You gotta be careful for what you wish for . . .
Your Dream just might come true. Over. . . and over . . . and over again.
Your Dream just might come true. Over. . . and over . . . and over 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.
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.
The moment of truth came down to one question: “Who else was with you?”
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.
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.
The detective hit me across the face with a back hand, and I knew I was in trouble.
Childhood long gone, I’d dream about the “monkey swing” at Smith’s Playground whenever I wanted to achieve something worthwhile in my life.
Mister JR Johnson fired me when he caught me “entertaining” friends at his place of business.
The “kid” still got it. Swam 36 laps this afternoon, the first time I’ve exercised in four months.
I was in the Army less than a week when the news hit me. I had my head shaven; my civilian clothes exchanged for fatigue pants and a shirt, not to mention boots and headgear, something I had never worn before in my life.
Got drafted on the Third of June, the day that Billie Jo McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge! I was 19 years old in 1968 — knew no one — and was away from my Philadelphia, PA, home for the first time.
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.
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.
Does the Universe conspire to create minor miracles on a given day? Yes. But only if you believe in modern-day miracles.
The looming towers of Three Mile Island (TMI) grew in size as I drove from Conshohocken to Harrisburg, PA, some 90 miles away. It was on this very day, March 28, 1979, that America experienced fear and second-guessing of its decision to build nuclear reactors so close to populated areas.
I danced a Sufi “dervish whirling” at the Buddhist Center today.
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.
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.
“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.
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.
Buddha came in the shape of a dark-haired, dark-skinned attractive yoga-practicing woman, smiling upon me in a dream.
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Calling a kid names could cause a lasting scar one may have to deal with later in life.
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.
The first Buddha emerged in my dream as a muscular military-type, with short-cropped hair and engaging smile. Asian? No, Hispanic, but with a possible trace of someone from an exotic Asian island.
Flowers brighten up any room, and the right vase can add an extra touch, particularly, when the arranger puts a Lot of Love into the mix.
The Buddha appeared in a dream. He took on the forms of a soldier, a counselor and then a computer printer. How could such an entity take shape in such different apparitions?
Not once did I have to step on the brake. And I left my house shortly before 9 am — the tail end of rush-hour traffic — to get to a 10 o’clock appointment.
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.
The rooster crows outside my kitchen door. Not once, but several times. Wait a minute! It’s 7:30 in the morning. He’s supposed to be up the hill in the shed converted into a chicken coop. What happened?
You forgot to lock the trap door, Michael J. Forgot to close it. Or simply forgot to round-up the four feathered critters and herd them into their warm wooden environment. That could mean they spent the night outdoors.
Patty DeMarco made me cry. He called me names and wouldn’t stop as I tried to walk away, with him following me on the North Philadelphia street we lived. On and on he went, badmouthing me, until he saw my brother, who helped me into his little red wagon, and pulled it home, me sobbing all the while behind. I was four years old.
Ever wonder what life would have been like if you made different choices years earlier?
I was 19 when I felt “separated” from most of the people I hung out with and called friends. I wanted to be so much like them; not to care about such things as “love,” “compassion,” other people’s “feelings.” That was “sissy” stuff; stuff that only a “wuss” would think about. I saw these aspects of myself as a “weakness.“
You can’t know how much pleasure there is in feeding a squirrel until you open yourself to the wonders of nature . . . and of course . . . feed a squirrel . . . daily.