From an Upper Floor

Last week I awakened with a memory of a place and trying to make sense of it.  I realized I was given a piece of action to remember.  I remember reaching for a  framed photograph of  silhouettes of the children when they were little.  It was lying on the floor and as I tried reaching for it,  it kept moving.  The whole room was tipping around and the photo was nowhere still.  I realized as I tried many times to pick it up that I was in rolling thunder and the implicate and explicate of quantum theory came to mind. 

According to Michael Talbot’s Holographic Universe, the physicist David Bohm says this deeper level of reality is the implicate or enfolded order and the explicate,  the outer or unfolded order.  I remember it as the central part of the dream and the outer fringes.  This is what every aspect of life  means to me when explaining the rolling thunder of the universe.

Our Earth is the classroom of stability, the learning place that makes it easier to accept life and its principles, to adapt to  and is wonderful as the learning classroom it is.  The stability can be counted upon and makes it easy to acclimate to life and makes excellent sense to want it as a someplace to return to.  Which is why it has a growing populace who learn the rules and apply them from lifetime to lifetime.  And the sophisticated soon learn the place to excel is the Earth planet and the waiting list is unending. 

I wrote Rolling Thunder last year and thought it might help with the explanation of the nighttime excursion. Since I see all of life connected,  it was a natural selection to the dream sequence of last week.  I hope you read it with an ahhh sooo maybe ??!!

Rolling Thunder. . .

from what was a formless start
were pieces sent scattering
into a nothingness. . .

Our Consciousness spoke
one to the other and the thoughts
formed a place ready to hold our dreams.
We then broke off pieces of who we are and
went in search of meaning. . .

For sport, for something to do to fill ourselves,
for then we came to that place where thought
demanded a something to hold.
It was called Manifest.

This thought was like rolling thunder
with a threat of storm.  It was filled with power.
That power engulfed the whole of us
and we emerged as Man.

We grew and contributed to this great turbulence
and life took on a beauty which ennobled us
as creatures of this space now forming worlds at once.

In the center we knew our sense of power,
like thunder rolling and even now continues
its unrolling the events from our lives and dreams
and as it all enfolds it becomes part
of an Other’s dream.

The dreams unfold and pieces spark Other’s dreams
into an unrolling of the Great God’s Becoming.

It is with this understanding that the why and how has
neither a beginning nor an ending but is everlasting.

We always were soul stuffs and
were known by one name.
And when our thoughts grew with power we came into
Being and are known by one name again.
It is Creation we are involved with.

And we light up with surprise.

photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.

For almost half of my life,  we lived in the one home during our marriage.  And maintenance was my responsibility except for big construction work which was hired out.  Every spring, staining the porch, (it is now called deck)  was mine.   And the first call of balmy weather had me with roller and brushes beginning.  It was an all day affair to get it evenly covered.  So the rest of the ritual was planting the hanging pots and barrels with the annuals. I stained the barrels and everything that was wood with Oxford Brown.  I loved the color.   The placing of the summer furniture completed the work.   It was a secluded refuge.

Early morning and dusk into evening were the best times for sitting.  Early morning for the greeting of the birds ready to acknowledge, by a brief halt in their singing,  my good morning.  But evening when I sat in the oncoming dark with my mind’s work in progress,  I was haunted by memories which kept me company.  Never feeling alone but accompanied by centuries of companions who stood and looked with wonder with similar eyes fastened on the sky.  Seeing perhaps what my eyes did now.

For Sitting On The Porch. . .

It is a night
for sitting on the porch.
The night is soft
and there is a breeze about.
Soft.  A love night. . . .
How could it be better?

Only to share with an Other
whose eyes see as mine do;
the shapes of the trees
against the darkening sky.
The maples are round
like balloons;
the irregular Tamarack
whose wispy needles
look like bare branches.

The feel of the night
like a caress,
a loving touch,
a whisper.

I was the night and all of my Self in it.

With Your Name. . .

From a past journal entry . . I seem to be aware of a depth this morning of a something that shoulders my weight and carries me.  That the words I speak have little meaning.  They are simply words.  And yet,  what I would wish is to reach down into an other’s pockets and find the stuff that is collecting there that is never brought to light. 

That there is a collection of gems that are never used.  And should I be able to do this, would the owner recognize these gems as theirs?

I don’t know.  I can already hear them, as with the children in camp  when presented with a shoe bearing their name,  it is not mine.  It has your name on it.  No, it isn’t mine.

With Your Name. . .

I spread the gems
on the velvet cloth
and see them sparkle. . .

Not mine, you say,
not mine. . .
but they came from
your pocket, I say. . .
I didn’t have to dig deep.

There is perseverance
with all of its facets,
in the smile of your daughter
whose cost took years
of work to satisfy dental bills.

And the nights of standing
in the icy breath of the north wind
at nearing the midnight hour
to satisfy the young hockey skater
whose dreams only
another parent or brother could understand. . .

And hours on end
to put food on the table into ones
on the run who would again
appear magically for refill
just as the last plate is cleaned. . . .

Not counting the diamonds
your work demanded
as you swallowed your fear to appear
at the breakfast table with confidence
to hopefully infect everyone’s day.

Spilling profusely,  I count
the gems before me and
know they are yours because
I reached down into your pockets
and find not lint nor fuzz
but a million diamonds sparkling
with facets shimmering,

with your name.