I Love Women.
I’ll take them in all shapes and sizes, the old and the young, the rich and the poor.
If it wasn’t for women, I — and a lot of guys I know — wouldn’t even be here! Continue reading
I’ll take them in all shapes and sizes, the old and the young, the rich and the poor.
If it wasn’t for women, I — and a lot of guys I know — wouldn’t even be here! Continue reading
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Am I un-American or anti-religious when I tell you something I’ve been trying to say for years, but have been afraid of hurting your feelings?
Indulgences are some things I never thought I’d think about once I finished with my Catholic upbringing and moved onto Eastern Studies and the spiritual advice from the Kabbalah. But there I was reading how someone could limit their time in purgatory by performing certain acts and saying prayers.  Continue reading
The answer is: because I have to. I need the therapy to look deep inside to provide me. I’m not talking about surface writing. You know, the kind a reporter might type when covering some disaster, a meeting, or a political event that might include both. I write only after communing with some sort of truth that bubbles up from within.  Continue reading
No matter how hard I try, I can never count to 20 before an unbidden thought arises from inside of me. I get to three or four while meditating, and images pop up on an internal screen, capturing my attention. I dare not try this counting method until my body and mind are both well-settled and I can “Let go.” Continue reading
“Did you hear what I said? I’m pregnant.
Joseph. Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“What’s there to say?” the young carpenter named Joseph said to himself.
“You tell me an angel “appeared” and “announced” you were with child . . . You ask me to believe no man had anything to do with this.”  Continue reading
I saw more of the Divine in a beggar on the road to Calvary last year than I did in the three religions occupying Jerusalem. The beggar’s blindness beamed into me, and I’ll never forget the look on his face as I offered him Israeli shekels, and he bowed to me in thanks.
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Thank God for Buddhism.
What’s that you say?
I can’t have one in, and of, the other?
Are you telling this red-blooded American veteran that I cannot follow the teachings of the Buddha and still believe in the God of Abraham? Continue reading
My best friend died before I could tell him how much he meant to me.
Not a week goes by, that I don’t think of him or see him in my dreams. And if there is one thing I’d want to say to some new friend I might make in this life, it is that I truly treasure your “being there” for me. Continue reading
I want to give “thanks” today, but don’t want to offer it the Norman-Rockwell, “fake-it-‘til-you-make-it” way of the holidays. Instead, I want to share how grateful I am for such taken-for-granted “gifts” that I am only beginning to realize most of us have been given. Continue reading
I’m a union man. Even though I held but one adult job as a dues-paying member, I will always be a union man. Why? Because I believe it’s the truly right path for the working man to walk.
Like you, I want to be a soldier of peace and not war; a kind and loving friend to the poor and a prodding yet mild abrasion to the rich. Continue reading
On this Veterans Day, 11-11-11, what would you tell yourself if you could go back in time and greet that young man recently returned home from the war?
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.
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.
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.
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.
Jobs have a way of defining us. We become “the job,” or rather grow into what we perceive to be the “ideal performer“ of that job. Whether we like it or not. The job. Or ourselves.  Continue reading
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).”
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“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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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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.