Archive | Prayers

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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It Takes A Solomon. . . .a war of words. .

  August 30, 1990–I scribed Teacher observation. . . .

When we speak of values we talk of those things making a difference in the single understanding.  We do not talk en masse but of individuals and when one does that, one’s footwork begins at home with oneself.

It takes a war of words to begin a lifelong analytical study of oneself.  It is not for the timid of heart.  It takes a Solomon not to divide but to make whole.

Identify the problem and reveal yourself. . . 

When you have identified a problem because you have revealed yours in duplicate, you wonder whether your effort in helping an other’s problem has been worth it.  From where we are in all honesty, it cannot.

When you have given of what you value, your thought and energy and time, what you have done is encouraged, prodded and shamed into growth.  You have shown a caring that did not yield to pity or sympathy.  Both would have deleted the growth.

Your caretaking did not stop at the fears of the one but by high expectations more was done than thought possible.  Too often when we identify a problem we think we can fix it.  Too often the one to do that has already departed the scene.  We can only ameliorate the problem and instill the ability for the individual to find inner strength to overcome the poor self concept feeding the fear.  It is no small work that is done on both parts.

What the caring one has done is teach and though the teacher is forgotten the lesson will sustain lifetimes in the making.  They will know that a someone sometime loved them enough to press them forward into acquiring something of substance  for themselves.

There was a someone in our lives who taught us the value of love, of honor, of commitment and the holy meaning of the weight of words.  My memory dims as to who and where but the lessons have been my legacy.

It is an astounding venture of the correctness of things, the meaning of life and the total commitment of the value of the soul and person.  No one is irredeemable.  No matter what.

With Gratitude. . . 

As in all things,
let there be light.
As in all tides
let there be depth,
and in all wind,
let there be motion
that sways us in
thy direction.   

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How Much Better. . . if we listen. . .

Some readers have difficulty with my saying I scribe yet writers have forever said they write in the flow or with their muses or simply nodding wisely and saying nothing.  I say I know when the writing is mine and saying I scribed means I hear in silence and from where it comes is where I reach. 

I have long thought that when asking a question the answer already is known by the time the question is asked.  Somewhere lodged in our cranium is the answer to have puzzled the pieces of the question to be asked.  That said,  my mentor, the Nazarene, said  to us all, hearing you will not hear and seeing you will not see.  Meaning we see and hear only what we focus on.  

But if you knock the door will open.  The Comforter will tell you things you did not know and bring to mind what you have forgotten.  (except in this day of loud noises,  one must kick the door because a knock will not be heard)

Possibly it presents  questions unthinkable in two parts.  Do people ever think of themselves as the only intelligence in this  universe considering its miseries and what of its future  or if not the only intelligence and superior somebodies are at the ready to enter in surprise?  Both immobilizing. 

And if we are more than what we appear because of many lives and lifetimes and the answers are within us and beget wisdom, do we then entertain angels unaware for sure as my Mentor said?  Or do we take on  face value the childish utterances that bring on gasps and wonder from where do they come with such nonsense?  Did we not learn in kindergarten to say please and thank you and be kind ?

I bend at the knees easily.  I scribed the following . . . 

How Much Better It Would Be. . 

for  this noble planet
if we cherished her like a lover?

Or loved her as a mother
who adored her child and
wiped the tears away with a soft linen?
Or as a father
whose arms surround the child
are as steel beams supporting 
the frame of the tallest building?

Who would not want these for himself
if he could articulate what would heal
the dichotomy within?

Too few of us around
who love our home so fiercely,
we would protect her vital organs.
The sun sometimes is hidden from man
and the moon embarrassed to see
its  light dimmed with shame.

When patches of earth split 
from the shock of no rain and dust rises and rolls
across the open land, we wish then
not to shake dust from our boots but to greet
a sunrise in splendor.

Offer me this, the Earth Mother says,
that you will raise your arms only to surround
an Other 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.

 

I scribed this poem August 6, 2013
art block quilted by veronica

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A divine observation. . . .

 

A divine observation. . .

 You take love
and wear as pearls.

Shiny tears they once were.
Shiny tears,

but they fell
to your breast

and now they are gems. . . .

                                              gems. . . .

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Love Is Reason Enough . . . . for sisters. . .

 

 

I look upon this photo and am grateful that what my life emphasized is factual for me in this moment of time.  That what was crucial to our sons’ lives is what I see in their progeny and therefore, mine. 

When asked when mountains became impossible to climb how to go on, I said there were three good reasons.  Tresy, David and John.  They were all I needed no matter how high the mountains .  Not climbed poetically, delicately, or gracefully, but lumbering mostly.  With this photo, I have what I need to see.

The sisters portray exquisitely what love does.  Its power and capability is evidenced.  Bedded in love they will grow in love.  They are loved wisely and well as their parents were so loved.  And showed.  Made a difference?  A big difference.

Generations previous show us what poverty burglarizes.  Too many generations have looked upon children as simply clones stealing what little they were given.  Love and education mainly.  Food, clothing and weather protection  being important of course,  but crucial to well being and emotional growth are nutrients for the human spirit.

To catch a moment such as this gives hope.  This is a heart moment for Emma E. and a safe arrival and moment for Norah Claire. 

They portray everything poignant and alive with meaning.  They are a visual blessing.

photo by Merideth Hallissey . . parent

 

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The Strange Bequest. . . .

Tomorrow is Father’s Day and this is a late regret to chalk up to a life in ebbtide.  But with the head on my shoulders today, I wish there had been times to talk of heart concerns.  Life was to be mountains for me to climb and I could have used his hand to hold.  Talk while you both are within arm’s reach.

The Strange Bequest. . . 

There was a man, a slim man,
whose head was bedecked
with a white cloud and
whose eyes saw dreams
he could not articulate.

He sat one day staring into space
and when I questioned him, he said
‘I am sitting and watching the grass grow.’
I hesitated far too long and have lived to regret it.

I wish the courage had been mine
to have asked him to share his dreams with me.
For he bequeathed to me a mind
that does not rest.

I have the thought that his father and
father before him wrestled
the same misty vision which now
is mine to set in motion.

I question this strange bequest,
for I have not the staunch heart required
to lay to rest my ancestor’s anguish.

Papa, I plead now,
to replace my heart with hot ore,
inject me with a vial of celestial courage,
to fuse my spine with tempered steel.

There is so little time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Love = Value Added. . . .

Attitudes of Gratitude . . . . .

I had been asked to make potato salad for guests because they think it special and I was delighted to do so.  When I finished I thought I should have kept the times to show long it took when I was at home and said I was tired at the end of a day caring for  family, home and property.  I was asked what was I doing all day since I didn’t have to work?   

I gave thought to love of family, for beauty I created in the home, yard and learning to do.  Not just what I did with my hands but with my heart.

It took 3 ½ hours from start to finish today when I made the potato salad.  No small act in time but its value was what went into it because of caring.  The celery chopped thin, green pepper, angular and red pepper to add color;  cucumbers angled to be crisp , eggs cooked perfectly made the difference.  Particular mayonnaise balanced with sour cream made it special.

Once yard work meant I knew plants and their needs, maximized color, plus caregiving meant I studied facets of connection between us and nature.  Watering was measured with empty tuna cans placed precisely.  Once a week spraying with mouthwash kept bugs off the landscaping and a can of beer in the sprayer fed the lawn also.  Time doing and learning?   A lot.  Worth it?  You bet.

My presence was an added value when David came home for chemo treatment.  I sat beside the bed when he had difficulty sleeping doing what I do in thought.  I was not cognizant of his awareness until he thanked me for sitting.  He told me that he was able to let his grip on himself relax and sleep was his relief for the guard on himself.   

Important?  How often everyone’s need to have a someone sit by us?

When I met my friend to go walking to relieve her tension, I said let’s put away the toys because it looks like rain.  Only toys she said but you and your husband worked to buy them and you respect your work?  Never thought of it that way she said.  I said the lesson then is the work means nothing and there is no respect for it.

Most people do not think of children as a sacred trust with lessons carefully taught.  Most think children are clones of them and a biological thrust of insignificance.

Carrying things too far am I?  But this casual attitude permeates every aspect of our lives.  Do I ask one more thing to do with a list of too many already? 

When I saw a credit card tossed on the counter with disdain for the checkout person I wanted to slap that hand who did it and apologize to the cashier.  The attitude said to me I am bigger than this small purchase or  it’s only dirty money.   I wanted to ask if he had so little respect for his work that gave him credit to buy or the cashier not worth simple courtesy?  I was ashamed of what I saw.

Ain’t nothin’ much?  But it is a whole lot of much this casual attitude.  With Covid 19 I worry a lot about attitudes.  I do not relate to souls bartering for rights to sit on the beach or go to the malls in droves.  You have a value you have not discovered.  Please, take precautions,  wear your mask.

Because I want Others to value you, I wear my face mask, to keep our planet afloat until they do.  We are in precarious waters.

photo by John S. Hallissey

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Prayer To The Greater Heart. . . .

 

 

Prayer to the Greater Heart. . . . .

Stay with me, my god.  Lead me where my heart
should go and stay with me.
Give me strength to stay out of the way
of other’s growth but give me the compassion
to show by example how the road goes.

Let me be a vehicle for the cosmic completion
of a work entrusted and keep me from becoming
fragmented by the enormity of it all to
my own unstable body.

The mind in its desire to envelop
all that is good and holy and cosmic,
leads a plea to a body of the same nature.

I believe.  Amen and amen.

 

Photo by
Joseph H. Hallissey Sr.

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Education wears many booties. . . .

 

Knowing the comics section as I do, it appears that she’s studying Doonesbury, which thrills my heart! Of course she’s already read Dilbert (on the front page)…

Love,   Emma E’s grandfather

 

 

I never knew the supreme abilities of the comics to educate.  I remember when our two eldest,  Tresy and David first took upon themselves to convince me that I should avail myself to the benefits of the education which life could not give me.  I listened over the weeks and months I am sure,  though I have no journal entry to verify that fact.

But I did listen and with trepidation, no doubt, began to look upon the comics in the morning to fill in what I inevitably lacked according to the two eldest.  And I became hooked.  It did not take long and my favorite soon became because I could relate with the myriad home crises,  For Better and Worse by Lynn Johnston.

I have a couple of the celebrated anniversary books,  the first one given to me  by the son of Tresy,  the fourth Joseph Harrison.  I  have loved these vestiges of another time and I think I will request the weekend edition of Chicago Tribune as a birthday gift.  I miss reading the comics and realize that a diet of hard lessons with no relief in  pictures,  is a diet with little flavor.

This photo of our Emma E. reading the comics during this time of self quarantine of the family is a lifting of Spirit for me.  Her grandfather Tresy  takes great pleasure in sending this photo from her parents.  Bless them all.  It is a heart lifter!

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When Each Day Is A Victory . . . and our hands touch. . . .

Oftentimes we wish for words to say the wonderful phrase, that gives motive or impetus to a frame of mind that catapults our committed to things of highest value.  Yet there may be no words to say what needs be said.  What is upfront is already between the eyes.

I remember looking in the mirror angrily because it was not the girl I saw yesterday, but my mother.  And the mate looks at himself when shaving one morning or swiping his beard and he says to the image in the mirror, I am my father.  And with anger, hopefully not the same morning, sitting across from each other you both concur your irritating premises.

On further thought the day yields to brighter things and sitting again at the table there is a comfortable presence.  The presence says to us that we have shared a number of years and have come through bruised and slightly jaded but agile still.

With the number of things needing time these days,  each day is a victory, however small.  I remember the times I prayed to pick up someone’s discarded victory.  My need for one even discarded was so great,  I would chase a throwaway.

We change into faded sweats and sandals and sit and do what the old folks did when we were young.  Now since we are them, the fit of it all when shared says we are good, aren’t we lucky?  And our hands touch.

As I Am. . . in faded sweats . . .

Love me as  I am
for I can be no other.
It is not that talk is unwanted, but
have not all our allotted words been said?

Time now just for silence, a shared one, for
the years add up and there is no time for Others. . .

It is time for Being. . .

There is a time to accept
all that we have become
through years of arduous labor.

Not time for keeping up nor caring to . .
to someone’s elusive measure.
A time not to apologize for
our faded sweats and sandals.

We dress for the street to be seen
but this time now is private.

And being shared, are we not fortunate?

So much the better to love each other
and find us more than all right.
To say I’m good with no apology

. . . because we are.

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