From an Upper Floor

Our Sacred Source

I heard a grandchild say at a very young age, ‘when mama is happy the whole family is happy.’ I have seen when a family is in turmoil, in sickness, in argument, that nothing goes well.   It is then that the hot water tank springs a leak, the washing machine no longer washes and we are in despair.   We are all out of bread, out of milk and there is no cereal in the cupboards. I have also seen things go right when a family is working in harmony even under adverse conditions; even when illness and tight budgets or even no budget are taken in stride because the parent gods work to make it so.

A young friend says to me that she hates what no sun day after day does to her and is it ever going to stop raining! We give credence to feelings like these.   One day I said to another friend, “how are you treating the world?”    “Don’t you mean how is the world treating me?” he asks.   I assured him I meant what I asked.

It is not a far stretch to see that our Mother Earth reacts the same way. Our Earth reacts to human trauma.   It reacts to human turmoil and human agonies.   There are those who say that earthquakes and tornadoes, hurricanes and other tragedies are parts of Nature and because we have such high tech systems, we learn of them more quickly.   But we are a planet of great numbers now and we live in each other ‘s pockets.   We no longer have large expanses of lands and waters that can absorb Nature’s hiccups.   A tsunami is not a hiccup anymore when thousands of people are running for their lives while water is washing miles of shorelines and pushing new beaches where beaches never were before. When the Earth splits in two and hundreds are swallowed up in another earthquake while the other side of the world moans in pain as markets are affected, jobs and economies are torn asunder, this tells us all we are part of Nature.   We are as natural to our planet as all other species and events. Thoughts carry power as strong as Nature itself. Thoughts and emotions weigh heavily and will have their aftermath somewhere.   We cannot separate Nature’s events from the emotions that view them.

Nature’s events and our thoughts and emotions rise from the same bed.   Let us respect and pay homage to our Sacred Source.

July 4, 2011

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.
Because It Is

                                     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.

June 30, 2011

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.
Forever Is A Long Time

Premises are the foundation upon which we construct our systems of belief. There are those of us who come replete with boundaries signifying right and wrong and what is kosher and what is not.   Then there are those who come in with wings attached it seems.   And then there are the ones who have nothing in their carpet bags when arriving and are expected to fly by the seat of their pants. Complaints are profuse from the ones who chafe with rules and then the ones with nothing don’t know where to look for guidance since even the ordained are not exactly clear on boundaries.

But here is the kicker.   What I have as a perceptual premise is what my understanding and experience have integrated. What I must do is apply this principle to everyone because they may have their gods as their mentors in a belief system maybe far removed from what I hold true. Our lives are a testimony to what we believe is our world with a system that serves us. In a world where there is space for everything we consider to be sacred, ethical, and decent, there can be peace and civility if we all adhere to the highest and best within each system.

Of course there are those who would negate our freedom to live and worship. The results we are all too familiar with. We do what our belief systems deem the highest and best to repair and heal the ravaged wounds those beliefs incur. What we need to do is live our truth as the example others would want to adopt. We must think it through. And think it through again.   And again.

Forever is a long time to keep picking up our mistakes because they bear our names.

June 26, 2011

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 Trying Thing

It is a trying thing we do. We want to understand what we remember of a specific time when all we have are bits of memories and what historians say went on at the time.   But we cannot take as fact all that we read or hear. Everything written cannot be taken as gospel.   Everything heard cannot be taken without question. What we have in our memory bank we get in snatches and try to make as much sense out of them as we can.

For when we try to do more than this, we are playing a guessing game.   It is also a guess when we are not certain whose memories we are jousting with.   Are they our memories of this life or perhaps other lives of ours as more of the world believes or perhaps even of distant or ancient ancestors written into our DNA?   Are we responsible for unfulfilled talents or love not returned?   Can we or should we put to rest our ancestors’ anguish?

And what about all the historians’ views of history? How much of it is conjecture?   How much of it is piecing what bits can be garnered to fill in the spaces when the times themselves have left no record?   There is much that can be retrieved through concerted research. But retrieved also must be the long lost habit of conversation with aging persons. There is much that oral history will reveal that written history has neglected to mention.

It is a hard work we do to find a putting place for memories.   But it is one way to find out who holds the candle for each of us.

June 21, 2011

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.
Meditation

Come with me to this place

I visit often, hidden behind an eyelash;

where it is Easter all the time and

rebirth is not a sometime thing; where

gods cavort in joyous abandon.

Come, we dance. . . .

Today the world stood still. In the

bright afternoon sun I saw a butterfly

dart into a spider's web woven between

the power lines and lift it up and carry

it with him.

In the silence I heard the question.

How heavy is a spider's web on a butterfly's wing?

Since everything is balanced,

the question is proportional.

A friend said to me, 'only you had eyes to see it.'

Does the world stand still for you? Ever?

June 16, 2011

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.

Our Sacred Source

Because It Is

Forever Is A Long Time

A Trying Thing

Meditation