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Shared Silence

Shared Silence

In rereading a journal entry of many years ago I wrote with little editing, ‘that my husband of more than a half century went out the door this morning with little communication.  Though there was little talk, there was a communion of shared history in the house.

I think that has replaced talking, being more a feeling than anything.  Not preferable, but the status.

The feeling is that we are what we are and there is no changing at this time.   It was a matter of love me as I am for I can be no other.

It is not that communication would not be welcome.  But even that I really don’t know.  Growth is singular and individual, depending on the soul’s need and intent.

There comes a time that is past communication.  There is a time for silence.  Silence , I would suppose is a time for Being.’

(I add this thought today,  ‘a time for Being, not like in closing shop, but Out Of Time, meaning outside of Time.  Elsewhere.  A soon time.)

Shared Silence

It is a time
past the time of talk,
past the time of argues.

There is a time of silence,
a shared silence,
a time to accept,
a time to simply
slip into old slippers and Be.

No matter the world,
this time is ours.
Maybe not to fill
all the empty spaces
but given time, blends them

into a communion of shared silences.

 

artwork unknown

 

 

 

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In Thanksgiving. . .Because it is. . .

Sometimes I look upon past work and see a new perspective, a new meaning.  And sometimes I cannot remember the person I was who wrote the poem or prose.  It is someone who has made up a portion of who I am and I bring her to the work I read today.  And I am all who I am, what I was and who I am becoming.  That someone I become will surprise me I am sure.

There will be more differences noted not only the physical ones all see.  The subtle changes may seem minute but large to me.  Glimpses are given embracing memories long faded but now gaining form.  Life lived with dedication to commitments leaves few regrets.  And what were considered obstacles now become mountains that have been climbed successfully. 

We are in the midst of a vast universe.  Vast.  And we are more than what we appear.  Our connection to All That Is is real and wondrous.  I bend at the knees easily.  In Thanksgiving.

Because It Is. . .

You cannot dream things that never were
for in a sometime and a somewhere
they’ve taken place and left their indelible memory
on your mind.

Only to be remembered when a slim shadow
casts its spell across your life
and causes you to bring forth a relic,
a piece of the dream that had its substance
in a far time when love was pocketed
near your heart and brought forth to heal
a wound, to make life complete.

Never to question why or why not.
Simply because it is.

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With Knees Bent. . . .

 

With Knees Bent. . . .

There are those who  have learned the ways of the world but neglected to learn the lessons that might  have led to the same conclusions with understanding.

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In the midst of agonies, there is the absurdity.  But to carry the absurdity past its point, belabors it.

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The lessons have been taught over and over and now the students will either come to class on their own or continue recess.

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Today’s man only allows 30 seconds to capsule our thoughts.  Anything more smacks of lecturing and lecturing brings back a harness that mandatory education is.  Strange that he has forgotten ordinary conversation which once we engaged in happily.

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To be less than compassionate is to befoul the learning.  To be less than one’s best is to compromise.

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The mind set to turn a particular direction is already bent.

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Only as we observe that life is everlasting and neverending,  and the challenge is in the journey with hope,  mankind will tolerate the fact that destiny is in his hands.

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The greatest lessons are those that require digesting but man prefers it all to be done while he sleeps.  The most meaningful are those of length that he must trudge with footwork and those wrought in the places of ablution.

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We are out to lunch when an Other deals with what we are not aware of.

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We can take events and make good porridge from fermented oats.  Sometimes it is grain gone wild.

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There will be change simply because there will be shame.

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When what is done is done in good Grace and a full heart,  there will be knees bent at the bed’s edge.

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Let the music in my heart be heard in the spheres.  And let the heart interpret correctly.

 

photo by Joe Hallissey Sr.

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Mind Benders. . . .

I consider it fun doing research and often I come upon something that deserves more thought.  With the quote comes more research about what the author meant.  I call them mind benders.  It is about discovering what meaning it has given to my life.  The following are simple but a storehouse of depth within. 

Mind Benders. . .

A house needs a Grandma in it.                      Louisa May Alcott

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That which is not good for the beehive cannot be good for the bees.
                                                                    Marcus Aurelius  C161AD

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The battle for conservation is part of the eternal conflict between right and wrong.                                                                                                                            John Muir

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Sometimes I wonder whether the world is being run by smart people who are putting us on or imbeciles who really mean it.                                                                                                                           Mark Twain

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The intellect of the wise is like glass; it admits the light of heaven and reflects it.          Augustus Hare

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To believe what is true for you is true for all men.                                                           Ralph Waldo Emerson

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We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark;  the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the Light.                                                                                                                                               Plato

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You become what you feed your mind.                                                                           Veronica Hallissey

 

photo of Northern Michigan
by Joe Hallissey Sr.

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A Convocation of Saints . . .

 

Not Fun and Games. . .but in communion . .

My eldest in a conversation at one time spoke of the torture of those given knowledge in the inner journey.  He said there was no one with whom to share what has been given so they drag in nobility aspects of it.  He was a young man then and he was right.

The need for physical arms around one is not lessened in the light of cosmic awareness.  If anything it points up painfully how few there are who share or can share in this journey.  It points up even how very few there are who know of what we speak.

The desire to clasp hands across the table with a like mind is so intense that the desire is quickly dismissed with uttered arguments.  Yet they are just moments.

One learns to walk in communion with invisible friends and these times do make the empty house full.  I walked through those rooms with warm woods and the empty house was full.  The voices of long ago loves occasionally break through and ears ache from pressures of invisible friends.  There is a convocation of saints and the company of good minds still present.

I can throw back my head and laugh at a thought co-mingling with mind and know the presence of a kindred spirit.  You have too and to the questioning glances of those standing by explain. . . ‘a thought just struck me funny’ . . .and wish they were such good friends with themselves to be able to laugh out loud.

I can weep with unstoppable tears at ancient anguish hidden within centuries of genetic history.  I am given love and have the capacity to love the Spirit within me and to love the Spirit and struggle of the Other.  I am pieced and peace-d.

And in the company of those who love, I rest.  It is a way station.  The journey is unending.

The Welcome. . .

Come, we walk.  Take my hand.
Lean on me for a time to gain
a respite for a work unending.

I stand by you, ready
to catch you if you fall.
My arms are steady and ready.

I will not stumble, so do not be afraid.
It has been a hard journey
and you tire.

I’ve stood the watch and marveled
at your tenacity, your perseverance.
Though you faltered, you stood upright

without hesitation.  Now breathe easy
for a job well done.  No one
could have done it better.

Welcome to the winner’s circle.
It was worth the run. . . .don’t you think?

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There Is A Balance. . . lest we forget. . . .

 

Too late we learn life holds the sharpest knife.  Cutting the loaf accordingly and with compassion passes the butter.

Retribution for whatever deeds is a commonplace happening but there will always be those who think that the die is not cast by them.  They are and always have been.  That the intricasies of complex living seem too diverse and too extraordinary coats the attitude that all is coincidence.

But it is not.  For every action there is an inaction and a reaction.  Which are one and the same.  An inaction is a decided action in zeroes.  From this there will always be the decided game of chance being played and the players somehow think they will escape the consequences.

But in time, their time, there is a reactive legislation which prevails.  And no thing goes forgotten.  It is written in the wind, so to speak.  And Nature will have her day.  Always.  Life will have its totality, always.

What is sown is also reaped.  People understand this only in the most banal terms.  But all these precepts are ideas of long standing and have come to their own fruition.  Listen well.

Cliché’s are true and have a substance leaking energies which do not dissipate until satisfied.  There is a balance to all of life.  Lest we forget.

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She Went To The Wedding. . . .

                                                         Emma E. with her Grandfather Hallissey

So She Went To The Wedding. . .

It was an evening affair.  Black and white attire requested if possible and Emma E. complied.  With a flower in her hair.  It was a union of hearts and arms resting about each other all evening.   An uncle was married to a winsome woman and everyone was happy.

Especially the youngest member of the small invited gathering who was never out of sight or hearing.
She even had ear mufflers, sound protectors, in pink to muffle the noise and music at occasions now that are magnified.  I could not attend but I have some wonderful photos taken that have me smiling at how life proceeds amidst changes and fortunately some things virtually unchanged.

Emma E. is almost 10 months old and we are grateful with the wondrous care she receives because as all life should be called, a miracle.  Born at 1 pound 12 ounces,  she has blossomed into a growing, outgoing and curious baby.  Her checkups are wonders in themselves.  Soon she will be walking out the door.  Pray that her guardian angels are alert and not sleeping.  She will try to outsmart them, I’m sure.  And she will.

                                                                       Last week’s photo

 

photo of Emma E. with grandfather
taken by granduncle, John S. Hallissey

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Forever Is Happening Now. . .

The miracle of life is that though we all hold different perspectives on everything,  each of us, beast or human,  we seem to hold an anchoring desire which is survival.  And that desire somehow is enough to keep us afloat for however long. 

When we fail, we all fail and go down the tube together.  And pick ourselves up and begin again.

The differing perspective is matched every once in awhile by another in part or whole and when it happens is met with a startled ‘we know each other don’t we’?  thought. 

The heavens do not look kindly on such alliances because little work would get done when relief comes with much fun.   Which is why isolation is often the state of the differing souls and loneliness the condition. 

Once recognized as a chosen state,  life becomes a dedicated ceremony.  And the celebration often at the end becomes the enlightenment knowing the party just begins. 

 

Forever is Happening Now. . . 

Was it a thousand years ago
or just yesterday when you stood
at my front door as a guest for dinner?

My eyes caught your
brown wing tipped shoes that
I recognized from another time.

I followed the path to your face
and there was an electric moment of recognition.
I wanted to say I know you, don’t I?

Followed of course would be to say
good to see you again, yet knowing
we were new to each other.

It was another time in a place
of no name now but it was a time
locked in forever.  I knew then as I do now

that time is a happening for this place
with the Earth names we’ve memorized for ourselves.
But it is a happening still

as all things are all the time.  We do not escape
who we are.  A quantum leap into the present
is our stance for this moment

but forever it is all happening now.

 

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How Long Before All Worlds Will Be Safe . . . ?

Sometimes I run previous posts to acquaint my new readers with earlier work to show where it is I come from.  This is one of those times I need to remember for me.   A gift given and life was renewed and I am grateful.  There is always hope with a writer that words written will somehow be what is needed by a someone at the moment.  The following was for me today.

May I ask you a question?   He was sitting at the window and looking out as if he could will the sun to come out so he could play outdoors.   Why you ask?   Because I want you to know that if you don’t want to answer,  you can say no to me.   But you always answer my question and never say no,  he said.   I woun’t say no to you,  he said.   I maybe not know the answer but I woun’t say no.   I tried to frame my question simply.

I wonder, I said, if you can remember what it was like before you came here to live.   I waited.   He continued looking at me and I thought past me and then asked,  which time before?   I drew breath and then said the one you remember best.   And he smiled at me and said the one where we were together before?   Where was that I asked.   He said, you know,  you know.   That’s why I choosed you this time.   We were bestest friends and I knowed how much you could help because we were bestest friends.

Where was that I asked again.   He said in that cold place where we had to hold hands so our fingers could be warm.   Who was there with us I asked and he searched my face.   He was reading me I thought and then wondered why.  He said it was a hard time and this time would be better.   Why was it a hard time I asked and he said because our bodies were broked and sick.   This time he said we are not broke so we can go outside and play.   We were too old and broked last time and the cold hurt when we breathhhhddd.   How do you remember that I asked and why do you remember.

Because here I can breathhhedddd and it don’ hurt.   My throat burn in that place when things ‘ploded  ’cause they fighted all the time.  You ‘member he said, you ‘member.   And he became silent and his eyes clouded.   And he said,  we say to each other,  never  ‘gain,   never  ‘gain.  I pulled him to me and hugged him and said never again.   We will try to stay where it doesn’t hurt to breathe.   And I wished I could promise there would always be a place where it didn’t hurt to breathe,  but I could not make that promise.   For this time only,  I could hug him and keep him where the air did not burn his throat.  But how long before all places would be safe?

Until life in all forms vowed not to inflict such terror in worlds where to draw breath just to live would hurt,  we would continue to work.  That is a promise.

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Say This I Can Do. . .and hold in your hand. . . .

 

I want to show you the final results of the blue material I made on post previously.  This I completed and wanted you to see what you can do just for fun.  It is a creative endeavor and limited only by the boundaries you set.  And I hope they will be few.

The next two are embroidered with the sewing machine either zigzag or straight needle.  Or if you are at ease with free motion,  give it a try with something you can draw on material.  You limit only yourself.  Try all things, houses, barns, trees or figures in one color and then bind them onto flannel for a child’s nap time blanket.  There may be no nap.                               .

The next example are five inch squares with a central inch white strip going diagonally .  Or a wider strip.  Glue it down with a glue stick so it won’t shift.  But first cut your five inch squares from an old soft sheet or new flannel sheets to mount pieces of fabric too small or unshapely for much else.  I prefer these strips to piecing because I think piecing requires larger pieces with much waste.  I prefer to use smaller pieces with strips having little waste.  You can place the squares to suit your fancy with straight lines or parallel ones or whichever pleases.  You are limited only by yourself.

The last one are the inch squares you feel you must use .  Take web bonding and using an inch ruler and make an inch grid covering the sheet.  Lay the rows as you choose and with the wrong side of fabric on the grid press to bond.  When cool peel away from backing and on wrong side crease and stitch along the length and width 1/8 inch.  You will end up with perfectly matched squares.  Wonderful way to use scraps and I honor the genius who thought this up.

 

 

These are things you can do with materials on hand or friends eager to lessen their stash.  Old sweats can be cut up as batting to give stability.  Try your hand at drawing on materials with simple pieces.  Use coloring books as source materials.  Attach things with glue sticks before stitching.  Do not be shy with your talents.  Do and you will be shown how.  Have fun with making something substantial you can hold in your hand.  There is satisfaction in saying to yourself,  this I can do.  And do it again.

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