting to a meal prepared with love and respect for food and the farmers who have dedicated lives producing it.   All deserve those thoughts in mind.  It shows even in the way we serve food.

We can fill plates with indifference; no thought  and it makes me sad to say this, disdain or carelessness, because such feelings would make the sensitive ill.  There would be some who say I read too much into this and make drama. . . but I would have to excuse myself because to be sick at the table is too much evidence.

 I will talk one day of our best gourmet dinner of beans and frankfurters and why it was and give the necessary evidential.  Simple?  You bet.  Good?  Extraordinary.  I will take it to the next address in my memory bank.  But I will leave you the shortbread recipe. . . .

photo by John Holmes

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The Important Words . . . .in all languages. . . .

My head is still spinning with things surfacing as if I am on memory enhancers.  My take on this day is my word, my bond, my trust, my love and my honor by my teacher.

It seems the meaning of those words have been lost in the jargon of our days and everything means whatever you wish.  Except for truthsayers.  We learned the meanings in kindergarten and we do not forget.

And neither do you when you look in the mirror straight into your eyes.  And do not flinch.

Sadly we all know now there are souls among us who do not, because they cannot know even the meaning, let alone their strict employment within one’s life.

When I was working on this wall hanging (I had just learned to print on fabric) my grandson Josh was watching and asked if he could have it.  That didn’t surprise me because he knew the weight of words and knew meanings.  I was deeply touched.

I have seen him go out in the middle of the dawn’s breaking  when one of his frightened peers sat in their locked vehicle and did not know why it stopped nor how to restart it. 

He has driven incoherent peers  from too much happy time and not allowed them to drive home.  I only knew the gender of those peers by shoes dropped in the hall.

And he only in his twenties but knowledgeable about vehicles and construction and computers so he was called upon often.  I was proud of his talents but more so the size of his heart.

We talked with no need for explanation when he lived at home.  I remember asking him if his friends knew what they asked of him when they called for rescue. 

They have no idea Gram, no clue.  But they knew he would answer their plea.  He sized up their predicament instantly.   The Jenny genes?  Not easy to live with this DNA.  You are worked to death for free.

Look at the words, trust, bond, love, honor.  Applied to everything and life is mortgaged because we want to make a difference in life.  A new way to care for life because of love and respect for it and humanity.

We may never know what theory brought this world into focus, if it was a something or someone, or many somethings and someones when growth required expression  and we needed more space for greater life.

We were told and it was written in the big book no one reads but sits on many coffee tables.  We are encouraged to look at the slim reads called the new testament or lovingly, gospels.

You do not know, do you, when you entertain angels unaware?  Demanding?  Mortgaged for eternity it seems.

You think you go fishing?  What will you do when you find you have been caught?  And the Big Fish has you, hook, line and sinker?

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Closely. . .on the altar of our hearts. . . . .

 

This has been a difficult week for me.  Health issues put me in the hospital for 3 days and I am grateful for this time to sort out the rest of my days. 

I wish to share with my readers some thoughts again that have been voiced on my blog.   

When you know, actually know something and do what you prefer instead of what you know is the right and correct thing to do, and do not do it, there will be accountability and the shoulders to carry the consequences will be yours.

For those who thought they could outsmart the growing ethical undergirding which has been written, talked about and because there was nothing or no one to show or leave a blueprint to follow to lay on the consequential offshoots of decadent behavior, well loves, all the games have been played out.

The nice words have been said, egos have been stroked, and charismatic antics have been viewed to see what has been taken as right when trusted talents have been parlayed to feed decadent behavior with the cries of you don’t know how heavy and hard the burdens are!. . . . and that from the privileged. . . .

Changes are afoot.  Meaning the God Aloft that most worship is down among us common folk and listening hard through the real cries of those busting butts with work around the clock to feed the babies we were told to make because all souls would be cared for.

But who would feed these babes was not in the package.  Just making them and giving the fruits of the labors to those who would profit from the taxes into the pockets of those promising care.

Changes are afoot.  The once God Aloft moves among us to give power within the souls of us who find our hard work of these blessed hands has given power away for a nefarious keeping which we are capable of doing ourselves. 

And improving the lot of our children so they can dream this important dream of becoming their own desired potential and worshiping the Divine Within for life and breath and the chance to do so. 

Their God Within has potential also as mankind has potential to become.

And the sparklers are built within the ethical system undergirding this remarkable Universe destined for the each of us when it is earned.

We don’t know what yet but our work habits and love for our world has shown that we will treat our world as best as those who have walked before us and have given dedicated lifetimes of care because they thought life of worth and sacred trust.   

Life has always been the greatest Gift Given.  Some have disregarded it as a nothing. . . no thing.  There are those of us who have known and continue to work our lives as sacred trusts.     

We hold our children on the altar of our hearts closely because we desire for them what we know and cherish.

Today finds us celebrating the life of Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  I am glad she had the support of a mate and birth family who saw her talents.  And she knew their love.  Her obstacles to a fruitful tenure only were used by her to motivate and energize her unforgettable accomplishments.  She will continue to be used to enhance life in all its forms. 

We all hope in some small way our lives will enhance the greater life in its forms whatever its forms are. 

The masked, silent  gathering of people in front of the Supreme Court is a testament to the courage and POWER,  of  souls in human skin to show the confounding and unknown yet power of people to change the course of  history through thought. 

When that thought is pulled through our hearts to show we have given our best in what life has demanded of us and we have done it because of our innate knowledge of the good undergirding the universe and our behavior has been of the highest ethics we know,  the power of our congregation will change the course of human history.

The silent gathering, masked to protect others because of caring for human life, carries divine power and our one thought should be. . . .

Life is a sacred trust.  I write to protect it in the only way I can with words holding a blessing.   And a Promise. . . . 

 

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Toward a Destiny. . . . .

 

 

Wild geese move
within the moments of their destiny
framing patterns; struck
upon the naked sky.

Clocked by indiscreet motions
they move
in gentler waves 
instinctively.

A buoyancy feathered,
sustained
by automatic evolution,
lay garnered, taken by trust.

Confirmed of their geesehood,
they soar, with speed
amid the chastening winds
and luring skies.

Untethered, unfettered,
dressed in their celestial garb,
melding motive and design
toward a destiny disclosed.

In a moment 
they can do
what in a lifetime. . . 

I cannot.
photo by john s. hallissey

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I Am Glad We Are Found. . . .

 

 

Wherever we are, it seems only meet and proper to have August cease its summer heat and prepare mentally for the oncoming North Wind.  It seems it has forgotten about us blistering in the heat.  I am glad we are found.

Though conditions prevent our entry back to the classroom in many places,  mentally we option to rekindle old friendships in favorite books.  Or fortunately in new books if we are able.  Like a stretched out old sweater I hug tight around cold shoulders the winter of long nights in a quiet corner.  

I welcome you to join me.  Today we pretend to hug each other but one day the hugs will be for real.  Promise.

August

It is August
and there is
a sliver of breath
inside the sill.

The deep breath of autumn
is, I think, a matter of time;
perhaps only in the memory
of the child anxious
for the world of new books
to open.

Anxious for the toys
of summer to be put aside
to make space
for new thoughts.

An old lady now
but still waiting with anticipation
for the long, dark nights
to be filled with time.

It is necessary.
It will take an entire season
to adjust mind, body and soul
to a new way of thinking. . . .
about who I was

and now who I am.

 

photo by  Joseph Hallissey, Sr

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When We Handicap Our Young. . . .

They were just children with a love offering.  It glinted in the ground and when picked up it glittered as a star in the sky.  Of course it would be given to the one loved most!  And with grimy hand and full heart it was.  With words accompanying the gift,  they spilled as starbeams through fingers. 

It was met with laughter at the piece of broken bottle swept in by the now polluted waters, with the love words washed with even more laughter.  And the child ran and hid and forever found words choked in throat too tight to speak.  And chatter found its way into conversation during lifetimes of too many words, none spoken ever with truth. 

Devices soon replaced the human voice in pillow talk and words were shouted in derision, in hostility,  in raucous laughter but seldom in measured voice which would take counsel with the sages.  Humans soon counted on one syllable words,  incomplete thoughts and reverted to gestures when language which had taken thousands of centuries to master came to a halt.  Even though in the beginning we were told that the  word is god. . . . we took away the child’s most important tool for growth and smashed it with our jealousy at his innocence as ours had been smashed.   And evolution stagnates.

once again we will dance,
through the night sky
and gather moonbeams
for our baskets. . . .

we will strew them
onto the paths of the children
who will pick them up and throw them
with joy to the night sky.

they will be stars again
to be gathered by a one
who recognizes stars
as beams of light. . . . .

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Given. . . With A Promise. . .

 

With a Promise. . .

 

With the ongoing grief affecting so many in our nation,  this was a gift given and I share with you.  Our thoughts have a weight and those needing those thoughts are open to us.  There will be a tomorrow somewhere. . . and we are asked to live our lives knowing this.  Those we love are part of this knowledge.  I ask you to live it also. . .  because I do. 

 

With A Promise  . . . 

There will be a tomorrow
somewhere. . .
waiting in the sunrise.

Perhaps in the shadow
of the footprint
on which you stand
this moment. . .

Or perhaps in
the light of a morning
in a world not thought
yet into Being. . .

But you will have it,
earned by the tenor
of your days,
practiced diligently.

It will be met
with an of course,
having visited every night
and well met. . .

with a promise once again to reclaim Paradise.

 

photo by Jon Katz   (Bedlam Farm. com)

 

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The Best Learning Place. . . Our Earth. . .

 

A great day at the Park. . . .

 It was another difficult day with health issues and no energy to cope.  And then this ray of sunshine was on my computer. 

Her grandfather saying this little engineer put the frame for the folding camp chair (with many shock corded legs) together, all by herself after seeing it done only once two days before!

 I thought again of the biology teacher saying that there is more of the grandparents in the grandchild than either the mother or the father, whether a human being or a fruitfly.  And I wonder how much of the great grandmother with the Jenny genes in that Emma E.?

 I thought of the many years I had done designated domestic male work from painting the basement floor (with moving the appliances and tool benches) to yard work with wheelbarrows filled with loam.  My young neighbor commented that I moved trees around like lawn furniture. 

But I had older brothers I watched through the years and learned from our mother that when you see it to do, you do it because you will not pass this way again with this chance. 

She knew something innately that we all caught onto.  This chance is ours only and when we see something to do that improves life, we must do it.  It was a sin not to and that was what we were taught.

Yes, there are those who know what buttons to push.  You are having such a good time doing, you hear, I did not want to take away your fun!  So they avoid the sweat work.  Or the best one yet. . all it takes is a little touching up and no time at all. . I don’t need it til’ tonight. . whatever it is. . .

It does require time but so does everything and everybody. Immediately! they insist. . . The ongoing life requires my talents and Emma E.’s talent to watch and do. 

My philosophy tells me do and you will be shown how.  Not perfectly but commensurate with time given and practice.  Soon it will be commendable.

My world needs me and it is personal.  I have proved that I have not just sailed through but took it personally.  The Jenny genes may not be valued in this world  but are in some world, still unnamed.

This best classroom ever is meant to be this best classroom ever to learn to make life better.  It continues for me and is for Emma E. 

 It humbly reaffirms the premise that intelligence undergirds the ALL.  Its potential is unknown and unknown is our potential also.

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Dr. Jonas Salk. . Conscious Evolution. . .

Having been an avid newspaper addict, and leaning to clutter, I tackled a box of clippings yellow with age because then there was no money to buy books.  The local libraries knew the boys and this mother well.

So I read for the past week brittle clips mostly from early 80’s.  I placed aside an article from Parade Magazine November 10, 1984 written by Arianna Stassinopoulos about Jonas Salk, celebrated for the polio vaccine.

Haunting me she writes of his premise of conscious evolution.   Paraphrasing and editing .  ‘her and him . . .he sees a major shift in human evolution from struggling to survive to live,  to choosing to evolve.  In fact to survive, we must evolve and it requires a new thinking, behavior, ethic and new morality.

Mankind then survives, and not only the fittest’.

Going on this magnificent treatise says to physically survive we act in fear.  The fear need not be actual, but we behave as if we lose place, things, relationships, position. To switch behavior to conscious evolution is not easy.   

I have never heard anyone speak of conscious evolution but it must have rooted deeply for me.  I have observed often gaps in behaviors.

Seeing the inequities of life and those in power profiting and our surfacing sense of unease being party to the reasons, we simply cannot survive in this emotional sewer.  Our shame is not what we can live without suicide.    

In being honest with ourselves, we have listened too often to those who told us not to rock the boat.  And watched beloveds drown.

The fatigue in monitoring one’s conscious behavior is total.  One has to learn everything anew.  Courage to stand one more time when one falls is success. 

Like Yoda we don’t only try but do, to overcome fear, anxiety, hatred, revenge, rejection, dismissal, and gender differences, but each time is a major step in potential of all beings everywhere.

Our change of address when we leave Earth will make our admittance easier to where we have earned the right to go.  I kid you not.  If we have to repeat or take remedial instruction, word is no longer pleasant.

Dr. Salk adds this injunction and sufficient it is for the wise. . .’Conscious Evolution  is like an infection with more and more people becoming carriers, whether among human beings or fruit flies, and it might as well that evolutionary changes spreads quickly through an inbuilt mechanism, as if someone called a town meeting or the 7 o’clock news.’ 

Take heed.  Over 35 years ago the language was and is still common for today’s pandemic, Covid -19  that has killed over 170,000 of us.  Dr. Salk talked of saving mankind by becoming better human beings.  Being good is work but highly addictive.  One ends  up having fun and it is contagious as Dr. Salk says.  We all then enhance life in all forms and that chance we all wish for.

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No Space To Grow Bread. . . .

 

No Space To Grow Bread. . .

They are young, you say,
with hormones raging in bodies,
having no desire for libraries and
no entry monies for museums . . .  

In these places, soldiers in perilous times
were forever sowing seeds of freedom,
with farmers tilling soil of rocks and clay
to feed the freedom seekers. . .
and artists seeking to feed Man’s Spirit. . .

Not concerned these young, I say,
while making brothers and sisters
like themselves, for they
are not yet ready for parenting.

Bedroom gymnastics are played
and little discipline practiced
in the games of musical beds
with its consequences.    

We have seen when burgeoning fantasies
take their energies and hormones,
to crash with anger humankind’s masterpieces,
to appease an appetite out of control.

The children of hunger
with bloated stomachs starve to death.
Young girls are ravaged, young boys savaged
while in the lives of their elders,  
there is no hope of place to rest Spirit.

My Earth is in peril and its classroom in jeopardy.
No room for Earth is splitting its seams.
In good conscience, we cannot go forth and multiply.

There is no place and space to grow bread.

 

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