From an Upper Floor

Pondering The Imponderables. . .

After a harrowing time for our country, we draw back to breathe and wish for uneventful, or common good. For me at this time, I come forth after a nightmare of a month that began with a simple ear infection, migrated the following week to a root canal and ended two weeks later after a debilitating body called halt with a world folding upon itself unto grateful oblivion. The fire department as well as the ambulance arrived to take me to South Baptist Hospital in Jacksonville where ICCU held me for 5 days to bring a disorganized body back to the living. I thank all of the staff who worked diligently to help this human establish her place of origin. They worked very hard to make me well. They did not give up on me.

The unrelenting pain from the root canal, the chest episodes and the final rooting out of the blocked artery presented more problems I simply could not comprehend. That at 85 I survived this time is even more difficult to comprehend. And wondering in the minutes between the imposing events, I wondered how I would be getting onto a plane next week to make the move to California where my caretaking, loving family is moving. And trying with all might to make this as uneventful a trip as possible. My eldest son is accompanying me.

We are moving to the Irvine, California area and packing this week. I am gaining in strength today and finding the air fresh again, and the sky as beautiful as ever. I wonder the blessing upon my head that I have children who care so much that my presence is desirable still in their lives. I hope I continue to be a blessing to them. They are the jewels of my life, the awards that hang on my heart. This world could give me nothing to compare to those of my heart’s commitment.

I am grateful to find surcease in my mind’s work. I immersed my senses in my works of previous times last night and came across two passages that stirred me. The scribing said that freedom of choice is each’s wish in this world. There are those situations where the choice is made and there is no freedom. Because of the situations surrounding the act, there appears a commitment of conscience that cannot be disregarded. For many, neither the commitment nor the conscience are a reality.

And the other was brief. I believe, the vagrant from the heart said, I believe, help thou my unbelief. The awareness that such a thing exists, that it is the source of difficulty, means that the healing begins.

In the light of the events of this past week, let us believe that the healing truly begins.

November 10, 2016

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 Make a Difference. . . .

We come to help make better. We come because we hope to make a difference, however small. The small things, when carried out with concern, can involve a lifetime or many lifetimes. You cannot change the course of genetic evolution. It takes its time. Engineering may be able to code the dna but the emotional evolution must take its time and in its own time, will either be for the common good or common ill. We can hope that what transpires will be for the common good. We hope that with persistence the individual can decode and overcome what the ancients in their frustration could not bring to pass. What we hope is that we do not add to the pot of frustrations so that the oncoming generation will have an added burden.

Toward Greater Life

The heart searches parameters
for openings onto worlds
not torn by those intent
on limiting knowledge. . .

always searching
for those to willingly embrace
the differences challenging
the hesitant heart. . .

We look toward the union
of heart and mind
with the litigious veins
of knowledge, pushing like sludge
thickly through rock. . .

eager to consign edges
toward greater life. . .
knowing always the
least demanding would be
the most sought for.
Even the tardy would give
evolution a jump start.

Never insulting the slower envoy,
always grateful for the god participants,
the larger reality scoops forever
the narrow focus. . .

giving eternity’s starters new life and hope.

photo by John Holmes

November 7, 2016

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.
Cosmic Connections. . . .

The past is still happening, the future has already happened and we race to catch up with it. This is a quantum theory, that all time is simultaneous. The Holographic Universe was published in 1986 by Michael Talbot but I did not read it until 2015 when I learned the theory I have lived all my life. The three things above I wrote when I awakened in the morning from a night’s sleep.

For a precise segment of time a theory may fit the conditions as they are known. An infinite Nature constantly evolves. And in our universe(s) which are in the act of becoming other than what we are at this moment, what is truth for today may indeed change with tomorrow’s growing knowledge.

Cosmic Connections

There is a sinewy thread
of continuity yielding
a future to the present,
inextricably linked to the past.

We question not the inconsistencies,
blatant to the practiced eye.
The present conceals with bliss
the evidential.

Lacking insight
into gross incongruities,
the practicing participant avoids
what self imposed limitation demands.

Stretching a mind
smooth as elastic,
requires a spirit
willing to expand.

The practitioner pursues,
chasing nuggets of information,
slipping between an eyelid’s blink
or the mind’s thoughtful absence.

Lengthening nights choose
the panoramic events postulating
that what was is, will be

and is everywhere happening now.

photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.

October 29, 2016

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.
Windfalls. . .

When I was 12 my family moved to The Farm. There is nowhere in mind that soothes my psyche as The Farm and for such a few years of my life, my teen years and yet these filled my yearning for something my heart knew. In my memory bank those years were a return to what I found to be a union with nature, with my natural self. No matter the troubles or the hardships, there was a something in me that found rest and found me ‘at home.’ The apple orchard was large and I remember feeling so rich. I remember best the crisp taste of the apples when I bit into them and they bit me back.

Windfalls

They lay on the ground
in the soft grasses
that one would think
to cushion a fall. . .

But not enough. The wind
already had dropped them
and they were blemished.
Not good enough to make
the grade for perfect apples,
to bring top dollar
but still with purpose.

We pick them up
by the bushel,
for in the barn the cider mill
in wooden sculpture waits.

The apples will roll
and as they are crushed,
onto the pails will come their juices,
foamy, thick on the tongue and sweet.

The stores will serve
the slick and bottled
to the city’s well heeled but
the poor will come for
The Farm’s gallons that will be put
into pitchers on the table,
nectar of the windfalls.

Not perfect without blemish
for the elite, but robust and full
of nature’s reckless breath,

the storm’s windfalls for the rest of us.

October 25, 2016

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.
Practicing Proverbs. . . a worn path

The justification is there for everyone’s life. We are redeemed. And the eulogies certainly point this out, don’t they?

*****

Is it knowledge or faith in us that if push comes to shove, our God will rescue us. Give it thought.

*****

Freedom of choice is a responsibility. It is also a sacrament

*****

Man speaks with a forked tongue. It generally has food for the belly on it.

*****

People close their eyes to what they see because what they see will contradict what they choose to believe.

*****

They use their bodies as the altar for the perpetual child. They raise the chalice to venerate the holiness of youth.

*****

People do not listen to what they say. If they did, they would not speak. Those who speak, don’t know. And those who know, don’t speak.

*****

To give Grace before a meal is a generous gesture. But if the truth be known, it is for public consumption. It adds humbleness to the reputation voicing elegant beatitudes. When the one whose back is tired from preparing for the multitudes speaks their thanks to the larger Spirit, it is true Grace. For then the meaning of stewardship is known.

*****

Sometimes information is beyond what the individual can possibly assimilate. It is there for the taking but not for the assimilating. It somehow has to fit before it can be worn.

photo by
Kathy Qualiana

October 21, 2016

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.
Someone Has To Do The Plowing. . . .

Hope

And hope is the drug, the elixir, the stimulant,
the narcotic, the life saver, the god.

That tomorrow will be better,
that there will be a rainbow,
that the snows will come and cover the door,
that the rains will come and relieve the parched ground,
that the vineyards will be planted,
that love will walk in the door.

That the healing will come,
that death will be avoided,
that life will be everlasting and
the messiah is on the horizon.
That peace will be ours,
that brotherhood is a done deal,
that there will be sufficient food to feed the world
and eternally we will rest in the bosom.

These are the dreams, the hopes,
the desires, the opiates of this world.
And perhaps other worlds.
There is always that to consider.

The Master calls for workers
and the vineyards must wait.
I bless, for I have work yet to do.

Someone has to do the plowing..

photo by
Joe Hallissey Sr.

October 18, 2016

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 Laws of Compensation. . .

Too late I learn
life holds the sharpest knife.
Cutting the loaf accordingly
and with compassion

passes the butter.

The Laws of Compensation do prevail and it is a lesson most do not like to think about. Retribution for whatever deeds is a commonplace happening but there will always be those who think the die is not cast by them. That the intricacies of complex living seem too diverse and too extraordinary casts the attitude that all is coincidence. But it is not. It is not.

For every action there is an inaction and a reaction. Which are one and the same. An inaction is a decided action in zeroes. For this there will always be the game of chance being played and the players think they will escape the consequences. But in time, their time, there is a reactive legislation that prevails. And no thing goes forgotten.

It is written in the wind, so to speak. And Nature will have her day. Always. Life will have its totality. Always. What is sown is also reaped. People understand this only in the most banal terms. But all those precepts are ideas of long standing and have come to their own fruition. Listen well to them. Cliches are true and have a substance leaking energies which do not dissipate until satisfied.

photo by
John Hallissey

October 16, 2016

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.
Bless The Experience. . .

I needed the lesson and this blessed essay was a given. It has found readers needing the comfort and direction as I did and that I can share this again and bring comfort to others is where the blessing continues to be given. We can remember the pain of the negative experience but we no longer need feel the impact. It is blunted in time. But not to hang onto it is what is important. One cannot help remembering the injury but one need not feel the pain each time. Time helps with that.

Bless The Experience

I learned something today. I learned to ‘bless
the experience’. For if the experience has been
a negative one, has left me with a hurt so deep,
has filled me with anger, then I must bless it.
For in the blessing I remove its power to hurt
me again. I leave it impotent, unable. I’ve
taken the wind out of its sails and there it sits,
blessed for the teaching, but unable to wield
power over me again.

If the experience is a positive one, I bless it.
In like manner, it will remain powerful and
upon recall, able to confer its goodness time
and again. In my thinking happily on it, I
will automatically bless it again.

Life is a blessed experience, all of it. Bless
it generously and gratefully. It teaches us
magnificently and impartially. These are the
magic words. For in the unhappy experience
we are taught swiftly and surely and must
bless the lesson. In the happier one our
pleasurable memory is our reward. In blessing
all of it, we make our truce with life and secure
our place in it forever.

October 13, 2016

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.
How To Do It. . . .

You ask. . .

On focusing, your thoughts, your words. . .
how do you do it?

I say. . .

I barrel down into my center and listen
with my inner ear and hear what my heart says.
It is within me that I have my world.
This is what and where I am at home.
And this is not something that can
be taught. It is how the twig is bent.
And what world we appear in is where
we do our work.

You say. .

You listen to your heart.
How does a heart speak?

I say. . .

there is a murmur within that tells
you things and it is with the heart
that one moves. The heart is the
largest area of emotional and profound
truth. I can see where the child
who is maimed right from the beginning
and embarrassed because of his openness,
can dismiss this avenue and close it up.

And the world suffers and evolution
is held up and we have one who is in trouble.
It is always the children with me.
I would protect them. The sophisticates
I would tongue lash and say grow up.
Stop using childish tactics to be cute.
When you have an old face and
childish mannerisms, you are not cute.

Cute is for under 5 years old.

Artwork by
Claudia Hallissey

October 12, 2016

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.
After The Storm. . .

To those who have inquired and wondered how we have weathered Hurricane Matthew, we did well. The Refuge behind us soaked up water as it was designed to do and our home withstood the elements handily. Thank you for your concern and this hurricane will do nicely for the rest of my days. Uneventful is what I anticipate and appreciate in my mid eighties. Thank you very much. The following are some of the sparklers in my thinking.

*****

Man can strike the essence of what is wrong in an area the heavens cannot.

*****

Man must process an enormous amount of garbage in the place where integration of the human is of vital interest.

*****

The sounds of mortal life cut deeply and quickly and with great pain to those who have ears to hear.

*****

It is always more enlightening to apply criticism of an Other’s behavior to oneself.

*****

Rehearsed rhetoric is a game to use for one’s own justification.

*****

Humanity’s progress comes quarter inch by quarter inch.

*****

Mass evolution is an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms; never a fact and never a reality.

October 8, 2016

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.