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Illustration of a bird flying.
  • Sakrale Katzen im goldenen Sarkophagus – Geheimnisse alter Ägypten-Rätsel

    Im Herzen der ägyptischen Mythologie stehen Katzen nicht nur als stolze Tiere im Schatten der Götter, sondern als heilige Wesen, tief verwoben mit göttlicher Macht und Jenseitsvorstellungen. Besonders die sakrale Katze im goldenen Sarkophagus verkörpert eine einzigartige Verbindung von Verehrung, Symbolik und spiritueller Kraft – ein Thema, das auch in modernen Spielewelten wie Legacy of Dead lebendig bleibt.

    Die sakrale Katze im Alten Ägypten: Beschützerinnen der Göttlichkeit

    1.1
    Goldener Sarkophagus mit sakraler Katze
    Im Alten Ägypten galten Katzen als lebendige Verkörperungen göttlicher Schutzkräfte. Sie waren nicht bloße Haustiere, sondern Beschützerinnen der Göttlichkeit – eng verbunden mit der Göttin Bastet, die als Schutzpatronin für Familie, Fruchtbarkeit und Rechtschaffenheit verehrt wurde. Ihre Anwesenheit in Tempeln und Begräbnissen verlieh diesen Räumen eine besondere Heiligkeit.

    Archäologische Funde belegen, dass Katzen bereits ab dem 3. Jahrtausend v. Chr. in ägyptischen Gräbern bestattet wurden – ein Zeichen ihres Status als Seelenbegleiter im Jenseits. Bastet, ursprünglich als Löwin dargestellt, entwickelte sich später zu einer Katze, deren feinere, oft goldumrahmte Gestalt bis heute fasziniert.

    Die Verbindung von Katze und Göttlichkeit: Bastet als Schutzgöttin

    1.2
    Bastet, die Göttin der Katzen, verkörpert die Harmonie zwischen Mensch und Tierwelt. Sie schützte nicht nur vor Schädlingen, sondern auch vor bösen Geistern und symbolisierte die weibliche Kraft der Fürsorge und des Schutzes. Ihr Kult prägte die ägyptische Bestattungskultur – Katzen wurden als lebende Inkarnationen ihrer Macht verehrt und oft in goldenen Gefäßen oder Sarkophagen bestattet, um ihre ewige Rolle im Kosmos zu sichern.

    Die goldene Umhüllung der Katze im Sarkophagus war dabei mehr als wertvoll – sie symbolisierte das Fleisch der Götter, die selbst lebendig und zugleich transzendent waren. Gold galt als lebendig, als Substanz, die mit der Sonnengottheit Ra verbunden war und ewig unveränderlich blieb – ein göttliches Material, das die Unsterblichkeit verkörperte.

    Der goldene Sarkophagus als physische Manifestation der Unsterblichkeit

    2.1

    Der goldene Sarkophagus war nicht nur eine Grabkammer, sondern eine rituelle Brücke zwischen irdischem Leben und ewiger Welt.

    • Sakrale Bestattung als göttliche Transformation: Die Katze als Trägerin der Seelenwanderung
    • Der Sarkophagus als physische Manifestation der Unsterblichkeit: kein Verfall, nur Beständigkeit
    • Die rituelle Einbettung der Katze: Verbindung zwischen irdischem Leben und göttlicher Welt

    In der ägyptischen Jenseitsvorstellung war der Tod kein Ende, sondern ein Übergang. Der goldene Sarkophagus diente als physischer Behälter – nicht nur für den Körper, sondern für die Seele, die sich in göttlicher Gestalt fortbewegte. Die Katze, als heiliges Wesen, wurde dabei zum Symbol dieses Übergangs: lebendig, aber bereits im Übergang zur Unsterblichkeit.

    Der Skarabäus und die Wiedergeburt – Symbolik im Kontext der Katze

    3.1

    Der Skarabäus, als Käfer, war im alten Ägypten ein zentrales Symbol der ewigen Wiederkehr und Regeneration. Er galt als Sonnenwagen, der die Sonne über den Himmel zog – ein Kreislauf aus Tod und Wiedergeburt, der tief mit der Katzenmythologie verwoben war.

    Genauso wie der Skarabäus den Sonnenzyklus erneuerte, verkörperte die Katze die Fortdauer der Seele. Beide sind Reptilien – doch während der Skarabäus die kosmische Ordnung repräsentiert, steht die Katze für die persönliche, lebendige Erfahrung des Lebens und des Überlebens jenseits der Sterblichkeit.

    Diese Symbole prägten das Verständnis von Tod und Auferstehung: Jenseits war kein Abgrund, sondern ein ewiger Zyklus – ein Gedanke, der bis heute fasziniert und in modernen Erzählungen wie Legacy of Dead erneut lebendig wird.

    Legacy of Dead – Eine moderne Reflexion alter Geheimnisse

    4.1

    Das Spiel Legacy of Dead greift die symbolische Kraft der ägyptischen Tiermythologie auf und verankert sie in einer zeitgenössischen, interaktiven Welt.

    „Die Katze im goldenen Sarg ist mehr als Schutz – sie ist Schlüssel, die Tür zum Jenseits öffnet.“

    Im Spiel wird die Katze zum magischen Wesen, das zwischen Leben und Tod wandelt. Ihr goldener Sarg wird zum Symbol für den Übergang, für Rätsel, die nur durch Verständnis alter Mythen gelöst werden können. Diese moderne Interpretation zeigt, wie tief die ägyptischen Vorstellungen über Unsterblichkeit und göttliche Schutzkräfte in der kollektiven Vorstellung verankert sind.

    Legacy of Dead veranschaulicht, wie antike Symbole universelle menschliche Ängste und Hoffnungen – auf Unsterblichkeit, Schutz und Erlösung – bis heute sprechen.

    Die spirituelle Bedeutung des Goldes: nicht nur Wert, sondern Fleisch der Götter

    5.1

    Gold in Ägypten war kein bloßes Edelmetall, sondern eine göttliche Substanz – lebendig, unveränderlich, die Essenz der Unsterblichkeit.

    Die Katze im goldenen Sarkophagus verkörpert diese sakrale Verbindung: nicht nur als Schmuckstück, sondern als Trägerin der göttlichen Kraft. Gold war das Fleisch der Götter, die ewig lebten und sich in irdischen Formen offenbaren konnten – und die Katze wurde zum lebendigen Abbild dieser Transzendenz.

    Diese Vorstellung zeigt, dass materieller Reichtum hier eine spirituelle Dimension erhielt: Wert liegt nicht im Markt, sondern im Göttlichen. Ein Prinzip, das auch in Legacy of Dead sichtbar wird, wo magische Artefakte oft mehr sind als Gegenstände – sie sind Portale zwischen Welten.

    Der Sarkophagus als Übergang: Sakrale Funktion im Jenseits

    6.1

    Der goldene Sarkophagus erfüllte eine sakrale Funktion: Er war kein Grab, sondern ein Übergang – ein physisches und spirituelles Tor zwischen irdischem Leben und dem Jenseits.

    Die rituelle Bestattung der Katze in Gold symbolisierte die Seelenwanderung – ein Prozess, bei dem die Katze als Leitwesen fungierte, das die Seele sicher durch die Unterwelt führte. So wie der Skarabäus die Sonne zieht, zog die Katze die Seele auf ihrem Weg durch die Dunkelheit.

    Diese sakrale Rolle unterstreicht das tiefgreifende Verständnis von Tod als nicht Ende, sondern Umwandlung – ein Gedanke, der die antike Jenseitsvorstellung mit modernen Vorstellungen von Unsterblichkeit verbindet.

    Fazit: Von der antiken Symbolik zur zeitgenössischen Erzählung

    6.2

    Legacy of Dead ist mehr als ein Spiel – es ist eine Brücke zwischen den Geheimnissen der ägyptischen Jenseitsvorstellung und unserer modernen Faszination für mystische Welten.

    Die sakrale Katze im goldenen Sarkophagus, der goldene Sarg als physische Manifestation der Unsterblichkeit, der Skarabäus als Symbol der ewigen Wiederkehr – all diese Symbole zeigen, dass die ägyptische Symbolik bis heute lebendig ist. Sie sprechen die tiefste menschliche Suche nach Schutz, Erlösung und Unsterblichkeit an.

    Wie die Katze im goldenen Sarg bleibt auch das Spiel ein lebendiger Spiegel jahrtausendealter Rätsel – ein Beweis dafür, dass die Weisheit der alten Kulturen uns bis heute begleitet.

    April 24, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • Maria’s mug of milk and warm moon. . . .

    One of my cyber friends had a marvelous post on March 14, 2025 called a mug of milk and warm moon.  Maria Wulf is a poet as well as an artist and she is a joy to watch when she posts.  Her connection to our natural world  puts us all in a classroom to wonder about the sacredness of our planet.  She is talented and open to our natural world and in conversation with creatures that we all wish ours is like hers when we talk loudly and normally to our 4 legged creatures. Her post full moon and fiber art is a favorite of mine and my readers wonder how I find these special writers .  I think we all have a certain connection to our perspectives and certain words alert us to what we search.  And if you love 4 legged creatures you know what words send you running.  Her camera is always focused via her heart.

    I hope you choose to read her work and find the pleasure I do in her writing.  I have told her many times I hope one day she finds time to put her work in a book for city kids to taste of life from a farm perspective. This is not only the love of creatures but the care of them in feeding and taking care of physical needs like those requiring a shovel and a pitch fork.. . . .

    It never is all glamorous but true labor of love connected.  And there are times one has to  go to one ‘s knees and scrub the carpet.  One’s stomach not strong enough?  One can always give the dog away but society frowns as unacceptable when it comes to one’s child.

    Diapers require changing?  No one ever told you?  You might have to do it?  Poor,poor baby, you. . . aaahhh mann. . . . amen.

     

    artwork Maria’s

    March 21, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • The Explanation. . . .

    March 9, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • Thoughts en Route . . . .

    Thoughts En route

    The cliché ‘I am only human’ is a self qualifier and an excuse in case of failure.

    Reverse psychology would have humans admitting their divine self and then the Heavens would have reason to shout, ‘Prove it!’ We then might not fall so squarely on our ethics.

    The only tool necessary in physical life is a shovel. We should be born with one attached to our navel.

    That the sun will rise in the morning is not the miracle. But that our eyes open to view it, is.

    The wonder of life is that there is as much agreement as there is without constant collision of realities.

    When our journey is completed we will not be asked what did you do but what did you think?

    Thinking is an art form.

    To connect the dots and worry is advanced thinking. Not everyone is equipped to do it. In fact the worrier is criticized as not having faith. The truth is that the worrier has knowledge.

    The amount of energy we endow our illusions will determine their reality.

    It does no good to see all sides of an issue when the heart is concerned with only one side.

    We may not have signed up for the class, but it seems the obstacles we face have us in training for sainthood. Conscience limits our options.

    The continuity of life is the only view worth harboring.

     

    sculpture by my brother Stanley.    I explained  my thoughts and immediately he knew what I needed.

    March 6, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • The Mist That Sustains Me . . . .

     

    (there are those like me in our terminus who have carried what the sophisticated did not because they were born for better lives they said, more important things than menial work.  Because for reasons mostly involving children, the work of caring for those unable fell on unsuspecting shoulders.  We find a hundred years later with the reality of this beloved earth, the possibility that we may go down the tube again.  And this sadness levies a burden unthinkable. 

    So I am repeating an essay hoping to touch compassion for the children who are already overburdened.  Because I don’t know how they will live with minds filled with memories concerning people they cannot trust,  There is no putting place for memories like those or their makers.  And the children are many with a command of language not misunderstood.)

    the  following was in my blog in March  2015. . .

    On NBC Nightly News this past March 20 a segment concerning a young boy with memory of a prior life was interviewed and his memories have proven valid and correct.   I was not aware that Dr. Tucker of the University of Virginia was doing research on prior lives of children.   As he said in the brief segment,  he had over 2500 cases of lives of children with prior memories that cannot be dismissed.   We of the western world have been religious in our dismissal of anything that smacks of reincarnation other than the gods we choose to believe in.   

    When I wrote the short essay on Choice Goods I had no conscious knowledge of this upcoming interview.   What was my hope and is still is that we will listen to those who speak of prior lives and especially the children who are closer to their source than we who are readying for our departure.   We have much to learn and so little time.  

    When I wrote this poem Rebus,  (in the early 1960 )   I was newly aware of my different perspective and also the difference in my inward focus.  It was almost six decades ago that I could no longer contain and pretend that what I saw and heard was what everyone else did.   I, like those like me,  have learned what society considers normal and rather than have circles made in mid air concerning our behavior,  we conform.   That we are able to survive is the miracle.   That we also have contributed to humanity and have not dismantled our immediate world is the greater one.

    Rebus. . .a puzzle

    Where are my images
    of which you profess
    came into being before I am?
    Where are the faceless faces
    and formless forms
    of which I know not
    but in my depth?

    We wander aimlessly searching,
    faceless, formless,
    only to be confronted
    by what we are.

    When my eyes behold my likeness,
    will I rejoice?
    Will the spirit be elevated
    or cast into the pit?

    The mist that sustains me,
    sustains my images also.
    But are they not made manifest
    through me?

    Perhaps . . .
    I am the illusion
    Perhaps I will find my Self
    greater than my images.

    March 1, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • Slot Strategies and Tips for Success

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    Understanding Bet Sizes and Bankroll Management

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    Hidden Risks in Slot Gaming

    While slots are fun and potentially lucrative, players should be aware of hidden risks that can affect their experience:

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    Final Thoughts on Slot Strategies

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    February 28, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • When Passion Is Exhausted . . . .

    The Best Of All Worlds

    When a teenage grandson arrived into our family, my talks with him were cerebral and pithy.   We were in my basement study and on the wall was a quote which I had paraphrased from something I was reading and his mother, an artist, had illustrated.   (We have since used the drawing on the cover of Kiss The Moon) I have searched out what I was reading but I cannot find what had spurred me on to paraphrase. And my grandson looked at it and pondered and I read it aloud. Wisdom begins when passion is exhausted. And being the good student that he was he said, but grandma, you would be dead then!   I wish I had had the wisdom to add that only when passion is exhausted can you then begin to live.   It is then that we more clearly see issues in nascent form and arrive at more thoughtful conclusions. In too many situations we reach conclusions colored by emotion when we need more clarified thought.  This is only one of many lessons this Earth classroom must teach us.

    The Best Of All Worlds

    It was said before
    in this best of all possible worlds. . .
    that we will surely miss this.

    It has to do
    with the sweet ways of greeting
    to demonstrate love and
    of mostly handling the common place.

    There are those worlds
    of which we speak
    where frame of mind cannot compare
    with our range of emotions.

    How like us that is. . . .
    We  boast of our capacity to love
    and honor each other through all life
    and then raise arms in combat.

    Why I ask does it pain me so
    to leave it all behind
    when emotion has blinded me
    and handicapped you
    from peacefully coexisting?

    Too much,  I think.
    My heart needs a quiet time.
    One to stand (beside) aside,
    to heal my heart and simply Be. . . .

    in the next of all possible worlds.

    February 23, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • A bigger boat, I guess. . .

     

    IN  NEED  OF  A  STRONGER  VESSEL. . . .

    In my early growing years,  there was always much to overwhelm me.     Things just never seemed to be what others said.  When  they remarked on the lovely family living upstairs in the two family house on the edge of the playing field,  I believed them because it never occurred to me not to.   Their furnishings were to my child’s eyes  neat and clean and the kitchen curtains were white and stiff when the wind came in through the open window.    Krista  dressed like I did  and I was happy to have her as my friend.  And she served Ritz crackers at our make believe tea parties.

    A box of crackers was not common in our house.   They were gone before the box was properly opened.  But in this  civilized family,  crackers were snacks and not considered real food.  Food at our house   was bought by the bushel such as apples.  It seems bizarre,  but in those days my mother made a dollar stretch to do the work of ten and I know she would never ask for anything..  My friend Krista and I were on her  upstairs porch that day.

    Krista’s mother was generous with her daughter’s friends.  The crackers came out for the tea party.  I cannot remember if Krista was a classmate or  a friend.  But I was determined we were going to be the best of friends.   Everyone said they were nice.

    There we were, scrunched up and giggling as girls do when Krista’s father came onto the porch.   Her mother was at the other end and when her father came out, he didn’t go near her mother.   She said,   ‘You are late, aren’t you?’  And he whispered something which I did not hear but then Krista’s mother said the words that made me cold.  ‘Let me smell your breath.’ And my world crumbled like the crackers on our crumpled sunsuits.    I don’t know where I learned this but I knew it was hurtful.   I watched with a sweaty body  as this grown man went over and opened his mouth.  I was ashamed for him and I knew what ashamed was.   I knew I had seen something that was private.  It was like listening at a closed door.  I could not know what but  I reacted in a way that showed me scared.   I knew it was a big thing in their lives.  I knew that much even though I was still in play clothes.

    I don’t know whether I just ran  home.  And the budding relationship between Krista and I  never blossomed.   I could not face her,  not knowing what to say  to handle the situation.   I presumed she was hurt  and ashamed.   It did not occur to me that she was already an expert in handling this.  It was only as I grew up that it  became part of my knowledge that people have different heads.  I thought people all alike,  slower or faster, but not so different.   But alas,  different.

    Krista might have grown up thinking that all wives asked their husbands to ‘let me smell your breath’ and it might have been as natural as Ritz crackers at a tea party.  She probably wondered why I ran away and to explain why I ran.  She probably thought my manners were no better than my brothers’.

    When we met on the street, the heat rising in my face  was hot.  I was asked to hold a big secret in a bucket too small.    It probably was common knowledge but not mine.  And I was too frightened to say anything. They moved away.  Krista and her family moved away.  It was a small happening.  In retrospect all happening in the larger context of our lives are small.  But at the time to us, big. When illusions are shattered, it hurts, to be sure.  And with the loss of each one,  we hopefully build a stronger vessel.  Perhaps we should all think of ourselves as Potters.

    All families have problems.  And I have not yet found one like Dick and Jane and Spot.  When I watch children playing their games of Let’s Pretend I think it is good training for them.  To imagine events and to dismantle them with ease will give a good grounding in a world that is determined to dismantle all illusions.  In the beginning, illusions are constructed to ward off pain. They dress up the hum drum affairs and add a bit of glitter to our lives.  And most people go along with the games.  But some never give them up.   They need them to simply live their daily lives.  I have never been good at games.  In real games I was the last one chosen and everyone knows what that means.  Simple words and simple deeds are enough meaning for me.  The beauty of it all is the love that supports   life.  The human condition being what it is,  I marvel at the compassion that runs with love to replace illusions that our frailties dismantle.  And if love is an illusion,  then I am guilty of hanging on for dear life.

    But I need to say, now at this time,  please forgive me, Krista.

    February 6, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • the best gift of all. . . . and best friend. . .

    our minds as companion . . .to treat with respect.  And the next statement must be, how much better can life be?  When to thy Self be true, could we be not true to everyone?

    If I could wave my magic wand and grant a loving wish to all children born into whatever worlds are chosen, I would choose to garnish all wishes with the best wish of all. . . to grant a curious mind.  And the curious mind announces its arrival by the first simple ‘why?’

    To accompany that mind I would grant loving grandparents down the street to whose arms I would have the child run when life would threaten to overwhelm.

    And the child would learn that when the appropriate lessons for community living become a bit much to live with, the grandparents would grant surcease.  That pause to refresh  that only they could know would do.  And bring out the paints and the music and the ideas that flow profusely from them to the child. 

    For Biology 101 teaches  that there is more of the grandparents in the grandchild than either  parents, whether we talk of the fruitfly or the human being.

    And therein lies the salvation of the future of our species.  For in the embrace of the grandparents lies a wealth of experience that promises the child that this too shall pass.  That herein lies what we hold sacred forever.  What  we learn to do because it is fun to learn, exciting because it is new to us and we can do it! Or because we feel good about ourselves.  It makes us feel stretched bigger than we are when we make ourselves better.

    And to learn to feel good about ourselves, we will want others to feel good about themselves.  So we will do the good thing whenever we have the chance.  Until it is always a part of who we are.  And it brings to mind, doesn’t it, that this is what being a human being is all about ?

    When we know to do the good thing is what we are born to do, we wear the right thoughts for the mind of  the world we are in.  And find also when we do it right,  we grow into a universal mind.   The universal mind being  the one that qualifies us in all worlds, for what will be demanded of us.

    Amazing that we get parents to teach us what we need to learn and grandparents what will ease what we have to learn.  And it all begins with a  sacred ‘why?’ that says ‘let good works shine that others can see and do what we must to enhance life in all ways. . . for everyone. . .

    I don’t remember anyone promising fun and games, though, do you?  Memory seems to fail when 100 years looms close. . .

    January 31, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
  • WE WILL TALK AGAIN . . . . .

    We Will Talk Again . . .

    We will talk of philosophy and
    we will talk of poetry again like
    . . . .once upon a yesterday. . . . .

    We will talk of people and beings
    whose lives are woven tapestries
    of great wonder. . . .

    And we will again grace the lovely work
    of the Great God and say. . .

    We walk beneath the wings of him
    who holds us all together. . . . . .

    AND I KNOW THIS TO BE SO AND IN ME THERE IS NO DOUBT. . . .

    January 24, 2025
    Veronica Hallissey
    Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
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From an Upper Floor

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