Saturday, July 2, 2016

Celebrating Impermanence Day

  “Everything changes. No thing is ever the same.”
                         - Unknown

“No Mud, Not Lotus”
              - Thich Nhat Hanh

“The harder the journey the deeper the purification”
          - Seven Years in Tibet, Heinrich Harrier

Picking up the early morning newspaper the pilgrim read  of the  furious unpredicted and unexpected storm that wasn’t as unusual as he thought. The storm came and went just like unpredicted and unexpected storms in the past. Some streets were flooded. The dreams of a few families disappeared with the retreating street flowing like rivers . Other families had tree split roofs of their lonely homes .

Page two of the paper had a hidden story of he 17th Dalai Lama at a local college. The Dalai Lama spoke of how once he entered a grocery store and noticed his favorite fruit for sale. That sumptuous gift of paradise looked fresh and ready to tempt any sentient being and be enjoyed. The Dalai Lama checked his secret pocket and realized he had more than enough to purchase and then savor his favorite fruit. Without a breath  the money slipped back underneath his crimson robe  as he strolled slowly smiling out of the store . He is one who has the awareness that he did not need that piece of fruit to experience joy and peace. The pilgrim grabbed for his journal ,lifted his broken foot wrapped in a protective boot and began to reflect and write:

“ There is nothing like the sounds and salt aired smells of a sanctifying summer rain, chimes softly ring blessing the moment as the birds' sweet refrain welcomes the nourishment and the new day.
As the rain finishes her work the serene soaked earth solemnly celebrates the sacred re-christening as all that is alive at that moment flourishes. Sometimes distractions bring one to a path where one needs to be...sometimes distractions get one off the true path... being present helps us know the difference. No thing can bring one happiness or peace. They say ‘The moment now is called present as it is a sacred  gift of the divine.’

Moving to the beach was supposed to bring me closer to heaven and yes , sometimes it feels like paradise and sometimes it doesn’t .  I can stand on the shore being filled by the wonder when  a  rogue wave raises itself at my body and knocks me down and just as I get myself up standing upright again there is another wave knocking me down again . The gulls seem to laugh as they glide by while sandpipers seem to chase the comings and goings of the waves ignoring my situation. 

The tide comes in and the tide goes out. The sunrises and the sun sets. All things must pass right?”

Pausing and breathing …he whispers

Ah, Impermanence..,”


"If a problem can be solved there is no use worrying about it. If it can't be solved, worrying will do no good."
                   -  17th Dalai Lama

“You admire the man who pushes his way to the too the top in any walk of life, while we admire the one who abandons his ego.”
              - Seven Years in Tibet, Heinrich Harrier

25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life[a]?
28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

                             - Matthew 6:25-34

All Things Must Pass – George Harrison

Turn! Turn! Turn ! – The Byrds

Across the Universe – The Beatles

Main Theme the Movie The Mission- (Ennio Morricone)

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
What profit hath he that work in that wherein he labors?

                         -  Ecclesiastes 3


The Buddha's Last Instruction
by Mary Oliver

"Make of yourself a light"
said the Buddha,
before he died.
I think of this every morning
as the east begins
to tear off its many clouds
of darkness, to send up the first
signal—a white fan
streaked with pink and violet,
even green.
An old man, he lay down
between two sala trees,
and he might have said anything,
knowing it was his final hour.
The light burns upward,
it thickens and settles over the fields.
Around him, the villagers gathered
and stretched forward to listen.
Even before the sun itself
hangs, disattached, in the blue air,
I am touched everywhere
by its ocean of yellow waves.
No doubt he thought of everything
that had happened in his difficult life.
And then I feel the sun itself
as it blazes over the hills,
like a million flowers on fire—
clearly I'm not needed,
yet I feel myself turning
into something of inexplicable value.
Slowly, beneath the branches,
he raised his head.
He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.


Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC

Tuesday, May 31, 2016


“I seen another world. Sometimes I think it was just my imagination”
   - (Private Witte) The Thin Red Line, Book - James Jones, Movie - Terrence Malick

So what is it that causes what seems to be a casual coincidence into a generational blessing that continues to perpetuate itself? Who is really behind this grand design? Is this initiator a magnificent artist with a secret palette who knows no boundaries or limitations? How did this pilgrim get the notion to go to a watering hole on an island where he had never been before that one night in December a lifetime ago ? How is it that the woman who would become his pilgrim companion and mother to their sacred gifts arrive at the same place at the same time? What caused this pilgrim to turn right into a mutual friend who became the catalyst for the two strangers to journey together on that road less travelled? When will we learn that there is a greater hand at work carefully moving pieces on the chessboard of the universe?

How is the virgin staff papered ledger filled majestically into a magnificent symphony? Who would have thought that music would be created by the silence that interrupts tones and pitches creating melodies? Are the songs that birds sing at the breaking of each dawn really random? Is that sweet salt air sacred incense intended to sanctify the moment where the soul becomes aware of the divinity of everything? Consider the millions of stars and planets of the universe and the blood flowing by the pumping of pilgrim hearts or the gift of a perfect atmosphere that feeds and nourishes the lungs of wandering pilgrims, creatures and plants simultaneously. Who really thought of all this? What have we done to deserve any of this?

Was all of this the paradise that was promised? How is it that such a magnanimous lover and gift giver permit the existence of the horrors of violence and illness? Were we given too much freedom? Did we not understand the great generosity and love that has been given all? Will our self-absorption and greed be our undoing? Will we get permission to get lost in the now? Is it wrong to hope that this is not our only chance at salvation and that the promise of redemption for eternity is a reality?

                        Questions for the Angels – P. Simon

                           Questions – Moody Blues

            Thin Red Line – God U Tekem Blong – Hans Zimmer

             These are The Days – Van Morrison

*Inspired by The Thin Red Line – Book James Jones, Movie – Terrence Malick


Copyright all rights reserved 2016 – JF Sobecki LLC

Sunday, May 1, 2016

May Music for The Second One (2016)



Nothing is more practical than   
finding God, than
falling in Love
in a quite absolute, final way.
What you are in love with,
what seizes your imagination, will affect everything.
It will decide
what will get you out of bed in the morning,
what you do with your evenings,
how you spend your weekends,
what you read, whom you know,
what breaks your heart,
and what amazes you with joy and gratitude.
Fall in Love, stay in love,
and it will decide everything.

Well the seasons go round and round
Captive on a carousel .
They say it’s our birthday
It’s his birthday too, yeah.
Would you like to dance?
Trouble melts like lemon drops
Bluebirds fly freely
And the blue skies
Shows the world the end of the rainbow.
It had been a long and lonely winter
But here would come the sun.
She would defy gravity
as I was limited
Leaving hand prints on hearts.
I  am changed for the better,
Because I knew you.
She no longer calls for daddy,
Her momma looks in wonder and she doesn’t know how
“Our baby escaped, no more cuddling now
She’s a big girl now
Our baby’s gone.”
She earned the chance
Counting on every bead with a prayer
Keeping all the hopes in her heart.
She went from spikes to ruby shoes
She’s a woman you all should know,
Singing soft and low to babies,
A daisy-ed nightingale in training.
Oh brown-eyed girl,
Do you remember when we used to sing?
She was just waiting for this moment to be free.
She would begin to travel on to
Where she will be one with another
And there is love.
This marriage of their spirits
Has caused Him to remain
For wherever two or more are gathered
In His name
There is love , there is love.
If we could have one wish
Darling, it would be this
“Love and happiness….to you.”

Love and happiness – Emmy Lou and mark Knopfler

Our Baby’s Gone – Herb Pederson

For Good - From Wicked

Wedding Song – Peter , Paul and Mary
You can click through right to You tube in the video
or on this link

Somewhere Over the Rainbow


Copyright JF Sobecki 2016 All Rights Reserved

Saturday, April 2, 2016

The Martian Perspective and Poetry

Don’t use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.             
                                               - Jack Kerouac

“If you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. Follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.”
                                        -  Joseph Campbell

He once wrote,

              Martians used to preach
              Of days they would reach the earth
              Now they’ve given up
              Finding what it is worth.

He was wrong, there had never been a serious consideration for Martians to explore the earth as it looked like a dying planet. “How did they get such an impression?” , he wondered. And so the journey began for him to comprehend how this perception could evolve.

Out came the yellow high-liter with the history and sociology books as well as the laptop googling thousands of trends and facts about the evolution of earth’s inhabitants their attitudes, institutions, political structures, beliefs, culture and changing. Charts, graphs, narratives and all types of analytics were created to visually illustrate the doors of perception. Then a wave washed him up onto the shore of enlightenment.

“Poetry! They have never read or heard our poetry! Poetry is the language of our hearts and souls, the living proof of the existence of the sacred within sentient beings. ”

He also thought of music as the voice of the divine but continued to wonder what the Martians might think of earth and her inhabitants if they read and heard our poetry, as it was the root of what would become songs. “Poetry is evidence of: our compassion and passion; our love and desire for peace and concern for the common welfare; our devotion to and appreciation for the beauty and wonder of all that mother nature provides; our humility and hopefulness; our resilience; our ability for our own spirits to transcend our vessels of clay; and, our enlightenment of and faith in a great magnificence who is the reason for every aspect of the universe.”

But with this awareness he also became depressed, as he knew that many in this world had lost their sense of poetry and most poets had been minimalized or trivialized. Many contemporary poets had lost their voices or desire to have their inner voice heard. Some "would be poets" had been led to join that carousel where reaching for a brass ring became the objective rather than being an authentic channel of passion. Furthermore many had become silent out of fear of being ostracized for being a voice from the wilderness. There were some champions who would fight the good fight but they seemed to die young.

“Maybe if I just continue to encourage others to allow their authentic selves and voices to flourish through poetry, that may be enough . No need to worry about the Martian perspective now as we all have a greater challenge at hand…to save ourselves.”

                         Understanding Poetry – Dead Poets Society
                   Immediately NOW watch the next click…don’t wait!

                   Why do we Read and Write Poetry – Dead Poets Society

Now Some things for pilgrims and Martians to consider

                      Song Of Myself – From Favorite Poem Project


               We Real Cool – From Favorite Poem Project


                            The Favorite Poem Project

"Poetry is an act of peace." – Pablo Neruda

"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession." – Robert Frost

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem   
and hold it up to the light   
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem   
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room   
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski   
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope   
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose   
to find out what it really means.

Soneto de la Noche

By Pablo Neruda

Cuando yo muero quiero tus manos en mis ojos:
When I die, I want your hands upon my eyes:
quiero la luz y el trigo de tus manos amadas
I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands
pasar una vez más sobre mí su frescura:
to pass their freshness over me one more time
sentir la suavidad que cambió mi destino.
I want to feel the gentleness that changed my destiny.
Quiero que vivas mientras yo, dormido, te espero,
I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep,
quiero que tus oídos sigan oyendo el viento,
I want your ears to stiil hear the wind,
que huelas el aroma del mar que amamos juntos
I want you to smell the scent of the sea we both loved,
y que sigas pisando la arena que pisamos.
and to continue walking on the sand we walked on.
Quiero que lo que amo siga vivo
I want all that I love to keep on living,
y a ti te amé y canté sobre todas las cosas,
and you whom I loved and sang above all things
por eso sigue tú floreciendo, florida,
To keep flowering into full bloom.
para que alcances todo lo que mi amor te ordena,
so that you can touch all that my love provides you,
para que se pasee mi sombra por tu pelo,
so that my shadow may pass over your hair,
para que así conozcan la razón de mi canto.
so that all may know the reason for my song.
- Pablo Neruda, trans. Nicholas Lauridsen

Choral representation of the above poem


It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

         This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

         There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; 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.


Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC