Sunday, September 2, 2018

Crawlin' From The Wreckage: Coincidence + Fate vs Divine Intervention







A recent retold story of a tragedy in the media
rekindled a repeated reflection that would prey upon the Pilgrim. 
“Sometimes we are witnesses to or part of incidents that change us forever”
There was that day when a crash so loud occurred
It had had pounded his heart and chest.
A bang so fierce that when he sits in silence today,
The  smell of the burning gasoline and its smoke
that filled his then innocent senses are as clear as the moment it happened.
Turning and running to the source of the sound and billowing smoke
a vision of twisted metal crunched and broken,
A car, a taxi-cab he recalled, upside down or just mangled
in a way that no human could imagine undoing .
A voice weeping from inside the pile of twisted disfigured steel
calls out desperately “ Help me ! Help me!”
A slight flame flares to heaven
frightening away the witnesses 
and potential good Samaritans as a small stream of blood
converged with a dripping puddle of leaking oil.
The mission focused super hero first responders 
appeared in a blink of an eye. 
Barricades placed , sheets hung around the scene to block
the view of the gathering onlookers.
Some prayers were heard, a Lord’s Prayer he recalled.
An ambulance solemnly backed into the scene
and just like that it whisked away . 
Silence.
The crowd was dispersed and reverent whispers
asked and commented - “ Is He alright?” And “How Tragic.”
The pilgrim would never know if the man survived
and what was left was a prayer for the driver and his family.

Sometimes over the years there would be unanticipated occasions
when the pilgrim would get lost in his busyness
while preparing to get to some place that
may or may not be important in the grand scheme of things.
He would recall a number of preoccupied days where he was late in departing 
to his destination and while on the road suddenly without warning
he would become aware of an auto accident right in his pathway that may be not as fierce as the one witnessed years ago,
but he would ponder, “ What if I left when I had planned?”

The story that conjured this stream of thought again
centered around a another major accident where a mother and two children
were smashed into a precarious overhang on a highway on the brink of falling to their death.
The first responders professional , diligent and careful but nothing seemed to be able to
stop the crushed car from potentially falling off the highway bridge before they could extract the victims inside the all to familiar twisted mangled vehicle. Time and options had just about run out. Then it happened.
A small group of Seabees who were late in returning from military exercises and were stuck in the traffic caused by the accident. They were transporting an unusual fork lift vehicle that could bend and angle itself and have the ability to lift all types of heavy military vehicles and such.They offered their assistance and as a last resort the first responders had the monstrous  fork lift brought into place. The wreckage was lifted. The victims with multiple injuries were extracted including a baby who slept through the incident. They all survived.The mother, driver, in the vehicle recently said how everything was an unexplainable coincidence and maybe in some ways a miracle.

Somehow that peculiar spark of awareness burned within the Pilgrim’s memory banks recalling how there were multiple times when life happened not in a way that he intended ;accidents, tragedies , unexpected events and encounters and the outcomes somehow always hinted at a  greater hand and intention seems to be at play .















click on link for video


You Can have other words- chance, luck,coincidence,serendipity.I'll take
grace. I don't know what it is exactly, but I'll take it"
-Mary Oliver

Wreck on the Highway - Bruce Springsteen
n



Crawlin from The Wreckage - D. Edmunds


Any Road - G. Harrison




Amdg

















Copyright 2018 JF Sobecki LLC All Right Reserved

Wednesday, August 1, 2018

525,600 x 10 vs. Vanity and Hubris

Seasons of Love


https://youtu.be/UvyHuse6buY


"We sanctify all we all grateful for"
                  - Anthony DeMello SJ
( 10th Anniversary of the birth of the Second Chance Dance - Heart Surgery 
August 4, 2008)


“Perhaps the best river runners are Taoists at heart. Taoism considers 
someone wise if they accommodate themselves to the rhythms of the universe.”

Ain’t No Man - Avett Brothers

525,600 x 10 vs Vanity and Hubris

There was this point in the minor Odyssey where the anti-pilgrim 
was in some kind of black hole. Therapists, scientists and even poets
 of all sorts would concur that this dark spinning cycle with no 
perceived end was of his own making.This was no Camino de Santiago
 or mission to find a new way to paradise. His great Obe Wan 
would say “trust the force” as “the Doc” implored the ref for a 
 time out to crack him open like a lobster to repair his wearied 
heart. He advised the pilgrim “ Well played but I think this part 
of the game is over for you.” The pilgrim had lost sight of what 
he was really after and he feared that he may have missed the 
point to everything completely.Afraid that the pre-surgery kisses 
would be the last and hugs and those sweet whispers would soon 
be forgot and were all signs that his faith in all that was sacred
 and in himself had regressed to the point of disrepair. Was there
 not a paradise to look forward to or was this existence the heaven
 that was promised?It seemed too late for Bocelli and Brightman 
dueting a “Time To Say Goodbye” or a angelic chorale singing
 Neruda’s Soneto de La Noche. He was aware of how unaware 
he was as he never really learned to be still and be mindful. 
There were moments of inexplicable unconditional warm tranquil
 grace just as well as there were times where he was getting suckered
 by the corrupt promises of a greedy self centered world.His soul
 and heart knew the right path but it was the vanity and hubris 
that distracted him.

It wasn’t until he slowly passed through the preverbal post surgical
 fog that his vulnerable spirit was suddenly immersed in a 
sanctifying sea of redemption and love. His soul and body 
were consoled, comforted and caressed with a peace known 
to angels and faith filled pilgrims.The secret sacred songs of 
the second chance would not cease and his soul danced with
 the freedom he felt when he first entered this world. He then 
knew the answer and the answer was love.

Post script: Exiting the the hospital he thought that was that and 
all of this may have  been a dream. But he knew he was wrong
 in this assumption when a somber voice on the phone reached 
out sadly informing how the pilgrim’s associate and friend had 
given into the vanity and hubris shooting himself and his wife 
in complete despair . A flash memory for the pilgrim recalled 
night before he had gone into the hospital and how his associate
 treated him to a pre-surgery dinner and hugged him as they
 departed. The pilgrim thought it odd as the associate never hugged
 anyone as he was all business. He would not forget the hug and 
knew all of this was real. The associate had bought into
 the wrong promise.

- JF Sobecki

-------------

Is This Heaven - Field of Dreams

Learn to be Still - The Eagles


The Holy Longing
 -  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Tell a wise person, or else keep silent,
 because the mass man will mock it right away.
I praise what is truly alive,
what longs to be burned to death.

In the calm water of the love-nights,
where you were begotten, where you have begotten,
a strange feeling comes over you,
when you see the silent candle burning.

Now you are no longer caught in the obsession with darkness,
and a desire for higher love-making sweeps you upward.

Distance does not make you falter.
Now, arriving in magic, flying,
and finally, insane for the light,
you are the butterfly and you are gone.
And so long as you haven't experienced this: to die and so to grow,
you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

 - Translated from the German by Robert Bly


If it should happen…if this sacred poem
this work so shared by heaven and earth
That it has made me lean through these long years-
Can ever overcome the cruelty
That bars me from the fair fold where I slept,
A lamb opposed to wolves that war on it…
By then with other voice, the other fleece,
I shall return as poet, with other fleece,
I shall return as poet and put on,
At my baptismal font, the laurel crown;
For there I first found entry to that faith
Which makes should welcome unto God, and then,
For that faith, Peter garlanded my brow.
( Paradiso, Canto XXV )- Dante’s Inferno

May I ask who are you- Kundun

“ I think I am a reflection like the moon on water
When you see me and I try to be a good man, you see yourself”
    - Dalai Llama 

The Buddha's Last Instruction

"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 the 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 oceans 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 am not needed,
yet I feel myself turning
into something of unexplicable value.
Slowly,beneath the branches,
he raised his head.
He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.

- Mary Oliver


You Got the Love - The Retrosettes Sister Band

A time to say Goodbye - Andrea Bocelli Sarah Brightman

Soneto De la Noche - Pablo Neruda





It’s All True







amdg











Copyright 2018 all Rights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC

Sunday, July 1, 2018

Scrantchum



Scrantchum

Martians used to preach
Of days they’d reach
The earth
Now they’ve given up
Discovering what it is worth

  - JF Sobecki ( !967)

  • Inspired by the nonsense word “Scrantchum” coined by the late DJ Dan Ingram







“If you comprehend it, it is not God”

      - St. Augustine

_____________

Witness the wonder.
The sun rising illuminating everything beneath.
The fresh springs leading to streams , the streams to rivers and
The rivers pouring life into the great sea of mercy.
Mountains majestically reach to kiss the the passing clouds
Just below the virgin blue canopy of heaven.
Oliver’s mockingbirds’ voices sound soulful
Singing sweet psalms.
Leaves and swamp reeds sway sweetly
Left and right gently moved by a breeze
Born a continent away by a cocoon birthed butterfly
Testing her new wings in flight
As hawks and robins soar sharing the remaining pure air.
What is this solemnity, this deep holiest of the most holy solace,
The peace that passeth all understanding?
Is any of this creation benefited or better off because of the presence
Of the two legged sentient beings gifted with reason and creative arts?
Is that natural magnificence made any more peaceful or beautiful by these landlocked spirits?
Do they help any of that which was gifted to the universe breathe any easier
Or grow in genuine purity as a result of their efforts?
Was it the same divine artist that started this universe 
With the most incredible hues of love , beauty , compassion , peace and mercy
Who also devised the distorted colors of greed , violence, selfishness, ownership and control to share on the same canvas  together?

Did something go array with the grand plan
Or is it all really a matter of faith and belief that in the end it all works out?
How?
It’s a mystery

  - JF Sobecki

____________________________________

“I do believe; help my unbelief.”
      Mark 9:24

  Treat a stranger right - Ry Cooder


                                                    Have a little Faith in Me - John Hiatt



                                                 Give Me Love , Give Me Peace - G. Harrison




Autumn Poem by Mary Oliver

In the last jovial, clear-sky days of autumn
the mockingbird
in his monk-gray coat
and his arrowy wings
flies
from the hedge to the top of the pine
and begins to sing — but it's neither loose, nor lilting, nor lovely — 
it's more like whistles and truck brakes and dry hinges.
All birds are birds of heaven
but this one, especially, adores the earth so well
he would imitate, for half the day and on into the
evening, 
its ticks and wheezings,
and so I have to wait a long time
for the soft, true voice
of his own glossy life
to come through,
and of course I do.
I don't know what it is that makes him, finally, look
inward 
to the sweet spring of himself, that mirror of heaven,
but when it happens —
when he lifts his head
and the feathers of his throat tremble, 
and he begins, like Saint Francis,
little flutterings and leapings from the pine's forelock,
resettling his strong feet each time among the branches,
I am recalled, 
from so many wrong paths I can't count them,
simply to stand, and listen.
All my life I have lived in a kind of haste and darkness
of desire, ambition, accomplishment. 
Now the bird is singing, but not anymore of this world.
And something inside myself is fluttering and leaping, is
trying 
to type it down, in lumped-up language,
in outcry, in patience, in music, in a snow-white book.



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

“The only truth is music”
       - Jack Kerouac


amdg



















Copyright JF Sobecki LLC 2018 All Rights Reserve