Archive | Excerpts

Time For New Thoughts. . .

July 30, 2014 journal entry scribed . . . . (we do not want your readers to think that the hero’s journey can only be undertaken when one has free time.  We want them to see that it can be undertaken when one is in the midst of chaos and that it does give some kind of civility as well as calm to what is going on in the midst of life.  It was not as your friend did taking to the woods for the good of nature as well as inner life.  You had an inner life as well as public life and were the parent on premises to a trio of sons, good as they were.  The ten year illness and horror of what awaited with your son, the office every day for 10 years and the last 22 years of a mother in law’s life ((the arrival of my inlaw who lived to be 97,  the birth of a preemie grandson at 1 lb 13 oz. and the transition of our David happened in a 3 month period))  and still considered were home and property maintenance.

 Most of the males who had a cosmic experience through the centuries had groupies or what today would be called gophers (go-fors).  They were mostly of a religious bent or philosophers.  A woman occasionally was mentioned though anonymously.   If Jesus’ time were now, the disciples would be called groupies  .)

 When my world crashed long before all the above happened, the word mystic was only a cloudy, wispy,  ancient term.  But when different doctors used the word,  I took note.  It is a person who never completely left the world they came from.  One foot is always in another world or worlds as they step over boundaries not seen.  Today’s quantum theories are no mystery.  Mystics live them.   In mental dialogue the exchange given is day long thought.  It often  is called prayer. It requires mental agility to work the work that living requires and keep one’s balance.

Physically,  it is just plain hard work.  And it has cowed many an able body down. The mystic I am inclined to think is born thus.  It is the child who upsets the family and has parents blaming each other for the difference.  Not mine!  Oh yes, just like!!!!  More often than not,  a head is closed up and evolution stagnates and the world tips easily into another war.  What should be welcomed is shunned and hidden.  And a world waits and cries in the night.


Old Comforts. . .

Exhaustion is the state
with the barbed tongue.
I would smite to the death
with what I hurt
and am angered by.

I will use my anger
to force a new attitude of thought
on those who wallow
in their comforts.

Old beliefs are
a security blanket.
But already they become
bare from nervous fingers
pulling the fluff out
in straight lines.
The nap has been neatly picked.
It is time for new thoughts

to cover old butts.

(July 2014)


Crowded With Saints. . . invisible


When I try to explain what track my thinking has taken in my life,  even as a child or a teenager when a peer said that I talk as if I am reading out of a book,  I am at a loss.  In the following excerpt from The Last Bird Sings,  Marshall,  the student is explaining to his mentor,  Felix,  a feeling he needs explanation for.  He is at the point in the story where having found the brothers  and Felix he feels finally at home, wondering why he feels as he does.   I have edited the segment.

Marshall thought for a moment.  His feelings needed some sorting.  He looked at Felix with intensity.

‘I cannot see it, but can feel it.  I cannot put a name to it but it is real. When I talk to the brothers,  each and together, I get the feeling that I am not just talking to them.  By themselves or altogether.  I get the feeling that there are great ones standing about listening.  I have the feeling that we are in the midst of saints standing.  Even now,  I have the sense that we are not alone.’

‘You are right, Marshall.  We are not alone.  And it is good that you sense this.

For too many people talk as if what they profess to believe has substance and presence and yet act as if it does not.  We would have you act in the knowledge that even the invisible has substance and intelligence.  And to act accordingly.  It would  help man to act to his best capacities and to elevate himself.  He would clean himself of the corrosion that hampers growth, his and all men.

He would open  himself to what is highest and best and be its reflection.  He would be able to judge behavior according to what is highest and best and want nothing less for himself or his brother.  But he must first know who and what he is.  And only in the silence,  Marshall, will man be taught.  He must go into the closet of who he is and listen.

You are right to sense the presence of others.  They are about and we are never alone.  We have not been abandoned.  We have chosen seclusion to accelerate our learning.’

Marshall listened, and tilted his head to catch all of Felix’s words.  Felix knew it took courage for Marshall to choose the route taken and his antennae were pointed to the heavens.

Marshall stood and then spoke.

‘It has all been written, hasn’t it? It was all put down somewhere, sometime.  That is what the brothers read and listen to, isn’t it?’

Felix shook his head yes.  He waited in silence..  There was something going on in this boy and would come forward.

‘There is some thinking I must do,’ Marshall said.  ‘There are questions I must put into words.  For some I know the answers and others I must feel out my answers.’  He turned and was gone.  Felix seated himself and closed his eyes and prayed the prayer of the select few who knew the power of words.

‘To the best and highest within me,  help me to choose the best and highest.  Amen and amen.’

I was fortunate to have a handful of friends in my life who loved me.    One in particular came to my home because she said she loved the feeling she had of being in a crowd of invisible saints. We were 5 in number of regular people  but she saw a roomful of saints.  We do entertain angels unaware, she one of them.    There are copies still available of Last Bird for $20.00 shipping included.


Because I Chose You. . .



Thank You For Choosing Me As Your Parent. . . . .

For those who think Eve was an afterthought of Adam, give some time to this disclosure as to her purpose for humanity.  Perhaps this should be included in our thinking when we discuss the competition and jealousies which plague the genders.

The following came to light with a reading of the journal entries that I had scribed.  Why I did not pick it out long before now I can only guess.  Mothers in particular have special relationships with children in that they carried them, and they look upon them as extensions of mind and heart.  Not all do. but many.  This extension was the primary intent.

 ‘Such had been the intent of the birthing process.  That through the mother there would flow the process which would unite man to the each and give to the each a feeling of brotherhood. 

 It was not intended to be a divisive process and without feeling.  The caring, the uniting, the intention of belonging to the greater humanity was what being human was all about.

Parenting in all of its ramifications is not a lark’s song.  It is a mean job, not without its joy but work it is.  We cannot hope to fulfill all needs but a good beginning is crucial.  When we elevate the act of creation of the new human to its highest level possible, heaven will no longer lament that we can only send out what we take in.’

You may not know because of lack of memory when you say ‘thank you to your children for choosing me as your parent because I chose you’ but somehow in the full scheme of things,  you know it couldn’t be otherwise.

Three Sons. .

Bone of my bone,
blood of my blood,
born of desire
filtered through my heart.

You stand tall,
you men of proper mean,
with hearts fired
and found not wanting.

You’ve yielded to a sun
that has boiled your blood
and found the moons of your soul,
half frozen.

Vitality sapped,
stone cold,
you rise
resurrected and unafraid.

Bruises, welts and wounds,
seen and unseen,
are kissed
by a benevolent universe

and healed in love.


artwork by
Claudia Hallissey


From The Top Of My Heart. . .


(January 29, 2017 journal entry I want to share.  It is only in rereading that I realize that I connect all manner of things in thought.  It is the reason for my seamless existence.  It all connects.)

Man cannot put in what God has left out.  Joe Biden in the Clarence Thomas hearings said this one early morning.  My sister was visiting and was glued to the TV set and I was knitting.  It was nearing 2 a.m.   What did he say? I asked.  And she repeated man cannot put in what God has left out.  That’s my missing link I said.  That’s it. ( I have researched the maxim but never found the source other than Joe Biden.)

For no matter how hard you work and how much you love,  the person has to want whatever for himself otherwise it will have no meaning.   They will avoid you and your ministration because they know you want something from them but damn if they know what.  If it is outside their frame of reference all your talk in the world will have no meaning.  Because they will have no clue.  No clue.

Why do I have such difficulty with this aspect of humanity?  Because it means that the best teachers cannot do anything if the student does not yearn and learn.  Not once but for all time.

Does it mean that the teacher gives up?  The teacher has to exhibit and make the student want whatever he deems crucial.  It puts the yearning and learning on the student.  Only then will the lesson take.

Who taught me?  Many teachers and they loved me enough to keep on loving and exhibiting the lesson.  Because the love and trust and learning were not evident in this life when I needed them most.  I remembered from other times and wanted these things for myself.  How many lifetimes?  A zillion or maybe one.  I cannot know from the top of my heart.

I know without doubt that love is all that matters.  I know without doubt that virtue is in labor.  I know without doubt I bring value to my life.  And unless we bring meaning to our lives and world there is none.  We will sleep a long sleep and wake up when we tire of sleeping.  And get on the road again.

We are in the creation business and have been since we first jumped ship and went for expression.  At first we did it for sport but over time it became serious business.  How serious we know now when our planet is in dire jeopardy and we chance to lose our classroom.  We had better become stewards.  The unborn demand this of us.  Life demands accountability because the next time may require hip boots as we walk in ash.



Photo by Joe Hallissey Jr.


It Makes Little Difference. . . .




Excerpt from a journal entry of July 20, 1981. . . .

I am responsible for who I am.  The responsibility cannot be assumed by an other.  I may be an alien in this world, but this world, this beautiful world is not an alien place.  It is here to sustain and nourish and be here for me.  I created my reality.  How can I say without appearing to be out of my mind that Jesus knew of what he spoke and that the veil can and will be lifted or torn away and you too will see and hear?  That revelation was not concluded with the bible and is an ongoing thing with the individual. . . .

(The following poem was written in February of this year, 35 years after the entry.  It was an awesome, heart rending experience for me in the midst of a wood of Spanish Oaks with their windswept moss.  I could not be prepared for what was outside my frame of thought at the time.  The surprise of it all?  That I stood and did not go into cardiac arrest.  And did not babble incoherently. This poem was a Given.  Taken down as I heard it with my inner hearing.   The result?  The serenity.  Just the serenity.  With my heartfelt Thank You.)

It Makes Little Difference

It makes little difference
the road one takes to master this.
For to get to where you are,
the way makes no matter
but the destination
is what leaves its mark.

Centuries on the road
brought this to you, this awesome view
that struck your heart to shatter it.
You went down on knees too stiff
to note the pain but surely the heavens knew
the custom derived from pain.

We cherish the journeyer, the traveler,
the one who found no words to match
the awestruck heart.
It makes little matter for what touched home
in the trunks of the trees, in the music of the wind
rising to the acappella;  rising, still rising,
to the onrushing tears.

We are home.  We are home
and nothing else matters,
other than we set the bar for others to cross.
They will, but not until
they know that the pursuit

begins in the heart. . . and ends there.


Painting by Claudia Hallissey


Life With a Capital L. . . . . .


From a recent journal entry in October. . . .I have been doing a lot of thinking and a lot of reading and am nowhere near coming to any kind of conclusions other than it is all lived in the mind.  And perhaps Frank Herbert is correct when he has Odrade in Chapterhouse say is evolution the same as God.  And I would say Life with a capital L.  And perhaps there is a lot of bending and moaning about something that we are no nearer to understanding from this place than we can possibly be.  I don’t know but what as I wrote in my steno notebook,  that perhaps Earth life is stable or illusively stable or perhaps our illusion has a stable substance in order for us to understand other worlds which may roll and rock enormously.

I do not think it surprises me after reading Talbot’s book on holographic universes that we have a moderately stable world simply to get on with learning what needs to be learned.  How better than to pretend that everything is going to last forever.  Yet today when I was reading Chapterhouse again Odrade says that nothing ever lasts forever, whether we are talking about oceans or planets or trees or anything we think is stable and not yielding to change.  Wherever we are, we are but stewards of whatever world we inhabit.  And I think that is the strongest statement I can bend to.  I have long felt that I was steward of what I inhabited and maintained.  I worked hard at it and it is burned into my brain.  We are stewards.  No matter what world we are in.

Everything changes.  And all we need to do is look at our country with the weather changes.  Snow and frost already in the northeast and floods throughout the southwest and fires flaring through the mountains and the land parched.  Are we in trouble?  I think we are in change.  I think our oceans are in trouble and fish that die and land that cannot grow grass for cattle to graze.  Everything changes and nothing is forever.

And today I was thinking that no matter how many parts of me were cut up,  I would be whole in each part.  And I think that I understand the holographic universe in just that way.  That Jesus said life is everlasting.  We are safe.  We are whole.  We are.  Am.  And the worlds folding onto itself, in the implicate center folds where everything already is, to the explicate outer rims where I am.  And in the understanding of the roll of it constantly, it folds and refolds onto itself and with it comes new understanding because it is all in a state of becoming.  So is evolution another name for God or is it just necessary to understand that life is everlasting?  What is not learned at this point in time will be learned at another.  But Sweet Jesus,  I hope we do not destroy this world before common sense prevails and saves us all.


Memories With No Putting Place. . .

Barn Scene - Detail

The Teacher Speaks. . . .what exactly is memory?  Except long things outstanding, which in the course of living, become shorthand of a sort.  It would appear that memories should not encroach on one,  especially when they are not part of the current life.  But since we take on the body of choice, then we also take on the long list of grievances as well as victories of the heredity.  And since we talk of heredity as the line of choice, then we must also be prepared for those untoward things that crop up within every family line.

(I will be doing a series of posts on memory.  The above was the beginning of this scribe’s dictation on Memory and I am beginning with the poem Circa. . . 1840  to show how my poetry over the years proved  to be the example of how much of life is remembering or learning for the first time but all  are ways of obtaining information.  I hope to insert questions in my readers’ thinking and do feel free to comment.  Life is a Process. )

Circa:  1840

She could say in reverent tone, I love you.
I polished the hearth
and set the bread to rise.
While her heart cried silently,
do you love me?

The children came, one by one.
She loved them, each and everyone.
They were good.  She said,  I love you.
I’ve borne you sons and
taught them how to pray.
I’ve polished the hearth
and set the bread to rise.
While her heart cried silently,
do you love me?

The sons grew up and one by one
they went away.  He never knew why.
He never knew that they too, said,
I’ve fed the chicks and bedded the calves
and got a perfect score in sums.
While their hearts fairly burst,
do we please thee?

He accepted the polished hearth,
the risen bread, the handsome sons
who tried so hard to please
as that which was his due.

One day the hearth no longer shone,
no longer was the bread set to rise,
no handsome sons to plead
with eyes that tore her heart apart.

‘You do not love me!’ he angrily shouted.
Wearily she turned away.
Did you not see the polished hearth,
the bread set to rise,
the sons who tried so hard to please

and love that died?’


A Good Friend

DSC_2920A Good Friend. . . .

There is a dark side to everyone’s personality, especially the sensitive one.  This dark side often  rides the sensitive so heavily that others find them burdensome.  Yet needful because being sensitive,  they are often  also understanding and responsible.  When one needs a someone,  they are always there, to  make the poultices,  change the beds and do the laundry.  Not to wring their hands and whine that they do not know what to do.

And that is the difference.  The dark side of the personality has learned how to make a situation better because they have had to learn through their own lives how to make themselves feel better.  They know what makes an other feel good.

It is hard to live with such a person but harder still to live with one who wrings their hands and runs away.  There is nothing within such a one that makes the connection between their soul and the other who is hurting.

A Good Friend

You stayed the night
while I lumbered my body
through a partition closing me from life.

While I fought
through a sea of memories
holding me hostage
to long and lonely years.

You saw me through
eyes of tears reflecting  the hardness
mine needed to smelt with coals
being fired in a heart of no use.

But you stayed, close as my skin
and had you pulled away
I would have understood.
You stalk me yet and I stand.

My eyes have shed their steel casings,
now ground as dust beneath my heel.
I look inward to softer places
and find the world not so hard.

You tell me you need to stay close
because you wish to claim
my strength if only by association,
but I ask,

of what heavenly use is a soft shell crab?



art by Claudia Hallissey



The Sound Loaf



The Sound Loaf

Evolution or God
(perhaps one and the same)
finely grinds the meal
ever so slowly
while I cannot breathe
with the dust in the air.

But there will one day
be understanding
with the digestion of the bread. . . .
The wholeness of the grain
so nicely baked till the hollow sound
is heard when tapped,
gives credence to the sound loaf.

I can no longer wait
for it all to cool.
It has taken far too long
for this bread to be made
and yet still to be digested.

The bellies are still
immature for whole grain.
Pablum is the mushed up cereal
of sort for feeding infants
too long in the pram.
I suffered the parents to grow up

and now have no time to wait for the children.


The Mind’s Sampler


(Do you ever wonder about. . . .

The Martha(s) will serve and clear tables and see to the children.  Mary will also do what Mary(s) do. . . .puff up the pillows and sit at the Master’s feet.  It is a tenuous thread that speaks of a psychologically explainable condition.  Yet it does raise the hackles.  It should as long as it is human skin one wears.  And when one does not. . . the rest will be observable.


It may all be illusion. . . but in this particular reality, illusion has a substance one must work with.


Getting lost in great crowds of people, great numbers, gives one a sense of immortality.  The great numbers are proof that the world continues to spin and as long as we are on the carousel and keep putting in our nickels, we too go around.  But comes a time out of sheer exhaustion even the make believe ponies stop going around.  And the time for sifting and sorting from too long on the merry go round has to be done.


The true state of genius is having the courage to say I don’t understand and ask for an explanation.  Understanding the basic premise makes it easier to build the pyramid as you make your way up.  The broader the base,  the easier it is to build on it.


We are all safe.  All safe.   The journey is not a trial run.  It is for real but like a class on the way to graduation, it must be passed eventually.


Kiss the moon into Being.  It serves to fuel the hot rocks of the day.

Photo by John Holmes


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