A California Reunion

"Remembrance is a form of Meeting"

- Kahil Gibran

"We are not Human Beings with a spiritual experience, but 

spiritual beings with a human experience"

- Pierre Teilhard Chardin

The Inspiration :

(Over 100 family members and friends gathered in Northern California's 

wine country to honor, remember and celebrate the life of the pilgrim's

sister's husband who had recently passed to the other side.)

A venerated teacher iterated , it is said that a Buddhist story

explains the probability of our incarnation as a human being on

this earth at this time and place is something like one life

preserver being tossed randomly into the ocean. There is one

turtle in the great expanse of the global ocean swimming somewhere 

underneath the water. The probability that we come into this world 

is the same as this one particular turtle sticking its head out

of the water...and in that specific moment its head peaks through 

the hole in that one random life preserver in just one try. Some social

scientist calculated that the odds of any one being becoming a 

real thing ( real life) is 1 in 400 million.

The patient pilgrim pondered,"If all creation is not a miracle

I don't know what is. This vessel may end its earthly journey but

the essence of the spirit in everything is not finished as a new 

journey begins."

The Writing:

(A personal reflection inspired by this post's theme)

A California Reunion

What is that flame,. that light

That Mystical source that draws searching souls,

Abandoning their daily passage to gather,

Reuniting in compassion and empathy?

How is it that in one fleeting urgent moment

The baggage of their journey

Is left behind with no regrets or hard feelings?

How strong is that desire for healing

The broken hearts of fellow travelers?

The pilgrim and two offspring converged

In the land of Jacks Dharma Bums' ghosts,

California stars, joining

The great pilgrimage to be where

Mindfulness is the practice of

Redemption and gratitude becoming

The "Holy Communion."

Rivers of tears flow like sacramental wine.

The unwavering torrential rains 

Came to a hard stop without notice,

Giving rebirth to a divine virgin blue sky

Making way for the great gleam.

Witness the true Beautiful Day.

The Tower of Song of the mask free sojourners'

Overflowing hearts sang out

As one unified voice of a singular solemn

Angelic choir filling the sanctuary

Serenely settled on the secret banks 

Of the Russian River, one or two puffs

South of the Emerald Triangle

Guarded by the glorious green mountainous grandeur.

Rhythms of the Chicago Blues reverberate

From within this chapel of untethered celebration

With the same DNA heard in the most holy arias.

Higher and Higher, cowboy lamentations,

Palomas and fries nourish 

The thirsty and hungry hearted congregation.

It is on the sacred ground , leaving behind the world,

Where the one sublime transformational moment

Of the authentic consecrating unconditional love

Washes down every aspect of the universe,

Leaving all to kneel in the deepest chamber

Of their hearts with humility to the light.

- JF Sobecki

The Poems:

( Poetry Reflections on the inspiration)

Where Many Rivers Meet

All the water below came from above

All the clouds living in the mountains

gave it to the rivers

who gave it to the sea, which is their dying.

And so I float on the cloud become water

central sea surrounded by white mountains,

the water salt, once fresh

cloud fall and steam , tree root and tide bank

leading to the river' mouths

and the mouth of the rivers sing to the sea,

the stories buried in the mountains

give out to the sea

and the sea remembers

and sings back 

from the depths

where nothing is forgotten.

- David Whyte

The Holy Longing - Goethe ( From the Favorite Poem Project)

https://youtu.be/8YWoOj5mJMo

Song of Myself - W. Whitman ( From the Favorite Poem Project)

https://youtu.be/hPLHVQpm1JA

For The Children - Gary Snyder

https://youtu.be/UXY5NTaL_48

The Music:

(Musical reflections on the inspiration)

Transcendental Reunion - Mary Chapin Carpenter

https://youtu.be/1GUFJquA6bc

Heavenly Father - Bon Iver

https://youtu.be/vAoADCSpD-8

Live Forever - Drew Holcombe

https://youtu.be/ntbNQk2Tk7Q

Wash Me Down - Jim Cuddy

https://youtu.be/V6KxemuVYMU

Windfall - Son Volt

https://youtu.be/f1XrTzVzbJY

California Stars - Wilco

https://youtu.be/gQwlAjiSzQc

Tower of Song - Leonard Cohen (w U2)

https://youtu.be/OpLBtWG3JR4

No Hard Feelings - The Avett Brothers

https://youtu.be/aaU2HvRhCPw

Seasons of Love - Rent

https://youtu.be/UvyHuse6buY

Coda:

A Time to Say Goodbye - Andrea Bocelli & Sarah Brightman

https://youtu.be/4L_yCwFD6Jo

Remembering:

R.I.P. and Music,Skip !

                                                             

Marybeth Lifting or Spirits Higher

https://youtu.be/k9aDOGoPvW8

Tbird and a Redhead - Jimmy Smith Band ( Skip on Harp)

https://youtu.be/LY2BP6IoRwg

admit

Copyright 2023 All Rights Reserved JF Sobecki LLC

A Winter Metanoia

Does it seem like some days you are in a never ending dream trekking through some dark gray Paul Simon-like winter’s day -  over and over and over? Books and poetry begin to lose their comfort. Desolate Chicago blues tunes are the common acceptable choice to play on your winter weary home stereo. The dog,who normally delights in brisk walks, hesitates as his senses warn him of the frigid consequence of stepping through the door.

Television broadcasts of golf tournaments in summer-like climates are no longer watchable as viewers sink into deeper doldrums. Local liquor entrepreneurs promote and delight in the increasing of bourbon and wine sales. A news story of how a husband and wife who took turns at using their 12 gauge shotgun on their state of the art flat screen when a 24 hour ice skating marathon was broadcast are seen as local heroes. Meteorologists hide as they are officially persona non grata everywhere. Congress, in its half-hearted attempt at across the aisle collaboration is said to consider legislation to either shoot the messengers of bad weather or to ban winter forever. Baseball spring training games are considered as a cruel tease. Children urge escapes to the home of Mickey Mouse while their parents secretly plan for a midnight getaway to Hemingway’s retreat at Key West . A nasty rumor leaks out that the Pope is preparing an encyclical that God has stopped listening to many in certain sections of the world and that “arctic vortexes” will become the new norm. There is no new Noah to facilitate escape. Hope wanes.

They say the next snowstorm will not be as bad as the last one. They say that it is better to fill the tubs with water just in case the power lines come down due to the weighted ice. They say the children no longer delight in the “snow days off” as they will need to make up the time instead of a spring break. They say the retailers have raised the prices of coats, hats, scarves and gloves. They say the municipalities have used up their budgets for snow plowing, sanding and salting. They say get your provisions before the roads freeze. They say, “you are on your own!”

Without warning something happens as pieces mystically fall into place.  A not–a care-in-the-world giggling gaggle of cherubs pulling sleds and ice skates saunter off to the hills and pond past your window.  The white blanket suddenly seems to purify the once dark dismal landscape. A starling’s soft soothing song sweetens the chilled air. The chimes respond gently to the frosty divine sourced breeze. The late owl’s call continues to query you and you no longer hesitate to answer.  A last minute almost impromptu family reunion fills your home with unconditional joy and love. All this is then capped off at your birthday dinner with your family as you celebrate the now with one breath and in gratitude realize that warmth and spring is ever present … within. The heart’s voice whispers “Wishes do come true and everything is good."

The Winter of Listening

Inside everyone

is a great shout of joy

waiting to be born.

Even with the summer

so far off

I feel it grown in me

now and ready

to arrive in the world.

All those years

listening to those

who had

nothing to say.

All those years

forgetting

how everything

has its own voice

to make

itself heard.

All those years

forgetting

how easily

you can belong

to everything

simply by listening.

And the slow

difficulty

of remembering

how everything

is born from

an opposite

and miraculous

otherness.

Silence and winter

has led me to that

otherness.

So let this winter

of listening

be enough

for the new life

I must call my own.

~ David Whyte ~

Shoveling Snow with Buddha

by Billy Collins

In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok

you would never see him doing such a thing,

tossing the dry snow over the mountain

of his bare, round shoulder,

his hair tied in a knot,

a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word

for what he does, or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him.

In all his manifestations, is it not warm and slightly humid?

Is this not implied by his serene expression,

that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway,

one shovelful at a time.

We toss the light powder into the clear air.

We feel the cold mist on our faces.

And with every heave we disappear

and become lost to each other

in these sudden clouds of our own making,

these fountain-bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church,

I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.

This is the true religion, the religion of snow,

and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,

I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow

as if it were the purpose of existence

as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway

you could back the car down easily

and drive off into the vanities of the world

with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side,

me with my commentary

and he inside the generous pocket of his silence,

until the hour is nearly noon

and the snow is piled high all around us;

then, I hear him speak.

After this, he asks,

can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk

and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table

while you shuffle the deck,

and our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes

and leaning for a moment on his shovel

before he drives the thin blade again

deep into the glittering white snow.

Below is link to audio Version of the above poem

 http://ia700304.us.archive.org/22/items/BillyCollinsTheBestCigarette/02_Shoveling_Snow_with_the_Buddha.mp3

and some apropos favorites from a favorite...a common birthday mate of sorts...George Harrison

If you don't see the video on your smart phone try the link or your PC

                                          http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLvyLfHQSbY

  

                                         The next two are from the Concert for George

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Wb8VSaeW7A

                                           http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7D6reUmk094

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