From an Upper Floor

On The Universal Watch. . .

Glancing into the icy calm
of the darkened sky,
leaving little to the night’s magic,
is a knowledge from minds in action.

Saying little in languages understood,
it moves itself with intelligence,
looking for evidence bespeaking intent.

Always wary, ever beseeching,
reaching conclusions seeking
a desired peace with an enduring future.

Not only one world in motion with
an anxious search, but many
whose futures are determined by the
results of a whirling planet
whose emotions are in turmoil.

A learning place, a starting place,
whose tentative decisions determine
the futures of roles dependent on
the unbridled, unharnessed emotions
of childhood still groping.

Worlds looming as non entities,
not proven by the laboratories
of the science gods,
is life in other forms;
as intelligent, viable, thoughtful,
as intent on living within the realm
of their possibilities as we on Earth. . .

Searching as we do as gods for an enduring Peace.

The Best Of All Worlds

When a teenage grandson arrived into our family, my talks with him were cerebral and pithy.   We were in my basement study and on the wall was a quote which I had paraphrased from something I was reading and his mother, an artist, had illustrated.   (We have since used the drawing on the cover of Kiss The Moon) I have searched out what I was reading but I cannot find what had spurred me on to paraphrase. And my grandson looked at it and pondered and I read it aloud. Wisdom begins when passion is exhausted. And being the good student that he was he said, but grandma, you would be dead then!   I wish I had had the wisdom to add that only when passion is exhausted can you then begin to live.   It is then that we more clearly see issues in nascent form and arrive at more thoughtful conclusions. In too many situations we reach conclusions colored by emotion when we need clarified thought. This is only one of many lessons this Earth classroom must teach us.

The Best Of All Worlds

It was said before
in this best of all possible worlds. . .
that we will surely miss this.

It has to do
with the sweet ways of greeting
to demonstrate love and
of mostly handling the common place.

There are those worlds
of which we speak
where frame of mind cannot compare
with our range of emotions.

How like us that is. . . .
We  boast of our capacity to love
and honor each other through all life
and then raise arms in combat.

Why I ask does it pain me so
to leave it all behind
when emotion has blinded me
and handicapped you
from peacefully coexisting?

Too much,  I think.
My heart needs a quiet time.
One to stand (beside) aside,
to heal my heart and simply Be. . . .

in the next of all possible worlds.

The Best Of All Worlds

When a teenage grandson arrived into our family, my talks with him were cerebral and pithy.   We were in my basement study and on the wall was a quote which I had paraphrased from something I was reading and his mother, an artist, had illustrated.   (We have since used the drawing on the cover of Kiss The Moon) I have searched out what I was reading but I cannot find what had spurred me on to paraphrase. And my grandson looked at it and pondered and I read it aloud. Wisdom begins when passion is exhausted. And being the good student that he was he said, but grandma, you would be dead then!   I wish I had had the wisdom to add that only when passion is exhausted can you then begin to live.   It is then that we more clearly see issues in nascent form and arrive at more thoughtful conclusions. In too many situations we reach conclusions colored by emotion when we need clarified thought. This is only one of many lessons this Earth classroom must teach us.

The Best Of All Worlds

It was said before
in this best of all possible worlds. . .
that we will surely miss this.

It has to do
with the sweet ways of greeting
to demonstrate love and
of mostly handling the common place.

There are those worlds
of which we speak
where frame of mind cannot compare
with our range of emotions.

How like us that is. . . .
We  boast of our capacity to love
and honor each other through all life
and then raise arms in combat.

Why I ask does it pain me so
to leave it all behind
when emotion has blinded me
and handicapped you
from peacefully coexisting?

Too much,  I think.
My heart needs a quiet time.
One to stand (beside) aside,
to heal my heart and simply Be. . . .

in the next of all possible worlds.

Thoughts En route

The cliché ‘I am only human’ is a self qualifier and an excuse in case of failure.

Reverse psychology would have humans admitting their divine self and then the Heavens would have reason to shout, ‘Prove it!’ We then might not fall so squarely on our ethics.

The only tool necessary in physical life is a shovel. We should be born with one attached to our navel.

That the sun will rise in the morning is not the miracle. But that our eyes open to view it, is.

The wonder of life is that there is as much agreement as there is without constant collision of realities.

When our journey is completed we will not be asked what did you do but what did you think?

Thinking is an art form.

To connect the dots and worry is advanced thinking. Not everyone is equipped to do it. In fact the worrier is criticized as not having faith. The truth is that the worrier has knowledge.

The amount of energy we endow our illusions will determine their reality.

It does no good to see all sides of an issue when the heart is concerned with only one side.

We may not have signed up for the class, but it seems the obstacles we face have us in training for sainthood. Conscience limits our options.

The continuity of life is the only view worth harboring.

Thoughts En route

The cliché ‘I am only human’ is a self qualifier and an excuse in case of failure.

Reverse psychology would have humans admitting their divine self and then the Heavens would have reason to shout, ‘Prove it!’ We then might not fall so squarely on our ethics.

The only tool necessary in physical life is a shovel. We should be born with one attached to our navel.

That the sun will rise in the morning is not the miracle. But that our eyes open to view it, is.

The wonder of life is that there is as much agreement as there is without constant collision of realities.

When our journey is completed we will not be asked what did you do but what did you think?

Thinking is an art form.

To connect the dots and worry is advanced thinking. Not everyone is equipped to do it. In fact the worrier is criticized as not having faith. The truth is that the worrier has knowledge.

The amount of energy we endow our illusions will determine their reality.

It does no good to see all sides of an issue when the heart is concerned with only one side.

We may not have signed up for the class, but it seems the obstacles we face have us in training for sainthood. Conscience limits our options.

The continuity of life is the only view worth harboring

Thoughts En route

The cliché ‘I am only human’ is a self qualifier and an excuse in case of failure.

Reverse psychology would have humans admitting their divine self and then the Heavens would have reason to shout, ‘Prove it!’ We then might not fall so squarely on our ethics.

The only tool necessary in physical life is a shovel. We should be born with one attached to our navel.

That the sun will rise in the morning is not the miracle. But that our eyes open to view it, is.

The wonder of life is that there is as much agreement as there is without constant collision of realities.

When our journey is completed we will not be asked what did you do but what did you think?

Thinking is an art form.

To connect the dots and worry is advanced thinking. Not everyone is equipped to do it. In fact the worrier is criticized as not having faith. The truth is that the worrier has knowledge.

The amount of energy we endow our illusions will determine their reality.

It does no good to see all sides of an issue when the heart is concerned with only one side.

We may not have signed up for the class, but it seems the obstacles we face have us in training for sainthood. Conscience limits our options.

The continuity of life is the only view worth harboring.

If we sing to the children. . .

There comes to mind that time warp where events leave their linear places and congregate in that place where we know that thunderous motions occur with the simplest actions.  Or even with no action.  Like the times my brother Stanley and I discussed what he saw along the road but knew immediately I knew the song.  And he just  resorted to, but you know, you know. . .

It was simply a matter of realizing we shared a history, with a weight to language which we worshiped.  We knew that the words we used the other used also and respected.  We were not loose with words but used them with sacred dispensation.

It was a relationship we shared with his wife also.  And both of them were an important part of these particular visits we had and where the poem above was born.  It holds great meaning for me because of the tender feelings we shared.  It made the visits to the Farm a recreation of who we were and continued to be.

you laid your hearts on me.

If we sing to the children. . .

There comes to mind that time warp where events leave their linear places and congregate in that place where we know that thunderous motions occur with the simplest actions.  Or even with no action.  Like the times my brother Stanley and I discussed what he saw along the road but knew immediately I knew the song.  And he just  resorted to, but you know, you know. . .

It was simply a matter of realizing we shared a history, with a weight to language which we worshiped.  We knew that the words we used the other used also and respected.  We were not loose with words but used them with sacred dispensation.

It was a relationship we shared with his wife also.  And both of them were an important part of these particular visits we had and where the poem above was born.  It holds great meaning for me because of the tender feelings we shared.  It made the visits to the Farm a recreation of who we were and continued to be.

Where Are You Going,  Absalom?

‘to where the moon
can melt the sun,
the cactus blooms
at high noon
and the darkness
bids good morning. . . . .

where cowled thoughts
an