Archive | Observations

Actions Are Stone . . .


Do not be swayed by tears which well and have no basis in words of the person when actions pronounce another philosophy .  We can always well into tears but our actions   will betray us.


Do not accept apology for inadequate behavior when nothing is done to correct  it.  Apologizing  does not relinquish responsibility.


We know that beneath the exterior  of those  who have access to power runs amuck  the feeling that power is equal to love.


Power which senses out weakness uses that weakness to   fortify their positions.


Reconciliation  is a mighty word and a hard act.  It means forgiving not in the areas that are seen but in the feelings that are unmet.


You cannot break a will which heralds its own functioning and its  own existence .


What we want is the educated mind which will carry the argument complete with commitment and put priority on that which will sustain humankind.





Someone Has To Do The Plowing. . . .



And hope is the drug, the elixir, the stimulant,
the narcotic, the life saver, the god.

That tomorrow will be better,
that there will be a rainbow,
that the snows will come and cover the door,
that the rains will come and relieve the parched ground,
that the vineyards will be planted,
that love will walk in the door.

That the healing will come,
that death will be avoided,
that life will be everlasting and
the messiah is on the horizon.
That peace will be ours,
that brotherhood is a done deal,
that there will be sufficient food to feed the world
and eternally we will rest in the bosom.

These are the dreams, the hopes,
the desires, the opiates of this world.
And perhaps other worlds.
There is always that to consider.

The Master calls for workers
and the vineyards must wait.
I bless, for I have work yet to do.

Someone has to do the plowing..

photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.


In Being A Child. . . .

FullSizeRenderThe Importance of Differences. . .

If it seems that I persist in speaking of differences in perspective, it is because that is what makes us unique,  it is because of my intense desire to keep our planet alive and this classroom operative for those already here and those yet to come, who desire to make a difference.  Children are our hope that any differences can be effective in making this the best of all learning places.

In one of Doris Lessing’s Shikasta series,  the  2 percent difference the woman speaks of to the psychiatrist is a big difference when the issue is quality of thought.  And the 2 percent in the quality of thought puts both people,  the speaker and the listener in different countries and maybe in different worlds though they be side by side.  So I wish to bring up the difference again and as little as a breath separates our thoughts.  Evolution?  How long does it take?  Look about our world.  Look into the eyes of children today and you could see angels walking into your heart.  Beautiful and innocent and smart.  And if someone does not step on their heads they will be able to come to you one day and say we know who you are.  You are the safe one.  You are the haven they require if the world is to progress and they are to contribute.

In Being A Child

They would say of us
we had no sense of style,
for we dressed in faded clothes
long after they were carried
out of the store.

We put on caps knitted
by loving hands and pulled
over ears fearing frostbite.
We carried walking sticks
and gently jiggled loose piles of leaves
to shunt the mice out of roosts
buried deep.

Great fun we thought.
We tenderly picked the twigs
with berries loosely held
to decorate wax covered driftwood,
simulating snow for centerpieces.

We opened books and closed books
and talked of what was
remembered from other times.
They call it hands on this day
in the language of those privileged
in private schools.

The less fortunate might one day
have a field trip in search of natural life
in an open field.  We called it
all in a day’s work

in being a child.

Painting by
Claudia Hallissey


Mega Observations. . .


Mega Observations. . .

Oftentimes in retrospect, we would wish we demanded someone to grow up to matters requiring some degree of maturity.  But how to do that?  When a thing is outside our frame of reference, we will fight tooth and nail to remain innocent and free of taint of anything unfamiliar.  Or what might even show us to be inadequate in some way.  Many religions tell us to flee from what arouses fear even though new ideas might even broaden or enhance what we already believe.  Even as children we would strike out aggressively at anyone disturbing our zeitgeist.  One preserves one’s innocence and evolution stagnates.  Do we know when the unfamiliar will undo us?  That we will go babbling down the street and we will be caught by the fellows in the white coats?  I think so.  I think so.  Which is why we make the woo woo circles in the air with our fingers to show we know who are the crazy ones.

Memory, I hear, is the high cost of life.


To be human is an excuse only to one who knows where man’s God resides.


The heart is the organ of redemption.  It heals and with love salves the wounds of the world.  The psyche of man is healed by the heart.


A parent is a parent.  And when the child is fortunate, there are two and it is a partnership.  It does not matter who nurtures.  What does matter is that the arms know the shape of the heart in their care.  And the heart will recognize its parent.  And the one who loves him or her.


After buying a 10 yard bolt of burlap at almost 85 years of age, I cannot say I will sit and wait for death to arrive.  I will meet him halfway to the bridge.  I will take his hand and say let us walk the way together.  And we will together, be met.

(click on the plaque.  It was a gift to me  from Last Bird Sings and a favorite.)


However Long. . .


However long. . . .

Coming into every family will be what a relative calls a misfit.  And the label will stick.  This often is  a child with a need to know everything and talk.  And more often than not,  there will not be anyone to listen.  Because there will be other children, work to do, buses to catch, and fake reasons given on the spur of the moment.  I don’t have time to listen will be the mantra.  And the child grows to be adult with the need still unfulfilled.  Because in the course of life, there will be work and school, meetings and planes to catch and television.  Now of course we add hand held devices.  The need continues in those born with the desire to learn and talk but like souls dwindle in number.

The sweet hours of the night are filled with the best conversations.  No matter the fatigue of the soul, the mind conversations are filled with wonder and appreciation.    I awoke with the words,  however long the night is,  and wondered perhaps I read them someplace.  Years of research never found them anywhere.  It proved to me again,  that we are not abandoned.    It will be included in a work in process called Psalms of Love. . .    

However long. . . 

However long the night is,
is however long we’ll talk.
A tongue dismembered
from its throat
is punishment too severe to be humane.

It has taken a life of silence
to filter through its members
lessons enough
for the toughest skin to break.

I have marched with your words,
through endless tasks,
through nights not filled with magic.
And heard the harangue
from compressed lips tearing even
the plea of forgiveness from Me.

Now I promise.

In the stillness of the life you know,
I will come for you.
In the light of the night,
I will make my way and
no walls will bar my entry.

I will sit the night and
across the table a hand will clasp
the one you call your own.
And in the magic of words spoken,
I will listen to the story built
to house lives of wonder.
It has taken too long.

And we, the each, will speak and listen
and as the words flow like rivers
toward the delta,
in ribbons of courage,
we will stay the night.

And however long the night is,
is however long we’ll talk.

photo by
John Holmes


Considered Opinion. . . All Connected. . .

The Reserve


Considered Opinion, all Connected. . .

It is good to see the best in people but one cannot be accountable for everyone.  One cannot wish them onto a platform they are not
an example for.


Too many children grow up knowing the failures of their parents and think their own fabric is torn.


When living in Rome, doing as the Romans do is a task worth attending to.   In a society where civilization hinges on rules and regulations that are dismissed as nothing, means that civilization cannot survive.  It goes down the tube again.


Some of us are born disheveled.  Born of a genetic crap shoot, being not what the current thinking society expects.  And if all our parts are in the required  places,  we should consider ourselves fortunate.  The next time we may be not quite so fortunate and we will need to cope as best we can.  It is something to keep in mind.


Nature is rebuking us.  She is giving back as well as she has taken from us.  The message still stands that we cannot abuse this planet without being rebuked ourselves.  The numbers of dead in the weather disasters are horrendous.  When are we going to learn that we cannot keep propagating ourselves simply because it is something we know how to do?  When are we going to stop mortgaging the future of the children already here by spending lavishly the Earth’s resources as if the expiration date on these resources does not exist?  Our Earth can no longer support increasing numbers without coming apart.  Daily she screams her distress.   We need to solve our need to re-experience the lullaby feeling we remember.  Education is the key to understanding our wants and needs to discipline ourselves.  It leads to a matter of heart. . . not only ours but also our Earth, our home planet.


Photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.


Thoughts Brought To The Table. . . .


Eternal is the hour which grants the heart time.  Sacred is the vessel which yields the cup.


Life lived on a part time basis is for some more than enough to handle.


There is no talent which will be left unused and no path of interest unexplored.


There is sufficient time for all talents and then some in a world of no time and in a universe which is becoming.


There is no time, all time and yet no time to waste.


To manipulate time to serve the All is the true test of genius.


To be without memory is to strip today of meaning.


A today with no meaning already attempts an empty tomorrow.


To build memories for oneself and one’s nearest is part of one’s commitment to life.


It is not an empty effort to build good memories.  The memories will be called up in time not yet spoken and by generations unborn.


When the time of divorcement is close, we ring down the final curtain and review the act.


The heavens are also taught by example.  Keep that thought in mind.  You can be better.



The Pain of Thought. . .


The Pain of Thought. . .

They speak with their doctors,
their counselors and those with
backward collars
that they are anxious.

And cannot explain the panic
and the night sweats
that engulf them
even in their sleep.

They read they say
all manner of  books and articles
on positive thinking
and watch only those programs
that make them laugh
or sing their favorite songs.

They stay away from opinions
that destroy their sense
of equanimity and the
professionals wag their collective heads
and thoroughly agree.

Stay away! Don’t read the message
of those whose views would have
you stray from dogmas long
causing man’s anguish.

Don’t upset yourself, the counselors say,
just stay within the confines
of your parent gods.
They knew what was best for you.

But why then, you still ask,
when you know your life
should make a difference,

this kind of thinking makes your brain hurt?

In this day, thoughtful opinions are too much like work for most people.  Entertainment is what is preferred.  And  when school books are closed, seldom are they opened again.  Time is a commodity to be artfully balanced.  And unless we are ready to give up what has taken centuries for the human brain to be able to accommodate conflicting thoughts, we must use our time wisely or lose what abilities we have mastered.  When high school students find a paragraph difficult to retain, of course thinking will bring on brain pain.

artwork by Claudia Hallissey


In Prayerful Consideration. . .


Everything teaches . . .

and not being one to allow opportunity to be lost,  I caught the moment and brought forth something long on my heart.  Even as a child I gave my mother dyspepsia  because of my questions.  The God of my mother was so busy watching this 8 year old to keep me out of trouble which she was certain I would cause,  that he let Europe fall on its knees.  She had no answer to that.  I was often reminded  that men were paid big dollars and THEY could not  find answers to the questions plaguing the questing adult.  So who was I to think???  But my head was open from the day of my birth and has given me reason to keep breathing.   I share my latest observation with you. . . .give it some thought.


In Prayerful Consideration. . .

The younger with his new skill
carved our grilled entree
as my words struck him. .

‘Bless this food
to my use,’ I said,
‘and I to Thy service.’

His head whipped upright
as his eyes found mine
in soulful recognition
of what we once were.

And I needed time
to explain my thought.
Not a Grandfather God,
I wanted to say, but pure Essence,
searching for Itself.

As I search my God Within
who searches the Great God Essence,
we have a responsibility
as we round out our talents to serve
our commitments and humanity
which are one and the same.

We roamed the Ether once
when we sought to express ourselves
and we became Man whom we are. . .
Such as we are it seems,
better than we ever thought to be,
but not as good as we hoped.

So as we become
what our God Within breathes
from the Essence whose greatness
we soar into, bless this food
to my use, I say out loud
and let my prayers be my discipline

for all the days of my life.


As The Script Was Being Written. . .


Oftentimes as we age,  we wonder, and some of us are prone to wonder a lot, how to have done things differently.  And  considering what we knew at the time,  what situations presented,  the conclusions reached are that we did the best we could.  We gave it our best shot considering.   I understand that on the way to sainthood many options are closed.  Tell yourself that.  And remembering again as a best friend said,  introducing one small if would have changed the entire picture.  So be kind to yourself with no more ‘should haves.’  There will be those who will be happy to keep on belting long after one’s demise.  Let us not take away that last pleasure.

As The Script Was Being Written. . .

If, as you say, beloved,
that none of it is true,
that what I have built with my life
is a sieve, never to hold water,
then this I say. . .

From where comes
this courage, I ask,
to have sublimely taken on
the heavens and them to task
when my arms, as the
theater marquee shouted. . .
are too short to box with God?

Except of course, you see, I say,
it took a very long walk
to get to this place
where I see how it worked.

I stalled the process
several times
while I gained my footing
to reconcile beliefs. . .
to cut corners so that my people
could hold on
just another minute. . .

But it was what I could do,
only what I could do,
for the ascent was narrow
and steep and the rocks
bit the soles of my feet
and I found somehow
I had courage and life
was lived. . .

even as the script was being written.

Painting by Claudia Hallissey


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