It snowed along the East Coast of the United States today (October 29, 2011), making it the first time in more than 30 years the white stuff appeared this early outside my Conshohocken, PA, window.
I remember the last time because it was so life-changing, and I wonder if today’s gift from above will have the same effect on me and my world.  Continue reading
I never thought I’d be thankful for a stuffy nose, but it helped me to meditate without really trying. It all started on a day I was off from work, and I stayed in bed as ten thousand thoughts ran through my mind. I noticed a clogged nostril and focused all of my attention on trying to reopen it.  Continue reading
Try it on.
See if it fits and whether you’d be comfortable in adopting it when the Occupation of Wall Street and the protest at a thousand other locations worldwide come to an end.
I looked into the other side of the political spectrum, and I saw something I hardly recognized.
I saw myself.
The phone rang, and Henry Rushing answered it, hoping the call would not delay his weekly trip to church services Sunday morning. The pastor of his Presbyterian Church was on the line. “Henry, you’ve got to prepare yourself,” the cleric said in his most comforting voice. “There are demonstrators outside our building protesting. Their signs have your name on them, and they’re not too charitable with what they’re alleging.” Continue reading
When I read the Occupy Wall Street demonstrators were unfocused and without a coherent message, I took a closer look at them in Philadelphia, and discovered some were disheveled street persons looking for handouts, and one was a graduate school political science major spouting Marxist teaching.
The greatest protest of our generation is seeking change in all shapes and sizes. You can see it in the signs the demonstrators carry, writing the letters out really big with magic markers so that passersby need not squint to get the messages.
It’s so wonderful to welcome you to visit. You return when I least expect you, embracing me and bringing peace and calm just when I still myself and end needless thoughts.
Are any thoughts actually needed when I go within? I need but seek a quiet moment with no thought save the intent to be free of the past and the future, thus ensuring I will rest “In the Now.”
Eight Tibetan Buddhist monks set themselves on fire to protest the Chinese occupation of their country. They took their own lives when soldiers of the army set up quarters in Tibetan monasteries.
They must have been in intense pain. Or they were offering overwhelming love.  Continue reading
As my world started to close in on me, demanding its immediate attention toward responsibilities, affairs of work, and needs in my house, I found an oasis inside of myself and in the thoughts of friends in my group.
Tone it down, America. You are cutting off your nose to spite your face. The face of the body politic, that is, we are creating needless hurt for the countrymen we’d like to lead to our mutual goal: the pursuit of happiness.  Continue reading
What do Israel and India have in common with Istanbul and Amsterdam? Other than all starting with a vowel?
It’s where this Philadelphia lad is heading from Nov. 6 through Nov 18, creating a pilgrimage that will touch base with five of the World’s largest religions: Christianity and Judaism, as well as the Muslim and Hindu faiths, ending at the land where the Buddha gained enlightenment.  Continue reading
A student at the WON Institute performed acupuncture, penetrating into my psyche as well as my epidermis. More importantly, she opened her heart with such compassion I wept, feeling her healing spread throughout my body and soul.  Continue reading
I heard some familiar words spoken in a foreign language by two women and a man sitting at the table next to me, but what drew my attention was something that sounded like “Kabbalah.”
I saw you as a little girl with a smile as bright as Shirley Temple, a chocolate-haired “Annie,” a young Rosie Perez.
How many times have you heard this? How many times have you said it? “Give something back.” Not sure what that “something“ is, but you know you got it, and you got a “need” to share “it.”
I see shiny red eyes staring at me, causing me to decelerate and focus where the gutter comes into contact with the street. Long white objects that look like “ears” move slightly. They twitch and turn in the direction of my car. I pull closer. “Cwazy Wabbit” looks dead at me.
Compliment someone today. Tell ’em how nice they look.
Better yet, tell someone you meet what movie star they look like.
Hearing the signal, my friend would pick up, knowing he was being called by someone other than a bill collector. Or a “process-server.” Learned to do this while growing up in Brewerytown, a working-class section of Philadelphia, and continued it following a divorce and working as a newspaper reporter.
They pinch me. At the bridge of the nose. Cause an irritation to my left ear. Make me feel less good-looking, less acceptable. (As if I really need to be more acceptable nowadays!)
Could never be a good businessman. Did not love money enough.
Never put wealth at the top of a “to do” list of things to achieve. Oh, I wanted to make a comfortable living and get a nest egg for the future. But I had no drive to accumulate big bucks.
My God, when will this pain end? I can’t take it anymore. Please, just take it away. Or let me die.
This could be the worse day of my life. That would include the pain I’d suffer as bombs explode and persons around me later die in Vietnam. At least that will be quick and done with . . . This agony is so prolonged. And the worst of it is, I brought it all on myself.
Most of what I learned about journalism came from observing a true crime reporter named Michael Sangiacomo.
I was just hired by the Pottstown Mercury, a small newspaper some 25 miles outside of Philadelphia (and the home of Mrs. Smith’s Pies), when Sang (Pronounced Sange, as in “Angie) took me under his wing and showed me the ropes.
Never, never reveal your source, he said. And always attribute your source whenever you can.
Another Reality exists within the here and now, if I can disengage and step out of the World that I am sleep-walking in.
Each drew me like an oasis to a man walking alone in a desert.
The excitement would start while half asleep, tossing and turning, waiting for morning to jump out of bed, freshen up, and make my way downstairs to discover my latest surprise.
“To Dance with My Father Again.”
What I wouldn’t give, to dance with my father again. Or, more likely, watch others — what seemed like the whole Greek nation — dance with him. My father was a dashing man on his feet. Could pass for the brother of the actor Errol Flynn, always taking the lead for what I called the “Greek Snake Dance (See you tube).”
Continue reading
As soon as I saw a videotape of myself mouthing those words on television, I knew I had crossed the line.
But, nobody caught it. Never put infertility and sexual intercourse together to catch the play on words that somehow slipped out, with me never actually intending to say what I had just said.
“Going Berserk” has always had a wicked appeal to me.
For brief moments, I’d go “mad,” and not care for my safety or well-being, but focus instead on the object causing a “crazy re-action” on my part. It was as if a volcano had erupted and I wanted to punish those perceived as evil-doers. Might have had a bit of “religious fervor” involved, as I saw myself correcting a wrong or an injustice with a quick upper-cut to the jaw.
Feel like I stepped from suspended animation and awoke on a star-ship outside the Galaxy where I’m “floating” majestically on a current of the air.
Never thought an affair I had with a married woman before turning 21 would qualify for “conduct unbecoming,” but looking back, I see how conflicted parties to such an act could become.
Growled like a dog at a guy making noise in a sauna I was meditating in Tuesday.
Three times in a row, I gave him a dirty look, lifting my head from the bent, meditative pose staring long, hard seconds as he eventually quieted down. He was drinking water from a bottle. So he says. But it sounded more like he was bathing by splashing water on his arms and legs for some reason only God knows.
Wearing a chest full of ribbons on a khaki-colored shirt with Russian-like epaulets on the shoulders, I grew lots of attention at the Russian Appreciation Day at Penn’s Landing in Philadelphia yesterday.
That was the headline for one of the strangest cases I ever reported.
I wanted so much to be the Queen’s Concert.
But at what age? What stage of her life called out to me the most, as we, the audience members, watched her grow into a Spiritual goddess, one I desired to be like, to become with as One?
“Make yourself a Rav, and buy for yourself a friend.”
— Rabbi Yehoshua Ben Perachya
Could never relate to the old “Church Lady” that seemed so righteous and God-fearing.
You know, the one that constantly quoted the Bible and swore everything you ever wanted to know about anything could be found in “The Good Book.”
All these feelings flashed through me as I slowly came out of what seemed like a trance, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, only to notice growth at a part of my body where there was none before.
Swimming meditation can work. You heard it here first. One can “nudge” out most thoughts and focus on the “here and now” as you swim one lap after another. I did. Got so relaxed, I lost count for a while, but then didn’t care how many lengths I had traversed.
“I love you” was not in the way you said it, but how you said it.
Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I have cursed out drivers on the open highway and prayed their mothers had never conceived them. In or at of wedlock, those dirty b . . . . . .
Requested a dollar coffee at a Burger King last night and the Gidget-like youngster asked if she could serve a “Senior.”
No, I replied, not wanting anything more or less then what’s on a “dollar menu” for cup I could refill, if need be. I handed over $1.06 in change, placing it carefully on the counter in front of the short blonde teenage girl. “It’s 50 cents,” she quipped, all bright and full of sunshine. “It’s a senior cup.”
I dove into a World of Make Believe, changing from one past life to another while underwater and on land yesterday.
Felt disconnected from the World as I knew it yesterday.
When my father spoke Greek with the disciplinarian of the Catholic High School where I played hooky at age 14, I thought I had it made.
Continue readingEach day for twenty years, the spirit of Don Quixote welcomed me into my law office. This picture hung above my desk reminding me that it was the “impossible cases” a good public defender relished. The ones you didn’t expect to win, but somehow, now and then, you’d convince a jury to see the facts your way, which in most cases, was the right way.
Continue readingI was so low, I was willing to forego this body and offer my spirit to someone, anyone who’d have a greater chance of gaining enlightenment than me. Give to someone who was nearing to what Kabbalists call the final “correction” of all of one’s egotistical desires.
You invited me to your House, and I broke confidence in you.
Heard some Christian minister was planning to set fire to a Muslim Holy Book, the Quran, to mark the Anniversary of 9-11 this Saturday, September 11, 2010.
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!You don’t know how hard this is for me. To do nothing! Forget about the better part. The word “better“ implies you’ve been able to do “nothing” sometime in the past. Or that you can do nothing “better” than someone else.
Music touched an emotional chord in me that may have been different from most folks.
Rain pours on me outside, while soft music warms me on the inside. “Abraham, Martin, and John,” the song, plays from this relatively new gadget called a portable, hand-held, transistor radio.
What’s the difference between Shame and Embarrassment? Are they joined at the hip? Like twins?
Be careful what you wish for. You could get your heart’s desire and wish you had never asked for it in the first place.
How do I explain the feelings that have come “over me?” They’re like ocean waves ebbing and flowing in each breath.
In and out. To and fro. You and I. Somehow all connected. Continue reading
Sat next to a long hair, skinny, “Hippie” guy at an orientation in a community college yesterday, and felt thrown back to a time years ago, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from a similar fellow wondering what the hell I was doing there.
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.
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.
Felt I was back in war maneuvering through a mine field called the new educational system yesterday.
Continue readingA 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.
There’s a true “pecking order” that’s developing in my back yard. And all I have to do is be patient and watch it unfold moment by moment.
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!
I also got involved with the Newspaper Guild and our local at the newspaper level. I took part in union negotiations, usually being one of the lone holdouts to ensure that some clerk or underpaid dispatcher could get a few extra dollars in their paycheck. I enjoyed the give and take and the high drama that developed at contract time. Will there be a strike? How much is the company willing to contribute to the pension? Will there be “givebacks” this time? How secure will I be with a new contract?
What happened in the Vietnam War is another story, but my next Angel appeared as a burly Scottish neighbor of my parents, who had moved from the inner city of Philadelphia to one of its suburbs, Wayne, Pa. “What will you major in at college, Laddy?” the neighbor asked when I visited my folks advising them that I would be using their address to attend the Delaware County Community College. (I lived outside the county and would have had to pay double the amount if I didn’t fudge the location of my domicile.)
I got exposed to “Oldies but Goodies” in my late teenage years. That’s when I started to recruit guys my age, none of whom had been exposed to the Black neighborhoods where Jackie Toy and I met others to sing. I introduced them to “oldies” they had never heard of, particularly from their mostly Lilly White AM Radio Stations like WIBG or WIP.
In a few days, my subconscious worked over my dream of Socrates. I can remember and once again say the name of the second gentleman as none other than Plato, the Greek teacher who dealt with reality, with the spirit, and with life beyond what our senses simply pick up.
But by then, I had my first taste of courtroom advocacy and man did I become energized! Trial work involved cross-examination, closing arguments, and the ability to “argue” in front of a captive audience. Paul Messing, my advocacy instructor, became my next Angel when he directed me into becoming a “litigator,” presenting me with the award of “Barrister” for the best advocate and providing an “in” for an interview with the Philadelphia Defender Association, which had just been named the best in the country.
I had suffered from a cold when I closed my eyes and settled into my seat for meditation. I was hurting and aching from the illness, perhaps even having a slight fever, when I rapidly descended into a deep zone. My thoughts came to a stop, my shoulders, neck, and other parts of a tense body grew limp and thoroughly relaxed. I slowly felt the mind and the body joining in a “slow down,” where I would find that state of nothingness that allows me to simply Be in The Moment.
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’ll never know what drove Anthoula to take her own life.
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.
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
Contoveros 
