From an Upper Floor

A Resting Place. . . .

Conclusions are reached by methodical circumcision. We cut apart our hearts and yield what we can.

*****

There will always be those things which cost dearly and have no remunerative value. They may be outside our frame of reference but are recognized when the time is right. Then you know you have paid dearly and given the full litre of blood.

*****

In the place where we rest, bless the multitudes for they know not what they do, let alone what they say.

*****

The amount of teaching that has gone on in this vestibule of the church of Man has been enormous. Pray that the learning takes.

*****

Too many people act with instinct without considering the source of that instinct. What was once appropriate and serviceable, is no longer.

*****

Instinct is a precarious word and human balance should not rest on the word ‘precarious’

*****

Nature’s balance is such that never is a dream dreamed without the ability to put it into motion.

*****

Life in a crucible is life in human form.

*****

The look of innocence is the state of shock; that level where the soul has rested, the mind has stopped pursuing and spirit dares not delve further.

*****

Timing is of the essence. You cannot pull a tulip out of the ground nor can you force the petals of the rose to unfold with your own hands. Of their own accord and in their own timing, they will.

*****

Not to trample hearts, but to cup them.

photo by John S. Hallissey

September 4, 2020

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 Am Glad We Are Found. . . .

Wherever we are, it seems only meet and proper to have August cease its summer heat and prepare mentally for the oncoming North Wind. It seems it has forgotten about us blistering in the heat. I am glad we are found.

Though conditions prevent our entry back to the classroom in many places, mentally we option to rekindle old friendships in favorite books. Or fortunately in new books if we are able. Like a stretched out old sweater I hug tight around cold shoulders the winter of long nights in a quiet corner.

I welcome you to join me. Today we pretend to hug each other but one day the hugs will be for real. Promise.

August

It is August
and there is
a sliver of breath
inside the sill.

The deep breath of autumn
is, I think, a matter of time;
perhaps only in the memory
of the child anxious
for the world of new books
to open.

Anxious for the toys
of summer to be put aside
to make space
for new thoughts.

An old lady now
but still waiting with anticipation
for the long, dark nights
to be filled with time.

It is necessary.
It will take an entire season
to adjust mind, body and soul
to a new way of thinking. . . .
about who I was

and now who I am.

photo by Joseph Hallissey, Sr

August 31, 2020

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 We Handicap Our Young. . . .

They were just children with a love offering. It glinted in the ground and when picked up it glittered as a star in the sky. Of course it would be given to the one loved most! And with grimy hand and full heart it was. With words accompanying the gift, they spilled as starbeams through fingers.

It was met with laughter at the piece of broken bottle swept in by the now polluted waters, with the love words washed with even more laughter. And the child ran and hid and forever found words choked in throat too tight to speak. And chatter found its way into conversation during lifetimes of too many words, none spoken ever with truth.

Devices soon replaced the human voice in pillow talk and words were shouted in derision, in hostility, in raucous laughter but seldom in measured voice which would take counsel with the sages. Humans soon counted on one syllable words, incomplete thoughts and reverted to gestures when language which had taken thousands of centuries to master came to a halt. Even though in the beginning we were told that the word is god. . . . we took away the child’s most important tool for growth and smashed it with our jealousy at his innocence as ours had been smashed. And evolution stagnates.

once again we will dance,
through the night sky
and gather moonbeams
for our baskets. . . .

we will strew them
onto the paths of the children
who will pick them up and throw them
with joy to the night sky.

they will be stars again
to be gathered by a one
who recognizes stars
as beams of light. . . . .

August 27, 2020

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.
Given. . . With A Promise. . .

With a Promise. . .

With the ongoing grief affecting so many in our nation, this was a gift given and I share with you. Our thoughts have a weight and those needing those thoughts are open to us. There will be a tomorrow somewhere. . . and we are asked to live our lives knowing this. Those we love are part of this knowledge. I ask you to live it also. . . because I do.

With A Promise . . .

There will be a tomorrow
somewhere. . .
waiting in the sunrise.

Perhaps in the shadow
of the footprint
on which you stand
this moment. . .

Or perhaps in
the light of a morning
in a world not thought
yet into Being. . .

But you will have it,
earned by the tenor
of your days,
practiced diligently.

It will be met
with an of course,
having visited every night
and well met. . .

with a promise once again to reclaim Paradise.

photo by Jon Katz (Bedlam Farm. com)

August 23, 2020

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 Learning Place. . . Our Earth. . .

A great day at the Park. . . .

It was another difficult day with health issues and no energy to cope. And then this ray of sunshine was on my computer.

Her grandfather saying this little engineer put the frame for the folding camp chair (with many shock corded legs) together, all by herself after seeing it done only once two days before!

I thought again of the biology teacher saying that there is more of the grandparents in the grandchild than either the mother or the father, whether a human being or a fruitfly. And I wonder how much of the great grandmother with the Jenny genes in that Emma E.?

I thought of the many years I had done designated domestic male work from painting the basement floor (with moving the appliances and tool benches) to yard work with wheelbarrows filled with loam. My young neighbor commented that I moved trees around like lawn furniture.

But I had older brothers I watched through the years and learned from our mother that when you see it to do, you do it because you will not pass this way again with this chance.

She knew something innately that we all caught onto. This chance is ours only and when we see something to do that improves life, we must do it. It was a sin not to and that was what we were taught.

Yes, there are those who know what buttons to push. You are having such a good time doing, you hear, I did not want to take away your fun! So they avoid the sweat work. Or the best one yet. . all it takes is a little touching up and no time at all. . I don’t need it til’ tonight. . whatever it is. . .

It does require time but so does everything and everybody. Immediately! they insist. . . The ongoing life requires my talents and Emma E.’s talent to watch and do.

My philosophy tells me do and you will be shown how. Not perfectly but commensurate with time given and practice. Soon it will be commendable.

My world needs me and it is personal. I have proved that I have not just sailed through but took it personally. The Jenny genes may not be valued in this world but are in some world, still unnamed.

This best classroom ever is meant to be this best classroom ever to learn to make life better. It continues for me and is for Emma E.

It humbly reaffirms the premise that intelligence undergirds the ALL. Its potential is unknown and unknown is our potential also.

August 21, 2020

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.
Dr. Jonas Salk. . Conscious Evolution. . .

Having been an avid newspaper addict, and leaning to clutter, I tackled a box of clippings yellow with age because then there was no money to buy books. The local libraries knew the boys and this mother well.

So I read for the past week brittle clips mostly from early 80’s. I placed aside an article from Parade Magazine November 10, 1984 written by Arianna Stassinopoulos about Jonas Salk, celebrated for the polio vaccine.

Haunting me she writes of his premise of conscious evolution. Paraphrasing and editing . ‘her and him . . .he sees a major shift in human evolution from struggling to survive to live, to choosing to evolve. In fact to survive, we must evolve and it requires a new thinking, behavior, ethic and new morality.

Mankind then survives, and not only the fittest’.

Going on this magnificent treatise says to physically survive we act in fear. The fear need not be actual, but we behave as if we lose place, things, relationships, position. To switch behavior to conscious evolution is not easy.

I have never heard anyone speak of conscious evolution but it must have rooted deeply for me. I have observed often gaps in behaviors.

Seeing the inequities of life and those in power profiting and our surfacing sense of unease being party to the reasons, we simply cannot survive in this emotional sewer. Our shame is not what we can live without suicide.

In being honest with ourselves, we have listened too often to those who told us not to rock the boat. And watched beloveds drown.

The fatigue in monitoring one’s conscious behavior is total. One has to learn everything anew. Courage to stand one more time when one falls is success.

Like Yoda we don’t only try but do, to overcome fear, anxiety, hatred, revenge, rejection, dismissal, and gender differences, but each time is a major step in potential of all beings everywhere.

Our change of address when we leave Earth will make our admittance easier to where we have earned the right to go. I kid you not. If we have to repeat or take remedial instruction, word is no longer pleasant.

Dr. Salk adds this injunction and sufficient it is for the wise. . .’Conscious Evolution is like an infection with more and more people becoming carriers, whether among human beings or fruit flies, and it might as well that evolutionary changes spreads quickly through an inbuilt mechanism, as if someone called a town meeting or the 7 o’clock news.’

Take heed. Over 35 years ago the language was and is still common for today’s pandemic, Covid -19 that has killed over 170,000 of us. Dr. Salk talked of saving mankind by becoming better human beings. Being good is work but highly addictive. One ends up having fun and it is contagious as Dr. Salk says. We all then enhance life in all forms and that chance we all wish for.

August 18, 2020

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.
No Space To Grow Bread. . . .

No Space To Grow Bread. . .

They are young, you say,
with hormones raging in bodies,
having no desire for libraries and
no entry monies for museums . . .

In these places, soldiers in perilous times
were forever sowing seeds of freedom,
with farmers tilling soil of rocks and clay
to feed the freedom seekers. . .
and artists seeking to feed Man’s Spirit. . .

Not concerned these young, I say,
while making brothers and sisters
like themselves, for they
are not yet ready for parenting.

Bedroom gymnastics are played
and little discipline practiced
in the games of musical beds
with its consequences.

We have seen when burgeoning fantasies
take their energies and hormones,
to crash with anger humankind’s masterpieces,
to appease an appetite out of control.

The children of hunger
with bloated stomachs starve to death.
Young girls are ravaged, young boys savaged
while in the lives of their elders,
there is no hope of place to rest Spirit.

My Earth is in peril and its classroom in jeopardy.
No room for Earth is splitting its seams.
In good conscience, we cannot go forth and multiply.

There is no place and space to grow bread.

August 13, 2020

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 Only Begin. . .

(I have edited this entry for space)

The entry doesn’t sound like much, but when the footwork is done, integrated, along with sorting religious dogma shouldered throughout lifetimes, the work is immense.   Done while raising a family and living a life with its responsibilities, was difficult at best. It has stymied many a stronger and bolder human.

Was it necessary to work so hard? For me it was or I would continue on my knees to the bridge.    When one tries with all one has to make sense out of life and only nonsense was seen, one must do something.   When my knock was not heard, I crashed the gates of heaven.

If what I learned did not work here, it made little difference that it might elsewhere. Heaven took me at my insistence and for most of this lifetime, I felt shepherded.   Everything teaches, including heartbreak.

I have spoken of my Teachers previously and in writing about this underlying intelligence of the universes, I would also include the response from them.   It has been a difficult thing for me to speak about with all the smirk mocking but since my years are terminus, I want my understanding of this cosmic experience to be voiced again.

We have had lifetimes of science doctors giving their understanding about what is normal and we all know that mankind is more than psychology.   We have and are a spiritual entity.   And we are more than test tubes and litmus papers. We are more of who we were when earth rolled into being and we were co-creators in the world nebulae.

I do not wish to be part of a world where those who wield power do because of street smarts.   I wish to be part of a world where our hearts meld with the greater heart and we have each others’ well being in our hands. And we wish to do good.

I scribed. .journal entry Jan 5, 2014 .(this is dictation, free flowing words that take form however they do impressed silently but clearly. It is like auditing class but in thought impression.)

You have those now who no longer scoff at what life presents nor prevents.

You have on these pages that beneath the life or the worlds, there is a substance or an Intelligence.   There is nothing that would stop the ever growing list of wonders to say how did this Intelligence come into being.

Whether it is the big bang theory sending molecules into form but what is known is that intelligence and common sense are its virtues. We know we are not incidental to life’s picture. There are other forms and other life cycles and we participate in all of them.

How we know of this intelligence is by observing the work of those whose business it is to improve life. To lift the burden of existence to a tolerable level and to wave the spirit of triumph to what has been endowed to the minds that would not stop learning.   This is what it is to be alive.   This is what life is about.

We are placed in this environment to learn.   We are given the heads with its propensities to accomplish what the heart desires. It is up to parents of these minds to grasp their importance and for themselves to learn the consequences of their actions. You were right when you warned people to pick up their mistakes.   Their names are attached.

The sages will no longer say I did what I could and did I not have fun? This is a classroom and this is what we do. This is our work.   And we only begin . . .

artwork by Claudia Hallissey

August 10, 2020

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.
Memory Quilt. . . in triumph warmed. . . .

Many of us have problems that have no resolution.   Even after doing all the things we have learned and read about and even those things we have invented, there appear no answers on the horizon.   We lose hope and we ourselves are at a loss.

It seems strange and baffling that nothing is working.   It is then we confront the heavens and with a put up or shut up attitude, bow to a greater strength.   For if we don’t, then we must admit we are the strength for all time and all things. And find it exhausting. We may find ourselves powerless, unable. Often we give up too soon, never stretching our psychic muscles, so to speak.   And I would venture the great majority never pit themselves against the Great God and that is a pity.

For regardless who or what it is we worship and revere, that SOMETHING will pull strength from us when confronted over strongest arguments of whatever nature.   This is good.   For there are few times in the normal course of living where we pit ourselves against pain intentionally, be it emotional, psychological or physical.   We avoid it at all costs.   But when pushed to the wall, there is that SOMETHING in us required, whether it is heaven’s requisition or our unconscious need to measure ourselves.

It is necessary for us to see how we measure up not only to our own estimation but against our parents and our peers. And the latter can be so important that we look for arguments that are long and drawn out to see how well we fare in the battle.   This is not only true on a personal, private level but think how our leaders pride themselves on the greater national and international stages.   And how many wars are fought because of this need to test mettle by those very leaders vowing that this war will end all wars.

Some of us do this testing early on, setting a new direction and recovering in good health. The puzzle pieces have a sought for place.   Others in despair require more time because their unresolves are more complex, but even they eventually realize their strength is a dependable strength.

Many lives are brought to fruition and our eventualities are all timely.

Memory Quilt. . .

When it is time I will draw high
my memory quilt to cover shivering bones.

Pictured will be events richly patterned
and pleasing to the soul.

Astonishing not to recall emotions
pressed beyond belief, battles fought
to frightful finishes.

Left like barnacles clinging
to a disabled craft, slippery in substance,
suitable only for discard.

When it is time, the memory quilt drawn
will show kaleidoscoped events
lending warmth to fragile skin,

haunting in their beauty remembered,
while I take flight

in triumph warmed.

(The photo is of my granddaughter’s treasure
of her shirts collected for me to make this quilt
of her young life.)

August 8, 2020

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.
To Be. . .sometimes is the ALL required. . . .

I am calling to touch base with you. It has been too long since we chatted I said. And after a surprised response she started and went on at great length finding her own equilibrium.

I could do nothing for her except be an ear to listen. She called me the next day with gratitude because she said she was ready to puddle. And there was no one to mop her up.

Another young friend would be facing an enormous decision the following week. I was in a quandary about what to do and then realized I could only be an assistant. I could not decide nor input any information.

I would plead ignorance even if I was expert and credentialed. Unless asked, there was no insight I could offer. With today’s abundance of information, there is too much in fact. The brain can only handle so much since everyone is expert in everything. All I could do was stand by and catch the fall out.

Another body, another human is what is needed. Just presence. Just being there is what is needed for the individual to stand and make their own decisions. Just someone to listen to the garbage spilling forth and not stop loving them. To take them in their frustration and to let it dissipate so the residue does not kill them.

Just to be able to have a someone there who does not fall down will enable them to stand and do what they must.

I don’t have time for your drama a husband said and left his wife to handle the emotional conflict of the children. At that moment he exhibited nothing to recommend him as a husband and nothing surely as a father.

Well, mister, that is what earth life, physical life is all about. Here we learn either to handle our emotions or gift them onto unsuspecting shoulders and watch our grandchildren fight the same battles.

Is this our desire? To see the icons of past history smashed by the frustration of generations of ancestral progeny rising demanding restitution?

How better to spend your time than by listening to a soul in search of an ear to hear their lament? Be the quiet symbol of peace. Be the one who stands and gives Presence to allow the right thing to be done.

To Be is the all we can and must do. . . . is sometimes the ALL that is required.

artwork is Claudia Hallissey’s

August 2, 2020

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.