Archive | Touchstone

Under The Wings. . . cont’d. . . .

(for my new readers and for those who needed to be reminded , I share again this vignette.  I wish you a joyous holy day. . .)

Do I have more minutes to finish? There was no time for answers because the little one with a dash was out of sight. In a few minutes he was back and announced, I finish. Having learned to wait while private things were finished, I waited again while he proceeded to his room.

I followed him shortly to find him in pajamas and ready to crawl into the high bed. Well, should it be a story to tell or a story to read I asked. I am ready for you to choose.

Tell me what it is we should do to get you ready for sleep? And I waited. Minutes ticked away while the choice was being made. Patiently, again, what will it be?

His face took on a faraway look as if searching for a memory. I recognized the look and wondered where he would go for that memory to take shape. I knew it well. It was a look that had been on my face many times with voices telling me to stop dreaming.  I needed to pay attention to what was at hand and not waste so much time dreaming.

So because of those reprimanding voices, I knew to wait.  He asked if I would sing the one I singed when I singed with other voices. He knowed that song!

What song is that? I wondered. There was no time for me to sing with other voices that he would have heard. Like this, he said and in his high soprano he sang his  Gllloooo oooooorrrrrrriiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaa and I knew.

Unbelievably I knew. The music hung on his tongue and in his throat as if he were tasting a delicate sweet.

When did you ever hear me sing that? I asked. Before I came to you, he said.  Before I came.  I heard you singed and my heart singed with you.

I knowed I could tell you some time if I just ‘membered it. I promised I would ‘member so I could hear it again and again. I knowed that you would ‘member if I singed it. And you do! he said, you do!

And I believed him because I gave up choir when he was due to be born. I took this child into my arms and sang the song he so wondrously remembered.

And when I came to the part he remembered his voice faithfully shadowed mine. And another posit was added to the Memory Bank but who would believe it? Who??????

Except the many someones who entered their place of belief every time they bent their knees.

Those are the who. . . .

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Under The Wings. . . .

 

In exasperation a beloved said it takes you a whole page to say you went to the corner!  And I realize that was the answer to why my perspective is different and so is yours.  We see and hear things differently because we endow life with who we are.  My readers know that I bring a change in view.

Yet we agree on certain things to allow us to live, hopefully, in peace.  We respect the right of each to worship what is holy and allows one to live life’s dailiness as best one can.  We endow life with our faith or belief or knowledge with whatever was in our carpetbag to carry onto this life on Earth when we are born.

And I will continue to embrace your right to belief with only the stipulation that you do no physical harm to another.  I will include it as my framework broadens and I also prepare mine to broaden for another world.  Life everlasting means exactly that.  We grow and become other as we live.  And I wish we do it with Grace.

I wish all my readers a holy day of their persuasion or a holiday of choice.  Since we bring to our lives who we are, my life includes symbols of my beloved Earth, an angel heralding the occasion with joy and my knowledge that like a giant Dove of Peace under whose wings we fly, the undergirding of these Universes is Intelligence and Common Sense by whatever name we choose for it.  It is with joy, sacredness and reverence we greet the Season.

When Love Was Hatched. . .

If it seems all is lost think back,
when love was hatched and gave birth. . .
to dreams of wonder and of light
to make bright the darkest corner.

And gave us fine sons and daughters
we loved into being.  We sought for dreams
to outlet talents hidden between
fields of mind.  We sought to bring

to each other the reflections
of what we held as our highest and best
in fists tightly clenched.  Now we reach
that time in mind, holding close

those dreams like a magnet,
unable still to separate our lives.
And we will wonder who works
the wonders as we fly

under the Wings of the Great God.

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The Lady Of The Blue Cloths. . . .

 

There are posts  I have written that speak well to the present times.  I think for those who follow me there might be some understanding from these earlier writings.  There might be a moment when the thought comes, oh I see where she comes from.  I hope so.  For me it is a visit to a friend I have not seen in a long time.  And it is always a pleasure to read these vignettes.  I hope you enjoy them with some insight also to where my writing has led me.

The Lady Of The Blue Cloths . . .

Can we go today, he asked?  Perplexed, I looked at him and wondered now where since most of the errands were done that we considered a must.  Soon the holidays would be upon us.

To the lady with the blue cloths, he said.  To the lady who knows things.  And of course, I said.  You haven’t asked for a long time.  Because he said,  I knowed when I ask-ed the question!  And how, I wondered, but first we needed to get ready.

Soon we were on the way.  He was quiet and wondering his wonders.  I asked him again how he knew the answer when he just had asked the question!  He stuttered for a bit and  looked straight ahead.  You know, he said, when I ask-ed myself a question.  I wait and knowed I knowed the answer when I aske-ed the question.  Somehow,  pieces come into  places, he stammered,  like puzzles and I knowed that I knowed but I  had to  ask out loud.

I listened to this and still wondered.  But why then do we need to see the lady of the blue cloths?  Because he said, because.   Because it is almost time for the  Glooorrrriaaaaaaaaa time he said and I needs to find out from her some things she knows.   Her answers he said, not mine answers.

We were met by his friend at the door of the shop and she led us to her table.  She held his hand a minute and their hearts melded.  Why, she asked, are you wondering how to say it?  I am thinking he said, how you knowed what you knowed without asking questions out loud?

She touched his cheek.  Like you she said.  When I feel a light breath on my cheek or a warm hand on my shoulder even if no one is there,  I know my angel is.  And knows my question.  So by the time I put the question into words, the answer is in my heart.

I thinked that way so with me, he said.  I knowed you would know he said because I know too.  I think real hard and in my head  pieces like puzzle come together.  Angels are good friends,  real friends.  He got up to go.  Never afraid he said,  never afraid.  Angels carry blue cloths.  They say blue cloths good to wipe tears.  You have lots of angels here.  I come back just to see them?

Any time, she said.  With the holy days we have lots of them.  They follow me sometime he said, follow.  Never alone, I never alone.  She smiled at me in leaving and gave me her hand.  The warmth of it raced to my heart and I drew breath.  You are good for this one, she said.  You are good.

Charged,  himself and I floated home

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Hope Enters With A Promise. . . .

 

Just do, she said and don’t ask why!  It was her mantra, her Om, her ominous threat!  This great, great grandmother of Emma E. with her brood of young held us all in check being a sergeant at arms.  We muttered our displeasure but we did what needed to be done.  We inherited what I call the jenny genes, inspired some of us and caused some of us heartache.  But we see in our progeny the results that give us hope.

And we know without doubt that hope is the factor that gives life meaning, for without it there is no tomorrow worth waking up to.  Emma E. with her fragile and precarious beginning at 1 lb 13 oz is the now charming and lovable child pictured here having just passed her first birthday.  She keeps on giving intangible gifts of love and laughter  that are priceless.

Thirty three years ago her father came into the world early as she and I thought determined to live as he was, he would have even if born in pioneer times on the prairie enroute.  His daughter is determined as he.  Being only familiar with my side of the family intimately, I see the jenny genes from the orphan my mother was, working yet through her progeny of grands and greats.

Having just come through a week of laying to rest a President of what  is called the Greatest Generation, I am reminded what the characteristics that were their legacy.  Commitment, frugality,  work and responsibility are the hardest things to teach the children.

The Depression years  took the laughter out of many lives but the birth of Emma E. has given all of us reason for joy and hope.  When the larger picture is kept in mind, we can cherry pick the legacies and keep what is fine and good and what gives life.  These are worth working for and keeping.

We always hope the best of who we are is born into our progeny.  I look upon this smiling face of Emma E. and am glad I hold onto that thought.  The thought that the jenny genes will be her strength to persevere but never to forget to laugh.

The Journey. . . a life. .

So we pitch our tents
on the side of the quiet river
and look for landmarks in the morning.

It has been a full day, rafting and
wandering through the rapids
hoping for a night of calm waters.

Still, we hope.  Christmas will
come knocking at the midnight door
and hope will enter.  And she will

be welcome for she enters with a promise.                                                                                          

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Standard for Common Measure. . . .

 

This is one of those times when life calls for a time out to let the eternal hold sway to be appreciated.  We let loose the hold that events have on us and just let life have its way.  Our mental balance demands it and our relationships require it.  It is enough to catch our breaths and rest our eyes. 

We deal with the living we must do but give obeisance to the divine within that molds and creates who we are.  Pray that we show this divine side to all who depend on us, visible and invisible.  We will then contribute to the progress peaceably of our Earth Planet to the Universe at large.

Common Measure. . .

Your fingers chase
the outline of my face, racing to catch
the smile climbing to my eyes, you say. . .

Where the corners crinkle with laugh lines
but how could they not?  Such love
bestowed by a heart matched to mine,

with thoughts commingling gently.
No argument there, you say, for how can you
argue with love filling the crevices of mind,

filling the void with hope; setting a standard
for all to measure against?  As with  all bars
set high, it will one day be common

with love serving the All as standard measure.

 

photo by Joe Hallissey Sr.

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Angels We Have Heard. . . private time. . . .

 

Can we make the snowman now,  the little one asked.   Almost time,  I said,  almost time.   Well, he said,  when will it be the right time?   And I asked him to think about it.   He was still for a minute and then asked me what I meant.

Well,  I said,  there is a right time and a not so right time about things.   Can you name some things that have a right time?   He looked at me and with a bright smile that showed gleaming teeth,  said, yes!!!   Well then,   I said,  tell me.

And he looked at me and said that it was always a right time to make cookies.   It was a right time to eat ice cream.   And it was a right time to take care of those littler than you.   And it is always a right time to put your toys away when you are ready for bed.   I agreed with all of those and I said that was good thinking.

And then I asked for examples of things that don’t have a right time.   Can you think of some and tell me what those are.   Well, he said,  the not so right time is when you ask me to do something and I am not ready because I am not finished with what I am doing.

Intrigued,  I asked,  what can you possibly be doing that I don’t know about and especially when it is the right time?   And he looked at me with wonder,  puzzled. . . . .you don’t know?    Nooooo,  I said,  I don’t.

Well, he said, when I am doing private things and ‘specially when I am telling secrets and those are private things.

When I am talking to my friends that you don’t see.  And when do you do that,  I asked.   When I play and whisper things to them.   They whisper back but you can’t hear them.   But we have talks and they are my friends.   Who are they,  I asked.   These are good friends from before.   When,  before,  I asked.   Before I came to you,  he said.   They are my forever friends, he said.   Forever.

Hold onto them,  I said.   Hold tightly to them.   And you be their forever friend.   Tell me next time you talk so that I can wait till you are through.   I know,  he said that you have forever friends.   How do you know this,   I asked.   I see you move your lips and I know you are talking to your forever friends.   I watch-ed you, he said.   I watch-ed you.

And then I hugged this little forever friend who watch-ed me.

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