That the rain falls on the just and the unjust and that even the dogs are fed from the master’s table only proves that the Universes are good and all life is sacred .
Eternal is the hour which grants the heart time. Sacred is
the vessel which yields the cup.
We blend to make this world an exercise of faith in Man.
If everyone was knowledgeable, it would be laughingly impossible to get on with the play.
The Teachers say that tears are the water we use to rinse our brains.
The student says that tears are what we use to rinse out our memories.
Unreconciled memories stand at the ready to catch a place where they would rouse the emotions and plague again.
There is no talent which will be left unused and no path of interest unexplored.
There is sufficient time for all of the talents and then some in a world of no time and in a universe which is becoming.
There is no time, all time and yet no time to waste.
When the mind is full of knowledge, when truth wears the most even frame to a frazzle, when it all becomes too much to bear, the heavens give us what is ours and says, bear it.
We are a reference point for other worlds.
Photo by
John 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.
It was a hurried morning when our two oldest sons were home from college and I told them that I had had a vivid dream and wrote down some things while half asleep that I did not know about and thought that they might. I showed them the notes.
I knew nothing about Michelangelo other than he was a great painter of the Sistine Chapel but I had written down some dates and what I now would call maxims. They were that the past is still happening, the future has already happened and we in the present are racing to catch up with it. The dates for Michelangelo we checked out with the Encyclopedia Britannica and they were accurate. The maxims I find now would be found in quantum physics. It has only been this year when reading the Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot I realized I have lived my entire life with the realities of a quantum universe. In this regard, these maxims were crux for me of ‘all time is simultaneous.’ If you find it difficult to grasp, think how hard for the child to live it.
The child who comes into the world with differences, sees other worlds and hears other music. This may also be the child who frets about going to school because another stomach ache is troublesome. And they are ashamed. There may be no tests to be taken, but this child is laboring under conditions that would be labeled abusive if the facts were known. Because she or he sees differently and hears a world most do not, the conditions under which they must function are difficult at best. They respond to incidents in a life and death manner. Those who have toughed it out call this ‘drama’ but it is for real for those who have not been able to close off their heads. These are the sensitive souls who end up with panic as a companion and parents who call them unforgivable names. These children are doing their utmost to focus on what is the primary world to them. And trying to hold at bay the intrusions of other dimensions. This is not easy to read and is difficult for me to write. But the children are my primary worry. We have seen too many incidents of violence. It is not easy for these children. They are at risk every minute.
Should there be such a child in your circle, give to them the support that they deserve and need. And allow them to talk. They may frighten you and threaten your insecure security but they will broaden your frame of reference. It is a hard world for the normal child as it is. And the ones who come into this world with heads more open than the average child, need a stable support system. They will be the ones who will yet save our planet. And us.
A Calmness Pervades
A calmness pervades
the thinking mind,
unable yet to stay the pen.
We write of lifelong trials
stealing the innocent
of rightful claims.
The open head knew not how
not to allow the ring
to burn its signet
deeply onto the heart.
The belly knew not how
not to become
the emotional pit stop
for all the world’s ills.
All in all, the calmness
hails the thinking mind
and gives credence
that heaven notes its own
and knows when to call them home.
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 it this way. To be different means you step out from the crowd. When you, as an example, are different in your posing the question as well as answering with what it is you know and cannot see the difference, it is because the integrated material has long been in the chest. You do not see yourself as different because these thoughts and conclusions have long been yours. You see how they fit within the scope of others, primary as basic premises which have not gone any further. It does not bother much except for kin whom you would like to accompany you and be companions on your journey. But they like others, have to make the step up.
We give these thoughts for the blog. Should you step away from those who march, you will be castigated. But nothing can hurt the core of thought which has been your bulwark and has allowed you to age chronologically. The fact that ongoing thought matures one readily and faster than the crowds who march, is not a factor to stop one’s growth. A case in matter will be the fact that evolution means that the growth exhibited will be the potential for all. If one can do the unthinkable and it is good, then the potential for the rest of mankind rises exponentially. It is a good thing when thought outmaneuvers its opposition. Because then we know that one can continue living and growing and mankind will then prosper with new thought.
It seems far fetched to the average person. But it is not. To do one thing outside the perimeter of what is common means a step up in man’s evolution. It is a hard thing to be human, is it not? It was once easier but too many factions now prevent man from trying out his courage which he would find is dependable. We root for the different one. We know how hard it is to step out from the ordinary and still live within the confines of Earth. When the Master Jesus said that one can be in Earth but not of it means exactly that. One can live here and be in it but need not necessarily accept all the dictum of mankind. Those that are physically necessary we keep but the headwork is of personal desire. We would like to give courage to those who aspire to do for others what in private one does for oneself.
And They Believed
It has been said with anger
that I set the bar too high
for mere mortals to scale.
It was not for them
the bar was set but for me,
to rise as high as the immanent god
had deemed for me.
I could not know that
they would try to jump for me.
I was not the reason.
It was for them, you see,
for someone told them
they would never do it
and they believed.
I showed them though they could
and they surprised themselves.
photo by John Holmes
.
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 once heard an elder say that people only know what it is you let them know. I gasped, because I thought she actually believes this. She still believes that her thoughts are private and that secrets are truly secrets. She does not know that privacy of thought is the last illusion. That there are those who are bulleted with thoughts as they walk in gatherings. Not realizing that they are picking up flagrant thoughts sent as flying debris and landing in the heads of unsuspecting walkers.
And lucky for us all that these are innocents. Never knowing that their fatigue in crowds comes from picking up so much litter. The reason for recluses going into the woods is this very fact of fatigue. Throughout history we have had our neighbors vacating our neighborhoods for the silence of the forests. Where the natural life is conducted in mind pictures shared by kin of their own kind.
My answer to this elder was to write Many Truths. You will now understand my thinking.
Many Truths
I tell you true,
if my eye caught it,
a picture has already
been taken of it.
If I know something,
I can tell you true,
the neighbor down the street
or the unknown one around the corner,
knows of it also.
If my ear has caught your cry,
or the deception in your words,
the heavens have heard the cry
and the deception, however layered,
in time is betrayed by you.
If my song is sung,
the heavens and my god
have heard the melody
and whipped the wind
and carried the joy or sorrow
to its Source.
It has always been so
and this I tell you true.
The difference?
I, now, know it.
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 possess a knowledge,
supplanting the previous knowledge
by just one day.
The reason is this; I slept.
And in the dream saw worlds,
whole and hurt, clean and chaotic,
built and leveled.
And I saw fields
with high grasses and skies
not yielding to horizons
and I walked
I walked so far and then
walked some more.
There was a companion and
we talked, of worlds to be born,
of worlds to be healed,
of lessons still to be learned.
And then I walked alone.
But when I needed
to walk my fields,
for they were mine and
because I am landlord,
I went to them and found peace.
It is said that the fields
are not real, that they are
in my head.
I am also told that many
do not understand my need
to walk the fields.
But many do not understand
why when I awaken
my legs ache.
photo by Kathy Qualiana
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.
Even as a child I was happy to see the long, hot summer gone. With the Labor Day holiday over, for me the new year begins. The start of school again was exciting and I could hardly contain my enthusiasm for the smell of new tablets, new crayons and pencils. This excitement with learning has been part of who I am. And even now heading toward the culmination of a full life, the desire to learn something new every day still propels me. I now approach the autumn days and the long evenings of winter with an attitude of gratitude. As long as we are able, if we see work to be done, we do it. It is with that attitude, I submit. . . .
With Gratitude
Let me take this day
and fill it
to the brim
with gratitude.
Let all my actions
praise the efforts
to be noble,
to be kind,
to be good;
let it all be seen
in the lives I meet.
Let me be the purpose
for this day,
to be recreated
for the work to be done
for those
who still live in the shadows.
Painting 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.
The Martha(s) will serve and clear tables and see to the children. Mary will also do what Mary(s) do. . . .puff up the pillows and sit at the Master’s feet. It is a tenuous thread that speaks of a psychologically explainable condition. Yet it does raise the hackles. It should as long as it is human skin one wears. And when one does not. . . the rest will be observable.
*****
It may all be illusion. . . but in this particular reality, illusion has a substance one must work with.
*****
Getting lost in great crowds of people, great numbers, gives one a sense of immortality. The great numbers are proof that the world continues to spin and as long as we are on the carousel and keep putting in our nickels, we too go around. But comes a time out of sheer exhaustion even the make believe ponies stop going around. And the time for sifting and sorting from too long on the merry go round has to be done.
*****
The true state of genius is having the courage to say I don’t understand and ask for an explanation. Understanding the basic premise makes it easier to build the pyramid as you make your way up. The broader the base, the easier it is to build on it.
*****
We are all safe. All safe. The journey is not a trial run. It is for real but like a class on the way to graduation, it must be passed eventually.
*****
Kiss the moon into Being. It serves to fuel the hot rocks of the day.
Photo by John Holmes
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.
One cannot legislate the future one way or another. It is happening at the precise minute you think about it. It cannot go away and no amount of fretting will change it one iota.
Your acts upon your days have already sent the future into a direction which will reveal itself.
Supposing man gave headroom to the idea that his daily thoughts form his future or the world he will find himself, would he care enough to change his thinking, his thoughts to build a better world of choice?
Our so called love of people serves to hide our very limited, if at all, love of persons. If we cannot love persons, what good to say we love people?
If we have difficulty with the ones who share our hearth and homes, what good to say we love the world?
Sometimes what you catch in an aging face is cosmic and intensely personal. It often means that the God Within has been called into conference. Not something one freely discusses with the common man.
When something passes over our understanding, it can mean it hasn’t been born to the senses yet; for instance, as born to see or born to hear. Once our understanding is broadened, learned and integrated, little will pass our notice.
When little passes our notice, our hearts may be broken. We might then be able to do something about peace on Earth and good will toward all mankind. And save our planet.
(I will be posting wall quilts from time to time. If you are interested Contact Me at fromanupperfloor.com They are for sale.)
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.
Mornings have always been special. The sounds blended on the street as Princess (our then German Shepherd) and I walked. The lights in the homes spoke of early risers, the occasional car with lights on. The dog down the street spoke his urgency to get matters started. There still is a benevolence to the morning which I would awaken everyone to feel. It is a palpable part of the day. My body revels in the gentleness, which seems absent during the day but rouses memories and vitality to meet its essence. Times are different now but still such that find me alive and in dialogue with the divine within. We put the blessing on the day.
The Morning’s Bliss
The morning hours stretch before me
and I am the richest woman.
There is a privacy in all aspects.
The morning harbors life rising,
a world awakening
that defies description.
The birds who have survived the night,
the sun which did not get lost,
the flowers and plants that
have drunk of the night’s dew
and I , who also has
survived the night.
We are rich, we who
participate in the morning.
It is we who find it intoxicating.
Grasses which speak to each other,
blade by blade; flowers that open
their faces to the morning light;
trees whose leaves unfold
to the morning air;
all these greet the good morning.
It is a drunk that I am
as I walk the dog who sniffs
the morning with as much
exhilaration as I do.
I can hardly bear the goodness.
There is a sweet washed feeling
about the streets that hardly
resembles the daytime concrete.
It is a softness about me that I feel,
touch with every cell and taste
with my morning coffee.
It is what I remember
from a somewhere, touch
with a body that has been bathed
in this particular light and move in the air
that has buoyed me for centuries.
Grasp it I want to.
Love it I do.
It is the morning and it is mine.
I paid for it with the night’s labors
in the vineyards.
It is mine.
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 think I will have it as my epithet. It means a word or phrase that describes an attribute of characteristic quality. I like it. Kiss the Morning Into Being For It Has Long Won The Battle Over Night. My need to know what I needed to know was my long night. It has been a journey of a lifetime but I would not take a million or billion dollars for it and I would not give a nickel to repeat it. Now that the pearl of great price has been bestowed, I breathe easy. I did not know when I could not refrain from what I was doing that it was something I had to pursue until I found what was lost. It has not been easy but the moments of joy were indisputably brilliant. Can one live a normal life and still pursue the pearl of great price? One can. It will be an uncommon life to be sure.
Only trusted loves know all sides of us. To some of my readers the serious side is evident. There was a time at midlife, in my fifties where some of you are, when I shopped with an idea of who I was in mind. I came across this poem while looking at previous work and thought, I will post this. Your mother will identify with this poem or your grandmother. Times were different. It brought back the time with a smile. The wall quilt is one of my favorites. I love the young woman’s strut. I hope you enjoy the post.
Perspective
I am an average American woman;
five feet five inches with
solid poundage to fit a size 12;
with white hair framing
a midlife face that has loved,
laughed and cried a lot.
But alive still.
I’ve searched the mark down racks
for you to see me in
Calvin Klein jackets,
Evan Picone and real leather suits
that rustle when I walk,
all shrouded in a mist
of Bill Blass.
Did you know I see me
with ruffles at my collar,
rose buds on flannel nightgowns,
after a dusting
of Johnson’s Baby Powder?
Drinking from a cup patterned
with violets and being sophisticated
when soaping with
Yardley’s English Lavender?
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.
