From an Upper Floor

The God Search

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

April 14, 2015

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 Invited Guest. . . .the Carpenter

The Teachers Speak. . . .and yet the beauty we encounter is being multiplied here and there, but lacking only the invisible quotient.. . . . we have not been invited in.   What did you learn to do so young?   To invite the hosts of heaven as your daily companions and then to proceed to live your life as though it was real. It was and we are and that is the difference.

            Your friend said that it would be embarrassing to have the heavens as your daily companions. Your retort was aptly put but you then said that you had to live your life that way. It was the way you were. Do you not think that if all the world behaved in like manner, there would be less friction, less tumult in the marketplace? Would not everyone then, so called, clean up their act?   They think it would be an invasion of privacy but the kernel of the idea will take root and they will ask within, but how do I know for certain she is not right? If she sees things that I cannot, will my eyes ever be opened? Will my prayers one day be heard? If they are not, why not? How else can I clean up my self?

            You know that what you observe teaches you. Well, as you watch, so you are watched.   Not only by those surrounding you but also by those invisible.

The Invited Guest

I once knew a good carpenter,
who with hammer and saw
and wood and file
showed me how to build a chair.

I did and sat on it
and then decided I needed a table.
With hammer and saw
and wood and file,
I built a table and sat at it.

I knew I needed another chair
for an Other to sit on.
So with hammer and saw
and wood and file,
I built it.

I then invited the carpenter
to join me at the table.
We lit a candle and talked
and a new world was born.
How did I know

I first needed to learn how to build?

Photo by Kathy Qualiana

April 13, 2015

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.
A Joy And a Privilege

A Joy And a Privilege

It will be thirty years ago this year that a computer was put on my desk. And it was three weeks later that I approached it knowing I needed to learn how to use it. Up to that time I looked at it everyday and understood that it was here to stay. So the love affair between us began. I, one day put a verse on my desktop to look at every day as a reminder. Much to my surprise, another day I found a second verse attached to the first. It was by our son of the pen that writes. So I put it here for those who wish the complete thought. I look at it often and am reminded that we bring purpose and meaning to every inch of life. And without them, life would not be. And neither would we Be. In retrospect, the tragedy for me would have been not to have had what was destined for me, the joy as well as the heartache.

If you do not intend to look back
it is best to remember
to lift the plough.

But sometimes the plough
seems too heavy to lift
but we push on anyway
to find it is a joy and a privilege.

Photo by Kathy Qualiana

April 7, 2015

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.
A New Road

A New Road

Whenever religious holy days   come to be,   I cannot help but think of those who are in the throes of giving up their religion and leaving what has been their way of life. It is not an easy decision to come to, no matter the age of the person. The young will feel guilt especially knowing their parents will mourn their absence at their place of worship and the middle aged who have spent a lifetime with people who have become their friends will feel disengaged as from family. To face all of these people who are affected by such a momentous decision is difficult; not only for the ones leaving their religion but also those who love them.

This decision is significant.   It means that avenues have been traveled and thoughts, feelings and facts can no longer be tolerated.   It means that the road traveled can no longer be the one for this journey. It means that a new direction must be found and voids filled that once were taken up by rituals and programs.   Now comes the work of finding a philosophy that will sustain and not have one buckle beneath the burdens of life.   The shoulders are still the same but the head sitting upon them is different.

What must be considered is that not everything needs be dismissed.   There is a process that can be adopted that will allow breathing room and space to grow with a broader premise.   There are rituals that can still be meaningful and can be practiced.   What must be found is support though not everywhere are there groups with no religious affiliation. Some colleges offer strongholds where those searching can find others looking for support also.   One may find the road lonely but not having to pretend an allegiance will be an immense relief .

The best and most helpful source will always be the written word.   There are writers and poets who know only too well the path chosen.   It is not an easy way to go toward one’s destiny but when thought meets a brick wall there is still another step to take and that is Within.   To get to this place where this kind of decision is made is a process.   And the process is everything.   It is not easy nor is it accomplished quickly.   One continues to live the dailyness sometimes in the midst of inner chaos and turmoil.   But given in return for this life’s effort is a peace that cannot be defined. Worth it?   It is the pearl of great price.   When you have gone as far as you can go in this life and cannot take one step further, you go to the only place you will always be welcome, Within.

And Within you will find your god has been waiting.

Photo by John Hallissey

April 6, 2015

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.
An Invocation

In Love We Pray

As we enjoin the Universal Spirit to entrust us with another spring, another resurrection, awaken within us the desire to nurture the world that has nurtured us. Let our hearts lead us to that place where we intuitively cherish the Earth Mother who feeds and clothes us and gives us sustenance. Let us not forsake our responsibilities to those yet unborn, but whose futures we have already mortgaged.

Blessed Spirit, enliven our curiosity about our daily world, remind us that the bird’s song needs our acknowledgement and praise, that the sun needs our greeting and the night wishes it bid good.

As we nourish those of our commitment, speak to us of our commitment to the home we know, our planet Earth. Let our love guide us to make beautiful, to make secure and to guard diligently what has so faithfully harbored us. In love we pray, amen and amen.

April 3, 2015

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 Of The Best Things

One Of The Best Things

One of the best things about growing old is that one has a store of memories to choose from to either entertain, beguile or sometimes companion one in the body’s misery.   All one has to do is conjure the memory and whoa!   There we are.   Simple as that. One just has to think.

We were at an affair in Europe where there were very important people gathered from the country’s Tourist Board.   It was a black tie affair with the women adorned in lovely gowns.      I was wandering looking for a familiar face to latch onto.   I was walking up to a one when coming upon me was a handsome man with hands outstretched.   Why did you not tell me you were going to be at this affair! he asked.   I tried hard to remember if we had met and though I was still a youngish woman, my penchant for not remembering faces was legendary. ( I even at dusk one day closed the door on my son telling him I gave at the office. I never lived that down) The man continued talking and said last week when we were in Paris you did not mention you would be here.   I gave him my best smile and said I was not in Paris last week nor have I ever been there.

His handsome face turned dark and he said I was playing games because we had a lovely conversation.   But, I insisted, I have never been to Paris and he kept insisting he was noted for his ability to remember faces and he would never have forgotten me.   My husband came upon us at that moment, needing to spirit me away for someone waiting for us.   I never have forgotten that incident because it has haunted me.   The man was a sober one, and chosen for his abilities to remember the various faces his position required of him.

I have been reading The Holographic Universe by Michael Talbot. It is a book on quantum physics and new ways to explain the universe. He says and I am paraphrasing, that it is disturbing to the majority of people who are so deeply convinced that our bodies are solid and objectively real, to find that perhaps we are will-o-the-wisps.   He says bi-location (often associated with saints)is the ability to be in two places at once.   Obviously, we all work on our sanctification all the time, for sure, for sure. I have also read that when we blink we are in location elsewhere. It all has to do with the space-time understanding. We are more than we think we are and growing old I find at long last I am comfortable with my differences. I know there will be a somewhere and a sometime when I will be at home. There will always be work to be done and worlds to create wherever I am.

But there will be a place sometime where I will not be on the outside looking in.

March 30, 2015

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.
Look Often Into the Mist

When we look deeply into our selves, we are often surprised at the direction our thoughts have taken. Sometimes it is a bit scary simply because it is foreign to our upbringing. It is not what we have been taught. Wondering where this will be leading us, we plow on. For some of us there is a direction that begins when we first open our eyes on this beloved planet. We wonder if by chance we arrived by mistake. But we find that once here, by persevering we can open other eyes to what will help progress our own lives as well as others. It is a hard road that we undertake, but in the final analysis, it is the hard road that gives us the greatest satisfaction. So, come and we go a bit farther together. It is another view that will keep our hearts beating and our breath humming. Come, we dance. And it is that, a dance.

Look Often Into the Mist

Another time, another place
we sat for tea.

Come, share with me
some biscuits with our tea,
as we choose our memories
and compare our love
to what we cherish most.

How often we did just this,
holding tight to one another,
comforting our selves
with the thought
that nothing could separate us
from what we held dear.

Look often into the mist.
It holds the secrets
long denied
by the calculating mind.

Only we know for certain
we meet again and again
in that place where love
holds court.
Soon, soon, we meet. We meet.

And we begin again

March 26, 2015

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 Mist That Sustains Me

On NBC Nightly News this past March 20 a segment concerning a young boy with memory of a prior life was interviewed and his memories have proven valid and correct. I was not aware that Dr. Tucker of the University of Virginia was doing research on prior lives of children. As he said in the brief segment, he had over 2500 cases of lives of children with prior memories that cannot be dismissed. We of the western world have been religious in our dismissal of anything that smacks of reincarnation other than the gods we choose to believe in. When I wrote the short essay on Choice Goods I had no conscious knowledge of this upcoming interview. What was my hope and is still is that we will listen to those who speak of prior lives and especially the children who are closer to their source than we who are readying for our departure. We have much to learn and so little time.

When I wrote this poem Rebus, I was newly aware of my different perspective and also the difference in my inward focus. It was almost six decades ago that I could no longer contain and pretend that what I saw and heard was what everyone else did. I, like those like me, have learned what society considers normal and rather than have circles made in mid air concerning our behavior, we conform. That we are able to survive is the miracle. That we also have contributed to humanity and have not dismantled our immediate world is the greater one.

Rebus. . .a puzzle

Where are my images
of which you profess
came into being before I am?
Where are the faceless faces
and formless forms
of which I know not
but in my depth?

The past reveals
only what the present seals
within its depth.

We wander aimlessly searching,
faceless, formless,
only to be confronted
by what we are.

When my eyes behold my likeness,
will I rejoice?
Will the spirit be elevated
or cast into the pit?

The mist that sustains me,
sustains my images also.
But are they not made manifest
through me?

Perhaps . . .
I am the illusion.
Perhaps I will find my Self

greater than my images.

March 23, 2015

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.
White Forest

White Forest

Deep in the heart’s dream,
as deep as any forest,
lying amid the debris the ancients left
for others to peace,
lie dreams of today’s children
yielding only to their passions,
asking the chance to manifest.

Are we not today’s keepers,
charging a new reality
for the dreamer’s chance for glory?
Asking only to put to rest
today’s obstacles for impeding
the right for the dreams
to become real?

Like the forest
of yesterday’s Hansel and Gretel,
today’s passion to be found
only in the depth
of any knee deep drift
of the heart’s dream.
White forest, clean forest,
white sand and white cloud,
nothing to mar the Earth’s magic.

Come take my hand and we walk. . . .
Splendor opens the new world
where dreams are not held in abeyance.
It is our time and our world.
We clean our debris.
We do not litter nor mortgage

tomorrow’s children.

(for my grandson Joshua, whose dream lies deep within his heart)

March 20, 2015

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.
Of The Pen That Writes

Over a half century ago when I plunked our younger of less than a year into his crib for the umpteenth time, (he learned to climb out at nine months old), frustrated beyond measure, I shouted at him, ‘why did you choose me as your mother?’ And as I heard the words of my mouth I knew they were of my heart and I knew that he chose me as I chose him. It was the first time I said them aloud but they were true for him and for his brothers and from that moment on, I said them with a hug and in every letter and card, I would write or say, ‘thank you for choosing me as your mother because I chose you.’ They were special always and I lived my days with them with this thought. In that frame of reference, I will be sharing what my journey has meant through my years. And why I think what goes on within four walls determines what happens outside the front door.

Of The Pen That Writes

You, my son
of the pen that writes,
that puts my small effort to shame
but it is my best effort.

Have I not shown how my actions
were the cause
of a heart stripping exercise?
Have my actions been unkind?

Have not my words
spoken in your language
of my journey to the stars,
trying to gather evidence
to convince you, my beloveds,
that the unseen is as large
an obstacle to deal with
in our innocent green earth?

As large as what is evident
in the visible needing magic and a God
of omniscient energies?

I may sit in my Light
to write these missives but to write them
is evidence that I have lived them.
And this pen dips in the ink
of what has been my life’s blood
and my heart the inkwell.

The cost has been exorbitant,
but for you whom I have loved
and nurtured beneath
the inkwell of my heart,
never a sacrifice.

Thoughtful dialogues in my head
readied my life for your arrivals.
The disappointment?
Only my inability

to convince you of your divinity.

Artwork by Claudia Hallissey

March 18, 2015

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.