From an Upper Floor

Take Me Home Jason, Take Me Home. . .it is time.

I have been trying to catch up with myself for a very long time now. Putting up with the old timer’s disease of trying to make a body work like I remember it doing. But of course, it does not. At better than 90 it will not conjure the energy it did at 50. Or even 75. And I did pretty well at 75!

But still a couple of things pulsing my perimeters and causing me to reflect. Having no talent for memorizing, I do recall almost word for word the first poem introduced to my inner hearing called Courage. That I could almost remember word for word surprised me. I remember sharing it with my husband and sons and of course they guffawed and did not believe I just wrote it. But I did and I am a truth teller. I have researched it and it had no history. And keep looking. It goes like this. . .

Courage. .

How often have we stood
in water, ankle deep,
daring not to take a plunge
or do a running leap?

How often have we said
the water is too cold,
in truth we know our lack
is courage pure and bold.

There is hope for those of us
who’ve stood too long at bay.
There’s time to grab onto the reins
and steer through just one day.

It would be so much easier now
had we been taught before
that courage is acquired
and practiced evermore.

Our characters will toughen up,
our hides grow thicker skins
and surprise ourselves in water cold
to find we’ve sprouted fins!

(written 1963)

Also in all this research and malaise and introspection that exhausts such meager surplus of energy, somehow also coming to mind was a simple nugget that goes and brings up the little girl Veronica who held onto Papa’s hand. . .

The night is silent
and the air is very cold,
I wish I were a child again
with a hand to hold. . .

And after looking at what I thought was in the files and did not find, I think it was written by author Marcia Willett’s sister whose name I don’t know. The poem was simple enough but meaningful to what I was reading at the time.

And the last thing I looked at were recipes in a scrapbook taken from when I was a 12 and intolerant of heat and sun and relegated to the kitchen. My mother took my place in the fields on the Farm. I took the scrapbook when I left home and used forever when housekeeping. But this was in the scrapbook of recipes cut from Woman’s Day magazine but this column uncertain. Clipped from a magazine and titled Household 1954. Written by Barbara Nelson because her little son complained that the prayer his mother said at night with him made him fearful because he did not want to die. The prayer was Now I lay me down to sleep and every child was taught that. She wrote instead the following which was calming and with a foot in the future of religious evolution.

God in me and God in you,
in everything of good we do.
We thank you Lord that this is so,
we thank you that we live and grow.

I must spend more time doing what I love to do because ideas fall all over themselves and run down the front of my shirt. I want to snatch them up before they disappear into thin air and no longer be visible. That is how I know I am in my dotage. When younger the ideas flew and clung together in a synergistic manner. They gathered upon themselves like matters that embellished and enhanced their basic meaning. And the topics grew and became legends and we had something to consider. And our knowledge as mankind, as humankind was enhanced.

And what then. See. I can put myself back there and relive the ancient times and know I am not far from the truth. Take me home, Jason, take me home. It is time.

October 17, 2021

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 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

October 9, 2021

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.
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.

October 3, 2021

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 Bigger Picture is Always More. . . .

(I happened upon these scanned items in a file and was near tears. I have read them many times but in this form, cannot remember doing them. In reviewing my life, what brought tears was the fact that everything I write about is backed up. And learning for me is integrating what is taught and becomes part of my reference. I came upon something I just recently posted about psychic phenomena being not magic but simply what is learned through lifetimes that moth and rust do not destroy. The Nazarene taught that and called them talents. He assumed people would grow up and not be childish forever. And these talents would go from world to world with us. What is common knowledge to some of us, is magic still to some and worse, spooked people and put innocents to death as in Salem, Massachusetts, in our shameful history.)

Mar 11, 1989———–Authority

I cannot deny what my eyes are telling me about my physical self. And I could not be so cruel to ask a child or tell a child that what he sees is not so. If that were the case, I would deny to him his own authority which are his senses and by which he must live. If he had extra senses of which I was or was not aware, I could not deny those even though they may be outside my frame of reference. It would be cruel to the child for then his own authority, his own self would be forever doubted and his common sense would not serve him in even the simplest situations. I would have no one else to blame for that but me.

Mar 16, 1989—-History—Genetic

It takes one to know one. The maxim is as old and still stands. If feeling runs deep about a subject and a person finds no parallel in this life, we must go deeper.

It may not be feeling connected to this person but feelings connected to this history, genetically written. Shall we toss out the genetic history, but then in favor of what? Man would then have to face his source, his beginning to gain footing, else we would be like Adam and Eve. Again. One must of needs supply a history to give meaning to the day for when there is no history, there is also no now and certainly no future. It is only with a history does the uniqueness begin to show and the ability to clarify that uniqueness and to be a positive influence must be because the peace has already been made with the history.

Mar 28, 1989—-Earth, ,Prayer, Eternity

The Earth will cherish the soul who cherishes the Earth.
Nature will revere the one who reveres Nature.
And the God will rest securely within the heart of one who reveres the All in All they do. Life is God and God is Life. There is no distinction. We sit within the lap of God.

Apr 06. 1989—-Bent of the Tree

What we have are the results of looking inward to find a basis for the way people are. And the way they are has been the best of the tree. Man has been in error assuming the newborn a blank, clean slate. And what we have is the tree already bent previously or apriori. And because the coping mechanism has always been in direct proportion to the disillusionment is the way the bigger body will lead the life.

And when you view the sulking small child, you already know in the making is the bigger child whose silent sulk will be used to arouse guilt. To assure vengeance, you can be sure. (Pray that in the child’s life will be someone who is admired, loved and respected to be the role model that child emulates. Only with personal intent and desire and yearning to be like the role model, will the direction be changed.)

September 28, 2021

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.
Side By Side, We Share Space. . .

How We See . . .

Perspectives create dimensions. Perspective creates worlds. Perspective creates your Reality.

Look at the last statement. You have heard it mentioned that we each create our reality. Each reality is a different world.

Most of us share 5 common senses to see our world. And our experience has taught us how we view our world that is common to most. Some of us have had experience that have given us another sense or two. We may see with a depth added to what we are born with because of our experience. Or hear with depth what is not said. Like perhaps a musical instrument added to the instruments being used.

How you see your world, this place we are in now is different from what I see as this place I am in. We are next to each other now. But what we see is different in degree yet what we see may be common to us. But the difference in what we see is enough to make our worlds not the same.

There is a difference in the world of each viable Being. Each Being holds a perspective. We people see differently as well as dogs see differently as well as cats see differently and birds. There are layers of viable life and living within dimensions and perspective differs for each species.

What I mean as different, the chair in front of us is not seen possibly as a chair for other viable beings. It may seem as an obstacle of a sort, but not as a chair for the dog. The dog may wonder about this obstacle but does not know he can walk around it. He may not see space around it but may see it as fully taking all the room he sees.

That what we see is not everything there is to see. I described to the psychiatrist what I saw and he whistled through his teeth when I was through and said you realize that not everybody sees what you see. He was amazed that I stayed out of the hospital with my particular ability or bent.

Doris Lessing writes in her Shikasta series that a woman speaks to her psychiatrist of her 2 percent difference in perspective and he sees a quality of thought. And that 2 percent quality puts not only the speaker but the listener in different countries and possibly in different worlds though they be side by side.

We have to integrate differences and accept them to be able to live peaceably in this country and eventually worlds. Our country seems magic to the world because we marry whom we love though cultures are different. Love alters differences.

It is my intense desire to keep this planet alive and this classroom operative for those already here. And those who wish to make a difference. And children are that hope in this best of all learning places.

September 24, 2021

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.
How Much Is For Real. . . . or Illusion?

As I Watched. . .

Part of a whole, yet wholly here.
Slowly as I watched
the silence was encompassing.

Piece by blessed piece,
each tree, each entity slowly folded
upon itself and laid itself down.

The screen protecting vanished
as it bent itself into nothing,
a wisp of an idea no longer useful.

Trees, one by one, bent over themselves
and laid themselves down
and disappeared onto the forest floor.

And I thought how neat!
No evidence, no residue of debris
to litter the surroundings.

I murmured his name
as I watched the scene disappear
and he said to me, don’t move.

And time collapsed for me
and events catapulted me again
into the frame of reference I know as mine. . . .

And again the journey continued
and I sit and wonder and marvel

at this multifaceted existence I know as life.

In October of 2016, I went into cardiac dysfunction and was on the way out of this life. On multilevels life was playing itself out. I was on the patio and watched as I let loose my hold on life and watched as the trees lay down themselves, as did everything else in my view. That we create our reality I read many times and I was seeing this world of mine dismiss itself neatly. Not a crumb left on the table. My son John had already called the ambulance and we waited.

More than a half century ago I had begun an independent study program on a daily basis. One’s passionate choice will reveal in time its path and destiny. Footwork is determined by ones’ cut of cloth. And how deep the passion will yield some light on the length of study.

Are we our brother’s keeper? Are we our brother’s brother? Are we one family and what is for real? We open pandora’s box and the butter/flies. . . .

I throw cold water on the idea of romance or secrets or magic. Heavy boots are the order for the hard work of evolution. It all will become mundane and tiresome with lack of progress for which we all are responsible.

The I am sorries have to be more than perfunctory to gain sympathy. We may find remedial classes awaiting and also surprise to find our names attached to gargantuan faults besides the wayside progeny on whom we have granted no attention as history has shown.

How to convert the human psyche from one expecting entertainment to one pursued by the need to know and learn? Except to show the results that our passion has fashioned us into persons we are happy to meet for the very first time. And want to know better. We wish also for our sons and daughters introductions to these selves they have not met. And we hope they come to love.

September 19, 2021

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 Very Hard Road. . . .

I speak of psychic phenomena as it is known and why. The why is simple because it cannot be legislated to testing and not an across the board human endeavor. And to explain what Jesus meant when he said gather talents that moth and rust do not destroy; not so easy sometimes when one is clueless. Those talents are ours forever and we take them from world to world. What do you think life everlasting means?

Phenomena cannot be legislated because the work of learning to live with the present world and its accommodation require an earnest desire to learn. And these talents because they are seldom book learned or detailed, become an inner knowledge that make it impossible to teach. It is more of a knowing than information.

We try to explain reasons why seventy five percent of the world believe in many lives and many loves and we in the western sphere drag our feet. If we went to the ancient shelves of the library, we would find ourselves immersed with the worlds’ fine minds in grappling with phenomena that is as common as breathing to most of the world. And see case studies verified with present day data.

I have kept journals, poetry, memos and manuscripts I have written, created and also scribed. Focusing inward was necessary for what I am able to do. I have kept accounts of dreams that have backed up poetry and scribed lessons that had teachers quiz on what I connected. And why it is necessary for honesty in one’s character when attempting a journey of this magnitude.

Because we are more than what we present, it is good to have substantiation with back up. I have written about the VIP who came across the room in Germany and asked why did I not mention I would be here when we met in Paris last week? I wrote of this incident recently on my blog. I wrongly thought I had had the most recent dream of me as a French Grandmother who was going to a granddaughter’s birthday party. I thought it was a Michigan dream before we moved but alas, it was a March 21, 2018 journal entry here in California.

I had even mentioned in the dream being unfamiliar preparing the French food. It also brought to mind finding me upright in bed speaking fluent French a mile a minute. My husband pulled me down and said go back to sleep.

There is feedback in dreams and a good feeling when something syncs with an entry or poem or memo. There is what is called bleed through from other realms though sometimes mundane. But often it is important enough to hope that my input is of quality, the highest and best of what I can offer.

We are more than what we appear. We often spook others out and seem weird and different. The reasons are many, mostly because of our history of many lifetimes. But Jesus said that when he mentioned the twig is bent and so grows. Did you not think you came from a somewhere?

Some of us are newbies, and some of us ancient history. And being the forever student, I chalked up many lifetimes learning as much as I could. Being a teacher at heart, I wish for those whose talents are many like our great grand 3 year old who made the connection when shown a drawing of a dancer on my blog and said to her parents, ‘the reason I walk on my toes is that I was a dancer before I was a baby.’

My cup runneth over. I am glad I did not know the wait to hear myself affirmed would be almost a hundred years. It is a hard road to go.

September 13, 2021

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.
Observations. . . .

I live in a neat house. On the day I set out the trash, garbage pickers drive by to look for good things. They drive away when they realize my garbage is like everyone else’s. They soon realize I don’t throw away good stuff.

*****
For too many people life is a closed circuit TV. But the channels to other realities are open. In what was once a quiet head, one wonders who left the gym door open at the end of the hall.

                                                            *****
Do we care about the other’s survival? Only to a point because we think we cannot survive without the other. To insure our own survival, we try to mold the Other to the likeness of what we value.

                                                            *****
We tire eventually of depending on sheer endurance.

                                                            *****
Man should give his reasoning mind a chance because his heart has already instructed it.

                                                            *****
Homilies may get to be boring but they are the tie that binds. They are the moorings that keep us from floating without direction.

                                                            *****
Too much is left undone by man’s cliché used as his out. . if God be willing. The truth is, man is not willing.

                                                            *****
Physical boundaries allow us to function in a physical world. But our glimpses into other realities let it be known we are of sound mind and not boundaried in all worlds.

                                                            *****
It is our God Within with glimpsed promises of life everlasting. To dismiss these is to dismiss a gift of spirit that physical life cannot express.

artwork by
Claudia Hallissey

September 3, 2021

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 are what we know . . .and cannot pretend. . .

(sometimes I need to repeat a post simply because I cannot improve upon what I learned. And I want to say to the parents of youngers, listen to them and see from where your kinders come. I want to plant what this younger said at 7 into those who sit in power and ask what happened to the knowledge you were born with? And I weep with the same words I cried out loud at the same age. . .you don’t know what you are doing to one another!)

Owning the experience. . .

He was just seven years old and hurt and upset because his brothers and his dad questioned his knowledge. How do you know, they asked him, how do you know? He stormed past the dining room table and shouted at them. I know that I know!

And I heard an ancient head saying the same words and was amazed at this younger of mine. Of course you do, I said, of course. And I hugged him because when you know something and do not question yourself, you hold the oldest and first keys. You had the best mentor and metaphysician and were loved greatly.

A reader wrote to me and said there is a great distinction between knowing and information. She was right and few people would be able to differentiate between the two words.

Many gather information and can quote others profusely. They can say what others have said and use the same words. But they cannot use their own words because the experience is not theirs. It makes all the difference.

As long as the experience misses them they have not the words to describe it. Only their God Within knows the footwork not done. Their language consists of information and not their knowledge.

My seven year old spoke from an ancient knowledge. To know you know means you own the knowledge.

And only you and your God Within knows of your footwork to own the experience.

And the cost of how many lifetimes. . .sweet Jesus, how many? . . .

August 26, 2021

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 do what we can. . . . .

Researching a topic in spite of all the good intentions, its purpose is they say constructively, to criticize. Make no mistake, criticism in fancy dress still means you are wrong. They want to set you right.

In this case, I realized that all my life I talked to animals and they to me. Trouble only started when I said out loud that I knew something because I understood them. Others feel the same as I do but most say nothing out loud.

The blue jay when I mimicked him tried to take me down and missed. Maudie the dove, allowed me to watch her and when I had to move her and her eggs, let me and even pick up her hesitating chicks to give a boost to their first flight.

Like the bird who rested for a second on my back while I sat on the patio. When in grief we were ready to put Prince down, I hesitated somehow hoping something would save me and my heart would not break.

As if printed in bas relief were the words above his head staring straight at me, . .you would not make me do this alone? I said out loud of course not and followed him out.

What brought me to this was Leroy, our Newfie, who yodeled and told me how happy he was and feeling good. I kissed his bushy head and when in the kitchen realized that I knew he felt good because he had transferred a picture of me massaging him with lotion the day before and it helped his itchiness.

Coming to mind was Temple Grandin, who even with a handicap was able to communicate with animals, making a life helping them.

Not as grand a scale of course, but in my way, in my frame of reference, this is what I do and I would suppose, lots of people. We have animals we love who love us. In our way we take care of each other.

If we approach our commitments in such manner, life will be magnificent in all aspects and evolution will be enjoined across the board for human enrichment. The timing for this will be prime because how could goodness however small in scope, not be used? If it was not, we would not be.

And we will find what we think is a small effort, is in effect, magnificent. There is nothing this world can give to reward your heart’s offering. Only the Greater Heart understands its value.

August 23, 2021

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.