Archive | Prayers

we laugh to hide our hurt. . . .

 

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 pieces 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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As I See It. . .

 

As I See It . . . .

There are no more answers anywhere except those written within the individual on his heart.  It is all there for him to discover and what he discovers will be adequate for this time.  It works to cover tracks and to discover just one more truth which will enlighten what has already been learned.  For one it will be fine.  For another, it is not.

Everyone has a piece of the rock.  A piece of the truth.  This is correct.  To be able to ensnare the entirety in one fell swoop would be to discourage and dismantle the psyche.  It can be done but it would undo the Pilgrim.  The psychological trauma would put the psyche on the shelf forever.  For who would have the courage to attempt another try?

Our need determines our intent.  And the caliber of teacher we require.  The divine within is called into conference and the work begins.  The journey only begins when the present becomes unbearable and the future unthinkable. 

We Lift Our Heads . . . .

We lift our heads as we face our Source.
We give thanks for these gifts
beginning our day;
a body without pain
and heart that beats steadily
and ears that hear clearly.
For these gifts we are grateful.

Open us and allow not one bird
to miss our thank you for his song and
allow not the breeze to be without
gratitude for its breath.

Take this day
and use us for Thy purpose
for we will be at a loss when time in space
cannot be breached by thought
and the abyss cannot be spanned by a leap.

Let our thoughts be more than a footnote
in the story of this day

and our lives lived with compassion.

 

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Pray the garden into a sanctuary. . . . . .

On May 14, 2021, I posted Time’s Gleanings.  It  is a collection of paradigms as a brief respite in diets of heavy lessons.  My last maxim of that post reads like this. . .

‘Like a dancer learning the discipline of a new score,  we have rehearsed minute by minute to come to this place,  this place of understanding where we are now.’

I received an email from Merideth, mother of the sisters saying . . . Emma E. told me today that she was a dancer before she was a baby.  Perhaps that is why she stands on the tip of her toes so often.  It is a habit she learned before she even arrived. . . .

I told Merideth that I am glad our girl babies have her as a mother and I am glad Mer does what she does.  Emma E. will start her formal schooling soon.  The altogether most important elements started when she chose her parents.  Safe is such a simple word and as many letters as fear.  To be able to freely connect her tip toeing as a dancer before being born as a baby told us how high she will reach.

Children come from a sacred some place to grow and teach.  When they ask that first ‘why?’ we should kneel and embrace the child and search their minds for what they remember.  And we should talk to each other freely about earliest memories. 

Memories are a good foundation to support growth and integrate new sustainable knowledge.  In this wild and wooly forest I comfort myself that memories can be our mother tree like that of the forest gods. . .with space to embrace us all.

Little Ballerina . . . 

Dance for me, little girl
Dance your dance and show the gods 
why you dance.

In the garden I see you,
toes dug into the earth, head tilted
to catch the glint of the sun filtering
through the leaves.

You nod in assent to breezes
whispering your name.
Your lips move in intonation
of the om which separates you,
momentarily.

You pirouette perfectly, swayed by forces
caressing you to homage of all who you are.

I long to kneel before the image of you.
At one with your own music,
when your arms grace sweepingly
in the silent moment and you take
all that is yours and

pray the garden into a sanctuary.

 

artwork by Claudia Hallissey 

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My reason. . . Because Of Love. . . . .

 

 

Explanation Caught in Part. . .

In the beginning,
in the place where I came from,
there was a veil covering the foetus,
the skin of man.
I remember the place and the one
who sent me here.
He said it was because he loved me,
and all those who would be part of me.

I could not believe that
someone who loved me
would send me to a place
that had no running water,
no rivers to drink from,
no sky to rise to. . .

How could love hurt so much?

I am here now,
have finished my work
but found in my new world,
old loves, not new. . .

These old loves I will see
again and again.
They have made me beautiful
in this place where I am. . .

Should I go home to the place
where my heart beat so fast
that lights were lit in far away places?
Where the beat of my heart
sent souls scurrying to hide abouts
because they were afraid
I would reveal them, but lo,
here we go again. . .

I hear. . .Look always to the side
of the world that needs what you are.
It will be your home for this next time.
And you have to believe

it was only for love it was done. . ..       

 

PS      Two questions I must ask. . . would you
think it worth it and how certain are you
your judgment is on target?  

Especially after overhearing . . .
            All it took was some sweet talk. . . 

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Throw A Kiss To The Stars. . .

 

 

Younger sisters should play by the rules and allow the elder to leave first.  But my sister stayed as long as she was able and left us this week abruptly.

This poem is personal in that love abounds.  I whispered it in reading again with great love in our coming together as adults after a tumultuous adolescence.  What were to be fun times in dotage never materialized. 

There will be times to recall because life is everlasting.  Her mantra was always to do ‘something constructive’ which she did all her life.  I will remind her of the times we laughed together.  Those were memorable.  I will withdraw those times often from my Memory Bank to refresh myself.  And to remind our progeny what really makes us rich even though we cry.

 

Throw a kiss to the stars. . . .

Take a moment . . . .
and inhale deeply the night,
so that you will remember
the freshness that comes
with the beckoning dark.

And the stars leading you
to a place of warm retreat.

Go and begone into the night
where the heart rests.
Melancholy soul, even the heavens
pale beneath your fatigue. . .

Before you call it a day,
step out the door into the night
and say  hello to the moon and
ask its secrets for the night. 

Breathe your thank you for the day
and your part in it and in passing

throw a kiss to the stars.

 

 

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An Open Forum . . it takes courage. . . .

Today I realized that when I watch certain  television programs,  I audit the class.   It is fatiguing with my hearing  problem,  but with certain programs, I work it so that I use television as class time.

I realize my head is open, and by that I mean doors are open letting in activity of sound I am conscious of.  I know this state because when it is absent,  there is no fatigue, no sense of tired.   Like now, it is an open forum with my  consent, classtime.

When my world broke into pieces  when I was 35,   it was traumatic because in my head, there was a tsunami loosed, crashing against both sides of my skull.  It was devastating.  

The doctor when questioning what I saw when I walked down the street, whistled between his teeth when I was done and said you realize others do not see what you see.   I was speechless, and he said, you don’t know that. 

I mention this again because it is important to understand some real unseen differences.  Some people actually see more than we do and  hear often what is not said.    

Not only our cultures are different in this world which contribute to our uniqueness.   Our histories have contributed to each of us to form a definite lesson plan, a blueprint; also ancient agonies propel us into behaviors that are of genetic origins. 

In many ways the oracles spoken in tribes tell of myths and gods and various habits of early mankind.  These were links for us that told us we connect in various ways.  When written word came to be, we then had printed stories which were proof that those oracles  had a basis that were to guide our thinking to ferret out from where we came. 

All religions speak of life previous to our thinking.  If we are fortunate in having ancestors of good health,  we come completely sealed so to speak with heads closed.  One life at a time to deal with was sufficient work for man.  But when religions took upon themselves in many ways to help man in his quest for good as he deemed it to be,  they also took upon themselves the perpetuation of power that told mankind to go forth and multiply and they would  take care of their souls. 

The trade off began and today we are the result of that edict and also so is the Earth.  In many ways man evolved in thought but stymied because of the toys of his thinking.  Evolution was halted.  And the hard work of thought, of thinking was dismissed and we are in the midst of where evolution transfers into  devices and man has become the automaton of the devices which evolve.

It seems digression yet needs telling of this path taken.  For the oracles were verbal, the printed word was real evidence of those stories of more than truth,  where we were told that the twig is bent and continues to grow upon birth.  It is bent because of a history.  And that history if mankind is completely sealed and  the birth  normal has the one life to live and die. 

If not completely sealed, and the doors are open to activity of  worlds  where sound vibrates, we have memories of previous times.  Whether they are genetically banked in memory or our constitutions are the memory banks  for  each of us, is ours to uncover or unearth.  And what we are courageous enough to face. 

Completely sealed in good health demands an empathy, a compassion delivered to others regardless of condition or inabilities of their physical bodies. Incompletely sealed demands from us an acceptance of life within its structures rarely understood but of needs respected. 

Acknowledging differences and making peace with what is recognized are steps and halting places  in the process of evolution.  Everyone is still a creature of potential growth and this we must honor.

We must reconcile the beliefs we carry with what our growth has shown by our sciences in all directions.  And we must peace them.

We must be equal to the courage they will demand from each of us.  If we are to want that acknowledgment of our acceptance when we appear in the world we consider our right to Be, but for which we may be incomplete.     

 

artwork by
Lucinda Cathcart    

 

 

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My Eternal Love. . . . .my earth. . .

Love Letter To My Planet Earth  . . . . 

My love affair started when I was eight and laid upon the green grass and willed the clouds into playmates for my thoughts.  I wished I told my sky that I wished to be wise.  I am not sure I knew what wise meant other than just plain smart.

But then I grew and being part of a large family,  I learned to work.  But I think I learned that when I was born.  I loved my brothers and said when I was just five that I would marry them and take care of them and even promised to polish their saddle shoes for a dime.  I weeded around the roses my mother rooted in the ground and covered with tipped mason jars for little greenhouses and tried to keep the chickens in the back yard.  I kept the junks separated from the garbage and loved the climbing roses papa planted in the alley behind the garage so that the garbage men had a bright spot as they picked up garbage.

And when we left the city to breathe clean air I marveled as a young girl going to the outdoor privy and stopped at the back door before going up to bed and dipped my heart to blend the night sky to drink of a million stars and wondered how rich could a 12 year old be with the night so private housing so many brothers?  And the air circled my pajama legs and I gave thanks to the clean air and promised to be a caretaker of a place I loved.  I would dip into my bucket of stars and reach for a nugget and it would translate my efforts and keep me fed.

I would teach everyone to take care of our land because it is our house and we live here.    It gives us what we need to live and heals us when we ail and loves us as its children.  It is our Mother and we must help her.  And now after a lifetime,  I am hampered by bones forgetting to bend, muscles forgetting to stretch and a heart that cannot forget how I have loved this parcel of a universe so generous with this gift.

(and her words stay the way with me  yet. . . )

 Offer me this, the Earth Mother says
that you will raise your arms
only to surround another in love.
Promise me this, again she says,

that the swords will be laid
at the foot of the evergreens now
and a boot will never crush
an Other’s right to live. 

 And I will forever cherish your children.

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The Invited Guest. . . .

 

                                                                              with hammer and saw and wood and file. . . .

Many of us when we find that our life is not working for us, no matter what we try and even invent, take ourselves to the doctor.  And when all the protocols still do not work, if we give it thought, we take ourselves to school or wherever we find quiet space and open the books, whatever our persuasion.

When we learn that Dante took Virgil as his mentor-guide we should wonder why.  And find our reasons to look for own guide-mentor.

I chose the Nazarene as my Mentor after much study and have never regretted  my choice.  It was not a reason based on faith for I had none.  But it was a reason based on knowledge and for me the right one. 

For you whose Faith has meaning,  I share with you this poem.  It was written long ago and has great meaning for me. 

It has meant a life of hard work, study and some lovely sparklers.

The Invited Guest. . . 

I once knew a good carpenter who,
with hammer and saw 
and wood and file
showed me how to build a chair.

I did and sat on it
and then decided I needed a table.
With hammer and saw
and wood and file,
I built a table and sat at it.

I knew I needed another chair
for an Other to sit on.
So with  hammer and saw
and wood and file,
I built it.

I then invited the carpenter
to join me at the table.
We lit a candle and talked
and a new world was born.
How did I know

I first needed to learn how to build?

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When I love you is coupled with a hug. . . .

These are my progeny I am fortunate to see at least with photos.  I am impressed that there are several lady greats in our lives.  And I am also impressed with the knowledge of two close mister greats.  There are others  I am certain in my scattered large family that I do not know,  but I welcome any word of them. 

These past few years have been difficult for the many youngers.  And I know the families at hand give support as they can.

I know the parents of these jenny gene children read my posts when able and are learning  about these children from this grandmother great.  I wish them luck in their endeavors in understanding what has been borne of them.  No doubt they will be scratching their collective heads with puzzlement trying to decide how to cope.

When I understood the maxim ‘as the twig is bent’ and realized that the twig is bent upon arrival with a history! . . it was the beginning of a lifelong journey toward the heart of Me.  Many a parent has voiced the timeworn plea of I treat them all the same!  I would quietly assure them but they arrive not from different countries but different worlds!

And no way will our words mean the same to  each of them.  Except these words. . I love you coupled with the strength of your arms around them.  There is no misunderstanding when hearts press each other.

And they will insist every day of their lives that they were  the favorite child . . . .             

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Grandparents. . . the best magic. . . .


If I could wave my magic wand and grant a loving wish to all children born into whatever worlds are chosen, I would choose to garnish all wishes with the best wish of all. . . to grant a curious mind.  And the curious mind announces its arrival by the first simple ‘why?’

To accompany that mind I would grant loving grandparents down the street to whose arms I would have the child run when life would threaten to overwhelm.

And the child would learn that when the appropriate lessons for community living become a bit much to live with, the grandparents would grant surcease.  That pause to refresh  that only they could know would do.  And bring out the paints and the music and the ideas that flow profusely from them to the child. 

For Biology 101 teaches  that there is more of the grandparents in the grandchild than either  parents, whether we talk of the fruitfly or the human being.    Children and grandparents are on the same wavelength.

And therein lies the salvation of the future of our species.  For in the embrace of the grandparents lies a wealth of experience that promises the child that this too shall pass.  That herein lies what we hold sacred forever.  What  we learn to do because it is fun to learn, exciting because it is new to us and we can do it! Or because we feel good about ourselves.  It makes us feel stretched bigger than we are when we make ourselves better.

And to learn to feel good about ourselves, we will want others to feel good about themselves.  So we will do the good thing whenever we have the chance.  Until it is always a part of who we are.  And it brings to mind, doesn’t it, that this is what being human is all about ?

When we know to do the good thing is what we are born to do, we wear the right thoughts for the mind of  the world we are in.  And find also when we do it right,  we grow into a universal mind.  The universal mind being  the one that qualifies us for what will be demanded of us.

Amazing that we get parents to teach us what we need to learn and grandparents what we want, to ease what we have to learn.  And it all begins with a ‘why?’ . . . . .

photos by Tresy Hallissey. . (grandfather)
they paint and make leaves for the window

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