A home, a hearth
the loving place that nurtures
the fragile psyche,
granting each the right
to perceive the universe
as is his to perceive.
Building memories
year upon year
and granting courage
for the hurting moments
and bearing them.
Yet yielding to the greater truth
that life continues to be good.
Granting the right for each
to leave and grow away,
knowing that the warmth and love
of hearth and home
can be reached by going inward
to the loving place
you helped me build.
(For My Forever Friend-Cheryl)
Morning breaks
the long fast.
In the dailyness
there is beauty.
In the neat kitchen,
in the morning silent,
except for the brewing
of the fragrant coffee
in the silver pot,
in the glancing
out the dark window,
to see the neighbors rising.
In the neatness
of physical life
where the morning
breaks the day
and night binds it,
it is beautiful and I will cherish
this portion of earth life forever.
January 8, 1990
Art by Claudia Hallissey
On November 5th, USA TODAY had an article entitled, ‘A discovery out of this world; Earth-like planets.’ It went on to say that the space observatory, the Kepler telescope has shown that about 8.8 billion stars in our galaxy have planets nearly the size of earth with a surface temperature that could support life. And probably tens of billions earth like planets in our Milky Way galaxy. This bit of news should send up flares in all our religious premises that have spoken of ‘our Father’s house has many rooms.’ How else to say to the mental landscape at the beginning centuries’ count that there are other worlds besides this? As it was, this concept could only be grasped by the selected few.
Even now when tempers rage as to whether we are evolving or were hatched fully grown and believers to boot, there is no common ground where intelligence can gather itself and say, we are open to new knowledge. It is a sad commentary on the work of those who have toiled hard and long to bring us to the place where we can say yes, the divine spark is harbored in all of life. God in a rock. No doubt it will take some cataclysmic event to bring people to their knees and say it is time for all of us to seek knowledge from where it comes. No need to sell our souls for a pittance.
There are some who come to earth different than the average person. These mavericks are placed by destiny here and there to add a richness to the evolution of mankind. They march to their own drummer and speak with words when questioned that have meaning to those who search themselves for affirmation. Often they are thought to be behind everyone else, though when questioned possess an intelligence beyond what institutions could teach. These are the ‘angel unawares’ that the Good Book speaks of that nobody reads but most display.
Those who speak of life elsewhere generally only envision life like ours. Perhaps we can entertain thoughts of life in terms of other than linear measurement? Perhaps we can think of life with illusions not manifest? In terms of perhaps dreams dreamed and thoughts having their own reality? Jane Roberts, in her series of Seth books in the 70’s spoke of ‘unknown realities’ where concepts of immortality can only be given meaning in terms of worlds unknown to us. The knowledge of metaphysics adds a rich layer to physical life and we must revisit our ancient heritage which speaks to us of cosmic values.
It is time for Joseph Campbell’s heroes’ journey for each and everyone. It starts with one small step inward in search of our common divinity.
Photo by John Hallissey
For my readers who have requested a photo of Maria Wulf’s wonderful
wall quilt that she had offered to trade for one of mine, this is the marvelous quilt. I love it and do not tire of looking at it. I find new images all the time. She is a gifted artist as well as an accomplished poet and captures everything floating through her mind. It is a wonder that she manipulates her sewing machine as easily as she does her pencils and her brushes. And her chisels, for she sculpts also. You will find her and her blog at www.fullmoonfiberart.com
I am fortunate to have this Freedom Woman wall quilt. We had traded on September 28th of this year. I have hung it on a door in my workroom which houses me most of the hours of the day. So Maria’s quilt is at home with me. And I thank all of you for asking to see it. If you click on the quilt it will come forward to the middle of the screen. And if you click again at different parts of the quilt, they will be detailed for you for a closer look. In fact if you click on my photos and also the quilts I feature they will come forward to the middle of your screen. And several clicks will bring details closer. I can fill up a screen with my beloved evergreens by clicking. Or bring snow to my eyes from winters past. I am grateful for many things modern technology has brought to me. And this is one of them.
It was morning,
though the night still hung heavy;
the clouds hovered,
the sun unable to rise.
The children gathered for breakfast;
morose and angry,
heavy still with sleep.
Mother looked with unhappy eyes
and father, already delayed
flew out the door.
What could she plan
for this crew this night, she wondered,
as she scrutinized each face
when they exited.
That night the same faces
appeared to sup together;
hostile, unable to summon
the good things of the day.
Seated, they glowered
and the mother, with hope
passed the platter.
Have some love, she murmured
as she handed the plate to the eldest.
Puzzled, he helped himself
and in unbelief said to his sibling,
have some love.
And around the table the faces changed
as the platter of love was passed and
with a whisper bestowed its blessing
by each and every one.
The father then picked up a plate to share
and to his surprise murmured, I pass peace.
And around the table peace was passed
to accompany the main course of love
and talks resumed and the world
was given another chance.
On a level we cannot enter,
we cannot know how much of a difference
it takes to make a difference.
Or how little.
Are you connected to your home? Would removing you from it remove you from your memories, to what you have learned, to what you love not because of how it looks but because of what you have invested? A wandering brother once said that he never felt like I did and he had lived in many houses because of his work. To be a home it must be invested with the soul of one, with the emotions and with the love.
It should take two people to build a home and a family. But in many cases, too many of late, it is but one. It can be one of meagre surroundings. It can be of any type, in any country, in any place. But with the place should be invested the emotional growth and in recollection, should be one of acceptance. If the place is simply a house, a place to sleep in and a place to leave, we have a rootless society, with no connection either to themselves or to their place of origin. And their origin means the place where they became aware of themselves and respected for their persons.
When a place is created that is secure in the minds of the children, when what is created is of love, then what is given is a freedom to fly and then to come back. Not necessarily to the physical place but to the secure emotional place within that has given them a rooting. Those with no penchant for traveling will in time realize that rooting is taken with them and is not lost. But for those whose hearts are secured within the place they have given their best, have taken their responsibilities to the highest and best they could envision, these attributes give to the children and the adults a confidence that world events cannot shake. It gives them a grounding where the earth itself becomes home and a love for it that never dims.
They will forever hear in their minds and hearts the voice who greeted the morning and was servant to the day. This is where the heart rests. They will feel their connection to their earth no matter where their home is. They do not spend their lives looking for a place to call home because they were rooted when it was necessary by those who loved them. They will find wherever they are that they are at home. The earth will never be an alien place, a foreign place.
Where the heart is will always be home.
I live my life
in a dimension of no space,
in a dimension of no time
and in an era of no choice.
I skirt perimeters of knowledge,
inserting by intention an idea.
You are my intension
and my idea.
Are you proud? Are you grateful
for the time and place of your insertion?
Do you enjoy
my choice of residences,
built with your labor,
your muscles and your dreams?
I allowed you this.
Do you gaze upon the cardinal
sky hopping the conduits
of electricity on your behalf?
He visits you with a minute of his grace,
eager for your affirmation,
of your acknowledgment of his beauty.
You grant him this.
Is the sky deep enough
to hoist the evergreens even higher,
growing even taller as you watch them?
I watch with you.
I monitor your responses with my intricate eye
registering on my heart.
Each emotion is slotted into a space
with your name.
I congratulate Me.
I wave to you
in each movement of air
feeding your eyes with pleasure.
In grace I bow to you.
I’ve built lives around you.
You marvel in the families
of squirrels chasing only tails,
of birds flying toward melodies,
of night chased only by the days.
Wondrous of Me?
It is.
What is more wondrous?
That you take the time to look for Me.
Jan. 1980 (from the new work of My God and Me)
Photo by Josh Hallissey
When I posted on this blog a letter I had written to the Professor of Theology and Philosophy in 1991, I mentioned Robert Nozick’s book called The Examined Life (published in 1989) and the possibility that we might be in the creation business as apprentices. I recalled a conversation I had with our son David who was a lawyer with a Philosophy major who also spoke of creating worlds which was new to me. That took place long before David’s death in 1985. Recently I found this poem written in 1988.
There Is A Place
There is a place and time
hanging to the east of conscience,
lolling in the fullness of space
that I watch and hunger for.
It thrives on my thought
being a world I created and rolled into Being.
It belies my judgment, proving itself real.
I’ve worked till dark and used the moon
to guide the plow through memories
meshed in tangled emotions.
I’ve cleared the land allowing new growth
to firmly root and be nurtured
by sun held too long beneath
grey clouds, heavy.
I did not know to do it
except my need to begin. Anywhere.
And anywhere was a lot of places.
I was a good place to begin
so I began to plow,
through memories giving rise to emotions,
giving rise to pain. Again.
To have left them buried beneath
a facade of civility was courting
volcanic eruption in babies still to be born.
I knew that but didn’t know I knew it.
I plowed till dark and through the night
and by the light of the half moon
plowed some more.
The night grew weary of me.
And now I sleep. The babies play
and in their play create worlds again
on firm ground, growing grass without weeds,
digging foundations in loam
and not building mountains on garbage.
I’ve given them what I knew to be best
of what I am. No need for them to fulfill
my dreams for I’ve dreamed them
and the new world waits.
February 4, 1988
Those of us who have hopes, hold tightly to them. I have found during this life that there is insufficient time to enclose them all. There is not enough time to focus on them as well as our commitments. And we don’t know this up between the eyes at the time we make our first commitment. Because we are honorable peoples, we stay the route and run out of time which takes us with it. The commitments we go into, with part of us still wishing hopes fulfilled, take energy into their cause. So the girl who wished to write teaches her children and they become fine writers. And she who created in the kitchen for her brothers teaches her children how to create with their hands, with their minds, in the pleasure of the fields in all weather. She teaches the glory of creation with reverence. We learn what we can do with what we have and are richer for it.
We watch our children make commitments with their desires running alongside, to find that they must shelve portions of them we term dreams (because they are not yet physical) and tend to the needs of commitments. And then we wish that each generation will be aware of consequences when decisions are made that prevent desire’s fulfillment. Failure? Giving up? No, just reality doing a check. Humans must be a priority, especially when we make them. What values would have gone into a dream are instilled instead, in commitments. We learn early that our hearts teach us in ways the world cannot.
And the dreams of value, either genetically impregnated or morally ensconced,will have their day either here or elsewhere. And the dream being of noble quality demands a someone of noble quality to carry it. If the progeny carry their commitments with honor, their dreams will be carried by a someone with honor. Our hopes, if passed to one with memory who cherishes these, will be fulfilled. And we will be the person of quality who dreamed the desire into being. When we have worked the dailyness, laid the groundwork, done the footwork, and have ploughed the field to make it ready to work, the hope will be a reality.
All of Life is carefully balanced.
Photo by John Hallissey
ancient pieces
float to mind
presenting impulses
prompting the pilgrim
to look toward home
time chastens
the victor
and yields the victory
to her who supposes
life everlasting
she has won the medal
and still covets awards
to hang on the wall
but they all hang on her heart.
photo by Joshua Hallissey
