I look upon this photo and am grateful that what my life emphasized is factual for me in this moment of time. That what was crucial to our sons’ lives is what I see in their progeny and therefore, mine.
When asked when mountains became impossible to climb how to go on, I said there were three good reasons. Tresy, David and John. They were all I needed no matter how high the mountains . Not climbed poetically, delicately, or gracefully, but lumbering mostly. With this photo, I have what I need to see.
The sisters portray exquisitely what love does. Its power and capability is evidenced. Bedded in love they will grow in love. They are loved wisely and well as their parents were so loved. And showed. Made a difference? A big difference.
Generations previous show us what poverty burglarizes. Too many generations have looked upon children as simply clones stealing what little they were given. Love and education mainly. Food, clothing and weather protection being important of course, but crucial to well being and emotional growth are nutrients for the human spirit.
To catch a moment such as this gives hope. This is a heart moment for Emma E. and a safe arrival and moment for Norah Claire.
They portray everything poignant and alive with meaning. They are a visual blessing.
photo by Merideth Hallissey . . parent
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.
Tomorrow is Father’s Day and this is a late regret to chalk up to a life in ebbtide. But with the head on my shoulders today, I wish there had been times to talk of heart concerns. Life was to be mountains for me to climb and I could have used his hand to hold.Talk while you both are within arm’s reach.
The Strange Bequest. . .
There was a man, a slim man,
whose head was bedecked
with a white cloud and
whose eyes saw dreams
he could not articulate.
He sat one day staring into space
and when I questioned him, he said
‘I am sitting and watching the grass grow.’
I hesitated far too long and have lived to regret it.
I wish the courage had been mine
to have asked him to share his dreams with me.
For he bequeathed to me a mind
that does not rest.
I have the thought that his father and
father before him wrestled
the same misty vision which now
is mine to set in motion.
I question this strange bequest,
for I have not the staunch heart required
to lay to rest my ancestor’s anguish.
Papa, I plead now,
to replace my heart with hot ore,
inject me with a vial of celestial courage,
to fuse my spine with tempered steel.
There is so little time.
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.
as night arrives and blankets all,
we take rest that is ours
and allow it to heal . . .
for it is no small thing given
but as with all, we use what is ours
and gently put the day to bed .
the night still arrives on tender paws
to silence even the heart’s beating.
it is a soft bed we enter. . .
the day will have its demands
with another morning borning,
still we use our hearts .
never to disregard thought,
but hearts must be followed.
so we take the night, love, and
wing it to the place of recovery and,
and bless. . . sometimes it is all we can do . . .
journal entry 6 april, 1989
formatted 6.17.2020
photo Joe Hallissey Sr. 2012
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.
Living The Martha Mary Story forever it seems. . . . . .
It was the Martha -Mary story which raised the hackles and had me fuming. Martha wished to sit and listen to her friend and exchange thoughts but Mary of course took the seat. Mary did not offer to pour milk nor water to the thirsting children and elders so Martha toured with pitcher in hand and fumed.
Jesus was attuned to this and chided, Martha, Martha why do you fuss so? Mary is only doing what Mary can do.
I am not really sure that anyone appreciated what Martha did. Martha also did what only she could do because she saw what needed to be done. No one else did. No one. Only her eyes saw the need.
There would be those who say that Martha chose to pour for the guests. She could have said no and taken a seat. But could she? And did Mary see the need and choose not to service? Or not eyes open and mind to understand?
I scribed . . .You have the obligation because you have the knowledge. October 26, 1988
(my thoughts today. . . In other words when you have the knowledge, you have the obligation. Also when knowledge roots and conscience is honed, options are fewer. In some cases, options close. (this is how saints are born on the job)
This is anathema to some because choice is a freedom and to say options close takes away that freedom. Limited knowledge even then gives the favored ones many choices. And looking at our world especially today, tells us that minorities are stripped of choices every day no matter their high credentials.
When reasons and explanations make the kind of sense that lead to understanding, it becomes knowledge. Understanding does not necessarily make something easier to live with. But when it roots and conscience is honed sharply, one sometimes sees an out but it is closed because that same knowledge sometimes presents fallout on innocent shoulders. Conscience wishes not to wound.
And the only thing one can do is endure.
One is not abandoned because in the knowledge comes enlightenment which grants surcease from what grips in the dilemma. Sometimes small comfort but in the broadening space given, this becomes the lifebuoy that keeps all afloat. And in times like ours with so many devices blaring information 24/7 with no letup, a small comfort is acceptable with no argument. And greedily grasped.
The Godfellows. . .
they crowd him, he who walks the path like the pied piper.
the youngers follow like so many puppies.
he bends to whisper the day good into ears that hear his beating heart.
and their hearts beat with knowledge . . . that they are both Divine. . . . .
(When it seems I flit with old and recent entries, it is because I finally understand the quantum theory that all time is simultaneous. Because I do, it is all happening now. It is the only way to make sense out of my own why. Work on it because otherwise the deep waters will entice.)
photo by John S. 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.
What pleases me so much about this photo besides knowing she is my beloved Emma E. is the obvious seriousness she shows in her work. And it is work she does.
I identify the intensity and I wish her to be able to see the beauty of her body doing what her mind has determined. It is with joy she will do work, whatever it is.
It will be with a loving gesture that she does her tasks. And the loving gesture is what makes the difference.
We have our favorite people doing for us when we are children and it is special ones we want to do for us as we grow older. It is the toddler who says either Mommy do! Or daddy do! Or pushing the item in the hands of another with a grunt! Do! What is the difference? The child knows. The child knows the difference. It is the love.
And the elder child approaching dotage? They sit calmly and wait for the loving gesture that always makes the difference.
I cannot nor do I even wish to get behind the eyes of an Other to see what they see. But I can see in the hands the loving gesture simply by how they approach the task. Is it with haste, or disdain the task is done, or even a disinterest? Is it with no thought because something else is more important or enticing?
It will show in the outcome of the work. So if it takes me hours to make dinner, it may be an honored chef in mind telling me to chop finely the celery for this dish.
It may be time in conference or in harmony with the invisible Other whom we all house in heart. This Other we talk to is what the cosmic element sometimes call prayer.
Emma E. is in conference. Emma E. is in harmony. She seriously mixes her mudcakes and measures the liquid to make real what she remembers from another place. Not in time perhaps, but in mind.
What she does is what her grandfather did on the white sheets folded to make a piano on his bed sing his heart songs. And an uncle sit with the books he memorized as a preschooler to cite them aloud while another climbed his trees with a tool belt made of kitchen ware to saw the branches off.
The loving gestures were part of them as I see now in their offspring. And I almost know, almost. . . what they see through their eyes.
photo by Tresy Hallissey, Grandfather
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 had been asked to make potato salad for guests because they think it special and I was delighted to do so. When I finished I thought I should have kept the times to show long it took when I was at home and said I was tired at the end of a day caring for family, home and property. I was asked what was I doing all day since I didn’t have to work?
I gave thought to love of family, for beauty I created in the home, yard and learning to do. Not just what I did with my hands but with my heart.
It took 3 ½ hours from start to finish today when I made the potato salad. No small act in time but its value was what went into it because of caring. The celery chopped thin, green pepper, angular and red pepper to add color; cucumbers angled to be crisp , eggs cooked perfectly made the difference. Particular mayonnaise balanced with sour cream made it special.
Once yard work meant I knew plants and their needs, maximized color, plus caregiving meant I studied facets of connection between us and nature. Watering was measured with empty tuna cans placed precisely. Once a week spraying with mouthwash kept bugs off the landscaping and a can of beer in the sprayer fed the lawn also. Time doing and learning? A lot. Worth it? You bet.
My presence was an added value when David came home for chemo treatment. I sat beside the bed when he had difficulty sleeping doing what I do in thought. I was not cognizant of his awareness until he thanked me for sitting. He told me that he was able to let his grip on himself relax and sleep was his relief for the guard on himself.
Important? How often everyone’s need to have a someone sit by us?
When I met my friend to go walking to relieve her tension, I said let’s put away the toys because it looks like rain. Only toys she said but you and your husband worked to buy them and you respect your work? Never thought of it that way she said. I said the lesson then is the work means nothing and there is no respect for it.
Most people do not think of children as a sacred trust with lessons carefully taught. Most think children are clones of them and a biological thrust of insignificance.
Carrying things too far am I? But this casual attitude permeates every aspect of our lives. Do I ask one more thing to do with a list of too many already?
When I saw a credit card tossed on the counter with disdain for the checkout person I wanted to slap that hand who did it and apologize to the cashier. The attitude said to me I am bigger than this small purchase or it’s only dirty money. I wanted to ask if he had so little respect for his work that gave him credit to buy or the cashier not worth simple courtesy? I was ashamed of what I saw.
Ain’t nothin’ much? But it is a whole lot of much this casual attitude. With Covid 19 I worry a lot about attitudes. I do not relate to souls bartering for rights to sit on the beach or go to the malls in droves. You have a value you have not discovered. Please, take precautions, wear your mask.
Because I want Others to value you, I wear my face mask, to keep our planet afloat until they do. We are in precarious waters.
photo by John S. 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.
I had been at sixes and sevens (so to speak) this week. I should explain that the idiom means things being in great doubt with me.
The idiom is centuries old coming from (more nearly surmised) the English. Since I married into an Anglo Saxon Protestant family, I was introduced to what were strange customs for me. And this idiom was one of puzzling language.
Since being just twenty, eager to please, I learned quickly, both joyfully and askance sometimes.
Leading me to conclude at almost a decade less than a century, that for peace to ensue among men of diversity, those things which unify us as a species should be taught in all beginning grammar schools along with the differences in cultures.
It seems the differences in worlds (and words) and we are just one of many, are prime fodder for simmering anguish.
How we are united in so many ways fade in many minds while the differences sadly become up front. And the differences wielded so well are the fears quietly smoldering unknown even to the holder but when given voice turn to rage.
Tyrants live in various houses and use their tools so wisely they leave Heaven aghast as to the hurt that is done. Tyrants need not use hostility. They need not use weapons which destroy anything but self esteem.
And many are they who use their own neglected self esteem to drain the other of pity and sympathy and strength. And because the tyrants feel not appreciated, they say in so many words, I am number one and let no one in this house forget it. And tyrants proceed to devastate laws and their abiding citizens along with their countries and constitutions of families, be they charters or people.
And because so many think their futures depend on the largess of the tyrants, in fear they remain silent. Until the time the disparaged ego rises and takes a stand. It is written. . . .
At all times you can change your destiny. You can continue to love in the face of rejection. You can continue to have faith in the face of no faith. You can continue to build a life in the face of no life. And because you know this and continue to do it, you will be creating a new path and a new method which will in the course of history, change it.
Your acts upon your days have already sent the future into a direction which will reveal itself. They will know who we are by the unfolding days. We will now stand proud.
artwork by Claudia 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.
(I scribed this on February 24, 2018 and it was posted on that day. Sadly it bears repeating .)
There are times that call men to action and this is one of them. It is time that certain ideas give way to the new ideas but ones that have been incubating for a long time within the hearts and minds of those given to thought.
We are long delayed in giving space to different kinds of consciousness. Long delayed in giving space to those whose minds and physical brains have doors open to places the average person does not.
The still mind is a comfort zone for most. The comfort being in the place where the meals are hot and the days fall into a pattern that give little leeway for the eventful to happen unless taken into hands of those of ill intent.
Long past the time now we have gone expecting man to become zealous in his attitude to bring peace and growth to the human beings of which we are a part. The human is not only physical but is divine. The human had his beginning with the stars and is intent on claiming this innate knowledge.
With every event that comes to life in the human sphere seems to bring calamity in large doses. Wars are taken as common within the boundaries of the race that prolongs the anguish of ancients. And little reason lies behind the events except giving action to desires that look to give meaning to the life that has little in it.
Long has man looked for reason to add adventure to his day. And leaving the children and spouses behind to do so in the names of work or patriotism or to hunt seemed reason enough. We take to task these reasons. We take to task the lazy minds that look for physical adventure and not the considerate thoughtful work to give meaning. Why the need to be entertained than for minds that look for answers to give meaning to the purpose of life?
Long has man preferred to fight wars over boundaries instead of looking to what unites the human race. Instead of looking to what unites the spirit in manner to bind one to another. Is it so boring for man to look to what will prolong and give impetus to the progression of humankind? Is there so little love between man that there is no common ground?
From a cosmic view, other worlds must look to see what they can invest in the dailyness to spur man on to promote this planet to growth and progress. We look to see where we can inject some adrenalin to make the intensity work with fervor.
It is time long gone that the one god, the one world, the one man, the one consciousness be held onto with such religious fervor. It is time to expand the thinking to include the divine within each human giving access to the spiritual energy and psychic fulfilment which permeates and upholds the universe and universes. It makes for accountability of the each in his life with the knowledge that names are attached to actions which will demand restitution.
For too long man has reclined in his comforts with the god he created who will forgive and forget all his transgressions. That with forgiveness because his beginning was less than ideal and the burden was a heavy one to carry that he would be forgiven whatever transgressions he committed. The news now is that names are attached to these errors in judgments and these errors must be accounted for.
Misdemeanors are different than sins. Sins are different than psychological impairments. And impairments of judgments are still not dismissed but lessons must be learned so that progression in human lives will not be held in abeyance but will have its time for full potential.
Babies being born are wondering why they are in kindergarten when they have knowledge of worlds in attendance to the great god of wonder that is the rolling thunder of the universe. Why they are not part of the movement that rules other worlds with motion and movement toward great progress. But are lost in the illusion of slow motion that seem to immerse the adults in such pleasures. They come to us as twigs already bent with a history ready to teach and we step on their heads.
We are in the midst of worlds looking at this planet and wondering the outcome of its wondrous elements. It should have been held as graduation for souls becoming stars again. Instead it is held as the playground of souls who have learned the sophistication of its accoutrements and given them a place to play forever.
Time is now that changes will be evident. Time is now that much will be demanded. And the young whose memories now of the violence that has taken their friends and innocence will demand restitution and behavior that comes with adulthood.
The children shall lead us. And force the children in adult bodies to grow up and let loose the behaviors that have kept this beautiful planet hostage. It is time and the children shall lead because they have memory. Of the worlds they have come from and where they exhibited behavior that showed accountability.
It is time for all of us to grow up.
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 friend and I discussed how difficult it was for humans not to think we are the most intelligent of beings. Of course he said, no matter what color they are, people think other beings cannot be intelligent.
In Doris Lessing’s Shikasta series, Klorathy said the most intelligent were beings without mouths and had tentacles for speaking at the end of their hands.
In a February 2014 journal I scribed. . . . What if we were to introduce a creature of high intelligence but other than what you think about and say to you this is how you are in a different focus? What if you are shown in dreams how you appear to us whom you consider teachers and yet grant intelligence of the highest kind? What would you think then? Can you visualize what we see when we envision your form? What can you bring to mind?. . . .
I edited my answer for space. (It is outside my frame of reference. I can only conjure up with specifics. Lessing used language as a measure and even then I need a dictionary. For words like dwarf or bulk or wide or silvery, these I visualize. )
Work today 5.7.20. . I scribed . . . beginning what you wish as differences in appearance, we would tell you not to worry about what is fashionable. Not to worry about what your hair looks like. Except you think what you are comfortable with. And right you are. Not to be outlandish and draw attention to how you differ in appearance is one less thing you contend with.
But we take it from there. Fashionable on a daily basis you think not. It requires too much energy you find wanting. But cleanliness is crucial to you. To others who have no water to drink, cleanliness is luxury.
But many would find it difficult to pay attention to intelligence should they find a dirty exterior. Yet worlds there are, where this is not a factual but a luxury again. It would take awhile to put the olfactories to sleep and pay attention to thought. And there is the matter of speech making a big difference.
Talk about the recent experience with the Newfie, Leroy.
This is mine and it surprises me for this to come up now. . . (last week upon awaking I found Leroy out in the garage with son John and I greeted him with how well Leroy was. {in his recovery after blowing out two legs before Christmas 2019} He yodeled his greeting as he happily now does.
When I came in to get his breakfast I realized he transferred a picture to me when he yodeled and it was of yesterday when I rubbed him down with moisturizer to oil his skin and new fur, having been shaved for surgery. He loves hands on massaging. I thought immediately of the woman who talked to cows whose name I could not bring up. I googled and found Temple Grandin , whose talents were the bedrock of much needed improvement in slaughterhouses.
Since Leroy’s surgeries he is again a happy camper. He yodels in prelude to mind pictures voicing his wants. He is a case study for me in spades and in transferring thought with pictures worth 10,000 words.
Leroy brought to mind other dogs and journal entries when thought impressions occurred. I learned their needs and went about doing those. But this time I made the vivid connection with Temple Grandin.
(5.29.2020….It is not surprising now that I scribed the teacher asking about Leroy since we were into how important speech is. I had already journaled the mental picture with the yodel. Even now I see that our other dogs often did transfer pictures I accepted, though never called them intentional communication. I just knew and acted. In hindsight with today’s understanding of what all I was able to do that was not common, it would have blown my mind.
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.
My prayer. . . we welcome Nora Claire to this world. Welcome her in thought. Deluge the sisters in harmony so that their lives will sing in delight their variations.
Songs will be different but the love sustaining will be profuse. I wish that every newborn would be welcomed in joy and abundant love. And would have untiring help in their guidance.
Such an utopia I would create with all worlds, no matter their kind or kin. Dream with me for the power resides to dream and create in all of us.
It is not in my memory bank that anyone I know has had such a birthday gift! Nora Claire was born on this Grandmother Great’s birthday, Monday. . .May 25th 2020. Emma E. is not only a firstborn in her family, but now is a sister to Nora. Her resume, along with her talents grows, as Nora begins her stint in this classroom.
It will be a merry chase for these parents I think. Like many of us who take this corona crisis seriously, they have been in lockdown for the past two months. Begins now another phase with everyone called to the floor. Emma E. has learned words a 2 year old has not had to learn before. Words like likedown, shelter in place and face masks and orders like we have to stay at home every 2 year old knows now.
But we are fortunate that in this world crisis, we still find life generous and loving. That we will contribute to keeping it generous for the newborns as well as we can. We want each and every soul desiring space to find life good in every dimension.
So we welcome our Nora to the clan and keep her in the light. She is an on schedule baby so her vitals are normal and good. And we hope that the sisters will find their lives together to be double their pleasures. (And. . . .quietly now. . . . the parents find the two of them only half the trouble. . )
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.
Everything Teaches. . . . 
photos by Harrison and Merideth Hallissey