Archive | Lesson

the twig already bent from a somewhere and . . . when. . .




How To Do It. . . .when I scribe. . . .

You ask. . .

            On focusing, your thoughts, your words. . .
            how do you do it?

I say. . .

  I barrel down into my center and listen
            with my inner ear and hear what my heart says.
            It is within me that I have my world.
            This is what and where I am at home.
            And this is not something that can
            be taught.  It is how the twig is bent.
            And what world we appear in is where
            we do our work.


You say. . .

            You listen to your heart. 
            How does a heart speak?

I say. . .

             there is a murmur within that tells
            you things and it is with the heart
            that one moves.  The heart is the
            largest area of emotional and profound
            truth.   I can see where the child
            who is maimed right from the beginning
            and embarrassed because of his openness,
            can dismiss this avenue and close it up.

            And the world suffers and evolution
            is held up and we have one who is in trouble.
            It is always the children with me.
            I would protect them.  The sophisticates
            I would tongue lash and say grow up.
            Stop using childish tactics to be cute.
            When you have an old face and
            childish mannerisms, you are not cute.

            Cute is for under 5 years old.


Will I Require An Alibi?

In The Mirror Is The Answer. . . .

THE TEACHER SPEAKS. . . .It is useless to say that we can be non judgmental when we make judgments of necessity all day long.  What we must not judge are the places an Other comes from when we look upon cultural ways. 

When we understand the cultures of other people, we then begin to understand ourselves.  But we know too, just as the decisions concerning our personal behavior are a matter of conscious choice when we reach the age of discernment, then we know too, to hide behind cultural practices is begging the question.

When we decide how it is we are going to approach the questions of life, we then begin to know where it is we are coming from.  If we sidestep ‘just this one time’ we are already setting the basis for future behavior.

Matters of character are personal decisions.  They are not based on anything except as we view ourselves.  And character is the basis for everyone.  And character is formed early, within the safety net of the family.  What is let go ‘just this time’ with no comment, is not to be viewed later with the question ‘how did this happen?’  when confronted with the larger implications. 

This implies that we are going to grow up, that we are going to mature at some point.  What is being said is that the process is never ending, never finished.  For along all junctions we will be pressed with character questions.  We will be expected to make character decisions.  And the final questions will always reside within the individual, ‘what will this say of me?’

 In the process we know that we can fool no one.  Especially the one whom we look at in the bathroom mirror first thing in the day.

 We know, know deep within us that we cannot be a better anything than we can be a person.

Small Bear or Large Cub. . .

We can interchange our adjectives
and the words take on different meanings,
depending on our frame of reference.

We may find that bigotry is the same as
prejudiced preferences and my color
may be other than what you are.

It is quite right for where you are, if that is
all right with you.  But I ask will you clean house
and set straight your attitudes

so you can say gay with no malice?


art by Claudia Hallissey



The Bread of Freedom is Truth. . . .

It is an open question, not the only one,  but a question as to how we learn something.  Since I hold several truths as self evident, and one of them is life  everlasting, then prior lifetimes have taught me much.  And some lifetimes lead to longer sleeptimes, or time outs, than others with no learning.

My mother recognized me for my galactic wanderings and philosophy when she was  in death throes,  and told me she would have difficulty with what I knew.   And then told me when I asked if she saw Papa, said he is just waking up.  He died decades earlier.  When I asked if she saw our David,  she flicked  her wrist and said I go out too far.  I then knew she  was listening to the teachers.

When a child, I learned early what not to say what I thought.  A beloved grandson (years into talking) convinced me it was time I said out loud how it is with me.  There are many of us about with what I call Jenny genes, the persevering ones that don’t give up in fear of high water.  Many have folded their wings as youngers and said I can’t do this.  Others we have said goodbye to at different altars and bled quietly.  No directions are written for parents whose children die.  Who wishes to author that book of experience?

I have tried hard not to break rice bowls that hold life’s enrichment.  I wish to make it a dinner sized bowl to include bread which is a freedom’s truth, a life giver and not taker.

 Bread for the Day. . . . .  

March 16, ’86  . . .All reality is a preferential viewpoint.  All reality is a preferred judgment and yet so incredibly real  and so compatible that it all works. 

28 mar ’86—I have learned that if good,  (making life better) is not done where I am, it is not done elsewhere.  Do it now for there will not be this particular chance nor these favorable circumstances.

Apr 01,’86. . . the world is a nothing of itself.  It is a something only when we perceive it with our own particular perspective.

Apr 3,’86. . .Freedom of choice is a responsibility.  It is also a sacrament.

14 May,’86. . .To- build an entire life on the premise that you must  always look fashionable though the package is empty, means that you run from the fact that others will discover this also.

03 June,’86. . .Manipulation is a scheme to allow one to gain a point of power and hold it.  It is the boot sitting on the head.  It is not the shoulders of the manipulator where the workload rests.  It is on whom the boot sits.

July 01,’86. . . quantum, sumus, scimus. . . We are what we know.  Knowing, my friend, is different than thinking.   To know means you have gone the route, foot by foot.

If we do not understand the wind, we will be caught in the whirlwind.

All times and every time. . . There is no philosophy possible where fear of consequences is a stronger principle than love of truth. . . .john stuart mill’s theory was burned it into my brain and then my heart. .

14 July,’86. . . What it is we desire, we often get in spades.   When trophies do not hang on walls,  they are  laid heavy on  the heart.


The Deep Within. . . is the connection. . .

I scribed October 10, 1983. . .

We wait for this day.  You hear the arguments in the head and you think all the while the hands do the mind’s bidding.  In this we find a great interest and comfort knowing that it is possible to function in a secular life and continue to grow.  Your questions show the current interest thinking which man should be doing.  You ply the heaven for answers and forgive us for saying there are no answers to the questions.

There is nothing yet written which would answer your why, how and wherefores to satisfy.  Not possible.  There is a keeping on, keeping on and a growth possible not yet tapped.  Questions persist and not always have answers that leave one in comfort and wellbeing.

You have already tapped this reservoir. Which proves that man, as a whole, can do this for himself.  You reach this point where your answers will be forthcoming, as you provide them for yourself.  You cannot find in the heavens, even , the final conquest.  There are worlds upon worlds, but the Rabbi told you that, didn’t he?

You know this in that part of you which has searched the skies for that part of heaven which would give ultimate rest.  You know that, have always know it and now is part of your fabric.

Not comforting, is it?  There is no place, not a one, where everything is brought to completion.  How can there be, when there is no completion?  How can there be when all is in a state of becoming?  It is all becoming; we are all becoming.  Becoming what?  We can only surmise.  No one knows.

This is where the grandfather God is the comfort.  This is where man finds if he gives thought and thinks it through, he gets bogged down.  In despair, throws up his hands with ‘God Knows’! 

He is right if he means ‘unknowing, unfathomable, omniscient, omnipresent, spirit of the Universes, he is in good territory.  If he means a being like himself, in physical form, he spends the night walking around his house looking for a place to lay down his head.

You have the ability to grasp this concept, and with the devices and comforts of living add to its intensity to keep on keeping on, you find within the reason to make perfect.  What you see in your commitments and priorities reasons to help.  Without your help, we all would be floundering.  We look for growth and enhancement of mankind in all areas.

Commitments will set our priorities and unveiled will be to our surprise, substance of who we are and from where we come.


We dried the tears with straw flowers
and they scratched your face.

The etchings on the parchment
which was your skin will forever be stayed  
and will be read only by
the keenest eye and the discerning heart.

The indelible ink which wrote
was with pen dipped in love.
Repeated washings rinsed with tears
did not bleach it out.

So take your heart and this one and this
and ask for memories to build
in worlds uncertain, in unions
without ballast,
a treasure chest, a memory bank.

The loves will loose
the memories in future times
and in the moment
release for their own, a strength.

And never know in a history buried
deep beneath their skins,
there was a she-man
of indeterminate strength
who plied her trade
and in the course of time,

endowed her progeny. . . .

 (Poem from Dec 01, 1983
Journal Entry)


All Who I ARE. . .

The Kabbalah, practiced before Judaism, states that death is not final.  When the Sages died, they simply went into the next room.  Seekers then could enter and ask their questions and converse.   Scribing was done by the chosen seekers .  I have scribed for a long time and many do and call it automatic writing with many trips to the bank. The difference is on how deeply one is able to focus.  When questioned I was told it is a quirk of mind.  The following was scribed on July 24, 1984.

“I asked. . . was it a different world?  It was.  It was a world where belief had the power of logic, where prayer was direct communication with what was the belief of the time, where the arch angels stepped between man and his desires and procured them for the supplicant.  It was all these things and more.  Man did not roam the earth without anchor at will or put his faith in machines which mimicked his mind.  He conquered what needed to be conquered with the virtue within.  He did these things because he did not know he could not do them.  With all that he was, he could do anything.”  

The following is a conclusion I reached by study and discipline and teaching by good scholars.  The footwork was more than a half century trudged.  Not a happenstance but a Given with due regard.  I have no credentials but offer these to thought and explanation.  It is my logic on our coats of many colors.

Joseph was one of many brothers.  He was special to their father Jacob and was given a coat of many colors.  This coat was envied by the brothers and caused jealousy.  They talked of doing away with him.

The story is already written but what I am Given is a reason for this.  I assume Jacob, the father, was versed in sacred scripture and conversed with peers.  So when Joseph was of age, his father gave him a coat of many colors.  To those of mind, it was because  Joseph had memory of prior lives lived, in skins of many colors for the times chosen and worlds.

This was only a Given after many years of study.   Skin color, race, geography, nationality, all the possessive fractions are these where humans are sensitive and have not worked out personal prejudices due at best to personal grievances.  It is an area of mind and behavior where children are born indifferent and accepting of all and should be a Light to us.  Hate and prejudice are first  lessons taught from the beginning by parental grievances.   It undermines all the insistence teachers preach on the values of love and kindness.  Hate is for a child, gut wrenching, and the cause of much vomiting mornings before school.

My mentor, the Nazarene, could only speak of life everlasting.  To the each, the subject varied and had meaning only to the thoughtful. Others let those who were paid big monies do the discerning.  Logic prevailed and the only viable answer was the skin of many colors. 

I wrote All Who I Am in the  summer of 1982.  It was only recently I ventured the poem onto my blog .  I identified with the black woman running late with breasts  flapping onto bare skin to the anger of the mate waiting . . .related to the man walking his camel in the desert  being harvest for the flies,  identifying with the Polish woman kneading her bread . . . I am relating to all in the poem and knowing them intimately not as second skin, but intimate skin  through many lifetimes.

It will be said that my imagination is vivid.  And that was a Given also, that imagination is memory with icons signifying their substance.  Another time for that subject.  Our memory banks are full of treasures for those who will focus within the closet of themselves for treasure hunting.  The only requirement?

Only a bucket of courage and hopefully a support system.  And lots of Amen and Amen.


Out Of The Evolutionary Rut. . . .


Kicking the wheel out of the rut. . . .

After many years of struggle, and a broken heart in  repair constantly, I finally began to peace and to piece my problem when reading the Clan of The Cave Bear.  I know, I have spoken nonstop and written many times of this.  I recommend this book again, please.

Through the years of thought and study and contemplation, and conversation which no one truly wanted to engage in with a ‘why go there?’ mentality, I found an answer somewhat to at least give direction to me.  And a way to broaden my understanding to further enlighten the heavy  concept of evolution.

My inability to understand or comprehend  is not an obstinacy in the individual  to change behavior but their inability to do so.  The minute we ask, how could you whatever, or how could you not . . . whatever, we see the inability of the individual .   And we have to realize then the purpose of life is to learn and to broaden our understanding.  Then the next step leaves no gap in the fabric of the person.

It has caused me great pain throughout my life because I thought it all a matter of will.  The will to change or where to change.  I thought to work harder, longer, and be open to wants, I could then fulfil all obligations and adapt further.  It was not reciprocal of course. 

It did not work both ways.  Only by wanting what my behavior showed,  the Other would hopefully emulate the ways to  gain what they see.  But that we have no control over.

Our democracy has been an encouragement to all people desiring a chance to express and live by their chosen beliefs.  To be bluntly hammered by our elected ones in the previous administration who wish to undermine our democracy in favor of their own power agendas gives rise to obvious selfish choices.  These are not those with inabilities of intellects but conscious choices.

There is a difference.  Inability to comprehend because the footwork of steps not taken to integrate knowledge is one thing.  Conscious choice for power is quite another.  Deliberate policy change of our elected officials must be noted.  And is our responsibility to remember when voting. 

Autocratic governments intent on power is a dreaded thought in  mind as we enter sleep at night.   Most of us are not familiar with the word genocide.  Yet as adults we carry the faces of those pleading for life  burned into our memories with the eleven o’clock news.  The devastation has us reaching for the already half empty vial of nitro glycerine  tablets on the night table.

The inability to comprehend is not part of autocracy.  It is an evil chosen to eliminate a peoples.  Make no mistake in this understanding.

Years of tradition, differences in cultures, climates or locations, all serve  various functions; mainly to help people survive.  And the primary instinct is not to die.  And any change directed toward diversity from what is known is met with hostility.  And ends up with the Other feeling there is something wrong with them.  They are not good enough.  Which gave rise to the beginning question, how could you?

The brain has to open in all areas just to learn to smile, to laugh, to sing, to conceive or grasp concepts.  From the first wail to the last gasp, it is a matter of evolution.  What we learn to do and is grasped by others, will enhance the good or ill of humankind.

Dr Jonas Salk said that since humankind knows pretty much how to survive healthwise, it is past time to concentrate and help humanity to survive humanely.  It is time we learn to practice and learn the kind of precepts that will enhance our abilities to help the less fortunate to survive not only humanely but joyously. 

It is time for all to kick the  wheel of progress out of the mud and give humane evolution a jumpstart.

When we judge, when we vow to get even, when we cast that first stone and break a spirit, life will demand restoration.  Balance is the forgiveness life demands for itself. 

We all want to make a difference.  Created equal?  In a world unnamed yet to us we will be the ones needing patience and help in the rudiments of life we are not familiar with.  It is a matter of learning to become whatever our potential is.  We are diverse, not matched in all ways.  Some things, yes, but all ways, no.

And luckily for us all, there is no final chapter. 


A Lesson in Strawberries. . . . .

I was a young girl of 12 and it was our first summer on The Farm and it was a hard one.   But it also was filled with good food straight from the warm earth.  My mother had a talent for growing things in the city despite its polluted air even 70 years ago; people knew it then to be unhealthy.   But in the clear air of the country, in the soil of her loam filled garden, her talents blossomed as did her crops.

 We were getting produce ready for the stand near the road.   As we were preparing the fruits and vegetables, selling them as fast as we put them out, friends from the city were arriving.  They were diverse characters.  Some were people in her circumstances with many children and little money.  A few were wealthy but the outstanding characteristic of all these relationships was mutual respect.

Toward the late afternoon, I was tired and whiny.   The source of my irritation was the fact that my mother was giving to her friends, without charge, the best and finest of what we were putting out.   A bushel of potatoes here, quarts of strawberries there, a basket of fresh vegetables here.

But the strawberries were my argument.  I loved them and the ones she grew were the reddest, juiciest and largest I had ever seen.   They were sweet clear through and the dream stuff of that first June on The Farm.  With the heavy cream separated from the rich milk the excellent cows gave, these were mine she was giving away.  The strawberries summed up my resentment.

‘You can’t keep giving away our profits!’ I said. ‘You have given away half of all our produce!’

She turned to me and in a voice I have not forgotten with the lesson that has stayed with me.

‘These are mine’, she said.  ‘I will do with them what I please.  These are for me to give away if I want to.  No one can tell me who to give to.  My friends may never do anything for me but if one of them does some thing for my children or my grandchildren,  then that will be payment for  me.’

I have thought often of that lesson in gift giving, in giving what is yours.  In the course of my days, when someone did something for me I did not expect, there was the lesson in strawberries.  When so much has been done for our children by their friends and ours, the lesson in strawberries comes up.

When time, whole weekends of time, have been given to sit with a sick child, to listen to an impoverished spirit, to make dinner when the task seems insurmountable and appetite non-existent, to do any of these when time has become our most precious commodity, it is a gift of Spirit.  When a check arrived unexpectedly from someone whose only reason was ‘I remember how I would have felt to have received this’ or the someones who oftentimes helped our children through school because ‘it was done for me.’

I thought of the lesson in strawberries.

As I review a life where so much has been done for me and mine, from sources unexpected, I am grateful for the lesson in strawberries.   My mother gave what was hers to give, what she worked for and gave freely.  She was paying it forward long before the idea became novel.  I do not forget.

When we are asked to pay forward for gifts given and received, we must remember the lesson this lady of ten thousand lions strong leveled me.  As the world works and fights to uphold democracies all over,  we must remember from where most of us come.  

I see my grandmother in the wrinkled old faces that I find mirrored every day.  With tears pleading simply to go home.  Will I forever see Richard Engel embrace that lined face younger than I am with a history I will never match?  And a devastated country fractured beyond recall surrounding? 

Let us pay it forward so the children’s children do not have to assuage our anguish forever.  Pray let it be so.



The Cost Of War. . .don’t get me started. . .

The Cost Of War. . .Knotted Family Ties. . .

She was little more than a toddler.  She was plain, even mousy by standards of beauty deemed for the very few.  Stringy hair, hazel eyes with poor sight even and not the porcelain English complexion esteemed by her heritage.  Left with her brother in Scotland while her mother set out for Canada to set up housekeeping for a husband wounded in the first world war and sent to a Toronto hospital for care. Left too long for the toddler, for when she and her brother were sent to travel the ocean with hired friends, she arrived to find herself no longer the center of interest.

Arriving to find a new sister, with blue eyes, curly blond locks and a porcelain skin already called ‘doll’ because of her exquisite English heritage.  Welcomed the first sister was with acknowledgment that she was a big sister to look out for the ‘doll’.  Her cry was ‘I’m little, too!’ and would be for almost a hundred years.

Heartbreaking, but pathetic also, to the generations listening powerless to untie the knots that were tied by circumstances only those who tied them could untie.  To hear an octogenarian  begin every explanation of her life with those words, ‘I’m little, too!’ and need to be parented by everyone regardless of age was an uncomfortable position for everyone.   Requiring always to be center, even when birthing her only child and stealing from his father the parental love and caring necessary for his growth.

The girl toddler grown aged never made peace even with her own son.  Always displaced she was, shunted aside for every newly minted child coming into the family.  Hers was a life of pampering the aging psyche forever the child by a husband who could care for only one.  He learned too late for him with no time left, the unhealthy conditions for everyone.  And how what was not done left the shouldering of burdens on the unsuspecting coming into the family.

We learn ‘suffer the little children’ with the words taking root and no one thinking that the conditions of the beatitude would take forever to unearth.  No one thought we would perpetrate upon our progeny burdens that would make leaden their feet and prevent growth.  We would fertilize beliefs that we must assuage the anguish of the ancestors and give them what was owed.  Hence we prepare the ground for more bloodshed.

Do circumstances of our lives provide the fodder for weapons of war and peace and goodwill are the two weeks of grace given as reward at the end of the year?  I don’t think that was the intent when the prophecy was fulfilled.  We have to grow up sometime.  Else the stagnation persists and evolution is halted.  Think on it.  This small instance of one little girl is multiplied forever anon.  The cost of war?  Don’t get me started.. . .

Excerpt from the
Knotted Family Ties. . .

I close the shutters and pull up the steps.
I learn to live in my own house.
I stay my time and do what is mine.

Jesus, it hurts to watch and be able to do nothing.


Ambient Adherence. . . the vibes they will teach us. . . .

This I journaled in my Jan 14, 2022  entry. . . Much had been going on for most of the month of December and now into January with two hospital visits with atrial fibrillation and adverse reactions to new meds, I started a letter to friend John thinking to post it but I would have caused depression in many a sensitive reader.  And entering the third year of the Covid pandemic, my blog readers did not need another verification that we might go down the tube again.

And now with Putin invading Ukraine and with the Russian peoples taking to the streets in protest, we may see the answer to problems we face that wars will never solve again.  I admit that when Putin took Crimea in 2014 I was busy with personal problems having no room for international conflicts. 

Our heads can only handle what we can handle and sorry not to be hail fellow well met.  But sweet Jesus, how much more of everything can be met without going to the waters on our knees?

The following was written after much argument and negotiations with my cosmic teachers. Because you see my rants are still the same.

 I need also do an essay on Ambient Adherence.   I think much is lost when not taken into consideration is the ambience adhered of attitudes from the place where one is.  I did not realize what I was picking up simply by breathing the air and injustices on us who integrate the time and place and also the mechanics of the devices we carry with us. 

We inhale the vibes of our days.  If we are thoughtful, we see our issues and try to heal ourselves. We also look for ways to avoid the pain of looking within and the work involved. We also see the games played and the lies told.  We are not fooled.

Like for instance, how Televisions capture the pictures of people in the midst of going about business and relating to the times. And who profits the most by playing the games used by choosing which families to incarnate.

The handheld phones and the swift answers to likes and dislikes remind us always that we have a voice.  And who profits from  addictions and mental problems of children who are harmed the most.

Enough reminders make us either immobile and sick or sick and mentally unable. People will leave these times with mental conditions needing many generations to overcome, leaving  disabled souls on the curb.  These are called gifts?   

I realize that not everyone has the courage to confront their issues but for the privileged few who are given further education, the hope is that somehow there will be a spine also given to clean up their acts.  What we see is that the privileged  find ways and means of avoiding self confrontations.  

With education comes the knowledge that the world offers many ways to  doing some good for reputations  to be honored without any work being done on the self.

And the self being one that has contributed in many ways through the centuries to the morass of ancient angst but then who casts the first stone?

artwork by Lucinda Cathcart (my niece)


Courage. . . to wear as epaulettes. . . .


What is visible is visible and what is also visible can be chosen not to be seen.  The depth of perception only depends on the inmost courage of the individual in his capacity to deal with impending events.

Courage is not garnered overnight nor is it stored for all time.  It is fought for every morning in the bathrooms all over the world.  And it is worn with conviction man hopes into the kitchen for breakfast with the family. 

It has been that life of quiet desperation Thoreau wrote about. To live one’s life directed to the greater life is only done with knowledge that the greater life exists.  For this to become common knowledge means the footwork has been done.

But only as we observe with knowledge that life is neverending,  is everlasting and the challenge is in the journey, in the hope that humankind will tolerate the fact that destiny is in his hands.

And what happens in the world inhabited is but a reflection of the greater worlds and what will transpire in greater degree elsewhere.

And the planet Earth will prevail, and humankind will survive, and the Universes will reflect the good we hope to inflect in the heart of man.

A program televised told of near death experiences of several people.  One of the persons reflected on her experience as vast, simply the other side was vast.  And vast it is.  With boundaries set to see what limited senses reveal, that there are those who see what others do not.

Unless words find a bedding, like the words everlasting life, the cycle repeats but with a difference to come.  Circumstances will not be as favorable and forever actually come alive, a death path is walked and cannot give houseroom to what actions by omission and commission wrought, nor the planet hospitable.    

When icons are smashed symbolizing centuries of man’s desire to translate the divine into the material, he smashes also the humans who built them.

Found Courage . . . . 

I ask,

          Where did you find your courage?

On what tree was it hanging
that you could reach up
and pluck it from its hiding place
to wear as epaulettes
on your shoulders?

The children whisper during the night,
saying their Ave’s to each other,
hoping they will grow into courage
with a red badge to wear.

You say,

They are blinded.
They cannot see their milky courage
like cream rising to the top;
one day to merge
through alerted senses
that call for unthinkable strength.

They have been practicing every day
since they were born.
They will learn that courage
comes with each breath taken
and like the freedom they take for granted
must be won every day.

One day they will find it wears like a second coat of paint.


Powered by WordPress. Designed by WooThemes