Saturday, September 30, 2017

Finisterre Part 2: The Third Act Ramble

"The mystics keep our union with God( The Divine) and all creation through music, art, and poetry, and reflections on nature."
 - R. Rohr OSB

"Instructions for living a life.

Pat Attention.
Be Astonished.
Tell about it."
- Mary Oliver



Sometimes our narrow perspective taints
What we really see
Sometimes the ego surfaces and gets in the way
Of our continuing down the right path
Sometimes the reconnecting with spirits from the past
Affirm the grace of the original initial connection
Sometimes science is used to rationalize
That which needs to be left unexplainable
Sometimes we think we know God
We need to stop thinking and let go
Sometimes streams lead to rivers and rivers flow to the sea
We should join the leaves on the water and let ourselves drift and flow with the rivers
Sometimes some are blessed to realize that it is not too late
As our third act to the great play can help us make sense of all that went before
Sometimes completing that impossible climb up the mountain
The victory was not just for those we name but for our very own soul.
Sometimes it takes the grace of pure smiling innocence of an infant
to sanctify the universe's eternal spark within our own authentic spirit
Sometimes our own lack of wisdom is evidenced by insufficient words
And we need a poem, a song or a moment in nature to understand


"When it's over, I want to say:all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world."
 - Mary Oliver

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began, 
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble 
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voice behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life that you could save.
- Mary Oliver

Some Eternal Spark – Glossary

On the Road to Find out – Cat Stevens/Yusuf

Sensitive Man – Nick Lowe


“One day I will find the right words and they will be simple”
        - Jack Kerouac

“The only truth is music”
       - Jack Kerouac

 Copyright 2017 J Sobecki LLC All Rights Reserved

Thursday, August 31, 2017

Finisterre Part One: The Conversational Nature of Reality

Finisterre : The Place Where Your Present Turns Into the Future

(Written and inspired by the "Farm" in Upper Marlboro, MD and the works of David Whyte)

“ Think about how many times I have fallin
Spirits are using me
Larger Voices are Callin’ ”
              - Stephen Stills

"The Logic of worldly success rests on the fallacy: The strange error that our perfection depends on the thoughts and opinions and applause of other men! A weird life it is, indeed, to be  living always in somebody else's imagination, as if that were the only place in which one could at least be real"
 - Seven Storey Mountain, T. Merton

"This is another great difference between your civilization and ours. You admire the man who pushes his way to the top in any walk of life, while we admire the man who abandons his ego"
  - Seven Years in Tibet, H. Harrier

My Camino

There was that time while on his
Self selected Camino
The Pilgrim awakened
To the reality his conversation
To the journey that brought him to this moment
What he had desired had already happened
Each step along the way of his sojourn
Was the result of one invitation leading to another
The great Marathon is both voyage to where he thought
He should be in the end
An the expedition of the Seven Stories of the interior.
At one mystical moment the colors glorify the mountains
In September in the rain just before the leaves come falling down.
Purpose,intention complete the trees as they rest in wait
For the promise of their redemptive rebirth.
Weary Pilgrim on that road less travelled.
Scallop shells indicate
it is how he got to this place that really matters.
The reflections of his journaled confessions repeated
Beginnings and Endings,
Endings and Beginnings,
Interactions and coincidental encounters.
The Obe Wan had once counseled " Courage"
His Jedi companion said "The Frontier
Where reality lives is where the true self, the myths of the world
And the future reside.
Hearts break when we care about that which really matters."
His Santiago another safe harbor
On that perpetual voyage.
Illuminations and transformation arrive
When spirits let go.
Paradise is
A river can't be pushed,
It flows, flows and flows...
This place on the shore of the great sea and this time is
Where the pilgrim stands in revelation reflecting
On that which was, is and receives another invitation.
He walks on.

Maybe This is Heaven - Field of Dreams

- David Whyte

The road in the end taking the path the sun had taken,
into the western sea, and the moon rising behind you
as you stood where ground turned to ocean: no way
to your future now but the way your shadow could take,
walking before you across water, going where shadows go,
no way to make sense of a world that wouldn't let you pass
except to call an end to the way you had come,
to take out each frayed letter you brought
and light their illumined corners, and to read
them as they drifted through the western light;
to empty your bags; to sort this and to leave that;
to promise what you needed to promise all along,
and to abandon the shoes that had brought you here
right at the water's edge, not because you had given up
but because now, you would find a different way to tread,
and because, through it all, part of you could still walk on,
no matter how, over the waves.”

 - David Whyte
The way forward, the way between things,
the way already walked before you,
the path disappearing and re-appearing even
as the ground gave way beneath you,
the grief apparent only in the moment
of forgetting, then the river, the mountain,
the lifting song of the Sky Lark inviting
you over the rain filled pass when your legs
had given up, and after,
it would be dusk and the half-lit villages
in the evening light; other people's homes
glimpsed through lighted windows
and inside,othe people's lives; your own home
you had left crowing your memory
as you looked up to see a child playing
or a mother moving from one side of
a room to another, your eyes wet
with the keen cold wind of Navarre.
But your loss brought you here to walk
under one name and one name only,
and to find the guise under which all loss can live;
along the wa, remember you were greeted as such,
and you needed no other name, other people
seemed to know you even before you gave up
being a shadow on the road and came into the light,
even before you sat down with them,
broke bread and drank wine,
wiped the wind-tears from your eyes;
pilgrim they called you again. Pilgrim.

     - David Whyte

The road seen, then not seen, the hillside
hiding then revealing the way you should take,
the road dropping away from you as if leaving you
to walk on thin air, then catching you, holding you up,
when you thought you would fall,
and the way forward always in the end
the way that you followed, the way that carried you
into your future, that brought you to this place,
no matter that it sometimes took your promise from you,
no matter that it had to break your heart along the way:
the sense of having walked from far inside yourself
out into the revelation, to have risked yourself
for something that seemed to stand both inside you
and far beyond you, that called you back
to the only road in the end you could follow, walking
as you did, in your rags of love and speaking in the voice
that by night became a prayer for safe arrival,
so that one day you realized that what you wanted
had already happened long ago and in the dwelling place
you had lived in before you began,
and that every step along the way, you had carried
the heart and the mind and the promise
that first set you off and drew you on and that you were
more marvelous in your simple wish to find a way
than the gilded roofs of any destination you could reach:
as if, all along, you had thought the end point might be a city
with golden towers, and cheering crowds,
and turning the corner at what you thought was the end
of the road, you found just a simple reflection,
and a clear revelation beneath the face looking back
and beneath it another invitation, all in one glimpse:
like a person and a place you had sought forever,
like a broad field of freedom that beckoned you beyond;
like another life, and the road still stretching on.

Transformation – Van Morrison

When the Leaves come Fallin Down – Van Morrison

Wasted Along The Way – Crosby Still and Nash

Southern Cross – Crosby Stills and Nash

The Ballad of Easy Rider – R. McGuin

A Lyrical Bridge between the past, present and future- David Whyte (TEDTalk)
Click on Link

The Way * (Fictional Movie about The Camino de Santiago and Life Journeys)


“One day I will find the right words and they will be simple”
        - Jack Kerouac

“The only truth is music”
       - Jack Kerouac

Copyright JF Sobecki LLC 2017 – All Rights Reserved

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

The Art of Departure,Returning and Remaining (Rev8.2.17)


“…for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 
Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' 
We are not now that strength which in old days 
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; 
One equal temper of heroic hearts, 
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

     - Ulysses . Alfred , Lord Tennyson


Where did that spark originate that causes one
To set out to discover what has always been deep within them?
What is the true purpose of this spark and subsequent flame?

There was that tired weary worn vessel
Searching for a safe harbor.
9 years had passed since her sails and hull
had been cleaned and cared for for .
Her Captain’s log recorded daily fears and prayers
During the course of the passage .
Everything was changing,
Everything new again,
Everything of
one spirit , one source
fueled some new and different sacred flames .
Uncharted seas become home.
Second hands tick over and over and over
Faster, faster , faster…
With each sunset and sunrise and sunset and sunrise.

New child ships launch
Baptized by friends, family and sanctified pilgrims
Into that unknown ocean of mercy .
Innocent and enthusiastic and not yet tested
Rum sipping and smoke puffing old salts
Silently pray imploring Poseidon for intervention.
“Keep them from Sirens and Nymphs
and away from islands at the edge of Hades”

Filled with the ghost of Ulysses all sailors ,
Youth-filled and weathered worn, discover
What they have been searching for … to pass it on
To the next generation of sailors...
Sometimes that gift is discovered too late…
   … and some times it isn’t.

And Sometimes there maybe a heart yearning
for the pilgrim's return.

To Leave Something Behind- S. Rowe

Transcendental Reunion - M.C. Carpenter

Step out of the shadows - G. Hansard

Ceiling Gazing – M.Kozelek

“One day I will find the right words and they will be simple”
        - Jack Kerouac

“The only truth is music”
       - Jack Kerouac

Copyright 2017 AllRights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC


Saturday, July 1, 2017

A Nirvana Dream

If you don’t know where you’re going
Any Road will get you there.
     - Any Road, G. Harrison

I listen to the wind come how l, telling me to hurry
I listen to the robin’s song saying not to worry.
 - On the Way to Find out, Cat Stevens

While on the long ride home
The state of the art satellited technology system
Filled the blank space with a landscape
Seemingly from some yet undiscovered planet.
Unfamiliar mountains and landmarks line the passageway.
A river with no-name flows to the unknown sea .
Even incidents and allegations along the way
Were not reflected nor anticipated in that wise navigation tool.

The silent conversation began:
“ We’re not in Kansas anymore” the first one communicated the second.
The second one’s eyes ask if they are headed in the right direction.
“It all depends if it will take us to where we want to go,”
 the first  replied without words.
“Does it matter?” the second’s hand asked.

For the first time in the time and space they shared together
It was agreed that maps and directions were not needed,
as they decided to slow down to just 
go with the flow and enjoy the ride.


Day Three and then departure.. 

The sun is ever present
in safe harbor Cape May ...
She burns brightly through the haze
Spirits warmed, rested and consoled
Waves of that great ocean of mercy
Rolling in serene and soft
Kiss the beach , sanctifying grateful pilgrims
As they prepare for the next phase
Of their passage.

New hobby - "Ocean Gazing"

Tide comes in 
Tide goes out
Fog comes in

Fog lifts
Tide comes in again
Sun squeezing herself slightly 
Through the clouds
Tide goes out again
Footprints in the sand 
Washed away
Anointed by the sacred salt air
The sun retreats slowly
It's 112 pm on our anniversary
She's sleeping 
Music fills the space between...
Tide comes in...


   Be Here Now - G. Harrison

Roll with it - S. Winwood


Copyright 2017 JF Sobecki LLC All Rights Reserved

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Onward - ( a reflection inspired by the movie "Youth" )

"Contained in Everything I Do
There's a love I feel for you
Proclaimed in everything I write
You're the light, burning brightly
Onward through the night
Onward through the night of my life."
 - Onward , "Yes', C. Squire

 “We were talking, about the love that's gone so cold and the people, 

Who gain the world and lose their soul  Then you may find, peace of mind, is waiting there  And the time will come when you see we're all one, 
And life flows on within and without you”
       - Within Without You, G. Harrison

"You say that emotions are overrated.Emotions are all we've got."
               - Mick, "Youth"

Someone once suggested that that light at the end of this long meandering up and down tunnel doesn’t get any smaller with the passage of time. At what point did that original innocence fade from view behind us? What is it that tries and sometimes succeeds to dampen that once holy flame of enthusiasm? Where did that trusted lifelong companion go? Was there a specific voice that encouraged or tempted me to take that one specific path and he another? How is it that some continue to hold the hands of a loved one while others feel they need to traverse every step alone? Are we quick to forget the power of touch? Are we quick to forget the simple songs? Were not the simple songs all we have? Can we keep our heads up and hearts opened as we move onward through the night of our lives?

No thing lasts forever does it? Some trees fall more quickly than others. Broken barren branches, remnants of a glory that once was, are now strewn across the field and is fuel for the next pilgrim along the way eventually becoming ashes to nurture the earth where that roaming fire had burned through the days and nights. Some giving-trees seem to continue to grow strong and grand with seasonal rebirth. Others are cut down in their prime becoming trunks of rest for tired worn out pilgrims. Still, other trees perpetuate constant leaves as shade source of freedom for launching for Frost boys swinging as they lean towards heaven. He prayed that he could be one of those branches on a tree of Merton.

His meditation “There is no fear for my own last day but the heart trembles with the slightest consideration of the passing of the one’s I love and for the last breath of those who may have loved me. “

The purest innocence of babies and youth at honest play; the intoxicating freedom discovered in boundless music; the presence of love, and the egoless carefree resilience of an uncorrupted authenticity are what we need to keep spirits alive while making way in our time worn weathered vessels. Listen to the larger voices calling and suddenly consideration that all this is just coincidence and strictly chance -  is proven to be na├»ve.



When I see birches bend to left and right 
Across the lines of straighter darker trees, 
I like to think some boy's been swinging them. 
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay 
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them 
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning 
After a rain. They click upon themselves 
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored 
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel. 
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells 
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust— 
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away 
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen. 
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load, 
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed 
So low for long, they never right themselves: 
You may see their trunks arching in the woods 
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground 
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair 
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun. 
But I was going to say when Truth broke in 
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm 
I should prefer to have some boy bend them 
As he went out and in to fetch the cows— 
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball, 
Whose only play was what he found himself, 
Summer or winter, and could play alone. 
One by one he subdued his father's trees 
By riding them down over and over again 
Until he took the stiffness out of them, 
And not one but hung limp, not one was left 
For him to conquer. He learned all there was 
To learn about not launching out too soon 
And so not carrying the tree away 
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise 
To the top branches, climbing carefully 
With the same pains you use to fill a cup 
Up to the brim, and even above the brim. 
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish, 
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground. 
So was I once myself a swinger of birches. 
And so I dream of going back to be. 
It's when I'm weary of considerations, 
And life is too much like a pathless wood 
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs 
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping 
From a twig's having lashed across it open. 
I'd like to get away from earth awhile 
And then come back to it and begin over. 
May no fate willfully misunderstand me 
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away 
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love: 
I don't know where it's likely to go better. 
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, 
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk 
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, 
But dipped its top and set me down again. 
That would be good both going and coming back. 
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches. 
    - Robert Frost

You Got the love ( Intro scene to the movie “Youth”)

Onward - Mark Kozelek , (Youth)

Just  - D. Lang (Youth)

Simple Song #3 – D. Lang (Youth)

Youth – The Movie Trailer

For a member of the band….

“One day I will find the right words and they will be simple”
        - Jack Kerouac

“The only truth is music”
       - Jack Kerouac


Copyright All Rights Reserved 2017 JF Sobecki LLC