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  • We Are The Reflection. . . .

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    We  Are The Reflection . . . .

    of what we worship.  We may not think in those terms,  but our actions reflect what we think to be highest and best within us.  For some seem to  have come a long way and they mean to go even further.  And push to extremes the psyche of man to the point where he will indeed proceed with the amelioration of his acts that only serve to propound the problems of the children, his children.  And we take them and give them a what for and say get on with it.  Stop taking your heritage as god given and sacred when your eyes tell you that problems will result that will only continue through the ages.

    That within their crusty skins is the divine.  That within all that they are for this moment in their thinking is all that there is.  And if they demand more, then they make more.  For the god who shines in them is the reflection of what and who it is they worship.  And if they are not pleased with what they present, then they better get on with it.

    Defeating?  What are now the options?  For centuries man has worshipped a god outside himself and it would not require a first rate intelligence to see what the morning papers blare out every day.  This is the god man worships and it would dismay them to think that they represent their god?  What is it about themselves that they do not like?  Is this all there  is or am I all there is?  Yes, pure and simple because until the understanding is broadened,  until the larger perspective is gained that encompasses all others,  this is all there is and they will be right back in the stew pot and not scot free for eternity.

    What is there about themselves that shames them?  Time to clean up then, isn’t it?   Time now for a housecleaning with confessions and restorations to be done wholesale.  There is no time for mousing about.  We have babies with memories.  And the ability to see what is in the hearts of men.  And adults are now on the defensive.  And should be.

    The larger, broader perspective deserves its time.  The grandfather image in the sky, outside of man, no longer serves.  We have listened to the laments for too long and our hearts also cringe when the prayers reach the hilt with the wailing.  These are souls in travail, having given birth and now reap the whirlwind. They feel abandoned and frightened.  That they were to assume accountability did not cross their minds.  That to simply get through life was not all that was required.  But to add to the physical dimension somehow escaped them.  Failure falls on all of our heads.  And ‘not knowing’ is no longer a tenable tenet.  The wail will not be heard but the mistakes will be picked up by those whose names are on them.

    Simply traversing the schism separating man from his heaven does not necessarily bring enlightenment.  The process of housecleaning is painful and our nursing homes  are proof that this knowledge is innate and to be avoided at all costs.  What was not done while the doing could be remedial must be done at some time with the added burden of physical infirmity.  The shift to childishness is premeditated, thinking that avoidance would be whole scale.  The  god of their childhood would welcome them in their childish state.

    What is not understood is this childlike faith, the utter knowledge of the child who enters the world complete with his memories  weaves his destiny through all worlds until the desire to focus comes.  Then decisions are made and oftentimes because of survival.   But if survival is the main ingredient of life, the options to learn are presented in all things.  The choice not to learn is a conscious choice, chosen because of ease.  Inserted within each life is the prime time for the option of learning and not necessarily in the formal classroom.  Time and again the inner voice is dismissed for various reasons.  And then old age is upon the person and what we have is a reversal, a conscious turning to the childish state so that the separation will not be painful.

    And it works for many.  But what is involved is a lack of no insight, no enlightenment and the souls find themselves back in the frying pan so to speak, none the wiser for the journey.  The problems compound themselves and the cycle is incomplete.  What to do?

    We study the ancients and this means ourselves.  What is asked, with intensity and motive discerned, will be granted.  But when work is involved, the individual too often opts for diversion from his primary task.  Or the long way around the barn is taken, thinking that good works justify the person.  Good works coupled with intent and motive, do.  But the union with the invisible self is imperative.  For only then will the good be transmuted into stable conditions with long lasting improvement.  Otherwise the measures are like a bandaid when the body is bleeding.

    The conclusions reached when this journey begins are simply on the surface.  They must be applied to the greater picture and not limited to persons.  The suffering begins but the habits are now attacked with persistence.  It defies the thinking brain that what was sufficient at one time and brought awards is no longer sufficient.  But the depth of man is being penetrated and the work just begins.   The  time is now.

    November 15, 2015
    Veronica 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.
  • Simple Observations

    Simple Observations

    Creativity requires expression and the expression will take on the coloration of the individual souls.  And memory being what it is would soon color the manifestations, would soon color situations with a diversity that would promote problem situations in order for Beings to work and live together.  It is how worlds are born.

    *****

    The only purpose in doing a thing is what you bring to it.  Without the personal intent to do good or bring beauty,  the work is dead.  It may look all right but if there is no life in the creation, the project’s life will be of short duration.

    *****

    It is far easier to prolong a situation waiting for it to work itself out.  Confrontation is not for everyone.  Especially when history has shown on whose shoulders the workload will fall.

     *****

    When a lesson is simply given, in simple words, there is an enormously complex system behind it.  With most of it unsaid.

    *****

    Can  one demand that someone grow up?  How does one do that?  When something is outside our frame of reference or will require a something from us, we will fight tooth and nail to remain innocent and free of taint.  We preserve our naivety because we think the new will undo us.  That we will go babbling down the street and be caught by the fellows in white coats.  Far better to be comfortable in what is familiar, otherwise we might have to think.

     *****

    If you keep yourself too tired to think, then of course you don’t have time to be afraid.

    November 12, 2015
    Veronica 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.
  • Your Holiday Shop

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    With a weekend visit from the grandson who encouraged this grandmother to blog back in 2011 and set me up,  we also went to work on my Shop of wall quilts and included again the books, The Last Bird Sings and Kiss The Moon,  The Woman Speaks and Gives Grace.   For those of you who have wondered why I have been lax about this diversion from what I call my headwork,  the reason is simply I have not known enough about setting up this particular section of my blog.   It seemed utterly complicated and much too difficult but not as difficult some of you would say as quantum theories?  The fact that I wander between two screens on my computer (and worlds?) is a wonder to me.  But there are some things that I need a someone to walk me through.  We now have the wall quilts in the Shop with dimensions and prices.

    If you are interested, please contact me through my blog.  I will accept personal checks and money orders.  For personal checks,  do allow sufficient time for banks to do what they do.  And should you see something similar to what is sold, I cannot duplicate art of course,  (it never is quite the same anything) but I can and will do something similar.  The prices on the wall quilts do include shipping so that you know the price on each of them is the total price.  The books will be $17.00 each and that will include shipping also.  From now until January 1st,  I will offer The Last Bird Sings and Kiss The Moon for $30.00 for the two in one order  and that also will include shipping.

    I hope we have made this a bit easier to look at and for you  to contact me.  I look forward to hearing from you soon.   With the oncoming holidays, perhaps this will be your one stop Shop for your favorite people.

    November 9, 2015
    Veronica 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.
  • You Know As Well As I. . . .

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    You Know As Well As I

    You know as well as I. . . .
    that when the air clears
    and the morning is sharp. . . .
    the night air brings
    the sleep that rests. . .

    when food again
    pleases the appetite
    needing palliative measures,
    you will find
    what is necessary to rise up
    and go.

    And know without question
    upon Whom we live
    and breathe and have our Being,
    we will rise up and give thanks. . . .

    because of All That We Are.

    photo by John Holmes

    November 7, 2015
    Veronica 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.
  • We Are Becoming. . . .

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    We Are Becoming. . . .

    The Physicist, David Bohm is quoted as saying that no theory can adequately explain all facets of Nature which is infinite.  And that quote  I read only this year affirmed my thinking.  For me it was a truth that anything or all things in the act of becoming will be impervious or inadequately explained all the time.  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 a truth for today may indeed change with tomorrow’s  growing knowledge.  This is a difficult statement for most of us to accommodate.  Because in human thought a fact once discovered  should be so tomorrow as well as today.  Or as last week’s question went,  what can we safely eat today because it seems with this latest news everything is bad for us.   (I will be 85 soon so how bad has our food been?)

    My thoughts on this follow Michael Talbot’s Holographic Universe, where explicate matter reflects an implicate center which rolls and enfolds into infinity. Can evolution (and already I can see where it is)  be the way to stabilize what is an illusion and give substance to matter to make it easier to learn what is necessary to promote life?  (An aspirin would help?)

    My invisible support system has steered me through a lifetime of independent study.  The following poem was written in the summer of 1982 which shows the variable paths leading to a holographic universe and how a need to know can persist and discipline a life.   I had no idea there ever would be a place to draw breath let alone draw some conclusions.  I am grateful.  I am.

    If You Can Bear The Truth

    If they should ever ask you
    from where comes this knowledge
    and you can bear the truth,  tell them.

    It was written in the stars
    that I saw with inner vision,
    shining exuberantly with a vitality
    that bears description.
    It was hung by a sun that had dried
    my ancestors’ tears for a million centuries.

    The lyrics have pressed my ears
    in moans that I find unbearable.
    Does not everyone hear the cries?
    If they should ask you,  tell them this.

    It is the music of celebration,
    when one, even one,
    is freed from a lifetime of servitude
    to anguish clogging the throat.
    This music is heard
    down the long lines of generations
    and will be mated in their genes.
    They will glory in their freedom
    and they will live forever.

    So if they ask you
    and you can bear the truth, tell them.
    It was taught by my Spirit
    spilling into my heart with no reprieve
    and into my mind with no relief
    It is a lifetime of no alibis
    and a coping system diffused.

    My teacher has no name.
    Still the imprint is within my genes,
    implanted within my ancestors’ memories,
    resting within me.
    They do not rest while I cannot.
    My song continues, if only for me.
    Enough it is

    for me to break the waves.

     

     

    photo by John Holmes

    November 3, 2015
    Veronica 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.
  • Reaching Conclusions

    IMG_20141210_083706_637from a journal entry. . . . .

    (I wrote this journal entry 9 months after I had gone into cardiac arrest twice.  It was written February 02, 1994.  There has been no editing.  )

    I think I have come to some conclusions.  Many of them are so simple and primary that I wonder why it is that they have not been conscious ones.  No doubt so that I keep on trying to make sense out of nonsense.

    All of life is mental.  It is all lived in the head.  The only difference between Me and Thee is that I know it.  The only difference between me and an Other is that I know it.  I know that when I leave, I will take my world with me.  This is the world that has been built on substance as I have seen it, felt it and created it.  I will take it and move on to a world of similar qualities and if there is none, I will have made one.  I will have made this world chiseled out of the heart of me and the greater heart.

    It will contain those things I have built my life upon.  For that is what we are all involved in.  It will contain those things of primary importance to me.  It need not necessarily contain motion as physical life views it.  It will contain motion that is created by making giant leaps of mind, great leaps of heart and giant leaps of understanding.  It will contain all these and the spin offs from these that I have not yet encountered.  That physical life does not contain.

    It will be to a world of words that I go.  A world where the weight of words is not only understood but felt.  Where emotion enriches a life, making it felt at levels so deep that words of physical life would not explain it.  Worlds where the intuitive power of understanding is not a sometime thing but a thing of substance that is understood and respected.  It would be a world where the worth of life is not in what one can smell and taste and feel with the hands but with the heart.  That it can be all of these things and loved because the intuitive value cannot be translated but can be understood.

    It would be a world where the intrinsic worth of the individual is not measured according to what others are doing or thinking but measured by the depth of thinking.  It won’t be a world for all people but for those who would know what it is that is written, not by the mind so much as the heart.

    It would be a world where the child is held sacred because there would be knowledge of what Being is all about.  That from where one comes because of those things that moth and rust cannot destroy are the measure of who we are.  Not by the things that this physical world sets store by but those things spoken of since ancient times, those things whose value cannot be measured.

    It is the thoughtful mind that would include those things.  It is the thoughtful mind that finds the time to cull the wheat from the chaff.  And the thoughtful mind that has conversation with the still, small voice that gives guidance.  It is the unification of the Thee with Thou.  It is the one mind that embraces all minds and says, I am One.

    It is a lifetime work.  It is a lifetime of contemplative living, putting into practice what the silence instructs us to do.  By living a life according to the highest precepts held, even in the face of rejection.  It is the strength to say this is for me, knowing that others would find one either objectionable or censuring.  It is in the power to say, this is what I am, knowing that isolation will be the result.  It is with the knowledge that at some point one says, this, too, I can handle, not without discomfort but with a modicum of strength.  And knowing all the while, that we teach even as we are being taught.

    All of the above is not a matter of faith, though there is a surrendering to a Will not one’s own.  It is not a matter of belief, because belief would take us to those paths that show both of these that become knowledge.  And when faith and belief become knowledge, one then becomes free to say, ‘I know that I know’ and there is no argument.  One then enters the peace that passes all understanding and there is rest.  Even while one still breathes the elixir of rarified Earth air.

    This is where I find myself this day.  Approaching my 63rd birthday and knowing the journey has been worth the while.  The one regret I hold is that I have not been able to translate these precepts to those I love the most.  The word,  Word with a capital W, language, is all we have to translate the knowledge and motion of our hearts.  And it is inadequate to invest it with sufficient meaning, nuances that would begin to suggest what meaning we would have words carry.  Our gardens are all we have to leave to those who would wish to know the footwork, the heartwork.  And the gardens are not just what we plant to embellish the physical yards but what we leave to blossom in our wake.  We have been called Earth Gods.  Some of us know it.  And that is the difference.

    (in going through my files looking for something else,  I came across this entry.  It has been some 21 years since this was written and no one more surprised than I am to find me still breathing this Earth air.  Much living has been done and much has been integrated.  My regret still stands but what I have learned from it is that everyone becomes their own project.  And it is up to the each to do their own research.  It begins within.)

    October 29, 2015
    Veronica 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.
  • Morning Prayer

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    Morning Prayer

    Pray the dawn into morning.
    Let the cool winds blow
    across the hot, dry lands and
    let the rains pour as if
    through the eyes of angels
    who stand guard.

    We will make this land green again
    and feed the minds of children
    too long idle and as farmers
    feed the bellies of them too long empty.

    Pray with me,
    for those of long words and
    too long thoughts,
    who list the trials it seems and
    forget they hold the means
    to set the world on course.

    Let us power them with our prayers
    and free them to action;
    let us raise our heads in gratitude
    always to the One

    under whose wings we soar.

    Photo by
    John Holmes

    October 27, 2015
    Veronica 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.
  • A Morning’s View

    20150814_074546a mind’s wanderings. . . . .

     

    One man’s highest desire need not be an others’.  And if one’s highest desire is to survive,  then reincarnation is one’s only alternative no matter what world.

                                             *****

    When one is painfully aware of life’s brevity, others then tend  to shy away from any intimation of mortality.  That is one reason people own dogs.

                                              *****
    Guilt has many faces.

                                             *****

    This mother is not so subtle a son says when she kisses her adult children on the forehead to see if they are feverish.

       *****

    In a family, the genetic and emotional connections can be used by and of themselves.  The very things we find stifling and inappropriate are the very things we use to draw strength from.  And if we have siblings, because of our numbers, we gain strength.

     *****

    To draw on what is good for us requires maturity.  We are apt to discard all before realizing some things are worth holding onto.

    *****

    Glory is often as fleeting as one’s presence and when one  is gone, so is the glory.  What remains is often the sediment of who we are.

    *****

    Man needs solitude to digest and make concrete his philosophical position.  If he has one, that is.

    *****

    Gaining another sense does not mean separation from self consciousness.  It means you are saddled with what you have been and then given another view of what you can be.  The dichotomy is excruciating.

    *****

    Cosmic consciousness is a mixed blessing.

    October 22, 2015
    Veronica 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.
  • Coming To The Altar

    20151017_181546The Teachers Speak. . . .

    What is suppressed is what we are most afraid of and fear carries a sub label of secretive which must go along with the word afraid. Even in today’s world of reality shows,  there are still those who carry their fears close to the chest.  And often do not think of solitude as safe;  reason enough when some enter their home all manner of noises are pressed into being.  Anything to combat the silence where thoughts arise.  Silence becomes the enemy to master and not one of comfort.

    And we wish not to remember.  Dismissing memories is to lock the vault only to have it burglarized and be called to remember without those whose presence would have made the memories bearable.  Whether in joy or sorrow.   They can be dismissed and put on the shelf for another time but confronted they will demand to be.  A life can be one of choice concerning memories as well as other commodities.  But to put memories into a vault and to tightly lid them is to crowd the emotions into a body with no death as a release  and death has a place in man as well as in nature. 

    Indeed man is natural and belongs to nature because he should be at home in this physical world.  Death in nature is acceptable but in man seldom, except as he makes himself so undesirable that others wish his demise.  Yet death is always with us and its purpose is to release from the physical what can no longer be housed comfortably.

    The body must also be part of mind’s growth.   The body cannot be left in the cold while the head does its intellectualizing.  It is all part of the whole.  Our head could say  I am handling this well but the body knows better if it has not caught up with the intellectual growth.  Until the work is done within,  where the strength of the body is built up,  we will have a condition needing remedial work.  When there is a cohesiveness within the mind body factor, there is also  a peaceful coexistence.

    We Give No Thought

    We give no thought
    to the end of breathing
    for in the midst of things
    we are satiated.

    But when the void deepens
    and all things pall,
    in the privacy of our night,
    we sweat.

    We are drenched
    with fear,
    drowning in our panic
    for we have no anchor.

    We are a people
    with no spirit. . . .
    full of ourselves,
    devoid of the good, we think,

    necessary for immortality.
    Too bad we are so late
    in coming to the altar

    of our own divinity.

     

     

     

    October 18, 2015
    Veronica 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 Still Time

    image2

    There Is Still Time

    I say. . . .

    What more can I do?  I am
    tired and I am old.

    You say. . . .

    You are still breathing.  And as long
    as there is breath, you can still create.

    And I say. . . .

    It has all been said.  How many different
    ways to instill the will to make a difference?

    You say. . . .

    As many ways as there are people who awaken
    before the sun decides to make an appearance.

    And I say. . . .

    Already too many times for me . . . .

    And you say. . . .

    I have not heard your name called which means, rise and do.
    And you will be shown how.  I have journeyed with you and I
    do not abandon.

    I say. . . .

    You are a hard task master. . . .

    You say. . . .

    When we walked the heavens and decided to explore our
    talents, we wanted to do good.   The world awaits. . .

    I ask. . . .

    For how long?

    You say. . . .

    For however long it takes.  There is still time to take harp lessons.
    It’s been too long since you used that talent.  We need to refresh
    your memory. . . .

    Photo by John Holmes

    October 15, 2015
    Veronica 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.
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