I lit the candle and waited.
Time passed.
I lit the candle and waited.
Fill me, Sweet Spirit.
Let my heart learn
once again the habit of loving.
Come into my kitchen
among the cutlery and pots,
to the table
in the middle of chaos.
Two chairs.
I light the candle
and look for a hand
ready to grasp
my outstretched one.
With a soothing balm,
salve my Spirit, my weariness
and prepare me wisely
for a time waiting
cross hair in time’s vision,
as my arms
enfold a future worked for,
and prepared,
shaped by a life loved through.
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.
Nowadays we nicely say that one is in denial when what one is too embarrassed to own. We say it never happened. An elder always quoted her favorite saying as an absolute. You can always catch a thief she said but you can never catch a liar. Jesus said all ye are liars! Today though, we know that these are psychologically damaged people with strong coping mechanisms carved out for survival.
But as our knowledge grows and we have a broader base of understanding, we must not be quite so quick to label people. When we have memories that have no putting place and we have youngers who speak of other lives with exacting details, until we have further knowledge and understanding, we must withhold judgment. When we can truthfully say that what we knew yesterday is not our knowledge today because our perspective today is different, we must grant the other the same growth.
And who made the person fear so greatly that changing the story was the only way to survive? It seems for whatever reasons, we are all damaged goods in some way, are we not?
Who I Am Not
Do not try to
pigeonhole me,
nor typecast me,
nor make a caricature of me.
For just when you think
you have the feel of me,
just when you think
you have grasped the essence
of just who I am,
I will steal away.
I will vanish
never more to be
who you think I am.
That is the way it is.
For at the precise moment
when you say. . . .
I know her,
I will not be.
I will have become someone else,
just yesterday.
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.
Will the children find
how shaky all things are
and the gods who are their parents,
all illusion?
What will I say then?
“All of it, my dear, all of it
is nothing but fairy dust,
created by a head
in search of its own dream.”
Where would I be then?
In the midst of this day
or at the end of it, charged with life
pulsating within me.
Tired to be sure
but marveling that in spite,
despite everything,
life is sweet in any dimension.
I am as real as these fingers
on this keyboard, as real as
the smile that crossed my lips
when the computer commanded
“please wait.”
Or as real as the work
I see surrounding me
that I may never get to.
I do what I see is mine to do.
I am committed as clearly
as I more nearly see.
I write as I more nearly think. I think.
And I hear what is mine to hear.
So am I real?
Only to arms around me.
Only to those in whose memory I live
and will continue to live.
And as alive as I am in my progeny
whether here or elsewhere.
As I walk, I am. As I think, I am.
And as I love, I am.
This is how real I am.
And if what I participate in,
including this,
is illusion, so be it.
I would hope it would be
a life giving illusion.
In the face of no hope,
I would be hope.
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 Teachers Speak. . . .there are many ways to explain the life most lead on the Earth planet with even a normal set of senses. Yet there are so many different ways outside the senses and if one tried to understand fully the picture, one would become immobile. There are that many. One of the easiest premises to help explain this life is to realize that all time is simultaneous. That there are people who have lived with this premise and had productive lives astounds even those of us outside the Earth’s boundaries. What we have are people who without science giving it the name of quantum physics have learned to live with time’s phases changing as they have walked in the streets. That they have learned to accept these phases in their perspective leads us to honor them in what ways we can. Those with challenging chronic conditions often also hold different perspectives that help them in many ways and also hinder them when trying to lead lives as normal as possible. When these people come to our attention, and they do because of soul stuffs shining their wattage, we try ourselves to remember what conditions were like and we give as much help as possible.
(I was walking home from work one evening and the sidewalk changed beneath my feet to become a walk of cobblestone. My pant suit changed to a skirt as it swirled about my ankles and I had on a pair of shiny boots. It was twilight and the street became another but familiar and the streetlights became lantern lights. It lasted for almost a block and then I was on my familiar corner, ready to turn down my street. This was one of the most vivid bleed through events I had had to that time. Still happening? The 17th or 18th centuries? But there were others and as many of them as I have poems in my files. The following poem will have new meaning to those who have been following my blog.)
The Homecoming
My warm breath makes a circle
of clear space on the frosted pane.
I gaze at empty horizons,
willing your outline to appear
to give this day extra measure.
You move with water pails swinging
from shoulders whose strength
I know by heart,
with strides cleanly cutting
the knee high snow, effortlessly.
I move within the circle and my warm world,
eagerly awaiting your shout
and stamp of feet on the threshold,
feeling already your cold face
along the line of my throat.
The woolen nap of your winter shirt
is rougher even than my hands.
It’s been too long you say since you left.
And I laugh. Hardly time enough
to clean the barn for barely
were you gone an hour.
And here already.
My day has taken shape.
******
The stamp of feet, the key turns
and the door clicks open.
My hands press the smooth fabric
of your well tailored coat
and do not catch.
I take the leather briefcase from your hands
and lift my head for the homecoming.
It’s been so long that you are gone, I say,
and you laugh.
I’ve only been gone a week this time,
you say.
I turn again to the window
and find it frosted over.
And know that worlds have died
and been reborn in less time.
And today, another one.
Art 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.
For at least the last half century I have been involved in what would be called a study program. My intent and intensity was brought about by my need to know. I wanted answers to my why’s. When what I was taught, what I learned and read and what I even invented did not work, I needed to know why everything was so very wrong. It was of no matter that my yearnings were not for this world because here was where I was. Because here is where I am. My ordinary life began with my books and when my household in my part of the world slept I was working the books. I pursued what I did not know but what I did know was that I could not continue in a world where I was so wrong. Books were my companions and continue to be, but a mental tsunami opened a heaven of teachers whose thought matched and sought out mine. The cosmic experience is a real one and does happen as it has throughout human history. The science doctors have had their day telling us all that only what we touch and see is real. There is an inner life even more real at times and sometimes presents as many obstacles as our so called reality. There have been writers who say that all the words are right up there and all you have to do is reach for them. I did not know about this then but I pursued because I needed words that had to fit the highest and best I had in MIND. I want to say to my loyal readers that when I am given praise for having the right words to say, I do because my heart is in tandem with my God Within. When the New Testament reads that if someone says there he is when speaking of the second coming, do not believe them, it speaks true. For the God Within is already ensconced waiting to be acknowledged.
The fear of embarrassment in my generation has been difficult to overcome. My intent and my intensity were my calling cards for what has happened in my life. Upon reading my manuscript called Cactus Jesus and The New Wine an English professor called me an anarchist and his anger was manifest. I went home and researched anarchist. One who overthrows. I was overthrowing exactly what. The professor said he had never read work like mine. He said other writers lifted man up. But what did I do? I brought the heavens and my god down to where I was. Imagine that! He said no one had ever done that! I do so with my God’s Grace. So when you read my poetry, my work, know it has taken a lot of footwork to get here, over a half century of footwork. It has been an extraordinary experience, and perhaps my gift to my readers is one of hope. The heavens listened to me, an ordinary person and though not able to spare me heartbreak, still gave to me acknowledgement of our kinship. And that has been a priceless gift. It truly is the pearl of great price.
(this particular journal entry spoke on what I have just written above. I had to learn that all time is simultaneous and one of the premises of quantum physics. It was written, note the date, April 21, 1993. It was little more than 2 weeks before I went into cardiac arrest. Events then were not too different than today.)
The Teachers Speak. . . . . For within each is a core of values built on centuries of discernment. Why does it not seem feasible to the populace that muses sing, whether a song or an elegy? Why not a sordid novel as well as a philosophy of order and dedication? Are we not to suppose that the earth reflects heaven and heaven earth? What exactly did the Jesus mean when he said as on earth so in heaven?
It seems there is a volcano erupting somewhere on the earth every minute of the day in the form of psyches going on the rampage. Why then do we not suppose the muses sing to the poet, as visions are envisioned by the artist ? That too, those who carry out diabolical and life threatening edicts are also a product what for centuries has been within the universe? And in them as souls on a path? It would seem then that the purpose of education would be to increase the caliber of education of the children to one of high motivational purposes rather than rehabilitation after the fact. And remember that unless the lessons are learned on Earth, before reentry again into a somewhere and a sometime there will be little accumulation of knowledge tantamount to giving life instead of taking it.
There are as many ways to interpret the Bible as there are people who read it and as many ways to apply what one reads as the mind is able to accommodate. All within the frame of reference.
Jesus said that to follow him was to adopt the precepts such as love one another, etc. We have Buddha and Allah all preaching the search. And the search is Within. None teach violence. Violence begets violence. But when the student is ready the teacher appears. One does not become angelic overnight. It is a process. A process.
And so we tend to those who are crippled and handicapped but in whom the desire to do what is of value appears. They understand a something and the desire is so great that the heavens respond. It would seem that those who are richly endowed with good health would be able to carry the messages further and with more intent. Such is not the case. Those who are generously given good health seldom sense or have the need to pursue the inner world further. With them it is obvious that with more power bestowed they would find the going not only easier but more self satisfying. Those who sense the need for a richer inner world have challenges that speak to the soul. And these we handle not only with tender mercies but also with gratitude. In them we know the words will not give them power to enhance themselves, but give to the ordinary people hope that there is a something more to life and a heaven, who would, if possible, grant their wishes.
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.
Over the years I have asked us all to fall in love with our Earth. Obviously it must have been easy for me because I am still in love with her even though I am ending my earth cycle. I described it as a oneness, a union nothing dissolves nor cracks. It is the steadiness, the compliance of all things in Nature that yield to a bidding when it is done with love.
I first wrote I loved working in the yard and having life take on its noble form. I loved the coming alive, the rebirthing and the response of the Earth beneath my hands. It was my love and my pleasure. The rich, black, early nostalgic smell takes me back to a someplace where I fell in love with it and the first love is always a first love.
It is a place where the heart knows its completeness in and with the laws of Nature. We are one and the same. We become its answer and its prayer, its meditation and its question, its benediction. I become what the seeker chooses to establish when all else fails to come to fruition. When there is nothing that satisfies the hunger within, there is always hope and response in the garden.
It is a communion with its holiness and puts all else to shame because it never measures up. Relationships may wither and disillusion, but Nature does not. It gives from an unending source, reaching into its carpetbag and bringing forth bits of revelation and reconciliations to give one another reason for trying. She lets us know we are stewards and as stewards we have a responsibility,
The Earth will cherish the soul who cherishes the Earth and Nature will revere the one who reveres Nature. When knowledge is ours, when we know who it is we are as we walk this planet, doubt will no longer allow ignorance to rule. It is time for us to protect and attend to this most beautiful of all places. Conscience will deem a return to rectify errors. And there may very well be ash on our boots the next time and memory may well crucify us.
Prayer For Earth and Us
In all things good,
we ask that a light so shine
that the good works that are ours,
glorify and exemplify
all that is true and divine
both within us and within this Earth.
We ask divine guidance be placed
upon our heads and within our hearts,
that we may bring to light
all that we have been taught;
that we protect our land, our Earth Mother
and teach the children that we care for
what gives life to all on this planet.
We ask in all names
that signify blessedness of life
and the glory which is both divine and human.
We ask, please receive. Amen
Art 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.
There is nothing given but what something is taken away. For many lifetimes our planet has given her people lush greens and vibrant blues and a sundry of goods to please the avaricious heart. We know for a fact who this is among us. We all participate in the plundering of our Mother Earth; in the substances thrown away and the largess of her native goods taken and without thought trashed. There is not one among us free of this greedy behavior.
Now we sit in the arid fracture of the very ground we live on. The land cries for water to heal the crevices on her face. The evergreen needles dry up and crumble. The forest is now a tinder camp. Anything will touch a fire unable in this drought to be contained.
What was given with such great promise now lies before us with no life in it. A doomsday? It will be on this planet of great numbers. Arguments will be loud and angry for those who wish to hold their wells for private use. States with no water will lay pipelines to places where this liquid gold was once taken for granted.
How do we appease this Mother to again deliver what was once a luxury but now a necessity to simply stay alive? How do we define a need and not a want to simply lay color on the landscaping? We know our penchant for waste. We know our neglectful habits. We have tossed our trash to the winds and it hangs like dirty laundry on the trees and bushes and awnings on every main street. How can we ask forgiveness when a lifetime of habits show no discipline? Where a lifetime of habits show no concern to those whose needs were greatest? Where lifetimes took what the Earth gave with no gratitude for the gift?
This is not a pleasant treatise to read and neither to write. But soon eyes will be opened to what a catastrophe this Earth planet has become. What illusions people harbor that life as they know it will continue ad infinitum. There is no ad infinitum for this Earth planet. It is in a precarious position and if we find the heavens playing Russian roulette with people, we have only ourselves to blame. Live and let live has been the policy at hand. But with billions of humans starving to death, with fires starting in every corner of the planet, with wars engaging the young who have yet to dream dreams, we should not doubt that the cosmic fist strikes hard.
We will, all of us, learn other ways if we and our progeny are to grow in this best of all classrooms. We will bless our Mother Earth with each spoonful of porridge grown on a parched field. When we will be gratified for just a sip of water knowing that satiating human thirst is no longer a wish to be granted.
Can it be turned around? With the Grace granted to the well intentioned soul, perhaps we have some time left to repair what we have dashed upon the rocks with so little concern. How deep is our desire to rectify? Starting now, perhaps we have a saving grace. Life is a gift anywhere and we have not been stewards of this greatest gift, our green planet. We can only hope that our new promises will grant us time. If our promises are kept, we will know that our Earth Mother takes our promises seriously and she will grant forgiveness. And our beloved planet will not become a memory.
Apologies are only as good as the new behavior that should follow them.
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.
Teachers and Students Speak With One Voice. . . There are guidelines set since time immemorial for human conduct. These are irrefutable. Such as to be kind to one another. To love one another, to do unto others, etc. These are not premises of a general nature but with a purpose designed for respecting the individual. The human. We encourage those. We would encourage also kindness to the beasts of nature and to the earthly world where nature has a fist raised that might momentarily come down on unsuspecting heads. As humans we do not abuse the Earth. We do not abuse what was designed to give us life, sustain it and bury us with dignity. We are here as humans designed by whatever god we cherish in our memories to give us a chance to perfect who it is we are.
Man has evolved to the place where consideration for the natural world must take precedence over his comforts. Too many have flooded the gateway to Earth and have purposely denigrated it. Abused it beyond recognition. All in the name of selfishness, all in the name of progress. To plow over wetlands that sustain the brush that allows the air to clarify, to whip rain forests to ground level and to kill wildlife that prolong the ongoing force of life has been a sin and an embarrassment. To have warfare declared on each other as a means of self aggrandizement, to allow man to continue warring with himself as well as his commitments has been a thrust into the face of his god of whatever creed.
And in the heart of the thinking man. We recommend only that the clearest tenets be set down as education for the growing child to become as second nature. That not only should kindnesses be primary to them but also to all facets of nature, from the glass of water to the earthworms that fragrant the soil to the tissue they must dispose in proper receptacles. Every aspect of life, every aspect of guarding this planet, from the waking moment to the goodnight must be done with a respect for this home called Earth.
Water your plants, tend your gardens and stay your commitments. All valuable tenets for saving our planet. This is what we are here for. We must not allow the playthings to become competition for a needful concern we must have for our Earth home. Unless the present newborns are taught blessed and wondrous things about their planet, their new home, they might well be that final generation to enjoy this best of all classrooms. It is time. Every generation that comes into the physical world expecting the playthings of physical life to be the soul and sole purpose rapes the Earth in a manner unbelievable. And those who say that the Earth will repair itself and god will take care of careless humans don’t know what it is they teach. They are the ones who will be held accountable. God is not always merciful. It is an angry Cosmos that has the power to strike at the core and hit home. It is a beautiful planet. It is home to the heart that sees within its square inch of soil the history of the world.
Love it and leave it better than the last one did. This is an imperative.
Art 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 trauma that engulfs a family when a sibling transits this world leaves unbelievable tears in a family fabric. Everything surrounding, every event takes on a meaning whose depth only the individuals directly affected can hope they withstand. They must master this poignant injury if they are one day to emerge whole. There are no words in this world’s dictionaries to adequately describe this pain. Not when for all their lives when one sneezed the others whipped out the tissues and in one voice murmured their God Bless. No matter what part of the world they were in. It is a trauma of great magnitude and it is scar tissue, a keloid on their lives until they reunite.
The Knotted Family Ties
A haze surrounds me
and I sleepwalk.
I run to stem the panic
which offends the sanity of my loves
and know I cannot do it. I retreat.
They tell me they are sick at heart
and then my heart sickens.
The sadness in their eyes
robs them of abundant life.
Their unhappiness unbridles mine
and I am immobile.
I leave them all to heaven.
I cannot be the eyes of him
who will not see.
I whimper in my sleep.
They do what they do and cannot do other.
My own heart tells me I have taken
a quantum leap and am dismayed
that they cannot follow.
I want to speak but none there are
who speak my language.
I am a foreigner on my own hearth
and the fire in me cannot warm an Other.
They cannot feel it.
My fire would burn them and
turn to ashes what flames them now.
There is no other direction except straight through.
There is no sleep and I tire.
My thirst could not be satiated
by a half glass of water.
If a sip would have been enough
the glass would have been half full.
A full glass would not have been enough
so great my thirst.
I close the shutters and pull up the steps.
I learn to live in my own house.
I stay my time and do what is mine.
Jesus, it hurts to watch and be able to do nothing.
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.
From a work in progress I speak of beginning my search, because of course the word journey was outside my frame of reference. I had no way of knowing that this was something only the very brave and the well educated ventured on. No one seemed to have answers to my questions and I was told that men in high positions were paid big money and they had no answers so who was I to think I could find answers? All I knew was that I could not continue living with what I thought was unbearable human life. From the time I was a child, I knew that big people lied and made up stories about what they did not know. I was looking for answers to my questions and reading all the books I could find. Paul Tillich, a Theologian, was one of my references and he spoke of ‘the center of our being is involved in the center of all being and the center of all being rests in the center of our being.’ Tillich talked of God as the ‘ground of our Being.’ To me it says that I am the universe and the universe is me. I am in All That Is and All That Is, is in me. In other words, it means that I am in God and God is in me.
Consuming me as I tried to find a palatable meaning of God, one night as I was falling asleep, a pastoral scene was presented and a tree, high grass or grain, was weaving as if wind was blowing. And I thought, this is what God is. A movement, a permeation, a motion. As Buckminster Fuller said, God is a verb, not a noun. Finally after years of frustration, I had been given what for me is an intellectually satisfying answer. And I thanked the Teachers for a vivid answer.
God is a motion, a movement, a permeation. God is the Ground of Our Being, the movement or life force moving through everything. We are united with the life force connecting all. That which holds the All of Being together is what holds us together. That was only the beginning of the endless search. And I learned it was not easy to find cosmic connections in ordinary human life when the hard work of meeting demands of too many needs overwhelm. But if you care enough, really, really care, they are there and you will find them.
Eloquence
A sigh escapes
the sealed lips, betraying
the apparent tranquility
of the soul.
Gestures and cries
articulate the soul’s distress,
unacknowledged.
Responding to
the soul’s discontent,
the heart transmutes in silence,
anguished breath, which heaven receives
to return in time, exultant.
More eloquent
than the best turned phrase,
the sigh speaks volumes.
Enamored itself by returning love,
the sigh transposed,
becomes a song of joy.
art 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.
