The meditation I hold most dear was given to me years ago by a mystic who  lived atop Black Mountain, North Carolina.  The only difficulty was that there are a series of things to “let go,” and the order has always been difficult for me to remember, and you shouldn’t have to open your eyes and check while doing it–especially when falling asleep.  You can probably do a better job than I did, but at least it’s a start–I came up with the following device for  P N F  R F D  I  :  “Playing iN Fire Raises Fire Departments’ Ire.”  The only possible stumbling block is that you have to remember that “N”  stands for “in.”  The meditation is to be repeated silently for as long as is useful, after imagining that you are being filled with a glowing white light throughout your body:

1. I release to the light all my Past
2. I release to the light all my Negatives
3. I release to the light all my Fears
4. I release to the light all my human Relationships             
5. I release to the light my Future
6. I release  to the light  my Death
7. I release to the light my Inner self

I am a LIGHT BEING

I RADIATE the light from my Light Center throughout my being.

I radiate the light from my light center to EVERYONE

I radiate the light from my Light Center to EVERYTHING

Before facing a stressful situation:  I am in a BUBBLE of light and only light can come to me and only light can be here now.

(Fill in the blank yourself): Thank you ______ for everything.

He said we can heal others by willing THEIR light to help them…He said the source of light is in the solar plexus, which means “source of light.”

To my readers:  If you come up with a better mnemonic device, please share it!  (It’s like EGBDF —  Every good boy does fine).

Image: Not mine. Complicated

When I look at some of the blogs with thousands of followers and I look at mine, I’m dissatisfied.  So I plan to lose about 55 years. I’ve got a cute teenage photo that I can use.  What brought this possibility to mind was seeing how forbidding my “Meet Me” page was, and also the other day I stumbled across a blog  that  I suspected was from a blogger who had developed a fictional character that was astoundingly brave and brassy and super revealing.  What fun, I thought, to have one of your fictional characters write your whole blog!  Just a warning.  As my teachers used to say, “A word to the wise is sufficient.”

Hurtling

through the

mirror maze

young-old

embryo.

Contorted,

misshapen,

falling back

one-eye.

Cry “Peace!”

Cyclops crazy

beady, heavy.

Where am I?

Who?

Brown.

Old contankerous

brazen brassy

witch-bitch

delirious.

Stop!

Simple smirky

purple  prude.

I am the

glamorous sham.

Damn.

Staccato waltz,

loping trot,

forget-me-do.

Who?

Who is that spinning,

passing prisms

fancifully

fragmented

to pieces.

All of them

am I–

Please no.

Red.

Gaping maws

dirty paws

shiny smelly

ripened belly.

Yes, no, true.

My God

hell-o.

                                           nm circa 1975

                                       Image es Devlin

From overland.com/hints:

The following are some hints given folks who went west on wagon trains, like our ancestors did. A few:

Don’t grease your hair before starting or dust will stick there in sufficient quantities to make a respectable ‘tater’ patch.

Don’t swear, nor lop over on your neighbor while sleeping. Don’t ask how far it is to the next station until you get there.

Never attempt to fire a gun or pistol while on the road, it may frighten the team; and the careless handling and cocking of the weapon makes nervous people nervous.

Don’t discuss politics or religion, nor point out places on the road where horrible murders have been committed.

If a team runs away, sit still and take your chances; if you jump, nine times out of ten you will be hurt.

Spit on the leeward side of the coach.   

The best seat inside a stagecoach  is the one next to the driver–you will get less than half the bumps and jars than on any other seat. When any old “sly Eph,” who traveled thousands of miles on coaches, offers through sympathy to exchange his back or middle seat with you, don’t do it.

I have a snow man

who isn’t made of snow.

I met a man who knew him

before we two met and so

I wasn’t surprised to find

he was the other kind.

When ere the sun is out

his little arms they wave

and I guess this little habit

will follow him to the grave.

Sometimes I want to stop him,

offer him some tea,

see his black eyes twinkle

looking back at me.

Following his blueprint to a T

he works just like he ought.

Alas I am the other kind

who won’t work right for naught.

“Capping a painful year, 178-year-old British tour operator Thomas Cook collapsed Sunday night, potentially stranding hundreds of thousands of travelers.”

I spent quite a few minutes trying to figure if this was a misprint from the CNN business site or Thomas had really lived a long and charmed life.

I realized I didn’t explain:

The collapse of British travel giant Thomas Cook is having a ripple effect on the travel industry across the world, as destinations dependent on the group’s business are left high and dry.

The world’s oldest travel agency closed last week after banks and the British government refused its request for a bailout, leaving more than half a million travelers stranded.

Bill Moyers quoted Robert Hass, who quoted Joseph Campbell, who said that the beginning of all poetry is uneasiness about the food chain.

Bright autumn moon;

Pond snails crying

in the saucepan.

Can’t find the source–let me know if you have it.   Jill Dennison identified the poet as Kobayashi Issa, translated by Robert Hass, and after reading him I agree.  Thanks!