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.
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’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.
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 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.
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.
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.
Childhood long gone, I’d dream about the “monkey swing” at Smith’s Playground whenever I wanted to achieve something worthwhile in my life. I’d see myself climb from one achievement to another, always going forward as I stretched out an arm to grab one metal ring and then the next one on down the line.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
A judge destroyed the governor, while I survived an explosion before winning a civil rights case in court. This was all in a dream.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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?
It all started as I entered a building. President Barack Obama’s picture beamed on a wall as I walked through a large room, cordoned off by dozens of partitions, creating offices upon offices of civil servants working for me and thousands of other veterans from the United States.
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.
While explaining his enlightening story to students, Tshering noted that a vicious attack ended, as the monster known as Angulimala fell to the ground and the Buddha consoled him offering loving kindness and compassion. This experience completely transformed this lowly criminal. He asked to be ordained a monk, and he went on to practice meditation and self-purification while living in a Sangha community.
A day-long Retreat at a Buddhist Center in Philadelphia has taken its toll on me. And I mean that in the best of ways!
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.
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.“
Contoveros 