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Suffer The Little Child


The Teacher Speaks. . . . Any human action which must delve into its past for a pattern for progression is bound to fail.  There must of needs be new attitudes, new forms of behavior that speaks to the new man and new times.  A reaching back to the cradle for behavior, for mannerisms befitting the child to become adult is never a course of action to follow.   The state of the progression must be one to choose an upward and though tentative step, it must be forward to be progression at all.  The past must be forgiven its transgressions because those involved were not adult enough to know better.  They truly did not know what they do.   And because in our new knowledge,  we do,  we forgive but do not forget ever the behaviors that crippled us.   And we will live never to inflict hurt upon those we touch.  Let our attitudes be such that there will be gratitude in that we lived.  


Suffer The Little Child

There are magic words
in my head
and yours, too,
turning upon themselves

like prayers.  They invoke
graven images
cast upon the  mind
in forms to be worshiped.

We uncover them like idols
in the churches of our choice,
when the season or
the time of solstice

assures us this is proper.
We bow before them
with reverence.
We pay homage or penance

for untold sins
and beg forgiveness for our humanness.
We forget we once
shared space with them,

helping to make them so beautiful.
Instead, we consign ourselves
to these words of magic
and pretend that we are

what we always were.
Denying ourselves a profit,
commensurate with our work,

we suffer the little child, forever.


You Cannot Teach Thirsty. . . .


The Teacher Speaks. . . . you cannot make a horse drink when it is not thirsty. You cannot do it. Only when the thirst is there will the horse or the person or the being know to drink to satiate. But you cannot teach thirsty. You cannot teach learning. You cannot teach hunger. You can be the example that would make others want what you portray. You can be the font of learning but unless you can excite the turgid brain of the Other by showing how wondrous the fountain of facts can be, there will be no learning. You have to be the example that would make them want. And you cannot teach want unless you first show that what it is has made you into someone they would like to be. And there will be those someones who will look upon you and see what it is you have made of your life and how you think and what your hands can do and they will think that maybe if I tried??? And if they begin, heaven will step in and show them how. But the heavens need a someone on the premises who sets the example. .

The Immortal Quest

I live this life
with staggering numbers,
in singular purpose.
I’ve come bent on a quest
of my own immortality;
propelled and struggling to duplicate
a vision, a dream, a love of what I know
to be the truth of me.

I’ve chosen a frame of reference
of height and depth
that would reflect the best of me.
And in that narrow web of thought
found dimensions in construction.

I’ve gathered, harvested,
ideas of equal splendor;
discarded, disclaimed what mind
in honesty could not accept.
But found instead a reality
that claimed and captured
the illusive content of a world
destined to please.

With gentle persuasion
life interrupts the empty mind
to inject with soulful purpose,
hints determined to arouse
the sleeper to action.

For those of sterner stuff
and artful cooperation,
the syncopation is accelerated.
The heart notes the mind’s distress
and with dispatch
teaches the acolyte accordingly.

I would have you chase rainbows
for that pot of gold.
I would have you search
the bottom of the sea
for the pearl of great price.
I would have you follow
your heart’s dream.
For in the quest of
the illusive content,

your immortality will be sealed.


An Argument

Toward A Destiny

An Argument

It was an argument
persisting its stuff as
all of them do.

I say. . . .
the camera portrays
what the photographer perceives.

And he insisted. . . . .
that the camera sees
the fact in nature
and records it as such.

I say. . . .
a fact in nature changes
as the person who perceives it.

What do we do. . . .
if what we see is not
what the photographer sees?

I say. . . .
get thee to an altar and pray.
Rightly so.
Go find an altar and pray.
So that what is
perceived as beautiful,
as poignant or a crime to humanity
is what we see.

Quickly. . . .
Go find an altar to pray
for your heart is in imminent danger.

Photo by John Hallissey


Within Memory




Home of One’s Soul

The Teachers Speak. . . Every so often, out of one’s domain, there is an isolation that swamps one. It is difficult to shake, and yet there it is, evidence that this is not home. There is a portion or many portions appealing to one, yet basically, the at home feeling begins to leave.   This is when one digs in and brings to light all those things that brighten the soul. Dig into your handiwork, give yourself some leeway but stay with the program, stay with the route. You will find that the isolation will fade somewhat and again you will regain your sense of belonging. But do not distress yourself about it.   It is a pure longing for the home of one’s soul. It will come about in its own good time and the journey will have been worth the while. And what is gained along the way will add simply more weight to the gems in your pockets.

(Again for me this is an example of all time is simultaneous. The above journal entry is from November of ’94 and the poem following was written on the eve of my birthday, this week, so it was really yesterday that the teachers spoke to me, all time being simultaneous. Yet linear time is crucial to allow growth to take place.)

Within Memory

You will again yearn
for a patch of green earth
to lie down on,
to smell the pine forest alive
in its secrets.  Or hidden beneath
the crisp cover of fresh snow.
They will not have left your memory.

Somewhere also within memory,
is a place yearning for you.
It is deep in time that is
as remote as a country village.
And yet there too, you will find refreshment.
You will find eyes that light and
follow you when you enter their doors.
There will be those whose lives
you have searched for remnants
of who you are.

You will find them waiting silently,
for your voice to beckon them
from where you have been hiding
for almost a century;
bent on finding the reason to live.

So come now, when you hear
your name called and let us know
you are willing to be with those
whose love for you is weighed
in centuries.  Nowhere near the place
you now hold as being close to heaven
and yet, yet, close enough that you
will lose your hold on the place
destined to be another memory.

You will take love for god’s sake
and hold it high as a solemn token
of the herald’s torch, reminding all
that the way is always safe

until the games are over.


In Looking Back


In Looking Back

The Teachers Speak. . . . The smallest act of mercy has large repercussions. Remember that. When the smallest act of kindness is received it is passed on without thinking because the act gains a life of its own and struggles for expression. It gathers momentum as it moves through the person’s hands, their life and those about them.

It is these acts of kindness, of niceness, of love that keeps the role of the Earth’s purpose in mind.   And the Earth continues to vibrate its song and sings it for the ears that are destined to hear. One person can delay it, but no person can stop it up completely. It will only be delayed but never destroyed.

The many acts of kindness and goodness dispensed by each person takes a proper route and touches many lives. Giving to the each a measure of estimation they could not reach by themselves. Each time a person views what is created, what is built, and sees in the children actions of goodness , the source of that goodness is revealed. And the onlooker tries to duplicate or tries in his best estimation to reach those goals. This is the purpose of the each and precious life. That the each is a teacher, that the each is a student.

In Looking Back

Sometimes in looking back
to grasp meaning. . .
the uneventful brims with it

The small deed by the young
take on logistics of magnitude.
The smallest bouquet
often picked
from the neighbor’s garden
is innocently given
with largess of heart.

It is no small thing
when the child says
I will do it. . .
and unburdens the caregiver.

It is in the uneventful
that the heart grows
in understanding,
when the lesson becomes
the food on the plate.

Not good to look back?
How else to learn
what life has taught
and perhaps we learn
what not to repeat?

It bodes well to forgive
when harshness makes brittle
the connections.
But in the smallest detail,
in the dailyness of the commonplace,
we grow.

And the soul leaps forward and universal life is greatly enhanced.


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