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Fun With An Idea. . . .

I remember walking from the garage to the house and  wondering if my mate would see the work  I did in the yard that had taken me till dark to do.  And I was thinking of the Christmas tree I had once put up, sawing off the trunk to fit the holder,  stringing blue lights and also the decorating everything had required.  All this and even the latter was thought walking the path to the house.  The blue lights of the tree in the new room window were vivid in the dark.

And the thought occurred walking that it was in error that I thought I did these things.  And the error was in thinking that they were done to gain the praise and gratitude of the one I had in mind.  It was not the Other whose praise I wished.  It was none other than my Self I did my best and worked to please.

The scenes I wanted to duplicate were the ones I had in memory.  From where or what world I did not know.  But from a somewhere and sometime that burned into my brain their beauty and with the love for me that somehow came as an apriori, a before that kept me warm.

When I saw this photo from Emma E’s grandfather, who said that the great granddaughter decides whole scenes with great grandma’s tapestries,  adding a house, birdhouse, raffia  and sea shells with very real symbols, I know what is withdrawn from that memory bank.

Important to me is the care given to creating what is done from mind’s bedding.  Lately I am keenly aware of the casual dismissal of what is made and what little thought is given.  And it seems any effort is called creative no matter how thrown together something is. 

It offends me greatly because if it is worth doing, there should be pride in workmanship when done.  Time and physical effort called sweat should accompany what one presents as one’s work with name attached.  Some things are done as exercise of an idea and should be our fun.  Creative presentments should have standards that are measurable. 

Our schoolrooms once taught these standards.  Realizing that many felt outside what was accepted and were singed by the standards should  open one for further study and practice to make better. 

And learn that we are not the only way station but our further journey will yet show us sparklers.

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a mountain top experience. . . .

I had intended to send an email to a friend and instead with this quirk of a mind which is mine, it took to be an essay.  When finished I thought better than to send it.  The reason being another trip to the hospital last weekend in dire straits.

An early cardiologist appointment on Friday morning the 7 th, had him saying you need hospital care and the feeling was imminent.  So a weekend in the care of my Mentor’s Caregivers had them releasing me to my family on Sunday, January 9 th.

And time to give some thought to what I need to write.  The finding (stumbled) and reading of an early journal entry, (almost to the day plus 50 years) had this to say about the road being traveled.  I edit only for space.

January 17, 1973
Wednesday

Been busy at work all day.  Read for a while last night and was interested in the excerpt of Paul Tillich when he talked of the Cosmic Consciousness experience as a State of Grace.  It is interesting how much I understand what was not clear a decade earlier.   Does time do it or growth?

Tillich states that Grace cannot be wished for (how can you wish for something outside your experience?)  Yet when it comes you know that something outside your experience has happened;  not by various names but a something, happened. 

Mine came with the knowledge that I was one with the universe and the words, ‘He Lives!’
Whether that meant Christ because of my upbringing, or because a friend died and was alive without a doubt.  His wife was impressed to call me on the day he made his transition and the only thing I could say to her was that he lives,  over and over.

This was the 3 day period when I felt as if the top of my head had been taken off and I indeed felt one with the universe.  This must be what it is like when you die to this world.  The physical boundaries are no longer and you become part of the surrounding. 

I seemed to flow into the Ethers.  I felt part and parcel of it, a oneness unbelievable.  It was exhilarating while it lasted.  I did not know of new intellectual stirrings, except no doubt about the foreverness of life on a gut level.  And the words over and over ‘He Lives!’

Tillich said that all that is necessary in this experience is that you know you are accepted.  It also comes out of grief and despair.  To this day I don’t know why I was so devasted by this friend’s illness and death.  Except I remember our first meeting of recognition from a someplace and sometime.

How deep can grief go?  It flows through the very core of you and out to join the suffering of ‘All That Is’ . . .

And  the core of you is ‘All That Is’  . . . .

(I have been encouraged to enter the early journals into my blog.  One already through conversation, that few know even scattered religious history.  I have mentioned my crashing world with the doctor asking me to speak to some student wannabe psychiatrists.  I agreed and found a roomful waiting.  And only one had an idea, an idea of maybe this is what I was talking about, the Rosicrucian.    

There may be no description given that matches the experience, but as Paul Tillich said, one knows a something happened, a big something.  It was an authentic experience and in discussion with a Protestant minister, he called it a mountain top experience and wished it had been his.)

This wall quilt surprised me and I am fond of this artistic side of me.  Knowing how difficult it is to stay with a body intent on laying down,  the jenny genes triumphed.  Probably never again.  I negotiate with my teachers for a bit more time to try another evergreen.  

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All Creatures great and small. . .

 

 

In reading Bedlamfarm.com about simple changes in their three dogs leading to a concern, it brought to mind this whole pandemic we have been tangling with.  Not only our concern with humanity but with the creatures we live with. 

I am certain we have had more differences of opinions these past two years than we contend with and no resolution.  The fact that there is question among us concerning what we should do definitely with humans leads to questions about our four legged companions.

We wonder if we have a cold or Covid or possibly underlying complications from conditions compromising us.  Is our Newfie upset because we’re housing the sister dogs or is it something in the water?  Why all the accidents with bathroom habits when I am home all day? 

And why all the landscaping upsets and gross eating outdoors?  When our Newfie blew out his hind legs demanding surgery on both, son John toted pool water breakfast and dinner times for a month while Leroy was in the hospital.  Because Leroy wouldn’t drink city water, nor eat the kennel hospital food.  Otherwise of course he is no trouble and he was a free dog.  There is no such thing we learned.

The opinions diverse.  When something becomes a pandemic, common sense tells us that our companion animals are affected too.  We are not protected from wild creatures  hugging the earth that roam the landscaping and climb the walls to get inside the yards where the good stuffs are.  I watch lizards scoot up the cinder block fences and squirrels still playing havoc with dogs still trying to jump 8 foot walls.

And the 200 times better noses on the dogs sense the gross droppings from night creatures eating better than they are they think.  I still think it is partly the pool waters.

Many of the homes nearby have backyard pools.  And it means that whole communities are treated for what ails us.  I luckily talked to the pool man and asked if changes had been made and his immediate question was what are you noticing and troubled with? 

I said loose bowels habits and upsets in our creatures.  He said we have increased muriatic acid because of the pandemic as well as other measures.  I told him I had been running the hose into the small spa section of the pool where the big guy drinks.  He agreed it wise to do so when he treats the pool. 

I understand water is the most affected during any crisis that affects the community.  And animal hospitals are first aware of this.   It is written about in most veterinary literature.  I am observant. 

I have no written credentials but my eyes still work.  I am wont to make connections and since I spot first what needs cleaning up.   Sorry, it is what I do.   I care for what is alive and even sometimes not.

 

photo by Jessie Hallissey

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English Muffin Bread that toasts divinely. . . .

You might find this helpful if you will be having a houseful of hungry people looking for something to eat Thanksgiving morning but wanting to leave space for big bird, this you will feed them.  Everyone loves English Muffins but to have enough on hand leaves a bare budget.  This recipe makes two loaves and they are good!  And taste even better than the muffins.  Follow the recipe and don’t substitute.  I have and when something is good,  I hope I have learned not to  mess with perfection. 

This yellowed recipe is from the Detroit Free Press from early 1982.  I know some of you were not born, but  I narrow the decade to the century mark.  I don’t know why I seem to have lost this recipe to be found again because  even in hard times we have to eat. 

 

 

 

5 ½ to 6 c flour , divided
2 pkgs active dry yeast or
(4 ½ tsp measured active dry yeast)
1 Tbsp sugar
2 tsp salt
¼ tsp baking soda
2 c milk
½ c water
Cornmeal

In large bowl combine three cups of flour, yeast, sugar, salt and baking soda; set aside.
Heat milk and water until very warm (120 to 130 degrees). Add to flour mixture gradually, beating constantly. Until batter is smooth. Gradually add enough of the remaining flour to make a stiff batter. It takes most of the flour.

(I sprinkle some flour on the counter and push the batter onto counter.  It will be stiff enough to smooth and knead into a ball gently 2 or 3 times.  This I love to do because I somehow know the dough knows the feel of my hands and the love flowing through.  It is my connection and who I am,)

Prepare two 8 ½  x 4 ½ inch loaf pans greasing lightly and sprinkling with cornmeal if you wish.  Divide dough into equal parts for each pan.  Sprinkle with more cornmeal.  The directions say to cover with damp cloth.  I don’t have success doing this because the cloth always sticks.  I just put the 2 pans in a warm place until almost double in bulk. For me it is a little over ½ to 1 hour. My warm place is a toaster oven with no heat of course.  Or your regular oven with no heat. 

You may have a warm place the family pets cannot reach.  Let rise an inch above the center of the pan.  It has a tendency to fall should you forget and let rise all around the pan.  If you do and it does, remove and knead lightly and let rise again.  It happened to me and took a little more time, but no calamity.  I had dressed the tops in the photo with bagel seasonings.  

Bake at 400 degrees for 25 minutes.  I have invested in an instant thermometer and wonder why it took me so long.  At 195-200 degrees the bread is done.  No guessing.  Otherwise all my life I tapped the bread like a drum for reason I do not know to this day.  To my ears it was a drumbeat.  Remove from pans and cool on rack.  Makes 2 loaves.  Enjoy and in good health.

 

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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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Like Silly Putty In The Hands Of Children. . . . .

  . . . .I got to thinking about this dream that made this world and all in it.  I have been thinking about Michael Talbot who figured out that this was a holographic universe and everything in it was a soup kitchen.  Soupy and until we looked at it to name it and because we identified it, it turned into matter.  So the soupy mess never stayed that way because the minute we looked at it,  it became more solid. 

And the noises surrounding all this identifying and naming and  photographing we couldn’t because we found  also that when identified everything soupy had potential.  Even if we thought there was no life in it, the bottom line to subatomic particles is that there is no divisive factor.  Everything is non divisive,  is united or clinging to their almost likeness because there is a desire to bring forth life I think, in The All or Life or what we think Sacred. 

What I was trying to say years ago in Connecticut when Hal and Ann(our minister friends)  came to dinner was that there is God In A Rock.  That even when we dismiss non life we simply do not have eyes to see everything and what we are dismissing as non viable may indeed be submerged and we don’t have those eyes yet to see.  Because all that we acknowledge is what we are able to relate to.  

As I read the Talbot book what is seen is the top layer of what we look for.  And Researcher Bohm by his proclivity  says that the deeper secrets still are not evident.  We only see what we look for.  So we can only discuss the soupy texture of the Universe and what we hope to see is what is composed of this soup.

As  we evolve we create the reality we identify as we swim in it and rewrite it.  We draw summations of what we experience and view but we cannot project what conclusions can be drawn from the parts.

The good Science does is that it tries to compute how things began but we draw conclusions from what is experienced and what has been glimpsed.  The full potential is not yet disclosed.  And what we are open to.   The potential is in its becoming.

Perhaps as Susan Howatch wrote some philosophers believed that human nature cannot grasp the concept of reality at all. 

My dream of our David after his death was as he came down the street while I was moving the water hose on the front lawn.  I said David you are alive and well and he said it is a wonder.  Heaven  makes  as many mistakes as he had,  David said.

And the reason for the mistakes is that as long as there is growth, no conclusions are drawn because it is incomplete, everything inconclusive and offers potential growth.  Is anything ever finalized?  Surely beyond my frame of thought.  But as long as there is a one who thinks he can make a difference, can we close anything off?   

Especially if the ending is not determined to have a final potential.  Or is final potential an oxymoron?  It can be understood that our desire for manifestation of our mind’s produce gave way to this world’s creation.  Was there direction foreseen with boundaries within moral and ethical choices?  Was there a sense of sexual morass or proclivity to it all?

We have seen human behaviors manipulated as so much silly putty in the hands of  children.  And we have seen the reality show onstage and have seen applause inhaled as so much addictive substance. 

We couldn’t believe what we were seeing because it was not in our frame of reference.  But it blew our minds and we are all wounded.  We have not recovered and wonder if we ever will.

 

photo by  Mark Jacobson

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Observations. . .from my lifetimes. . .

If you do not intend to look back,  it’s best to remember to lift the plow.
*****
Wishes are as potent a force as fishes swimming in live water.
***** 
Under adverse conditions, we become more of what we are.
***** 
To think is a holy obligation.  And to be held accountable should follow.  We would then be responsible human beings?  Imagine that!
*****
The world no longer tolerates the thinker.  He has become a recluse in the ribbon of concrete. 
*****
The world hails the activist, the doer.  The attention and kudos are granted no matter the consequences, constructive or not.  And we live in those consequences.
***** 
Curbside decisions belong to the white charger.  The smooth phrase, the quick retort are only newsworthy.  And both fade rapidly in memory to be recalled only by the video screen.
*****
The thoughtful person cannot find a place to be asked a question requiring the time to raise their eyes to the hills and back for a reflective answer.
*****
The visionary has the look of one used to focusing on the horizon.  I have time for the visionary.  They have substance for the long haul as a participant in the vision.  And strangely, human events still take time no matter how we wish otherwise. 
***** 
The immediate situation may be alleviated with a curbside decision but the progression of humankind may never be affected.  There is always that hope. 
*****  
Where is safe?  Safe is only in your head because no place is safe.  And I would have to argue your head.
*****                                                    
Nothing gets done in this world unless somebody’s back breaks, a somebody’s legs ache and at least a somebody’s mind splinters and a heart rips apart.
*****  

 

photo by
Kathy Rybacki Qualiana

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What’s A Mind For?

Somethings Learned While Scrubbing. . (with no help and no money we called it work, and did not know it was multi tasking. . )

 I scribed. . .January 16, 1994. . . .

When capacities are stretched continually, compassion fatigue is a condition when all avenues are locked into emotions.  It is no surprise to us to find we burn out and just do not care much.  The words out of us then when confronted are so what else is new? And we shrug off what we should care about and we know that is not right.

The need then is to go into  some quiet place and rethink our position.  Time to hold conference within ourselves and then to share ourselves with a trusted one.  As long as there are commitments who of need depend on us,  we cannot fail to perform to the best of our ability.  Tired as we are,  regret is not the companion we want for the rest of our days.  I tell you true.

To the age old question, who is going to care?  Your voice may be the only one in the wilderness that is heard.  Your ‘I do!’  may be the one history carries forever.  Let it be so.

And furthermore. . . wonder also why we labor under the illusion that heaven has the answers and knows what is best.  And too often it gets us off the hook of accountability and we let all hang loose.  We then don’t have to make a thoughtful decision about anything because we say we have left it in God’s hands.  

And then we wonder how the ones with hate and anger  unite others  to destroy our cherished lives.  They unite in their anger and rush to destroy with vengeance what powers them.

I understand remedial classes are now added when we leave our world to enhance the teaching of what could not be grasped here.  And for the reluctant ones not equal to accountability, our present names are attached to half-hearted attempts at reconciliation.    

In truth our present lives far exceed the simplicity of the Sages on Olympus.  Their memories are cloudy and there is no relation to the complexity of lives today with the  storms of conflicts and treacherous devastation of our institutions.

I have learned that time spent in thought, in conference with the GodWithin which animates us, is looked upon as prayer.  When motivations are researched and the arguments are valid,  we become teachers as well as students.  And heaven takes note of us and responds.

When our thoughts and actions are one and pulled simultaneously through our hearts, we teach what we feed our minds.  And the power to act and accomplish because we use our minds to think all things through is a sacred gift. 

It is one we use to build and not dismantle.  It is used with words such as honor, trust, love and bond.

I scribed July 27, 1990 . . .you wrote that heaven matched your thoughts.  It could be also that you matched the heavens.  You think on it. . . (for William, a  professor of holy writ. . .   who commented on the poem I wrote feeling humbled when heaven matched my thoughts and he could relate,  perhaps you matched heaven’s thoughts?  Why did we all believe that heaven had all the answers?  And who told us?)

 

art by Claudia Hallissey

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We Had But One Name. . . .(in Genesis)

Perhaps Doris Lessing and I would not be close friends because of commitment.  But I can and do admire her brilliance with the written word and some of her ideas.  Two  things of value stand out.  The first is of  long standing and I spent hours locating this source only to find it at midnight in a steno book I happened to pick up before closing shop.

From her book Sirius. . . Laws are not made.  They are inherent in the nature of the galaxy. .of the universe.. . . After a lifetime of independent study, another of my conclusions is  that laws are inherent in the nature  of all life.  It is folded into a conclusion I had reached early on that man is basically good because man is basically god, (divine).  If this were not so we long ago would have gone down the tube and stayed dead never to rise. 

There is the thought that good can be derailed for a time, but to dismiss and be murdered forever cannot happen; because of the inherent good, basic good in life itself.  As the saying goes, god don’t make no junk.  Because of our narrow focus, our conclusions are not fully realized .  When the larger picture is ours, different conclusions will also be ours. 

Standing where we are, whether the terms are God or Life, Yahweh, or Father or Science it all yields truth as far as we can acknowledge, especially if our actions show that our lives bear witness to what we espouse.  And  our actions enhance humanity, there is little argument.

The next quote I found in researching Lessing.  “Very few people really care about freedom, about liberty, about the truth, very few. Very few people have guts, the kind of guts on which a real democracy has to depend. Without people with that sort of guts a free society dies or cannot be born.”

This is a loaded statement because most  people live lives nested in fear.  And the fear takes many  forms in job loss, prestige, threats, money, and whatever turns us immobile when our buttons are pushed.

It takes a courage unbelievable to have the knowledge of how to correct a problem and yet to work around the known frailties of humans involved to prevent an eternity of more anguish to shovel.  One’s own integrated knowledge can be managed and democracy chooses her heroines and heroes.  Welcome Frances Haugen!

We see a congress of able bodies leveled and paying homage to a whiny loud voice.  For shame., for shame. . . 

artwork by Claudia Hallissey

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I Crashed The Gates. . . .

I have spent time in why I have reached some conclusions and also wish to write a post to explain a bit about my ability to scribe.  I have been into scribing since the ‘60’s and even have the first poem, almost committed to memory.  And that is not an easy mode for me, to memorize.

The scribing, which is the ancient art that produced sacred words no one reads in the Bible which is housed in almost every home,, with tools an old lady should not know how to use or should have forgotten by this time.

And why was I nudged into journal keeping?  I never had kept notes before as a  younger but when the children came and being married to a community worker who was never home, I was the parent on premise and did not want sons needing to explain their mother’s inadequacies. 

In my terminus, I need to look back and see a life involved on many levels.  There was the parent and person and property manager, home maintenance and laundry, pressing expert and good cooker,  yard keeper as well as appearing publicly of course; dressed, not in sweats.  And sometimes all in the same week.  Without journals I would say it  did not happen.  Could not.

When I was in my study time when the family slept, whole versions of what I heard or was in duelogue with I wrote as fast as I could.  Much later I learned it called scribing.  And what seemed a  fault because I felt isolated, turned into a godsend for me.

On July 21,’90—I scribed. . . It has strengthened you beyond measure and given rise to talents long thought to be dead.  Yet here we are participating in an event of ancient times with legendary systems operating.  Yet in today’s language and the use of the computer, how to explain it?  No need, not in your time.

Listen  God, you said this morning.  I am here and this is what is going on.  It is a wise soul to bring oneself into position to be listened to.  Remember, that to reach the point of confrontation, it had to be real.  Your memories, however obtuse had to rise and be accounted for.  The memories are valid, complete with the ones of adjusted time frames where you are.  Complete with the agonies produced and dismissed.  For in their time, they were sufficient.

Listen god, you will say and we will listen.  The Great Spirit harkens to the sound when the position is thought through and the footwork completed.  We love as avidly as you .  Go and bless the good day.

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