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.
Their probe followed closely on the heels of a police officer who paid us an unsolicited visit.
A neighbor complained of the Sombitch Rooster, who could not keep crowing to a minimum and has raised such a ruckus, so we have to find him a new home, away from the Philadelphia area, and some less dense place like New Jersey.
Those are the words Jesus said on reappearing in public in 2012.
The Kingdom of God is Within, He added.
But each of us must seek it ourselves through ourselves.”
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.
Watched from within. Saw “me” facilitating and acting on all the senses. “I“ nudged away a thought, then focused on the feeling of breath at the top of my nasal passage. Tasted the slight chemical taint of eye drops I had placed in my left eye minutes earlier. And, I listened to the soft sounds of a budgie chirping in the distance.
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.
I’d give anything to taste the flavor of a that drink again.
Not the ones from a bottle. A soda fountain drink! Nothing compares to the delicious mixture of “realchocolate” and cherry syrups combined with that seltzer-like substance that produced a drink that could have originated only in Paradise.
Continue readingI always looked up to Al Brown. I met him when I was only eight-and-a-half years old in the 1950s. Nowadays, I guess you would call him a “community organizer,” someone in the neighborhood a person could turn to with questions about the block, the new and older people who lived on your street. Like that section of Brewerytown where I grew up in North Philadelphia.
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.
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.
“Michael J,
The biggest lie you ever told was that you could say something about sexual orientation and not hurt someone whose way of life might be different from yours. You said you lied when you told an ex-girlfriend that you were gay to avoid having sex with someone you were not ready to have a long-term commitment.
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.
What’s the biggest lie you ever told?
I’m talking “whopper” now. None of the “little white lies” kinda story. But one that would qualify as a Bold-Faced LIE!
Mine was to an ex-girlfriend. Not a lie to hide, I had been with another girl. Or why I forgot an anniversary or her birthday.
I was 18 when I asked Janet to marry me, and she turned my request down flat.
We were never romantically involved, even though I’m sure a mutual love would have grown out of our teenage friendship.
Two girls fought over me once.
Well, it really wasn’t me that caused the fight. It was my dance steps.
The detective hit me across the face with a back hand, and I knew I was in trouble. Blood formed on my lower lip. I let it flow, not taking my eyes from this man who gained my immediate attention with a force he evidently knew how to use on some wise-ass kid not being straight with him.
Reaching out with my right hand, I’d grab the metal ring. I would stand on my toes to pull it closer to the wooden platform I was balanced on. Gotta pull the ring back. Pull it so I can get the proper swing to the next ring. If you glide out without an extra pull, you’d fall short and drop to the ground, a failure.
Sundance sneezed five times. Shouldn’t have surprised me. I “felt” I was helping her as she lay across my legs, jettisoning hundreds of microscopic objects onto my leg and arm where her small furry head had just rested.  Continue reading
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!
Mister JR Johnson fired me when he caught me “entertaining” friends at his place of business.
He waited until the end of the shift on Friday and told me my days (actually, nights) as a stripper were over. I tried to explain, apologize for my actions, but that evening it was to no avail.
It hung over me that weekend. But did little to dim one of the brightest moments of my life.
One stretched, only to see the other match the move immediately, with nary an eye blink, nor a muscle flinch.
There was a meanness in their beady eyes. And if looks could kill, both would be lying dead where they stood.
The “kid” still got it. Swam 36 laps this afternoon, the first time I’ve exercised in four months.
What? It’s been four months since I been to LA Fitness. Four months since I hit the Olympic-size pool, take in the whirlpool, as well as spend time in the sauna? Actually, spent more than 15 minutes in the sauna to get rid of all the “toxins” people tell me I need to get out of my system.
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.
It was the soldier who gave you freedom of the press, not the reporter
It was the soldier, not the poet, who gave you freedom of expression
See. I can’t go 12 words without letting out some sort of “expleted deleted word,” even one as mild as a “damn.”
I loathe my inconsistencies on grief, and how I dealt with death and injuries while serving in the military.
I blame the Army for not giving me the chance to mourn someone on first hearing of their senseless death. I blame myself for choosing to be a good soldier and not a compassionate human being, placing country first — before God and humanity.
I knew something was wrong when I saw the radio operator’s face. He handed me the mike attached to the bulky radio strapped on his back. The private, new in-country, made no eye contact, and was hesitant in his actions.
I identified myself by a “call sign” and heard someone say in a code that the leader of the third platoon had just been wounded, and that I was ordered to move my first platoon to give him assistance.
“Belief in God, and
following Buddhism
is not incompatible.”
Got a check for $9 in the mail yesterday. It was for travel expenses on a trip I took five months ago. It came to me like magic. I must have lost it in the IKEA store of Conshohocken, and it just appeared out of nowhere for my return trip.
Back to the Omega Institute for Holistic Studies. A campus in Rhinebeck, NY, where I will return today (April 21, 2010) for another retreat on PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder).
Ever meet someone who wanted to grow up “Meek?”
You know, as in “the ‘Meek‘ shall inherit the Earth?”
“Eat your Wheaties, and you too can become as Meek as Babe Ruth,” is a jingle I bet you never heard out of Madison Avenue. Or how about “The Army builds meek men one body at a time?”
John 13. Verses 3-4 says:
“So during supper, fully aware that the Father had put everything into his power and that he had come from God and was returning to God, he rose from supper and took off his outer garments.”
Ruby,
You tell me you wish that we could have an eraser in our lives to go back and “Erase Our Mistakes.”
A long red light usually gets on my nerves while sitting in traffic, but time went so quick just now. I’m exploring the World of a Mystic.
Got a quick “fix” for you. But don’t try to finger this “hit” unless you’re alone, or with someone you trust.
It is what I call a “tactile chant.” Oh, I know what you’re going to say. Here’s more New Age stuff. Another scam for the public. Spiritual babble for a get-rich scheme. But you’d be wrong. Dead wrong. About something that could enhance your Life!
Don’t want Catholicism, Protestantism, or Judaism. Don’t force me to become a Hindu, a Muslim or even a Buddha. Let me form a “Me-ism,” a spirituality that takes a lot from all the above and blends it into what I feel inside when I’m alone and away from the “Shall Nots,” the 84,000 teachings, and a belief that the “hereafter” must be better than the present.
I felt free for the first time in a long time today. Dr. Jodi Schwartz-Levy conducted a Somatic Therapy session for four practioners, and each walked away with all expectations met. And then some.
A card turned over as I accidentally moved my hand to uncover four other small cards randomly picked from a tray on the carpeted floor. Sitting in the Lotus position with a legless “cloth” chair to support my back, I leaned over to read the card.
“Risk” is all that it said. There was a tiny picture of an angel that somehow reminded me of pre-teen girls who just gave up playing with dolls and turned to thoughts of Celestial Beings. Not the Old Testament God Almighty with Fire and Brimstone, but the soft, gentle “Angels” that serve as guardians.
I wish all of our days could be filled with memories of the greatest moments of our lives. None of mine would go down in history or make it into Guinness Book of World Records.
But each is worth its weight in gold, a treasure of memories that anyone, even a prisoner serving a life-sentence behind bars, is free to recall anytime, anyplace.
Eight chicks broke out of their shells recently, as we turned the bathroom in our Conshohocken, PA, home into a temporary chicken coop.
Saw you off on your class trip, Nick, and while we parted on a bad note, I want to leave something to perhaps get the sour taste out of our mouths.
Got three of them shining the other day. I usually wipe one every morning I shower, removing the half-used toothpaste drops, moustache trimmings and occasional pieces of hair from a head that doesn’t need to lose any more. Hair, that is.
It took me some 40 years, but I think I finally realized what John Lennon was saying in one of the last songs he wrote and sang with the Beatles.
Got inspired to write while working on my third cup of coffee. I wait the 90 minutes I’ve given to a meeting I scheduled at IKEA in Conshohocken, PA, for Highly Sensitive Persons (HSP).  Continue reading
I entered the world of the Mystic while sitting on a bench at the foot of my bed in what seems a lifetime ago. It lasted only a moment. But the realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.
Does the Universe conspire to create minor miracles on a given day? Yes. But only if you believe in modern-day miracles.
I experienced several on February 16, 2010, with the last manifesting over a two-day period in the history of miracles for Contoveros. (For the series, see Rooster helps open path to miraculous day)
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.
Allison,
Hold onto to it. (That feeling of bliss that you can find only in the quiet.)
Better yet, remember it, as if your Life depends on it.
Reach inside of yourself. Look for the Love. It’s there. Now, let it flow throughout your body, your system. Never mind thoughts trying to intrude onto this feeling. Your love is stronger and mightier than any thought — negative or otherwise.
A judge destroyed the governor, while I survived an explosion before winning a civil rights case in court. This was all in a dream.
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.
I close my eyes and my Sufi teacher guides me.
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.
Went “international” yesterday. Had breakfast near my home in Conshohocken and greeted 11 people from five countries as I “table-hopped” brandishing my All-American smile, learning you don’t have to travel the world to find your Self. The world can find you right where you live. If you open your heart.
Kneeling on my knees, I hold the bowl out with one hand, while placing the other hand on the wooden floor, crawling from one side of the chair to another.
My shoulders have grown enormously since this afternoon. I feel they’re “indestructible.” That I have durable lightweight plastic pads all around the neck, the collarbone and the head, as well as my upper chest and back. Energy of some sorts is protecting me from all harm to those areas. And it may be rubbing off on what they call the “Chakras‘ to my heart and higher parts.
Buddha came in the shape of a dark-haired, dark-skinned attractive yoga-practicing woman, smiling upon me in a dream.
Continue reading
Calling a kid names could cause a lasting scar one may have to deal with later in life. It’s either that, or you learn to “toughen up“ as I did, and let the wise-cracks, the slurs, the hate-filled and ignorant remarks simply glide over you.
“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.
How can I deal with PTSD and prevent “squandering away” my life?
Contoveros 