Give without seeking a thing in return. Oh, I’ll get pleasure out of the deal. But I’ll put a lid on it. Screen out the joy that can overwhelmingly fill me, and direct the bulk of that feeling to another. Deflect it to one needing nurturing that only a mother’s love could offer her youngest child.
Thank You Amy. Let the Good Times Roll!I felt like Alice falling in the hole after chasing a White Rabbit. But, falling “upwards” defying the laws of Gravity and Rational Sense.
Got Blanket Absolution yesterday. And, it felt so good, I became a 12-year-old again. Ready to face the world with a clear conscious and a pure heart.
I see You more and more each day. All I need do, is look for You. Kinda scrunch up my mind a bit, squint, and let my Self go.
Try to “feel” You. And I do! All Blessed You. In just the right amount to fill a soul that wishes it were bigger, larger to contain more and more of Your Love that’s omnipresent, all around me. And in me.
How do you explain “unexplainable” events?
Although you “passed on” after your 17th birthday, you’ll remain alive for me forever. I see you in my dreams. I “feel” your presence as I walk with you, watch you, and hear the footsteps on the steps leading from the dining room to the bedroom upstairs.
Grace suffocated and I retaliated by smashing my ego to help free up her passageway during group meditation this morning.
The pain feels like someone thrust a spear in my back. That I was in battle. At the city of Troy. Fighting with fellow Greeks for the foolish prize of a minor King’s run-a-way, but lovely, wife, Helen. She with a face that will launch a thousand ships.
The hawk glides across the sky, soaring high above us as the first person to notice shouts, “there’s one.” Like children, we stare toward the heavens, at the beautiful blue sky. A normally humid August has graced us with a mild and glorious summer day, blending light breezes and the scent of flowers that drift our way from below the wooden platform we look out from.
A gentle “pull” manifested in my Life recently. I noticed it last night while driving and wanted no more than to live in each passing moment.
I’m going to confess. I played hooky in seventh grade and refused to “squeal” on the kid I stayed out of class with that day.
You can keep the promotion. Wouldn’t take it, even if offered. Not if I have to make “achievements” my aim, to set a new “goal” in Life.
Start over. That’s all I gotta do . . . Say it to myself and simply “START OVER!”
Lying in bed with one crazy, mixed up thought after another, I told myself to “start over.” Did not know what I meant. But I did mean it.
It’s just like heaven . . . Being here with you . . . You’re like an Angel. Too good to be true. When You are near me. My heart skips a beat. I can hardly stand on. My own two feet. Because I Love You; I Love You, I Do. ‘Angel Baby’. My ‘Angel Baby’. Oh, Ooh, I Love You, Oh, Ooh, I Do . . . No One Could Love You . . . Like I Do!
Hello! Anybody here? It sure is dark inside. Like a huge cavern with hardly any light.
Fell head over heels in love the past few weeks. Didn’t want to do it. Had always gotten “hurt” in relationships, knowing from the start they’d come to an end one day. Love seemed to change that way. To peter out. End not with a “bang,” but with a “whimper.”
I started seeing angels again. No, hold off on the straight jacket, don’t reserve a room at an asylum. I’m not totally crazy. Yet.
The snake slithered along the bed of the forest, winding its way beneath a pine tree. Climbing upwards, it twirled around the trunk, moving ever so slowly, centimeter after centimeter, as it sought the “higher ground” where it could shimmy onto a tree branch and make its way closer to my eye level.
There it was. My “power animal.” The one I entered the spirit realm to discover more of myself and my so-called guide. I didn’t care for him. He was a snake, for Christ’s sake. Tempter of Eve, manipulator of all manipulators, who was commanded by God Himself to forever crawl on his belly because of his part in getting two human beings ejected from Eden. What’s there to like about one of his kind?
But then the snake took on a different form. Still a reptile, it wound its body around a staff-like pole. You know, the one that doctors have as a symbol to help all persons in need of care. It might be called a “Rod of Asclepius,” or a “Caduceus.”
The snake worked its charm on me. Felt more comfortable with him, knowing he would assist in bringing comfort to others through what Buddhists ask all to do with “loving kindness and compassion.”
The next thing I know, I was transported to the Middle Ages with trumpets blaring and banners of all colors flowing in the wind. Oh, I forgot to mention. I was on a Shamanic journey. Five of us Highly Sensitive Persons (HSPs) from the Philadelphia area got together on Friday for a trip led by a woman who was herself a Shaman in a previous life. She brought shakers to shake, sage to burn, and gave us papers to write our thoughts immediately upon coming out of our journey into the “Lower World.” Shamans tell us there are three worlds one can visit: the lower, the upper, and, I think, the middle, or the present, where one can kinda transport his or her spirit on our real-time plane.
After our “space” was cleared of any bad spirits with the burning of the sage, we were instructed to visualize a hole in the trunk of a tree. It’s better if you can focus on a real one, which I did, having read a book and being on the lookout for such an “entry door.” Had no idea the trunk in a tree I saw on Butler Pike between Ambler and Conshohocken, PA, was going to play such a prominent role.
Couldn’t get into it. The visualization trick, not the tree. Well, actually, the tree, also. Never did anything like this. Could not see the texture of a wall I was asked to look at. Damn. Couldn’t even see a wall. But I didn’t quit, and just as I “let go” I found myself coming out of a long tunnel, and “seeing‘ the exit hole behind me. Looked like a Hobbit hole, but one big enough for two or three guys to walk through abreast.
Backing up, I saw a forest with lots of greenery. So many trees, I felt I was outside the Land of OZ, where you’d expect trees to start talking to you and throwing red apples your way. Brown pine cones covered the ground beneath a tree. I could smell the richness of grass and the pine as if dew had just settled.
That’s when I saw movement. A slithering on the ground, which I paid no attention to at first, until I looked up and saw the snake twirling itself around a branch, awaiting my undivided attention. This was my power animal, the one that will guide me in the lower world? But, I don’t like snakes! Don’t think they like me, either.
———-
Didn’t have time to anguish over the partnership. We were paired up, and I felt the snake open up a valley where troubadours sang and minstrels played harps and other musical instruments. Music sounded from everywhere, behind every bush, tree, and small stream in this spacious land of my mind. Soon, ladies and their lords rode by me on some of the strongest and largest horses I had ever seen! All covered with colorful clothes; some with matching headgear. These were the horses I’m talking about. You can just imagine what the lords and ladies were decked out in.
And there came the king. Riding alone while raising his hand in a kingly gesture to assure his subjects that all was well in the land he ruled. But he wasn’t really a king. More like a Prince John from the days of Robin Hood. He was a usurper, one who tried to capture the crown while his brother, Richard the Lion-Hearted, was held prisoner in some Moorish jail near Jerusalem and the site of the latest crusade.
I became a doctor to the prince. An Advisor. One who could ride alongside this man, of whom I was wary and could not trust. We talked. I planted an idea in his mind. Suggested that what he was presenting to the people was not for their good. That there was a better way for all to live. That he needed to “open his eyes” to see it. I knew the path he should take, but for the rest of humanity to follow, the one in power must realize this Truth himself. He must see reality without the blinders imposed by the make-believe world.
“Come back,” I heard a voice call gently. “Return to the tunnel.” It was our Shaman recalling us to our world. I found the entrance and zipped right through, remembering subconsciously to “bring back” the rod or staff the snake had changed into. All was part of a dream, the creation of, perhaps, an imaginative mind. But, I am using that staff right now to bring you this tale for all to remember to “open your eyes.” There is another reality to live in and with.
Did Creator make a mistake in His design of women’s “purpose?“
Are they on the earth to simply guide men to the Light above and share in the Love such a man might bring back with him to our earthly plane?
Thought I was dying Monday morning.
Just finished eating a plateful of scrambled eggs, bacon and home fries, topped off with a honey bun, and had started in on a second cup of coffee when: “BAM.”
Hearing the screech of tires, I react quickly. Push foot to the brake and veer to the right of the car in front of me.
The Greatest Weekend — No. II
Uncanny coincidences kept cropping up yesterday as I attended a gathering of one of those “Meet-Up” groups.
Got eerie, downright mystical-like, if you know what I mean.
Glenda “laid hands” on me; I lost track of who I was and why!
I had stubbed my two helping three guys move a heavy piano from one section of the room to another, when a leg got too close to the big toe, and I yelped like an injured animal, but held onto my section, maneuvering the mahogany-framed instrument to the center of this place of worship.
The bottle of Listerine spilled, and the car smelled of antiseptic. A ’57 Chevy should never suffer such an indignation.
The fool showed up uninvited to the Wildwood, NJ, beach house and created a mess good folk hardly talk about now-a-days. He sat “Indian-style” on the living room rug with Billy Kane, both about the same age, 18 to 19. There were two or three other guys drinking beer as Billy passed ‘em around. And then Kane “barfed” on the fool. Threw up onto the fool’s bare legs uncovered by the summer shorts he wore. “Kanie,” as we called the one who “likes his brew,” smiled a devilishly Irish grin, before offering a fake apology. The fool said nothing. We thought he would take offense by Kanie’s antics, something he had done for laughs before among those who liked his raunchy sense of humor.
Psalm 46:
9 — He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire.
10 — Be still and know that I am God.
“There is none else besides Him.”
“If I’m not for me, who is for me?”
“There is none else besides me.”
Who am I? Am I this body, this mind, this soul? Perhaps, all three?
Body changes all the time, I’m told. Don’t have the same one I did a month ago, and it’s definitely gone through scillions of changes in the seven years I grew a completely new epidermis. That’s a new skin for any who’d like to compare man to a snake.
“The Crossing” filled me with sounds of the Rapture last night as I surrendered to the harmonies some 25 voices offered me on entering Heaven.
I left my physical body and merged with music that only God could have imagined when He “thought” Creation into being.
My jaws clamp down, insuring I won’t let go of what I just uncovered. It’s taken me for what seems forever to get my teeth around it, and I won’t give up without a fight. Even if I get kicked. Again. Square in the face where it hurts, but I’ll get over it.
Wouldn’t it be great to make a phone call and ask a receptionist to put you through to the Creator? The next time you have a problem, and you want to do the right thing, you could simply dial “G . . . O . . . D” long distance.
Walked a Labyrinth and stepped into Vietnam last night.
Trouble is . . . I liked it. Did not want to leave the maze despite what lay ahead. Strangely, I felt “safe” there. Secure in my “skills.” Didn’t want to come home. Just like years earlier.
An eerie silence greeted me as I opened my bathroom door, stepped inside, and looked at the window facing the yard. I had just woken up. This, the first morning without a rooster in my daily life.
The one you see, hear and experience daily. And another one, where you pass through a veil that causes Amnesia once you step all the way through. You no longer have a past. You have no concern for the future, since you’ve accepted the fact that all you really need in this “New” world will be provided.
You opened my heart to something I closed years ago.
Not ready to look inside. Almost, but not just yet.
Your words touched me with a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time. They caressed me, and I liken it to a mother’s love and pride I couldn’t handle at the family reunion last Saturday.
I “Come Alive” inside, as my body comes to a complete rest and I let the mind follow suit. Sound boring? It’s anything but! And it’s been one of the toughest things I’ve ever attempted.
Couldn’t do it some 30 years ago when I tried to “halt” my active state of mind. Thought I “got through” and tamed the busy monkey once or twice, but it was wishful thinking on my part.
Bizarre! Is this just a Curse?
Or a Wish for Good Fortune?
Not sure where this came from. Was meditating on the subject of “stillness,” and tracing my awareness of the world around and inside, when these words “arose.”
Laughing so hard, the five of us had to hush up, quiet down to prevent diners at the other restaurant tables from staring at our ruckus.
What caused all the belly laughs and guffaws? God. Well, let’s say the Spirit of God. How about something ‘Spiritual, but not Religious?’ Would you believe “Mystical?”
I never felt more like Don Quixote than when I represented a woman charged with a crime.
And while I didn’t want it, I’d feel called to “champion” her, even when it cost me my reputation, my sanity and my very career as a trial attorney.  Continue reading
Vivienne, you asked what I liked about the book “To Mister God, this is Anna.” All of the following are the direct quotes of the author Fryn, also known as Sydney Hopkins:
“Mister God wants you to be ‘I Am,’ like he is.”
“This is the curious nature of Mister God: that even while he is at the center of all things, he waits outside us and knocks to come in. It is we who open the door; Mister God doesn’t break it down and come in; no, he knocks and waits. Continue reading
Wasn’t sure a Gospel Song would fit in with Highly Sensitive Persons (HSPs) at a music appreciation meet last week.
Still can’t understand why I chose Bobby Darin, the “Splish Splash” originator, to represent my musical taste. We were encouraged by the hosts, a young couple, to bring music that meant a lot to us, perhaps meditative offerings and/or those pieces that represented a special time in our lives.
When I first saw the term, I thought of Zorba the Greek, played by Anthony Quinn, who embraced the fullness of life through robust emotions and actions. To laugh in the face of hardship and spit in the face of death, enjoying that special moment of life as if it was the last, and to hell with what anyone thinks.
To hell with negative thoughts. Live Life with the smile God meant us to project outwardly as well as within.
I feel a bit of God in a good healthy sigh.
It could be that all animals do, and it helps us relax for a millisecond before exhaling. The longer I exhale, the longer I feel the Presence.
An African American woman showed me how to take on the suffering of the world during a five-day retreat on perfecting perpetual peace in my soul.
Continue reading
Taking a step today that scares me. Going to become an “Initiate“ Buddhist at a morning ceremony. Do a prostration, touch my forehead to the floor, and recognize a Power greater than myself.
That’ll be the easy part. Saw enough Catholic priests drop to the church floor during a 40-hour service that I’m used to seeing American Buddhist ladies and gentlemen do the ritual at the Chenrezig Tibetan Buddhist Center of Philadelphia.
The moment of truth came down to one question: “Who else was with you?”
I looked to the floor and didn’t answer until the head of a juvenile aid panel from Philadelphia Family Court asked me to speak up.
I never took my eyes off the gun. The man’s hand shook. I was afraid it would go off. Raising my own hands, I prayed that he would not shoot, and said “I’m coming out,” slowly climbing out of the window, placing one foot on the ground and then the other as I exited the ACME supermarket warehouse building two blocks from my home. Continue reading
I had not reached 7, but I remember it as if it was yesterday. I was attending a birthday party for a friend of my brother, John, who is two years older than me. Her name was Carolyn, and the love I felt came from her sister, Regina Gross, who the older kids enjoyed “fixing up” with me, her school classmate.
A friend dreamed she could not swim well in water and had to return to the shore or face peril. It seems the dream reflected her real life. (See “To Be Me.”) She said she was not a very good swimmer, and she wondered why — even in one’s dream — we impose such limitations on ourselves?
I feel a healing begin, as tears form, and I am so grateful to release what’s building inside — something so wonderful it becomes too good to contain.
I wish I were bigger. I’d have a greater capacity to handle the joy that’s flowing to all parts of my body. It’s like a liquid, this healing I feel, almost palpable like an elixir that cures each and every doubt, concern, and thought from one’s past or future.
Did not know what a Buddhist sangha could mean to me, until four of us aspiring students focused on a multi-colored insect at lunch, discussed its past and future life-aspects, and showed compassion to a sentient being whom we might have swatted away before gaining our insight on Sunday.
One of the most humbling times in my life occurred in Court.
Philadelphia Police Sgt. Washington motioned to me that he wanted to talk. This was odd, I represented the “other side” as a public defender whose client was the defendant charged in an auto theft case. Washington was the arresting police officer whose testimony would ensure a conviction.
Two girls fought over me once.
Well, it really wasn’t me that caused the fight. It was my dance steps.
Got dragged and nearly fell beneath a train before finally letting go of a freight car’s metal handholds. Don’t know how far my legs scraped and bumped along the wooden beams and fistfuls of rocks strewn from track to track. Don’t remember how long I lay on the ground, long after the train rolled by, thanking God for letting such a foolish boy like me continue to live.
Drove full of gusto to complete a task before visiting a doctor in the early afternoon. Only to realize by the time I turned onto the major road, I forgot where I was going.
And worse, why!
The only thing that seemed to help Mary was the tears.
The act of crying seemed to “loosen up” and cushion the fear and anxiety that would strike her unexpectantly. Every time she’d hear a siren, she’d feel her chest tighten, her palms sweat, and her heartbeat race. “Twenty minutes” she’d say and look at a watch or a clock. It will all be over in 20 minutes. The world as she knew it would all be over. Destroyed by nuclear war.
Twice. Once on my stomach, the other on my back. Got “acupunctured.” Second time for my back. First for PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). Back got punctured a dozen times in various parts of the body, starting in areas other than the back.
My “performance” complete, I drop to my chair, taking deep breaths, trying to avoid showing what the past action has cost me.
What happened? I had nothing to drink . . . no alcohol . . . no drugs.
Opening up to a stranger is never easy. But when you feel trust and an open vulnerability offered to you, you can shed your safeguards and become the loving person I believe we were always meant to be. Just yield slowly.
Your “Beloved,” is what you need. You yearn and long for Him, don’t you?
Always have, always will.
Some words, phrases, even entire messages look different through the lens of time. Take this feeling I expressed to a friend half-way around the world about the “yearning” I felt on reading Sufi poems for the first time. It moved me so much that I “penned” my own feelings of life-long “longing” to be with, what the Sufis call, “my Beloved” — the Higher Being that can take the shape of your Most Perfect Loved One, the Divine. Continue reading
I danced a Sufi “dervish whirling” at the Buddhist Center today.
A door to the possible mysteries of life opened slightly yesterday. My friend, Joy, introduced me to the Kabbalah.
On and off clicks the light from the sun. On and off, on and off, and so it goes. The sun winning this playful skirmish with tall objects on the Earth below. Light to dark, light to dark flashes before my eye. (Got an eye patch “over me left eye, young Mr. Hawkins,” like Long John Silvers from Treasure Island, but mine’s from a detached retina, and not from pirating!) Something is causing some effect on a part of my brain as my good pupil enlarges and decreases like a strobe light at a Heavy Metal concert with me thrown into a mosh pit.
Played “peek-a-boo” with the sun and shade this morning. On the road from Ambler to Conshohocken, PA, I engaged Old Sol in a game the Almighty must have created for mankind’s appreciation. Why else would God — who caused the sun to come into being from some huge cosmic explosion — have invented shadows? It’s all part of His Love for us humans!
I squeeze the malachite stone as if it was one of those “stress” balls used to relieve tension and exercise the forearm.
A vision of prehistoric man appears as I meditate with a Malachite stone in my hand. I am that person, that man who is bare-chested and hairy in this meditative “dream.” So much hair growing at my chest and back I initially think I’m wearing a covering over my upper body. The hair on my head is long, tangled and unwashed. Don’t think I ever combed it, even with my fingers, let alone use some devise to run through the matted hair follicles.
Already kneeling while sweeping litter from the powder room floor where the cats spilled, I sat back on my haunches. A clean commode beckoned to me. Yeah, I felt a “calling“ from this white porcelain-based ancestor of the old “WC” (“water closet” to the Baby-Boomers who called it the “John” or simply the toilet).
For a better over-all life, PLEASE STAY “ON” THE GRASS.
I focus on my hands clasped together in front of my lower chest, with one good eye barely open and the other hidden behind a black eye-patch.
I am “whirling.” Circling on a carpeted floor at a Quaker Meeting Hall room going round and round. No dizziness this, my second time out. I project a feeling of Love and “nudge out‘” fears of falling and/or appearing awkward and uncoordinated. I am dancing with my “Beloved,” as a dervish man displaying his affection to the Oneness of the Universe, the Glory of the Spirit.
“Chef J” had no idea what she was getting herself into when she surfed the computer early Saturday morning. But, by the end of the day, she found more than a dozen people who were “just like her,” struggling to make sense of a world that seems cold to the sensitivity of others.
Running water. Somebody designed a way to allow it to flow from a water way directly into our houses. And not just to one spot in my Conshohocken, PA, home, but at least four: the kitchen, two bathrooms and a spigot for hosing plants outdoors.
Heaven on Earth. What a beautiful idea.
Why must one wait for death to enjoy this state of eternity? Why not enter while one is still alive?
I talk too much.
Didn’t always. I was one of those “quiet” ones when I was young. Seen, and not heard. I believed that “empty barrels made the most noise,” as the nuns taught us in grade school.
You had to be a little tough to grow up in Brewerytown, the neighborhood of Philadelphia I called home for the first part of my life. You also needed to be open to other ways of life, different religions, and those of another race.
“Letting go” is a process I thought I had completely bought into when I “gave up” trying to control things and had surgery done on my eye.
“Enlightened” is the only way I can describe how I felt after sharing thoughts with my new friend, JhanaJian, who shook my reality with something I was not ready to hear. I had viewed this person one way and was forced to alter that viewpoint as truth hit me right in the eye.
Who will be my teacher?
Where can I find that person who can show me where to walk on this new path I’ve chosen?
No, not the Paradise mentioned in our religious books about an Adam and Eve in a Garden of Eden. My Paradise was within, existing immediately before I had eaten from the fruit of the Knowledge Tree, the source of later intelligence, the later development of the mind and its control of my life.
Oh no! I forgot my ID. Second day in a row I pulled such a stupid stunt. And here I am, braving the snow and cold to drive from Conshohocken, PA, to the Veterans Administration building in Philadelphia.
I hope to start to tutor Natalka about the English language. And, at the same time, learn more of life than I ever could from any book.
Natalka needs to improve her language skills as a teacher of 2 and 3-year-olds at a pre-school outside Conshohocken, PA, here in the USA. She came from the “Old World,” the one behind the notorious “Iron Curtain.” And while she obtained a master’s degree in Chemistry while in Ukraine, her school “directors” want her to speak and write our language more fluently.
I slept in today. It was the third day in a row that my son was off school because of the great snowstorm of the Winter of 2010. How many of us can recall a time in our lives that school closed for three straight days due to snow?
Contoveros 