Archive | Love

A State Of Mind. . . . .

  A State of Mind     

 

‘Country’ is surely as much a state of mind as it is a way of life.  If it is a place, it need not be in this time and space.    It can indeed be buried so deep in memory that in the normal course of affairs, it will not be unearthed. 

Just to recognize the feeling is sufficient.  One can live in the center of the largest metropolis, yet have within the pulsating heart the yearning for ‘country’.  And find its expression, it will.

The eyes will hunger for a skyline with no buildings.  And we will find the largest field we can and pick out the hedgerows and swiftly identify the birds nesting.  The heart will be alert for the sudden movement in the shrubs and note with delight the brown eyes of the trusting doe. 

The feet will shed their years in the cool grasses and pick up  the butterfly net with the youngest child and take to the fields.  It is the metamorphosis of the most profound kind.  It is the body coming to life in however brief a time.  And sometimes, too brief.

For eyes too long held to the grimy snow of cities,  in the one whose heart brims with ‘country’  even the first city snowfall will bring to mind other times where ghosted angels cavorted in knee high drifts. 

In those very eyes the star valentine will be seen and be recognized by a similar soul trudging alongside.  It is a song to be heard and Nature calling to her own.

Touches of ‘country’ will be found everywhere.  Sometimes an ancient bowl and pitcher will have a special place to be handled carefully with dreams attached.   Or a checkered cloth with pottery will be set for dinner.  And cornflowers in a crystal vase. 

Stories will be born unto these memories brought in from deep wells of yearning and they will spring to life and hurtle into the future with internal power.

Carefully crafted wooden toys, highly polished, will seem to belong to another time.  The receiving child will still delight in what is different but unmistakably made  with love.  And the circled guests will marvel at a cobbler floating its berries in heavy cream and shush the health fanatics with ‘it doesn’t  happen every day’.

These are tributes to another time and place and also to those who keep alive a way of life for those of us less fortunate.  And the loss is felt when lives are run by the second hand on the clock, when there are no fields in center cities for children to run barefoot in grasses.

Country people whose lives are lived with their eyes to the clock, their senses to the change in wind and darkening skies and wheat fields ready on the moment for harvesting, may not readily agree.  But the differences are valuable and meaningful.  In their presence one senses the difference immediately.

It is that imperceptible hesitancy in answering a question that articulates keenly variables affecting an answer.  It is in that glance that takes in the horizon, ‘whence cometh my help’ before a commitment is made.  It is in the delicate thrust of a child’s hand in answer to a greeting.  And the firm grip of the parents’ on yours.

These come from an innate love and respect for our Earth Mother.

These are the signs of ‘country’, simple, articulate, trusting when trust is extended.  Beautiful, artfully crafted with loving hands, whether from the oven or the workshop or the knitting needles.  Signs that we cling to because our lives depend on them and they do.

So when the first snow flies in countable flakes, keep me in mind.  I will be searching the snow for the earth angels.  And I will find you.

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What if it is true. . . just for today. . .

What if it is true. . . . .just for today. . . .

 The thought occurred to me what if whatever we think  is true. . .  just for today?  How would it affect me and life around me?  How would it affect you being related in thought with me?

What if it were true that thoughts are things and have a weight?  That everything crossing our minds is true somewhere, what would their effect be?  And what if our thoughts hang in the air, ripe for anyone’s picking?

Supposing, just supposing what we are thinking is considered prayer by the heavens?  Would we be embarrassed? Because we  approach our Thanksgiving holy days of gratitude, can we try something?

We are a special country on this earth.  And many the world over, envy us.  We were settled because people fled persecution for many reasons and one of them being they wished to worship in their own way.  We are a country composed of  the world’s religions and it makes us special because sacred customs  are honored.

My mentor, the Nazarene said you give me a drink of water and you give a drink to all.  Or what you do for one, all will do for the each.  When you do something kind, it is a way of giving your blessing to everyone you meet.  It is a gift we all can give simply because we breathe the same air.

Since you are reading this, I assume you learned to read in kindergarten when I did .  I read the Dick and Jane stories about families not like mine.  I also learned to be kind to the one sitting next to me and not to hurt feelings, to be gentle. 

Which was a big lesson to learn because those sitting next to me were different than me and were not allowed to come to my house to play.  We all had to learn that different can be a  big lesson because in many ways you see me as different than you.

So let us  be helpful and do good.    Today we will think kindly about each other and give our blessings.  We try for happy memories for all and send our thoughts skyward so that whoever finds them will say thank you!

Be it true. . . just for today have our thoughts be prayers and see where they go.  We can do it. . . .just for today.  I attach my name to mine.  You too?

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He Watch-ed Me. . . he watch-ed me. . . .

This is my birthday gift to my inlaw daughter Claudia and my granddaughter great Emma E.  They almost share the same birthdate just one day apart.  Emma E. will hear this blue boy story many times and will come to love hearing them.  She knows she walks on her toes because she was a dancer before she was a baby to them all.  She told her mother this.  To the birthday girl and birthday grandmother, my love to you both in a heart hug.  I am glad you both chose me to come to.  I have loved you both from  forever.

 

Can we make the snowman now,  the little one asked.   Almost time,  I said,  almost time.   Well, he said,  when will it be the right time?   And I asked him to think about it.   He was still for a minute and then asked me what I meant. 

Well, I said,  there is a right time and a not so right time about things.   Can you name some things that have a right time?   He looked at me and with a bright smile that showed gleaming teeth,  and said, yes!!!   Well then,   I said,  tell me.

And he looked at me and said that it was always a right time to make cookies.   It was a right time to eat ice cream.   And it was a right time to take care of those littler than you.   And it is always a right time to put your toys away when you are ready for bed.

I agreed with all of those and I said that was good thinking.  And then I asked for examples of things that don’t have a right time. Can you think of some and tell me what those are?

Welllll. . . . he said, the not so right time is when you ask me to do something and I am not ready because I am not finished with what I am doing.

Intrigued, I asked, what can you possibly be doing that I don’t know about and especially when it is the right time? And he looked at me with wonder, puzzled. . . . . you don’t know?   Nooooo, I said, I don’t.

Well, he said, when I am doing private things and ‘specially when I am telling secrets and those are private things.  When I am talking to my friends that you don’t see.

And when do you do that?  I asked.   When I play and whisper things to them.   They whisper back but you can’t hear them.   But we have talks and they are my friends.   Who are they?,  I asked.   These are good friends from before.   When,  before ?,  I asked.   Before I came to you,  he said.   They are my forever friends, he said.   Forever.

Hold onto them,  I said.   Hold tightly to them.   And you be their forever friend.   Tell me next time you talk so that I can wait till you are through.   I know,  he said that you have forever friends.   How do you know this?,   I asked.   I see you move your lips and I know you are talking to your forever friends.   I watch-ed you, he said.   I watch-ed you.

And then I hugged this little forever friend who watch-ed me.

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The Workers Are Few. . . feeling used?. . .

 

Feeling Used?  Of Course!

And the call came and because panic ensued,  the young one got dressed and the night found him getting another vehicle running and a friend grateful to be driving home.  I asked him do they realize what they ask?  No clue, gram.  Not a clue.  They are scared to death and hope no one approaches their stalled car. 

And an other finds her time called upon to transfuse a parent with soothing words and tangibles.  Her time for making a living takes her days. And an other finds his talents are siphoned to fallouts of matchstick houses that need first aid.  And grandparents across the world these days still are pledged to keep the grandchildren from self destructing. 

And because I live with a son and in law daughter,  a sibling said, you are live in help!  As opposed to a facility that does not allow access to a kitchen where I can cook comfort foods and bake cookies?  I have been perfecting signature foods for almost 80 years and have become quite good, I think.  Where I can sit near a fireplace and drink coffee and absorb heat to thaw icy limbs to feel human?

I remember 10 and 12 hour days when I would have gone on bended knee with gratitude to find dinner prepared to welcome me home.  Or when the children were toddlers to have an afternoon for a nap or a leisurely bath.  Most grandparents have these memories and know the priceless value of them.  Or an evening for dinner out. 

Taken for granted.  Must.  Workers with conscience always are taken for granted.  Heaven has to count on us so we keep the classroom open.   

And times now flood our days with information. We feel inadequate and not caring if we are not quick to comment with knowledge about the national scene which goes from chaos to madness daily.  No one seems to have a handle on anything and no one assumes accountability.  So we have no decisions. 

Any thoughtful person realizes that the Sages and Gods are not up to decision making.  With knowledge of simultaneous times (everything happened yesterday or is happening now) most have forgotten the details of earth life.  So complex has daily life become, it takes a hands on knowledge to come through on a daily basis. 

It seems we have given no thought to updating our beliefs and myths that solace our days.  What does it matter?  A whole lot when you find yourself no longer breathing earth’s rarified air and you are waking up someplace you do not want to be.  No one wants to take on the Book of Revelation to change an iota that has been written.  Scared to death we are lest we be swiped to oblivion. 

But we don’t need an anthropomorphic god to be decent and caring people.  Or knowledgeable.  Our God of Choice is who animates us and is our GodWithin.  And if we don’t like who we are,  it is time to take ourselves to a classroom.  To school. 

Ambient adherence I call it.  Ambient adherence.   We are the example of what it means to live in a world and absorb its ambience unknowingly.  Like breathing in Covid 19 unbeknownst.  Because  someone not having symptoms is contagious.  Asymptomatic. We will kill each other and not know why and learn nothing. 

Education is the only answer to deal with a world where everyone is at a different juncture of understanding.  That is the way Evolution works.  We are not allowed to take a step toward the next until we integrate understanding of where we are.  This is the ethical structure I have come to understand.  It is God?  Ethically speaking.  Because all the accoutrements accompanying each step must be integrated and that means things like kindness and compassion. 

The subjective things understood  depends on the GodWithin.   Painful?  You bet.  Otherwise …we go down the tube again. 

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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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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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