Archive | Love

You Will Fall In Love With Your Earth. . .

 

Tell me what it means. . .

With the leaking draft of the early consensus of the Roe v Wade controversy,  suddenly confronting me  are meanings of words and phrases I have used and hopefully explained my meanings.  I truly don’t know if my  meanings relate to what you think about the subjects I’ve written.

I would like to know what you think.  Not what you have read that someone else has thought.  No doubt it was the basis of your studies as well as mine.  And then you have spent time in a quiet place and  given yourself to the process of thought.  Over time it helps us form conclusions as well as give more substance to other questions. 

Learning is a full time work.  It is what I hurry to when supper is over and private time engulfs with hours of personal freedom.  Like I, you have taken off work clothes and in comfort admit to the night that you are ready.  For what is a personal choice. 

For me it seems minutes when I  look at the clock and wondering what happened to the evening.  And as I type this, the phrase  `life everlasting’  has meaning for me and I wonder if you have given thought to it.  I wonder what has been added to your understanding and where it has taken you. 

Most of  the people in my  growing  up life were Christians and said the Lord’s prayer every day and some times many times a day.  Included might be life everlasting as taught in Sunday School and said in conclusion to the prayer.  What meaning does it  hold?

It was in a bushel of phrases with the likes of `I remember’ and then, `why do I remember’ whatever has haunted me?  When I did my best, why was my life not working?  Why was I crying and why were they fighting and arguing?  The bushel was filling up fast with questions when I was telling the big people in my life why I did not believe what they said when I knew what I knew.  I was closer to my birth than they were so I remembered.

And when I came to `life everlasting’ it had meaning for me and it began with  forever and ever amen and amen.  And that did not mean lying on a cloud like many believed and were happy about.  It seemed to me that they were happy.

So now I ask you what does `life everlasting’ mean to you.  And how you came to that understanding.  Does it mean forever and ever for you?  Let me know because I am interested.  I don’t look for essays just a comment or two. 

We have been friends for a long time and I value our friendship.

Don’t Stare At The Moon…

Any farmer knows
you don’t stare at the moon too long.
You get a little soft in the head, they say.

What they really mean
is that magic overtakes you
and carries you to the place of green fields,
of orchards heavy with fruit
and cucumbers cultivated straight
as a shot of rye whiskey.

What they really mean is that the magic
will make you see fields to be seeded
and calves to be born
and worlds to be peopled.

What they really mean
is that you will fall in love
with your earth
and in awe watch the wheat weave its gold mat
right over your eyes.

It is a softness of the heart man fears,
for the myth must enforce
the hard head to blunt

the pain of life everlasting.

 

May 1987

art by Claudia Hallissey

2

They Are Reasons and what has taken almost a hundred years. .

Having been a newspaper clipper when living in Michigan with the Detroit Free Press,  I rediscovered  things.  One was Bob Talbert’s article speaking of Monsignor Francis X. former professor and rector of Sacred Heart Seminary and what he passionately preached to his students. . .

Watch your thoughts; they become words.
Watch your words; they become actions.
Watch your actions; they become habits.
Watch your habits; they become character.
Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.

(and reading texts of an elected Republican on the January 6th insurrection,
asking his henchmen,’ tell me what to say now’ I ask do you not ever think for your self?

And a clip from Neil Chethik’s column when asking his two year old for a blessing on their newly planted garden. . .’ instinctively he put his palm on mine and uttered the only prayer he knows. . .For life and love and all things good, we offer  up our thanks.’

I remember a line from one of the wonderful  women writers I clung to for wisdom on how  to live graciously and sensitively and with knowledge of the goddesses. . .when one of the characters in a book not remembered said  I cannot live in a world where I do not thank someone for this  wondrous life.

When we are inclined to thank SOMEONE for this good fortune, how about  God or Gods or Yahweh or Father or Christ or parent-gods or godparents?    Or the street sweepers or the sanitation workers or LIFE with CAPITALS?

As my favorite poet writes. . ‘the heart translates and makes it all human.’  Amen and Amen.

(being a daughter of the original Jenny and having the jenny genes ensconced, I noticed  that she gave males great latitude and females none.  Her teaching obligation to her children was that fathers could be easily forgiven, but mothers should never be an object of explanation or worse, embarrassment.

In this my frame of thought, I hold everyone stiffly to a high bar.  I know that and also  it is a place of isolation.  The cognizant fact is that we all perform better than we expected we would.  Considering . . everything about us.

I have been the GOAD my commitments pushed against I learn.  I still try to emulate my Mentor.  I hope someone will tell me I do better than I think.

The photo of my grandson and my  youngest great granddaughter are reasons for my life.  It is the grip of the father’s hand on his daughter and the sureness of her stride at not quite two years that tells me  my words and actions have taken heart.

This has been my contribution to LIFE.  I need nor want no other.)

4

See Same Things But Worlds Are Different. . . .

 We look at the same things we say.  The things we look at are there, but what we see is not the same.  I repeat again the time I was asked by the psychiatrist when my world crashed what I saw going down Michigan avenue.  I closed my eyes and told him and when done he whistled through his teeth and said, ‘you realize that other people do not see what you see.’  And when I was silent said, ‘you don’t.’

All my life I tried to be like others and thought I was.  But was constantly told to be careful what I say.  My mother first cautioned me and I did not know why until I heard her justifying to her priest, denying her teaching me what I talked about.  ‘I don’t know who teaches her!’  Except I was a kid and did not have a social life outside of grammar school. 

I was a farm kid in my teenage years and rode the bus to school with my siblings and came home with them on the same school bus. 

My love of learning prevailed and I later tutored my fiance  thru Officer Training (while we were in Military life).  Married at 20 and pregnant for the first three years, I did the homework for my husband (straining to support us) for his Master’s social work with good reviews and marks saying homework essays were good thinking and outside the box with A’s.

Since we depended on the public for our living, I was cautioned daily to watch what I said so as not to lose public support.  Three years in a new city with little money and no family to call on and being parent on premise and home maintenance manager left me a shambles.  Rebuilding began.

I have written about journaling and study so I have notes, over a half century  of them  backing my writing. My perception has always been criticized because I assumed I saw what others saw.  I will be 91 in May and I have finally made peace with what I see.  And what I hear.   Why has it taken almost a hundred years? 

Our family friend John says maybe my survival depended on my thinking I was not different and yet this difference in perception allowed me to live.  The bareness of others’ sight would have killed me.  Just as criticizing my interpretation of what others are saying, by elevating their thoughts, I give them the highest meaning I know.   To hear another say that was not what was meant. . but that was what I heard.  I must believe what I see and hear.  My life depends on whether it is a real car I see jumping the curb.

I scribe my teachers calling  my perception kaleidoscopic.  I will quote from a journal entry editing best as I can aspects of what has taken me almost a hundred years to live with and now talk about. 

The journal date is Oct 24, 1991. It came about with a dream of Pewabic pottery of which I knew nothing.  I  scribed. . . 

You were working with tiles and with the pottery  from a distant past.  The materials were not as ancient as you depict simply because they were of borrowed times.  When speaking of borrowed times, within the past  and present, or past and future there is a melding that defies the linear description common to where you are.  If we take the computer where you sit and work and transport it to another time, it would not have the functions  but the rudiments would be the same.  Ability to work with the hands would be utilized  and the time differential would be such that there would be little difference except in the illusion, i.e.materials.

Even the seepage would be there, the machine and in some form a part of where you would be, and what you would be doing.  Hence the term, bleed through.  It seems that this area of thinking is common to you and presents so much difficulty for you see what you see from a kaleidoscopic view bringing into focus bits and pieces of several dimensions.

It is a difficult state to be in but you can utilize this by taking a more comprehensive look at things and bringing to it what you can see with eyes that work a bit differently.

It would seem that from a distance all would be of a piece, but when the eyes view a particular scene with so much input from other dimensions, a new dimension is thus created.

You would then find others dismiss as inconsequential what you see, which is not the case.  For what you see is many dimensional and the differing perspectives that you propose would do much to enhance the ability of others to understand those things needing a larger premise.

But when you describe your Pewabic dream you already ask the question what were you doing there and when was this.  You already have the ability to ensconce yourself in the time frame you wish to work.  Dreaming is the dimension where you learn what it is you do and bring your abilities to bear.  You utilize the classrooms everywhere and mesh with folks of the times.  They know you and wish for your coming.  You speak their languages and understand their desires speaking to their hearts.  We ask too, how does she do this?  By thrusting your heart into place and using it as your springboard.

What we ask now that you present this from such a limited piece of a dream so vividly, that you take the information and relay it.  Do not lay down the tools you have been given.  Time now to give to others some semblance of stability in a time of no normalcy.’

It seems like it has been a walk in the park.  It has not. This has been the hardest life lived.  David asked just before he left us how did I know to do it?  Do what, David, what did I do?

I was born with an open head and remembered the world that  taught me my word is my bond, my honor, my trust and my love. Where other worlds here are questioned, it is hard to know of other worlds and pretend you don’t so they won’t call you crazy.  But to go to church with hope that the God you believe in speaks true of life everlasting, no one questions .

Someone cared enough to stay the route and showed me what unconditional love was.  The lesson was taught well because it has been the rod that held me upright.  I don’t remember the teacher but obviously that Someone was a good teacher.  The lesson took but the teacher was the example with no name.

Kaleidoscope perspective pertains to a new way of seeing.  I did and therefore you will do also.  The Jenny genes lodged in all of us and it has been a hard row to go.  The numbers are many and some have been tragic.  Hopefully the successes when counted will be many.  Familiar?  Evolution is what it is called.  Do for one and all will do.   

But apply this precept to other forms of life.  Like to that of birds or other creatures who do momentous things.  The question arising, is how do they do that?  Or why?  See where it takes one?  The learning never stops and life becomes a virtual wonderland.  Try it on for size. 

Trust me, boring will not be a word you use.

 

The Roses Are For You. . .for keeps. . .

Long before the world ever was. . . .

As co-creator and creature both of the universe, it is man’s prerogative and innate yearning to stand erect.  To bow down all the time leaves one eventually on one’s stomach.  Man rose from the crawling position.  There are too many yet who find the child’s position too comfortable.

To stand erect means that certain responsibilities must be accepted.  And that includes responsibility for one’s person and attitudes.  There are worlds yet where man will find the child’s position more comfortable and comforting.

To be adult means that one has to survive the inner turmoil and the outward condemnation which the world applies.

You do not defame the heavens.  The heavens are not all that peaceful and without its own turmoil.  There are many cliques yet which aim to destroy what man in his finest moments tried to accomplish.

We continue to say at every life’s departure that we go to a better place.  Unless our life’s pattern has been to work toward that better place, we may find ourselves again learning the lessons we failed to learn but in lesser circumstances.

Like primer on bare wood, being and doing good must be innate.  The Source of our impulses must be the Greater Heart.

The Roses Are For You. . .

I tell you true.  You were known
before you came here to this vast land.
A waste for some, a paradise for others. . .
for one a dim place, for another the sun shines.

You took upon your spirit a work, a job,
looking to make a difference.
You said to send you where your heart
could change the world. . .

You were given your wish, hard as it seems.
You have not failed.  Your ripples are felt
on unnamed shores and even the unborn
know your thoughts well. . . .

Come, be kind to one the heavens
sing praises for.  Your work is virtuous
and your talents creative.  We make bet on
the one winning the trifecta.

The roses are yours.  For keeps.

 

(it was scribed and it was a Given.  I share the message. We are known.)  

 

 

Often the Larger Picture is Universal Life Enhanced. . . . .

What I have learned in these past times is that there are some things that cannot be improved upon.  Whether a recipe that has been perfected or something written that has stood the test of my time, meaning my physical life.  This is one of them.  And my measure has been my life of almost 91 years.  As I often ask my beleaguered son, how close to a hundred do I have to get?  And he answers you are not there yet.  So, I reprint this with gratitude to my teachers, the muses and whoever holds the sparklers.  With love and a deep AAhh  MMenn.

 

Jon Meacham, historian, told the story of when President Reagan was in the hospital after being shot, he was wiping up some water in the bathroom when a surprised visiting President Bush asked him what he was doing.  I spilled water and I didn’t want the nurse to get blamed for it he said. 

These are the small things about us that we leave as our legacy.  Not the big things that we sometimes are noted for.  Not always the Salk vaccine that Jonas Salk saved the world from polio but the Conscious Evolution he taught I came across in the interview when he wanted to save humanity from themselves.

We are beyond the times of physical survival as such evidenced by growing numbers.  Now we must emphasize the human values we do not have time for that are taken by devices with addicting instant gratification.  Or even casual relations we indulge in that make us not proud.

Where conscious action determines the potential in human behavior across the planet because we cared enough to do something right and good that enhanced life for just one person.   Because of its inherent goodness, it became a lifesaving principle for all humanity. 

And the small, light touch I wrote about that I appreciate as you put your hand on the small of my back to help me up the curb.  It is a small curb to viewers but to me a mountain to climb.   You know the why of the kiss on your forehead as you depart telling me that you are not feverish. 

As I see you both hug your loves with a quick crush to let them know the strength of your arms in that loving moment.  The small things that will be your legacy also. 

That will be the difference we make, we all make in lives we touch even perfunctorily.  Seemingly innocuous, seemingly without feeling.  But it makes in enormity, the teaching lesson confirming to us that we are of worth, that we are good.  (it is my song, vrh)

In Looking Back

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

The small deeds by the young
take on logistics of magnitude.

The small 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.

 

photo by the late Diane Rybacki
but forever a sister. . . .

On Earth. . . 1954-1985

 

 

 

 When David Died . . . . 

I say that David took the hands off my clocks.
 It was the greatest gift he could give me.
I tire of running my life with a large hand and a small hand.
No time for this, hurry for that.  Do this now, do that before.
I hate it.  With a passion.

I want to immerse myself in time and swim in it.
Feel it around me yielding and yet holding me up.
I want to feel the eternity of it and
I want to see my house and yard
at different times under the sun. 
To be able to say that in the morning
this is precisely how they look.
I want the information stored in my Memory Bank
for those times when I feel bereft.

I want to see the moon rise and give way to the sun. 
I want to see the rainbow
around the moon and say again,
we are in for a big snow.
I need to revel in the mundane task
of shaking out the kitchen rugs
on the back porch and feel the cold boards
beneath my slippers and the cold air
stealing beneath my clothes.
I want to keep looking at the moon with a glance,
because no farmer stares at the moon too long
and say hello David.

And when I feel very homesick, I will again
as I have in the past, take my coffee
out on the porch and sit beneath the midnight sky 
with the stars daring me to look up
and identify them and again

 revel in this multifaceted existence called Life.

 

How  fortunate I have been in this magnificent time in being a parent, a mother.  David was one of three brothers, my best teachers.  To have had them sitting at our table for those years we could claim them made us rich.  We were blessed to have David in our lives for 31 years.  It would have been a tragedy to us not to have had him.  And for those who knew him . . . there is not a day that he is not thought of. 

He is blessed assurance that life is everlasting.   That . . . we know.                 

You Stayed The Course. . . .

 

 

You Stayed The Course

Only you saw what you saw.
Yet you stayed the course
and plowed the field
and now the plow is lifted.
We will work.
The children will have their toys and
the world will have the words and
in due time you come home
and we frolic.

 


‘Til the morning lingers onto day

and the night never ends;
’til the stars forget to shine
and the moon hides its light
from the ne’er do wells who take
so much for granted.

We, love, will drink that libation
that holds the variegated colors
and will chortle from this world
onto the next.

There will be love and laughter;
there will be joy and there will be rest
this world has not been able to grant.

We will have brought peace
to the memories and
no longer will they haunt you.
The ancestors will rest
and man will look forward                                                                                         
to what he can accomplish.
The world will blossom;
all worlds and all times.

The path in the jungle has been cut.                                                                   

 

Jan 14,’89   journal
August 29,’14

art by Claudia Hallissey

Our Sense of Time. . . and other things. . .

 

Sometimes our actions seem out of context.   It is as if we are dancing to a song not in the musical library.   It is not heard by anyone else,  just us.   It is not foreign to us,  but seems puzzling to everyone watching.   We know that it is still us,  just not the us that  people know. 

All of life, and human especially is likened to a mosaic.   I wonder sometimes where some of the pieces come from when they are not of this lifetime.  They have a fit though in the larger picture. 

My boundaries are no more since my inside has no outside. What I am trying to describe is that we are more than we appear to be.  How there is a depth to us always eluding,  never definite,  never static.   That if we had the ability to focus differently and some do, we would see ourselves as a substance far greater than three dimensional.   When we put our arms around beloveds, we are embracing the human family from which we all rise.

When  I heard the term ‘a sense of snow’ being described as a sense of those who can look at a footprint in the snow and tell what animal walked, how large,  what way the wind was blowing, how far the animal travels, where he had come from and many other things, I understood it.     

I immediately thought there are those with a sense of snow,   a sense of time,  a sense of destiny.   Those who make connections.  Given a word,  they take it and whip it into the present and use the premise to show how we connect.   This is an area that adds to depth.  Those who can read the handwriting on the wall and know who wrote it because they understand the language.  So we say they have ‘a sense of’, meaning everything one can think of to connect with the subject.   

And those who can see what the future holds because of the footprint in the snow.   A sense of snow.   It is a wonderful term.  It describes fully those with the ability to hear the cries in crisis and those who see themselves as part of a mosaic, not even consciously realizing where all the pieces come from, but still can identify the pieces as part of the larger picture.   We are a mosaic, within a mosaic, within a mosaic , ad infinitum.  The sense of it all is vast.

The nonsense question?   Who am I?    The real question is who am I not?

Sense Of Time

There is a sense of time
stretching from here to  
other worlds whose names
are not in my vocabulary.
I am certain of here because
this is where I am.

I pushed away the snow
no longer pristine as first it came.
I took off my coat; too heavy now
with the approaching spring.
Too bad I think that the season of snow
is now so short.
Once it embraced the whole of me
that looked upon its arrival as enticing as
whipped cream on a piece of pie.

Its anticipation included holidays
that swallowed wicked witches,
soon followed by grateful hearts
 seated about the table,
swollen with the summer’s harvest.

I put away the significant things,
sorting them for another year.
carefully storing memories
to be added to a life
already crowded with them.

I will remember this holy season
because of my fill of joy,
of heart shedding happiness.
In this world are the ways
we measure lives in holidays,  
in holy days, in births and deaths.
only because of

our sense of time.

Are We the Promise Given? . . . ..

The first week in December found me transported to Emergency with atrial fibrillation.  Since then it has been a trial of finding what medications are  acceptable to this body with not so many adverse reactions.  I have found myself not nice and complaining.  So conserving energy, my work has been my best of what my loyal readers have said to me during these many past seasons of love and memories. 

I thank all of you who have gifted me with your time in this very difficult segment of our lives which has brought about stress and behaviors to consciousness we thought we had outgrown and learned better.  It does give us hope though that we can restore the goodness we have worked for in ourselves and community. 

Remorse and regret need not be attached to our names.  We have time to erase them with hands to lift each other up.  This is who we are because we have been taught well and we have worked.  To all of you who are part and inhabitants of this human family, I wish a heart filled with joy this holy season whatever your persuasion. 

I am restored again to a compassionate frame of mind that shows we know what substantive values we hold that help us enhance our humanity.

And though we do not share others’ beliefs, we can at least hold the candle for each other as we make our way up.  I bless.  And eagerly accept your blessing.  To bless is a gift given to us when first we draw breath with soul.  Use it frequently.

do you hear the angels?     . . .                                                      

Lifetimes lived secreted
behind the wooly frames of memory.                                                               

We jog the frames
of Christmases past. . . .

Scents of
pine boughs and holly berries, mince pies and cranberries.

Sounds of
apple crisp snow and retorting icicles.
crackling fires and laughter.

And the sound of silence,
as love stretches through all dimensions to encircle Thee and Me.

As real as tangible,
as the star beams on the evergreen.
A promise. . . .
given and kept.

Do you hear the angels?

A Sacred Obligation . . . to think . .


(For my new readers and for those who need to be reminded, I share again this vignette.  It speaks to how we are connected, one to another as well as to the invisible worlds.  Just as Christians celebrate this holy season, others also celebrate their holy days as Belief demands of them.  We live by Beliefs that signal our inner knowledge to greater reverence.  The unseen world guides and directs us in ways we often choose not to acknowledge.  By not acknowledging, we lose sight of what can be universal progress in peace.  When we accept the differences in ourselves as well as others, we will accept and extend this acceptance with no reservation.  Our intent must always be to broaden our focus so that we live in harmony.   It is our obligation to the sacredness of Life.) 

 

 

 

Do I have more minutes to finish? There was no time for answers because the little one with a dash was out of sight. In a few minutes he was back and announced, I finish. Having learned to wait while private things were finished, I waited again while he proceeded to his room. 

I followed him shortly to find him in pajamas and ready to crawl into the high bed. Well, should it be a story to tell or a story to read I asked. I am ready for you to choose.

Tell me what it is we should do to get you ready for sleep? And I waited. Minutes ticked away while the choice was being made. Patiently, again, what will it be?

His face took on a faraway look as if searching for a memory. I recognized the look and wondered where he would go for that memory to take shape. I knew it well. It was a look that had been on my face many times with voices telling me to stop dreaming.  I needed to pay attention to what was at hand and not waste so much time dreaming.

So because of those reprimanding voices, I knew to wait.  He asked if I would sing the one I singed when I singed with other voices. He knowed that song!

What song is that? I wondered. There was no time for me to sing with other voices that he would have heard. Like this, he said and in his high soprano he sang his  Gllloooo oooooorrrrrrriiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaa and I knew.

Unbelievably I knew. The music hung on his tongue and in his throat as if he were tasting a delicate sweet.

When did you ever hear me sing that? I asked. Before I came to you, he said.  Before I came.  I heard you singed and my heart singed with you.

I knowed I could tell you some time if I just ‘membered it. I promised I would ‘member so I could hear it again and again. I knowed that you would ‘member if I singed it. And you do! he said, you do!

And I believed him because I gave up choir when he was due to be born. I took this child into my arms and sang the song he so wondrously remembered.

And when I came to the part he remembered his voice faithfully shadowed mine. And another posit was added to the Memory Bank but who would believe it? Who??????

Except the many someones who entered their place of belief every time they bent their knees.

Those are the who. . . .on whom our lives rest. . . . 

Powered by WordPress. Designed by WooThemes