From an Upper Floor

What if it is true. . . just for today. . .

What if it is true. . . . .just for today. . . .

The thought occurred to me what if whatever we think is true. . . just for today? How would it affect me and life around me? How would it affect you being related in thought with me?

What if it were true that thoughts are things and have a weight? That everything crossing our minds is true somewhere, what would their effect be? And what if our thoughts hang in the air, ripe for anyone’s picking?

Supposing, just supposing what we are thinking is considered prayer by the heavens? Would we be embarrassed? Because we approach our Thanksgiving holy days of gratitude, can we try something?

We are a special country on this earth. And many the world over, envy us. We were settled because people fled persecution for many reasons and one of them being they wished to worship in their own way. We are a country composed of the world’s religions and it makes us special because sacred customs are honored.

My mentor, the Nazarene said you give me a drink of water and you give a drink to all. Or what you do for one, all will do for the each. When you do something kind, it is a way of giving your blessing to everyone you meet. It is a gift we all can give simply because we breathe the same air.

Since you are reading this, I assume you learned to read in kindergarten when I did . I read the Dick and Jane stories about families not like mine. I also learned to be kind to the one sitting next to me and not to hurt feelings, to be gentle.

Which was a big lesson to learn because those sitting next to me were different than me and were not allowed to come to my house to play. We all had to learn that different can be a big lesson because in many ways you see me as different than you.

So let us be helpful and do good. Today we will think kindly about each other and give our blessings. We try for happy memories for all and send our thoughts skyward so that whoever finds them will say thank you!

Be it true. . . just for today have our thoughts be prayers and see where they go. We can do it. . . .just for today. I attach my name to mine. You too?

November 20, 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.
He Watch-ed Me. . . he watch-ed me. . . .

This is my birthday gift to my inlaw daughter Claudia and my granddaughter great Emma E. They almost share the same birthdate just one day apart. Emma E. will hear this blue boy story many times and will come to love hearing them. She knows she walks on her toes because she was a dancer before she was a baby to them all. She told her mother this. To the birthday girl and birthday grandmother, my love to you both in a heart hug. I am glad you both chose me to come to. I have loved you both from forever.

Can we make the snowman now, the little one asked.   Almost time, I said, almost time.   Well, he said, when will it be the right time?   And I asked him to think about it.   He was still for a minute and then asked me what I meant.

Well, I said, there is a right time and a not so right time about things.   Can you name some things that have a right time?   He looked at me and with a bright smile that showed gleaming teeth, and said, yes!!!   Well then,   I said, tell me.

And he looked at me and said that it was always a right time to make cookies.   It was a right time to eat ice cream.   And it was a right time to take care of those littler than you.   And it is always a right time to put your toys away when you are ready for bed.

I agreed with all of those and I said that was good thinking. And then I asked for examples of things that don’t have a right time. Can you think of some and tell me what those are?

Welllll. . . . he said, the not so right time is when you ask me to do something and I am not ready because I am not finished with what I am doing.

Intrigued, I asked, what can you possibly be doing that I don’t know about and especially when it is the right time? And he looked at me with wonder, puzzled. . . . . you don’t know?   Nooooo, I said, I don’t.

Well, he said, when I am doing private things and ‘specially when I am telling secrets and those are private things. When I am talking to my friends that you don’t see.

And when do you do that? I asked.   When I play and whisper things to them.   They whisper back but you can’t hear them.   But we have talks and they are my friends.   Who are they?, I asked.   These are good friends from before.   When, before ?, I asked.   Before I came to you, he said.   They are my forever friends, he said.   Forever.

Hold onto them, I said.   Hold tightly to them.   And you be their forever friend.   Tell me next time you talk so that I can wait till you are through.   I know, he said that you have forever friends.   How do you know this?,   I asked.   I see you move your lips and I know you are talking to your forever friends.   I watch-ed you, he said.   I watch-ed you.

And then I hugged this little forever friend who watch-ed me.

November 16, 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.
Like Silly Putty In The Hands Of Children. . . . .

. . . .I got to thinking about this dream that made this world and all in it. I have been thinking about Michael Talbot who figured out that this was a holographic universe and everything in it was a soup kitchen. Soupy and until we looked at it to name it and because we identified it, it turned into matter. So the soupy mess never stayed that way because the minute we looked at it, it became more solid.

And the noises surrounding all this identifying and naming and photographing we couldn’t because we found also that when identified everything soupy had potential. Even if we thought there was no life in it, the bottom line to subatomic particles is that there is no divisive factor. Everything is non divisive, is united or clinging to their almost likeness because there is a desire to bring forth life I think, in The All or Life or what we think Sacred.

What I was trying to say years ago in Connecticut when Hal and Ann(our minister friends) came to dinner was that there is God In A Rock. That even when we dismiss non life we simply do not have eyes to see everything and what we are dismissing as non viable may indeed be submerged and we don’t have those eyes yet to see. Because all that we acknowledge is what we are able to relate to.

As I read the Talbot book what is seen is the top layer of what we look for. And Researcher Bohm by his proclivity says that the deeper secrets still are not evident. We only see what we look for. So we can only discuss the soupy texture of the Universe and what we hope to see is what is composed of this soup.

As we evolve we create the reality we identify as we swim in it and rewrite it. We draw summations of what we experience and view but we cannot project what conclusions can be drawn from the parts.

The good Science does is that it tries to compute how things began but we draw conclusions from what is experienced and what has been glimpsed. The full potential is not yet disclosed. And what we are open to. The potential is in its becoming.

Perhaps as Susan Howatch wrote some philosophers believed that human nature cannot grasp the concept of reality at all.

My dream of our David after his death was as he came down the street while I was moving the water hose on the front lawn. I said David you are alive and well and he said it is a wonder. Heaven makes as many mistakes as he had, David said.

And the reason for the mistakes is that as long as there is growth, no conclusions are drawn because it is incomplete, everything inconclusive and offers potential growth. Is anything ever finalized? Surely beyond my frame of thought. But as long as there is a one who thinks he can make a difference, can we close anything off?

Especially if the ending is not determined to have a final potential. Or is final potential an oxymoron? It can be understood that our desire for manifestation of our mind’s produce gave way to this world’s creation. Was there direction foreseen with boundaries within moral and ethical choices? Was there a sense of sexual morass or proclivity to it all?

We have seen human behaviors manipulated as so much silly putty in the hands of children. And we have seen the reality show onstage and have seen applause inhaled as so much addictive substance.

We couldn’t believe what we were seeing because it was not in our frame of reference. But it blew our minds and we are all wounded. We have not recovered and wonder if we ever will.

photo by Mark Jacobson

November 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. . .from my lifetimes. . .

If you do not intend to look back, it’s best to remember to lift the plow.
*****
Wishes are as potent a force as fishes swimming in live water.
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Under adverse conditions, we become more of what we are.
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To think is a holy obligation. And to be held accountable should follow. We would then be responsible human beings? Imagine that!
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The world no longer tolerates the thinker. He has become a recluse in the ribbon of concrete.
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The world hails the activist, the doer. The attention and kudos are granted no matter the consequences, constructive or not. And we live in those consequences.
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Curbside decisions belong to the white charger. The smooth phrase, the quick retort are only newsworthy. And both fade rapidly in memory to be recalled only by the video screen.
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The thoughtful person cannot find a place to be asked a question requiring the time to raise their eyes to the hills and back for a reflective answer.
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The visionary has the look of one used to focusing on the horizon. I have time for the visionary. They have substance for the long haul as a participant in the vision. And strangely, human events still take time no matter how we wish otherwise.
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The immediate situation may be alleviated with a curbside decision but the progression of humankind may never be affected. There is always that hope.
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Where is safe? Safe is only in your head because no place is safe. And I would have to argue your head.
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Nothing gets done in this world unless somebody’s back breaks, a somebody’s legs ache and at least a somebody’s mind splinters and a heart rips apart.
*****

photo by
Kathy Rybacki Qualiana

November 6, 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 Workers Are Few. . . feeling used?. . .

Feeling Used? Of Course!

And the call came and because panic ensued, the young one got dressed and the night found him getting another vehicle running and a friend grateful to be driving home. I asked him do they realize what they ask? No clue, gram. Not a clue. They are scared to death and hope no one approaches their stalled car.

And an other finds her time called upon to transfuse a parent with soothing words and tangibles. Her time for making a living takes her days. And an other finds his talents are siphoned to fallouts of matchstick houses that need first aid. And grandparents across the world these days still are pledged to keep the grandchildren from self destructing.

And because I live with a son and in law daughter, a sibling said, you are live in help! As opposed to a facility that does not allow access to a kitchen where I can cook comfort foods and bake cookies? I have been perfecting signature foods for almost 80 years and have become quite good, I think. Where I can sit near a fireplace and drink coffee and absorb heat to thaw icy limbs to feel human?

I remember 10 and 12 hour days when I would have gone on bended knee with gratitude to find dinner prepared to welcome me home. Or when the children were toddlers to have an afternoon for a nap or a leisurely bath. Most grandparents have these memories and know the priceless value of them. Or an evening for dinner out.

Taken for granted. Must. Workers with conscience always are taken for granted. Heaven has to count on us so we keep the classroom open.

And times now flood our days with information. We feel inadequate and not caring if we are not quick to comment with knowledge about the national scene which goes from chaos to madness daily. No one seems to have a handle on anything and no one assumes accountability. So we have no decisions.

Any thoughtful person realizes that the Sages and Gods are not up to decision making. With knowledge of simultaneous times (everything happened yesterday or is happening now) most have forgotten the details of earth life. So complex has daily life become, it takes a hands on knowledge to come through on a daily basis.

It seems we have given no thought to updating our beliefs and myths that solace our days. What does it matter? A whole lot when you find yourself no longer breathing earth’s rarified air and you are waking up someplace you do not want to be. No one wants to take on the Book of Revelation to change an iota that has been written. Scared to death we are lest we be swiped to oblivion.

But we don’t need an anthropomorphic god to be decent and caring people. Or knowledgeable. Our God of Choice is who animates us and is our GodWithin. And if we don’t like who we are, it is time to take ourselves to a classroom. To school.

Ambient adherence I call it. Ambient adherence. We are the example of what it means to live in a world and absorb its ambience unknowingly. Like breathing in Covid 19 unbeknownst. Because someone not having symptoms is contagious. Asymptomatic. We will kill each other and not know why and learn nothing.

Education is the only answer to deal with a world where everyone is at a different juncture of understanding. That is the way Evolution works. We are not allowed to take a step toward the next until we integrate understanding of where we are. This is the ethical structure I have come to understand. It is God? Ethically speaking. Because all the accoutrements accompanying each step must be integrated and that means things like kindness and compassion.

The subjective things understood depends on the GodWithin. Painful? You bet. Otherwise …we go down the tube again.

October 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.
What’s A Mind For?

Somethings Learned While Scrubbing. . (with no help and no money we called it work, and did not know it was multi tasking. . )

I scribed. . .January 16, 1994. . . .

When capacities are stretched continually, compassion fatigue is a condition when all avenues are locked into emotions. It is no surprise to us to find we burn out and just do not care much. The words out of us then when confronted are so what else is new? And we shrug off what we should care about and we know that is not right.

The need then is to go into some quiet place and rethink our position. Time to hold conference within ourselves and then to share ourselves with a trusted one. As long as there are commitments who of need depend on us, we cannot fail to perform to the best of our ability. Tired as we are, regret is not the companion we want for the rest of our days. I tell you true.

To the age old question, who is going to care? Your voice may be the only one in the wilderness that is heard. Your ‘I do!’ may be the one history carries forever. Let it be so.

And furthermore. . . wonder also why we labor under the illusion that heaven has the answers and knows what is best. And too often it gets us off the hook of accountability and we let all hang loose. We then don’t have to make a thoughtful decision about anything because we say we have left it in God’s hands.

And then we wonder how the ones with hate and anger unite others to destroy our cherished lives. They unite in their anger and rush to destroy with vengeance what powers them.

I understand remedial classes are now added when we leave our world to enhance the teaching of what could not be grasped here. And for the reluctant ones not equal to accountability, our present names are attached to half-hearted attempts at reconciliation.

In truth our present lives far exceed the simplicity of the Sages on Olympus. Their memories are cloudy and there is no relation to the complexity of lives today with the storms of conflicts and treacherous devastation of our institutions.

I have learned that time spent in thought, in conference with the GodWithin which animates us, is looked upon as prayer. When motivations are researched and the arguments are valid, we become teachers as well as students. And heaven takes note of us and responds.

When our thoughts and actions are one and pulled simultaneously through our hearts, we teach what we feed our minds. And the power to act and accomplish because we use our minds to think all things through is a sacred gift.

It is one we use to build and not dismantle. It is used with words such as honor, trust, love and bond.

I scribed July 27, 1990 . . .you wrote that heaven matched your thoughts. It could be also that you matched the heavens. You think on it. . . (for William, a professor of holy writ. . .   who commented on the poem I wrote feeling humbled when heaven matched my thoughts and he could relate, perhaps you matched heaven’s thoughts? Why did we all believe that heaven had all the answers? And who told us?)

art by Claudia Hallissey

October 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.
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.