--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday Thought: Through the Eyes of a Child
Children remind us to see life stripped of all pretense and
assumptions. They remind us to "experience" life first,
and sort out its meaning afterwards.
We have become so conditioned to run to a book, or now
the Internet, for answers to our important life questions.
Perhaps all of us would engage in more "honest" learning
in life if we simply allowed ourselves to experience our
world with open eyes, and no pre-conceived ideas about
reality.
Now that is a refreshing thought!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
---------------------------------------------------------------
My First Arrowhead
By Don Iannone
Children have to explore,
That's how they learn stuff,
Little things teach them,
like finding a flint triangle
in a freshly plowed farmer's field.
I remember the first one I ever found,
It was light gray,
Just the base of the arrowhead,
Maybe the tip broke off
and got stuck in the killed animal.
Even with just half,
I could imagine what the whole thing looked like.
Yep, it was a real nice one,
and it was mighty old,
I mean real old.
Maybe hundreds,
Or thousands,
or even,
Millions
of years ago,
some warrior wearing an animal skin,
chipped a hunk of flint
into a nifty tool.
Arrowheads are art too, you know,
the kind that kids like,
because you can do stuff with it.
Strapping the stone triangle
to the end of a straight stick,
the Indian created an arrow,
which of course,
he used to bag his family's dinner.
Pfft goes the arrow,
and kurplunk goes the animal
onto the ground.
It happened just like that,
or that's what I think.
We shouldn't feel bad about
the animal having to die,
Indians had to eat too.
Wild berries and nuts don't fill you up,
so Indians had to eat animals.
Do you think Indians decided
they wanted to eat animals first
and that caused them to invent arrowheads?
Or did they accidently make an arrowhead
and that gave them the idea to hunt animals?
Hum, I'll have to ask my Dad when I get home.
Either way it all started with flesh-eating,
No need for arrowheads to grow vegetables.
Someone should write that down
in a history text book or something,
That was my first history lesson,
Not from some dumb book though,
It was the walking around kind of learning,
That's the best kind, don't you think?
It made me late for lunch,
you know--thinking exactly what
Indians did with arrowheads.
Mom wasn't happy about me being late,
or me getting my school shoes muddy,
but some times you have to do these things,
you know, to learn stuff.
---------------------------------------------------------------
My First Arrowhead
By Don Iannone
Children have to explore,
That's how they learn stuff,
Little things teach them,
like finding a flint triangle
in a freshly plowed farmer's field.
I remember the first one I ever found,
It was light gray,
Just the base of the arrowhead,
Maybe the tip broke off
and got stuck in the killed animal.
Even with just half,
I could imagine what the whole thing looked like.
Yep, it was a real nice one,
and it was mighty old,
I mean real old.
Maybe hundreds,
Or thousands,
or even,
Millions
of years ago,
some warrior wearing an animal skin,
chipped a hunk of flint
into a nifty tool.
Arrowheads are art too, you know,
the kind that kids like,
because you can do stuff with it.
Strapping the stone triangle
to the end of a straight stick,
the Indian created an arrow,
which of course,
he used to bag his family's dinner.
Pfft goes the arrow,
and kurplunk goes the animal
onto the ground.
It happened just like that,
or that's what I think.
We shouldn't feel bad about
the animal having to die,
Indians had to eat too.
Wild berries and nuts don't fill you up,
so Indians had to eat animals.
Do you think Indians decided
they wanted to eat animals first
and that caused them to invent arrowheads?
Or did they accidently make an arrowhead
and that gave them the idea to hunt animals?
Hum, I'll have to ask my Dad when I get home.
Either way it all started with flesh-eating,
No need for arrowheads to grow vegetables.
Someone should write that down
in a history text book or something,
That was my first history lesson,
Not from some dumb book though,
It was the walking around kind of learning,
That's the best kind, don't you think?
It made me late for lunch,
you know--thinking exactly what
Indians did with arrowheads.
Mom wasn't happy about me being late,
or me getting my school shoes muddy,
but some times you have to do these things,
you know, to learn stuff.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
---------------------------------------------------
Sharing the Moment with My Cat
By Don Iannone
Dharma cat always knows
when I'm sitting on my cushion,
She's wired for zen, you know.
There is no separation between her
and everything else in the world.
Animals sense our love--
for them, ourselves, others.
I think that's why Dharma cat
always shows up for
morning meditation.
---------------------------------------------------
Sharing the Moment with My Cat
By Don Iannone
Dharma cat always knows
when I'm sitting on my cushion,
She's wired for zen, you know.
There is no separation between her
and everything else in the world.
Animals sense our love--
for them, ourselves, others.
I think that's why Dharma cat
always shows up for
morning meditation.
---------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------
How Poetry Comes to Me
By Gary Synder
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light
-------------------------------------------
More about Gary Synder here.
How Poetry Comes to Me
By Gary Synder
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light
-------------------------------------------
More about Gary Synder here.
-----------------------------------
Small Things We Do
By Don Iannone
A simple smile
can bring a
burst of sunshine
in life's darkest hour.
A hearty laugh
can chase away
evil dragons lurking
under our bed.
Ever so small
words of kindness
can melt a frozen
tundra of anger.
The gentle touch
of a loving hand
can set the
heart ablaze.
The knowing wink
of an eye
can cause trust
to re-enter a room.
Small things
we do
can change
the world.
-----------------------------------
Small Things We Do
By Don Iannone
A simple smile
can bring a
burst of sunshine
in life's darkest hour.
A hearty laugh
can chase away
evil dragons lurking
under our bed.
Ever so small
words of kindness
can melt a frozen
tundra of anger.
The gentle touch
of a loving hand
can set the
heart ablaze.
The knowing wink
of an eye
can cause trust
to re-enter a room.
Small things
we do
can change
the world.
-----------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday Thought: Conquering Ourselves
The one who has conquered himself is a
far greater hero than he who has defeated
a thousand times a thousand men.
--From the Dhammapada
(Sayings of the Buddha)
---------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday Thought: Conquering Ourselves
The one who has conquered himself is a
far greater hero than he who has defeated
a thousand times a thousand men.
--From the Dhammapada
(Sayings of the Buddha)
---------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------
Roads
By Byron Herbert Reece
A pace or two beyond my door
Are highways racing east and west,
I hear their busy traffic roar,
Fleet tourists bound on far behests
And monstrous mastodons of freight
Passing in droves before my gate.
The roads would tow me far away
To cities whose extended pull
They have no choice but to convey;
I name them great and wonderful
And marvels of device and speed,
But all unsuited to my need.
My heart is native to the sky
Where hills that are its only wall
Stand up to judge its boundaries by;
But where from roofs of iron fall
Sheer perpendiculars of steel
On streets that bruise the country heel
My heart's contracted to a stone.
Therefore whatever roads repair
To cities on the plain, my own
Lead upward to the peaks; and there
I feel, pushing my ribs apart
The wide sky entering my heart.
-----------------------------------------------------
My friend Richard Whisnant from the
University of North Carolina at Chapel
Hill passed along this wonderful poem.
Thanks Richard.
Learn more about the poet here.
Roads
By Byron Herbert Reece
A pace or two beyond my door
Are highways racing east and west,
I hear their busy traffic roar,
Fleet tourists bound on far behests
And monstrous mastodons of freight
Passing in droves before my gate.
The roads would tow me far away
To cities whose extended pull
They have no choice but to convey;
I name them great and wonderful
And marvels of device and speed,
But all unsuited to my need.
My heart is native to the sky
Where hills that are its only wall
Stand up to judge its boundaries by;
But where from roofs of iron fall
Sheer perpendiculars of steel
On streets that bruise the country heel
My heart's contracted to a stone.
Therefore whatever roads repair
To cities on the plain, my own
Lead upward to the peaks; and there
I feel, pushing my ribs apart
The wide sky entering my heart.
-----------------------------------------------------
My friend Richard Whisnant from the
University of North Carolina at Chapel
Hill passed along this wonderful poem.
Thanks Richard.
Learn more about the poet here.
Monday, March 29, 2004
--------------------------------------------
Make Me Smile, Make Me Laugh
By Don Iannone
Funny that you asked,
I am too multi-tasked.
Smell the roses, you say,
No time, Oy vey!
You are so darn funny,
You silly bunny.
Isn't that a hoot?
Did you just toot?
Chuckle, chortle,
We're all so mortal.
You make me laugh,
That's a gaffe and a half.
Alright, enough pun-ish-ment,
Well, no need to get so bent.
We need to let off some steam,
Sometimes I could just scream.
I'm no great thinker,
But that smells like a stinker.
I'm rolling down the aisle,
You made me smile.
Thanks for being a laugh
and a half.
--------------------------------------------
Make Me Smile, Make Me Laugh
By Don Iannone
Funny that you asked,
I am too multi-tasked.
Smell the roses, you say,
No time, Oy vey!
You are so darn funny,
You silly bunny.
Isn't that a hoot?
Did you just toot?
Chuckle, chortle,
We're all so mortal.
You make me laugh,
That's a gaffe and a half.
Alright, enough pun-ish-ment,
Well, no need to get so bent.
We need to let off some steam,
Sometimes I could just scream.
I'm no great thinker,
But that smells like a stinker.
I'm rolling down the aisle,
You made me smile.
Thanks for being a laugh
and a half.
--------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday Thought: Humor
Mary and I have been attending the
East Shore Unitarian Universalist Church
in the Cleveland area for the past month.
It has been a wonderful learning experience
for both of us.
The minister, Reverend Nicole Kirk, gave a
fabulous sermon on the topic of "humor"
yesterday. She described how humor often presents
situations that we expect to be one thing and
how they turn out to be something quite
different. Isn't that the truth?
Rev. Kirk also said that laughter reduces
our pain. She described how her dying mother-in-
law used laughter to reduce her pain and other's
pain as she struggled during the final stages of
her life. She described how humor often helps
us deal with the difficulties we encounter in life.
This reminded me that while I had some painful
times as a child growing up, there were also
many times when we laughed as a family.
One other point really struck me, which is that
you need not be the person telling the jokes
all the time. The world also needs those who
appreciate humor, and reward it with their
laughter. What a beautiful thought!
I drew an additional point from the sermon,
which is that humor and laughter should be a
much larger part of my spiritual journey
through life. I need to laugh at myself, and
I need to be a source of laughter for others.
Yes, I've posted a few jokes on this website
in the past, but I need to do more with the
"clown within" that has always been a part of
me that others have enjoyed.
So, my charge to myself and you today is to
find humor in this day, and laugh heartedly
at this humor. Share your smile with others
today.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday Thought: Humor
Mary and I have been attending the
East Shore Unitarian Universalist Church
in the Cleveland area for the past month.
It has been a wonderful learning experience
for both of us.
The minister, Reverend Nicole Kirk, gave a
fabulous sermon on the topic of "humor"
yesterday. She described how humor often presents
situations that we expect to be one thing and
how they turn out to be something quite
different. Isn't that the truth?
Rev. Kirk also said that laughter reduces
our pain. She described how her dying mother-in-
law used laughter to reduce her pain and other's
pain as she struggled during the final stages of
her life. She described how humor often helps
us deal with the difficulties we encounter in life.
This reminded me that while I had some painful
times as a child growing up, there were also
many times when we laughed as a family.
One other point really struck me, which is that
you need not be the person telling the jokes
all the time. The world also needs those who
appreciate humor, and reward it with their
laughter. What a beautiful thought!
I drew an additional point from the sermon,
which is that humor and laughter should be a
much larger part of my spiritual journey
through life. I need to laugh at myself, and
I need to be a source of laughter for others.
Yes, I've posted a few jokes on this website
in the past, but I need to do more with the
"clown within" that has always been a part of
me that others have enjoyed.
So, my charge to myself and you today is to
find humor in this day, and laugh heartedly
at this humor. Share your smile with others
today.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday, March 28, 2004
----------------------------------------------
More Gives Way to Happiness
By Don Iannone
Searching for more,
looking everywhere,
leaving no stone unturned,
traveling to far off places,
turning my life inside out,
hoping to find there is more.
Wanting there to be more,
discovering finally I am only
following my wanting for more.
Wanting nothing more,
having nothing left to want,
ending my wanting,
happiness appears.
----------------------------------------------
More Gives Way to Happiness
By Don Iannone
Searching for more,
looking everywhere,
leaving no stone unturned,
traveling to far off places,
turning my life inside out,
hoping to find there is more.
Wanting there to be more,
discovering finally I am only
following my wanting for more.
Wanting nothing more,
having nothing left to want,
ending my wanting,
happiness appears.
----------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday Thought: The Child Within Us
I have come to realize that any journey to find happiness in life
leads to the child within us. Reconnecting with that inner child
helps us understand and resurrect our earliest experience of
happiness.
I came across these two thoughts that shed light on this
journey:
Only to a child is pure happiness possible. Later it is
always tainted with the knowledge that it will not last.
--Chinese Proverb
Childhood is not only important because it is the starting
point for possible crippling of instinct, but also because
this is the time when, terrifying or encouraging, those
far-seeing dreams and images come from the soul of the
child, which prepares his whole destiny.
--Carl Jung
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday Thought: The Child Within Us
I have come to realize that any journey to find happiness in life
leads to the child within us. Reconnecting with that inner child
helps us understand and resurrect our earliest experience of
happiness.
I came across these two thoughts that shed light on this
journey:
Only to a child is pure happiness possible. Later it is
always tainted with the knowledge that it will not last.
--Chinese Proverb
Childhood is not only important because it is the starting
point for possible crippling of instinct, but also because
this is the time when, terrifying or encouraging, those
far-seeing dreams and images come from the soul of the
child, which prepares his whole destiny.
--Carl Jung
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------
A New Poet
By Linda Pastan
Finding a new poet
is like finding a new wildflower
out in the woods. You don't see
its name in the flower books, and
nobody you tell believes
in its odd color or the way
its leaves grow in splayed rows
down the whole length of the page. In fact
the very page smells of spilled
red wine and the mustiness of the sea
on a foggy day—the odor of truth
and of lying.
And the words are so familiar,
so strangely new, words
you almost wrote yourself, if only
in your dreams there had been a pencil
or a pen or even a paintbrush,
if only there had been a flower.
Source:
Linda Pastan
Heroes In Disguise, 1991
W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.
-------------------------------------------------------------
A New Poet
By Linda Pastan
Finding a new poet
is like finding a new wildflower
out in the woods. You don't see
its name in the flower books, and
nobody you tell believes
in its odd color or the way
its leaves grow in splayed rows
down the whole length of the page. In fact
the very page smells of spilled
red wine and the mustiness of the sea
on a foggy day—the odor of truth
and of lying.
And the words are so familiar,
so strangely new, words
you almost wrote yourself, if only
in your dreams there had been a pencil
or a pen or even a paintbrush,
if only there had been a flower.
Source:
Linda Pastan
Heroes In Disguise, 1991
W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, March 27, 2004
-------------------------------------------------------
We are not incomplete and separate...
The Buddha spent years in training
and went through many ordeals
before making his discovery: the
root cause of our suffering is
ignorance -- seeing ourselves as
separate and incomplete. This is
delusion, and it leads to desire
-- wanting, craving, and clinging.
The wanting itself is the cause
of our suffering.
-------------------------------------------------------
We are not incomplete and separate...
The Buddha spent years in training
and went through many ordeals
before making his discovery: the
root cause of our suffering is
ignorance -- seeing ourselves as
separate and incomplete. This is
delusion, and it leads to desire
-- wanting, craving, and clinging.
The wanting itself is the cause
of our suffering.
-------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
Being More
By Don Iannone
Don't forsake
your sacred journey
for simple pleasure.
Why settle for
tepid happiness
when there is more?
Rise above
whatever ails
your hungering spirit.
Hold onto
the reality beneath
the reality you are.
You...
were intended to be
so much more.
--------------------------------------------
Being More
By Don Iannone
Don't forsake
your sacred journey
for simple pleasure.
Why settle for
tepid happiness
when there is more?
Rise above
whatever ails
your hungering spirit.
Hold onto
the reality beneath
the reality you are.
You...
were intended to be
so much more.
--------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday Thought: Knowing Your "Experience" of You
"The more a man knows about himself
in relation to every kind of experience,
the greater his chance of suddenly,
one fine morning, realizing who in fact
he is -- or rather Who (capital W) in
Fact (capital F) "he" (between quotation
marks) Is (capital I)."
-- Aldous Huxley
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday Thought: Knowing Your "Experience" of You
"The more a man knows about himself
in relation to every kind of experience,
the greater his chance of suddenly,
one fine morning, realizing who in fact
he is -- or rather Who (capital W) in
Fact (capital F) "he" (between quotation
marks) Is (capital I)."
-- Aldous Huxley
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, March 26, 2004
--------------------------------------------------
Our Voices
By Don Iannone
Through our beautiful voices
we speak to the world.
The world speaks back to us
through the voices of others.
We have two voices:
one inner, one outer.
Listen to your inner voice.
That's your heart speaking to you.
Use your outer voice to share
what your inner voice has to say.
If you heed these words,
Your words will never betray you.
--------------------------------------------------
Our Voices
By Don Iannone
Through our beautiful voices
we speak to the world.
The world speaks back to us
through the voices of others.
We have two voices:
one inner, one outer.
Listen to your inner voice.
That's your heart speaking to you.
Use your outer voice to share
what your inner voice has to say.
If you heed these words,
Your words will never betray you.
--------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------
Friday Thought: Using Your Voice
I give thanks for my voice this Friday
morning. Our "voices" are powerful
instruments in everything we do in
life.
Listen to your voice, its tone,
the words it carries, what your lips
have to say about who you are.
Listen to the voices of others.
Observe what their voices have
to say about them as human beings.
Four speeches and presentations in
three different cities this week. I did
a lot of talking. I was invited to these
places to share my voice. I also spent
a lot of time listening to other's voices.
I learned a great deal. Two speeches
next week. I will rest my vocal cords
over the weekend.
Realize and use the power of "your"
voice in life. It speaks volumes about
who and what you are.
---------------------------------------------------
Friday Thought: Using Your Voice
I give thanks for my voice this Friday
morning. Our "voices" are powerful
instruments in everything we do in
life.
Listen to your voice, its tone,
the words it carries, what your lips
have to say about who you are.
Listen to the voices of others.
Observe what their voices have
to say about them as human beings.
Four speeches and presentations in
three different cities this week. I did
a lot of talking. I was invited to these
places to share my voice. I also spent
a lot of time listening to other's voices.
I learned a great deal. Two speeches
next week. I will rest my vocal cords
over the weekend.
Realize and use the power of "your"
voice in life. It speaks volumes about
who and what you are.
---------------------------------------------------
Thursday, March 25, 2004
--------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday Thought: The Mystery
It is the "mystery" in life that keeps all
of us going. Everyone seeks to know,
and be touched by, the mystery of life
that connects all of us.
That mystery takes us to the deepest
part of our soul. It takes us to regions
of our being that fall outside the bright
lights of everyday life where we spend
our waking hours. The mystery has a
way of disappearing in the full light of
day. It lives in the shadows. It is an ever
so faint image...a fleeting glimpse of
who we are.
Poetry helps me express the mystery
inside myself. For some, it's music, art,
cooking, gardening, feeding a newborn
baby, running, meditating, yoga, and
yes even hearty conversations with
friends and family.
I'm talking about the "creative you."
That is the most "alive" part of who
you are. Say hello to your creative self
today. You won't be disappointed.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday Thought: The Mystery
It is the "mystery" in life that keeps all
of us going. Everyone seeks to know,
and be touched by, the mystery of life
that connects all of us.
That mystery takes us to the deepest
part of our soul. It takes us to regions
of our being that fall outside the bright
lights of everyday life where we spend
our waking hours. The mystery has a
way of disappearing in the full light of
day. It lives in the shadows. It is an ever
so faint image...a fleeting glimpse of
who we are.
Poetry helps me express the mystery
inside myself. For some, it's music, art,
cooking, gardening, feeding a newborn
baby, running, meditating, yoga, and
yes even hearty conversations with
friends and family.
I'm talking about the "creative you."
That is the most "alive" part of who
you are. Say hello to your creative self
today. You won't be disappointed.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
-------------------------------------------------------
Happiness
By Don Iannone
Happiness is completely free,
It requires nothing of you and me,
It's not a reward for being good,
Happiness is not another should.
Happiness is what we are,
Let it be your guiding star,
X plus Y does not make us happy,
There is no need to feel so crappy.
Just take a breath,
Don't beat yourself to death,
Smile and believe,
And happiness, you will receive.
-------------------------------------------------------
Happiness
By Don Iannone
Happiness is completely free,
It requires nothing of you and me,
It's not a reward for being good,
Happiness is not another should.
Happiness is what we are,
Let it be your guiding star,
X plus Y does not make us happy,
There is no need to feel so crappy.
Just take a breath,
Don't beat yourself to death,
Smile and believe,
And happiness, you will receive.
-------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday Thought: Happiness
Everyone wants to be happy in life. Most
of us have been conditioned to think that
"happiness" is something to be earned, or
that it is a reward for something else we
do it life. Bullshit! That is not the case.
The belief that happiness must be deserved
has led to more guilt, deception, pain, and
suffering across the ages than any other
source of misery you can imagine. Happiness
is our natural state of being. People were
"designed" to be happy--to manifest happiness
for their own good and for the good of others.
The path to happiness is not having more money,
more fame, more power, or more of anything in life.
Happiness comes from putting an end to any want
or desire that is rooted in thinking that makes "being"
happy a condition of doing or being anything or anyone.
The moment we use the words "if" and "because" to
think about happiness, we have undermined our own
ability to be happy.
I've started reminding myself several times every day
that "Happiness is my true nature. Receive the
happiness that has always been within me." And
remember, don't say: "I deserve to be happy." By
saying and believing that you have fallen back into
the trap of making happiness a contingent proposition
in life.
Be happy for happiness sake!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday Thought: Happiness
Everyone wants to be happy in life. Most
of us have been conditioned to think that
"happiness" is something to be earned, or
that it is a reward for something else we
do it life. Bullshit! That is not the case.
The belief that happiness must be deserved
has led to more guilt, deception, pain, and
suffering across the ages than any other
source of misery you can imagine. Happiness
is our natural state of being. People were
"designed" to be happy--to manifest happiness
for their own good and for the good of others.
The path to happiness is not having more money,
more fame, more power, or more of anything in life.
Happiness comes from putting an end to any want
or desire that is rooted in thinking that makes "being"
happy a condition of doing or being anything or anyone.
The moment we use the words "if" and "because" to
think about happiness, we have undermined our own
ability to be happy.
I've started reminding myself several times every day
that "Happiness is my true nature. Receive the
happiness that has always been within me." And
remember, don't say: "I deserve to be happy." By
saying and believing that you have fallen back into
the trap of making happiness a contingent proposition
in life.
Be happy for happiness sake!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
-----------------------------------------------
Philadelphia's Shane Candies
Yesterday in my cab ride back
to the Philly Airport, we drove
past Shane Candies, located
in the Old City Center.
Shane's has been there since
1876. It is a third generation
candy store. The store's interior
and display windows remain
untouched. The candies are
made on the second floor.
Beautiful Easter candy was
displayed in the store's charming
front windows. I saw several
chocolate bunnies, colorful
baskets and bows, and several
pastel-colored Easter eggs.
What's so great about a
130-year old candy store? I
thought as I drove by: "How
could something so old make
me feel so young?" Memories
and feelings flooded me from
places I don't even know. It
was a real treat. I thought:
"This is why cities really
matter."
Click here to see a picture.
-----------------------------------------------
Philadelphia's Shane Candies
Yesterday in my cab ride back
to the Philly Airport, we drove
past Shane Candies, located
in the Old City Center.
Shane's has been there since
1876. It is a third generation
candy store. The store's interior
and display windows remain
untouched. The candies are
made on the second floor.
Beautiful Easter candy was
displayed in the store's charming
front windows. I saw several
chocolate bunnies, colorful
baskets and bows, and several
pastel-colored Easter eggs.
What's so great about a
130-year old candy store? I
thought as I drove by: "How
could something so old make
me feel so young?" Memories
and feelings flooded me from
places I don't even know. It
was a real treat. I thought:
"This is why cities really
matter."
Click here to see a picture.
-----------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------
You Minus What You Think and Do
By Don Iannone
You are not the work deadline
coming up at nine o'clock this morning.
You are not the person who is
ten pounds less than you really are.
You are not the perfect parent
who never makes a mistake.
You are not the person
who writes perfect poetry.
You are not your aging mother's
pain and suffering.
Get real about yourself!
Forget all the nonsense
that fills your head.
Accept who you are
minus everything you think and do.
That's who you really are.
--------------------------------------------------------------
You Minus What You Think and Do
By Don Iannone
You are not the work deadline
coming up at nine o'clock this morning.
You are not the person who is
ten pounds less than you really are.
You are not the perfect parent
who never makes a mistake.
You are not the person
who writes perfect poetry.
You are not your aging mother's
pain and suffering.
Get real about yourself!
Forget all the nonsense
that fills your head.
Accept who you are
minus everything you think and do.
That's who you really are.
--------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------
Tuesday Thought
It is the Child that sees the primordial
secret in Nature and it is the child of
ourselves we return to. The child within
us is simple and daring encough to live
the Secret.
--Chuang Tsu
Allow your inner child out to play today!
Hey, and remember that it takes a long
time to become young.
---------------------------------------------------
Tuesday Thought
It is the Child that sees the primordial
secret in Nature and it is the child of
ourselves we return to. The child within
us is simple and daring encough to live
the Secret.
--Chuang Tsu
Allow your inner child out to play today!
Hey, and remember that it takes a long
time to become young.
---------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------
Philly to Cleveland
By Don Iannone
Flying,
into the pastel reddish-orange sun.
Soaring,
above a mattress of cotton candy white clouds.
Wishing,
I could touch their pillowy softness.
Savoring,
my bird's eye view of the world from high above.
Hoping,
the morphing sunset lasts forever.
Slipping,
closer and closer to the ground.
Thanking,
the Pilot for taking the scenic route home.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Philly to Cleveland
By Don Iannone
Flying,
into the pastel reddish-orange sun.
Soaring,
above a mattress of cotton candy white clouds.
Wishing,
I could touch their pillowy softness.
Savoring,
my bird's eye view of the world from high above.
Hoping,
the morphing sunset lasts forever.
Slipping,
closer and closer to the ground.
Thanking,
the Pilot for taking the scenic route home.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, March 22, 2004
Sunday, March 21, 2004
----------------------------------------------------------------
Writing Matters--Or-- Some Talk
By Larry Smith
"We should write what matters, what clarifies and reveals, what gives us insight into the world, ourselves, and others. We're here to name and witness and to spread a little joy. We'll be remembered for the good that we do. Those who are writing for fame and riches will be lucky to get noticed, and their life will become as shallow as their writing. I think the audience matters, and I resent anyone trying to talk above or beneath another. As Thoreau said, we each have to give a true account of our lives.
As to style, I'm open to many, but seek a simple clarity in my own, a tightness and rightness that cannot be explained but must be practiced. We learn by writing mostly, and by reading of course, putting the good sounds and rhythms of thought into our mind's ear. There are so many wonderful models to learn from. There should be a primal joy in the expression and a pleasure of understanding in the reading.
I often write to see what I have to say, to let go in order to discover. But there is discipline there tool "We learn by going where we have to go," says Theodore Roethke, and I agree. But there are skills to use and patterns not to abuse lightly. There must be work as well as release. There's a lot more to it, but we each have to discover our way. Writing has been one of the labors and pleasures of my life."
Writing Matters--Or-- Some Talk
By Larry Smith
"We should write what matters, what clarifies and reveals, what gives us insight into the world, ourselves, and others. We're here to name and witness and to spread a little joy. We'll be remembered for the good that we do. Those who are writing for fame and riches will be lucky to get noticed, and their life will become as shallow as their writing. I think the audience matters, and I resent anyone trying to talk above or beneath another. As Thoreau said, we each have to give a true account of our lives.
As to style, I'm open to many, but seek a simple clarity in my own, a tightness and rightness that cannot be explained but must be practiced. We learn by writing mostly, and by reading of course, putting the good sounds and rhythms of thought into our mind's ear. There are so many wonderful models to learn from. There should be a primal joy in the expression and a pleasure of understanding in the reading.
I often write to see what I have to say, to let go in order to discover. But there is discipline there tool "We learn by going where we have to go," says Theodore Roethke, and I agree. But there are skills to use and patterns not to abuse lightly. There must be work as well as release. There's a lot more to it, but we each have to discover our way. Writing has been one of the labors and pleasures of my life."
-----------------------------------------------------
The Ancient Tree Drummer
By Don Iannone
I hear him,
Making holes again,
Hollow places in dead trees.
He's very old, you know,
Prehistoric!
Pterodactyl-like, I think,
With his red crest
bobbing up and down.
He seems very proud,
Cocky, I'd say.
His drilling stops.
Oh, I hear him,
Odd cuk wucka sounds.
She makes him wait.
I know he's listening for her.
Finally she returns his call,
His pecking resumes.
Strange fellow,
that pileated woodpecker.
Feasting on ants and beetles,
Deep in the old forest,
where there is plenty of dead wood.
The hollow tree is his drum, you know,
He plays a driving beat,
Latin rock, I think.
He's ancient, you know.
I hope I see him.
-------------------------------------------------------
The Ancient Tree Drummer
By Don Iannone
I hear him,
Making holes again,
Hollow places in dead trees.
He's very old, you know,
Prehistoric!
Pterodactyl-like, I think,
With his red crest
bobbing up and down.
He seems very proud,
Cocky, I'd say.
His drilling stops.
Oh, I hear him,
Odd cuk wucka sounds.
She makes him wait.
I know he's listening for her.
Finally she returns his call,
His pecking resumes.
Strange fellow,
that pileated woodpecker.
Feasting on ants and beetles,
Deep in the old forest,
where there is plenty of dead wood.
The hollow tree is his drum, you know,
He plays a driving beat,
Latin rock, I think.
He's ancient, you know.
I hope I see him.
-------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, March 20, 2004
---------------------------------------------------------------
Right Answers and Truth
By Don Iannone
A puzzled young girl
sits in her math class,
Leaning forward,
she whispers to her friend:
"Does that mean if we can't prove it,
there is no right answer?"
Her friend hisses back:
"No silly, it means the question
can't be answered right right now."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Right Answers and Truth
By Don Iannone
A puzzled young girl
sits in her math class,
Leaning forward,
she whispers to her friend:
"Does that mean if we can't prove it,
there is no right answer?"
Her friend hisses back:
"No silly, it means the question
can't be answered right right now."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday Thought
There are several ways to think about truth.
The skeptic says we cannot know truth because
we cannot really know anything. The relativist
says your truth may not be mine. The pragmatist
says truth is what works. The scientist says truth
is what aligns with scientific law. Various religions
and spiritual traditions maintain that God is truth,
and to know God is to know truth. Regardless of
your understanding of truth, an act of belief is
required. So, what is truth?
----------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday Thought
There are several ways to think about truth.
The skeptic says we cannot know truth because
we cannot really know anything. The relativist
says your truth may not be mine. The pragmatist
says truth is what works. The scientist says truth
is what aligns with scientific law. Various religions
and spiritual traditions maintain that God is truth,
and to know God is to know truth. Regardless of
your understanding of truth, an act of belief is
required. So, what is truth?
----------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, March 19, 2004
--------------------------------------------------------------
Friday Thought
Check out yourheart.com, where you can open
a spiritual email account, allowing you to
send love to anyone anywhere your heart
so desires.
(Note: yourheart.com is located on the left
side of your chest. You'll like the beat.)
--------------------------------------------------------------
Friday Thought
Check out yourheart.com, where you can open
a spiritual email account, allowing you to
send love to anyone anywhere your heart
so desires.
(Note: yourheart.com is located on the left
side of your chest. You'll like the beat.)
--------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
The Monks Among Us
By Don Iannone
There are monks
who walk among us
in everyday life.
You won't find them
wearing long brown
robes and sandals.
One I know is an
old Arizona friend
who lives in an cabin
in the Prescott Forest,
writes poetry, cares
for the Land, helps
Indian tribes and schools
solve their problems, and
uses his crystal ball to
help people get to
know themselves.
Another I know is
an old friend from Martins Ferry,
who lives in Santa Fe
and uses his meditation cushion
as a very high frequency radio
station to quietly broadcast
love across the world.
Take another look at
your friends, and those people
you pass by on the street.
You might be surprised at
what you find beneath that
blue suit, and pair of
weejun loafers.
-------------------------------------
The Monks Among Us
By Don Iannone
There are monks
who walk among us
in everyday life.
You won't find them
wearing long brown
robes and sandals.
One I know is an
old Arizona friend
who lives in an cabin
in the Prescott Forest,
writes poetry, cares
for the Land, helps
Indian tribes and schools
solve their problems, and
uses his crystal ball to
help people get to
know themselves.
Another I know is
an old friend from Martins Ferry,
who lives in Santa Fe
and uses his meditation cushion
as a very high frequency radio
station to quietly broadcast
love across the world.
Take another look at
your friends, and those people
you pass by on the street.
You might be surprised at
what you find beneath that
blue suit, and pair of
weejun loafers.
-------------------------------------
Thursday, March 18, 2004
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Chemistry of Ferry in the Fifties©
By Don Iannone
Hardworking sons and daughters of immigrant warriors,
Brave souls, accustomed to long days and even longer nights,
Folks who sleep with their windows open during the summertime,
and pray for a breeze, even the slightest, to dry the sweat
trickling down the middle of their aching backs.
Silently worrying in their dark bedrooms about money, family, and health,
and hoping there really is a God, who can provide a miracle
to bring an end to their pain and suffering.
Even in all this suffering, there is a deeper chemistry
that makes up these people, their struggles, and their lives.
Men who cash their pay checks on Friday evenings
at the local A&P grocery store, and who always
forget at least one thing on their wife's shopping list.
Men with steel-hard hands with sandpaper rough calluses,
from turning wrenches, picking coal, and pounding
smoothness into bowed steel sheets.
Men who awkwardly hug their children,
hoping the chemistry helps them find their way in life
without too much pain and sorrow.
Like their parents and grandparents,
the people of Martins Ferry restlessly
and tirelessly search for the dream,
you know...the American Dream.
Like the thick, lazy stream of smoke
drifting from the chimneys atop their houses,
their dreams form heavy 1950s clouds,
keeping them from seeing beyond today's bills,
and their sick child who must go to the doctor.
Children shoot marbles, cat's eyes and boulders,
under the giant tree on the Elm School playground.
The sun breaks through the clouds, just for a moment,
but long enough to keep the faint hope alive
that they inherit early from their hardworking, stern parents,
who complain about their materialistic children,
and how they will never come to visit them on
Sunday afternoons when they get old.
There is a chemistry about a place,
Especially the place where you grow up.
It lingers in your soul, quietly waiting
for the right moment to come out.
It shows in how you greet strangers,
Whether you shine your shoes in the morning,
How generous you are with your smile,
especially when you don't feel loved.
It even makes a cameo appearance
in how you cut your grass.
The chemistry of Martins Ferry can be as
rancid as the dead catfish that fishermen
leave along the shores of the mighty Ohio.
Or it can be as sweet and peaceful as the
sun-filled clover fields that invite young
boys to lie on their backs and dream
about far-off places they will visit someday.
Either way, the chemistry makes us who we are.
In memory of James Wright, Martins Ferry's
poet son. Inspired by my adventuresome
childhood friend, Dan Shimp.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Chemistry of Ferry in the Fifties©
By Don Iannone
Hardworking sons and daughters of immigrant warriors,
Brave souls, accustomed to long days and even longer nights,
Folks who sleep with their windows open during the summertime,
and pray for a breeze, even the slightest, to dry the sweat
trickling down the middle of their aching backs.
Silently worrying in their dark bedrooms about money, family, and health,
and hoping there really is a God, who can provide a miracle
to bring an end to their pain and suffering.
Even in all this suffering, there is a deeper chemistry
that makes up these people, their struggles, and their lives.
Men who cash their pay checks on Friday evenings
at the local A&P grocery store, and who always
forget at least one thing on their wife's shopping list.
Men with steel-hard hands with sandpaper rough calluses,
from turning wrenches, picking coal, and pounding
smoothness into bowed steel sheets.
Men who awkwardly hug their children,
hoping the chemistry helps them find their way in life
without too much pain and sorrow.
Like their parents and grandparents,
the people of Martins Ferry restlessly
and tirelessly search for the dream,
you know...the American Dream.
Like the thick, lazy stream of smoke
drifting from the chimneys atop their houses,
their dreams form heavy 1950s clouds,
keeping them from seeing beyond today's bills,
and their sick child who must go to the doctor.
Children shoot marbles, cat's eyes and boulders,
under the giant tree on the Elm School playground.
The sun breaks through the clouds, just for a moment,
but long enough to keep the faint hope alive
that they inherit early from their hardworking, stern parents,
who complain about their materialistic children,
and how they will never come to visit them on
Sunday afternoons when they get old.
There is a chemistry about a place,
Especially the place where you grow up.
It lingers in your soul, quietly waiting
for the right moment to come out.
It shows in how you greet strangers,
Whether you shine your shoes in the morning,
How generous you are with your smile,
especially when you don't feel loved.
It even makes a cameo appearance
in how you cut your grass.
The chemistry of Martins Ferry can be as
rancid as the dead catfish that fishermen
leave along the shores of the mighty Ohio.
Or it can be as sweet and peaceful as the
sun-filled clover fields that invite young
boys to lie on their backs and dream
about far-off places they will visit someday.
Either way, the chemistry makes us who we are.
In memory of James Wright, Martins Ferry's
poet son. Inspired by my adventuresome
childhood friend, Dan Shimp.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On Gardening
The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature.
To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul.
Share the botanical bliss of gardeners through the ages, who have cultivated philosophies
to apply to their own – and our own - lives: Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.
--Alfred Austin, 1835-1913
Note to Mary: The snow is melting, the birds are singing, the days are longer, and soon your
back will be aching from planting all those flowers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On Gardening
The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature.
To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul.
Share the botanical bliss of gardeners through the ages, who have cultivated philosophies
to apply to their own – and our own - lives: Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.
--Alfred Austin, 1835-1913
Note to Mary: The snow is melting, the birds are singing, the days are longer, and soon your
back will be aching from planting all those flowers.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------
Satsang...
"Sat" means truth; "sang" means company.
A meeting of aspirants to hear and discuss
scriptures, chant, meditate and sit with
the teacher. Learn more here.
--------------------------------------------------------
Satsang...
"Sat" means truth; "sang" means company.
A meeting of aspirants to hear and discuss
scriptures, chant, meditate and sit with
the teacher. Learn more here.
--------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
-------------------------------------------------------------
Chasing the Dream
By Don Iannone
Dreams of wide open spaces,
desert sunsets and mountains,
Dreams of days past and days to come,
Dreams of sleeping under the warm night sky,
Only with our dreams to keep us company.
Dreams of following the buffalo
to an unforeseen moment of truth.
Dreams of climbing the picture rocks,
where our deepest life questions
find answers through our dreams.
Dreams of far off places, closer than we think,
Dreams of love growing freely
in an unending field of hearts.
Dreams of dreams within dreams--
Dreams too real to see with daytime eyes.
Drifting...into a world of subtle truths,
where there are no walls
separating truth, beauty, and love.
Running, climbing, reaching to touch
the illusive dream that is our life.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Chasing the Dream
By Don Iannone
Dreams of wide open spaces,
desert sunsets and mountains,
Dreams of days past and days to come,
Dreams of sleeping under the warm night sky,
Only with our dreams to keep us company.
Dreams of following the buffalo
to an unforeseen moment of truth.
Dreams of climbing the picture rocks,
where our deepest life questions
find answers through our dreams.
Dreams of far off places, closer than we think,
Dreams of love growing freely
in an unending field of hearts.
Dreams of dreams within dreams--
Dreams too real to see with daytime eyes.
Drifting...into a world of subtle truths,
where there are no walls
separating truth, beauty, and love.
Running, climbing, reaching to touch
the illusive dream that is our life.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
---------------------------------------------------
Your thoughts touch others...
"Have you ever noticed how many people
believe that they are separate and cut
off from others’ consciousness? One
thing that becomes completely obvious
by ascending (going within) is that my
consciousness is affected by yours
and vice-versa."
--Vidya Ishaya
---------------------------------------------------
Your thoughts touch others...
"Have you ever noticed how many people
believe that they are separate and cut
off from others’ consciousness? One
thing that becomes completely obvious
by ascending (going within) is that my
consciousness is affected by yours
and vice-versa."
--Vidya Ishaya
---------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------
Find your inner child...
"When you let go, and experience
the world as a child experiences
the sandbox, then you are open to
the Truth: what is real never ends."
--Vidya Ishaya
------------------------------------------------
Find your inner child...
"When you let go, and experience
the world as a child experiences
the sandbox, then you are open to
the Truth: what is real never ends."
--Vidya Ishaya
------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------
Judging
By Don Iannone
By what standards
should we judge--
ourselves and others?
Maybe a better question is--
should we cast
judgment at all?
What do we ever
really learn in life
from judgment?
Might we not learn more
if we simply appreciated
life for what it is?
------------------------------------------
Judging
By Don Iannone
By what standards
should we judge--
ourselves and others?
Maybe a better question is--
should we cast
judgment at all?
What do we ever
really learn in life
from judgment?
Might we not learn more
if we simply appreciated
life for what it is?
------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------
Pride
By Don Iannone
What we feel
about ourselves
when we do
something well.
What gets bruised
when we don't
get what we think
we deserve.
What we hide
behind to prevent
ourselves from
growing and changing.
What we feel
about others
we love when they
succeed and excel.
Pride.
-------------------------------------------
Pride
By Don Iannone
What we feel
about ourselves
when we do
something well.
What gets bruised
when we don't
get what we think
we deserve.
What we hide
behind to prevent
ourselves from
growing and changing.
What we feel
about others
we love when they
succeed and excel.
Pride.
-------------------------------------------
Monday, March 15, 2004
----------------------------------------------------
Callings from the Sky
By Don Iannone
While riding a silver cloud across the sky,
a rainbow gently brushes against my face.
My heart erupts with joy,
A sun-kissed smile forms on my lips.
How can we ever doubt our purpose,
when rainbows touch us so deeply,
and smiles bring warmth and sunlight
to our life?
----------------------------------------------------
Callings from the Sky
By Don Iannone
While riding a silver cloud across the sky,
a rainbow gently brushes against my face.
My heart erupts with joy,
A sun-kissed smile forms on my lips.
How can we ever doubt our purpose,
when rainbows touch us so deeply,
and smiles bring warmth and sunlight
to our life?
----------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------
Work That Matters
By Don Iannone
Work at
what matters
to you
in life.
Do those
things that
fill you
with joy.
Do those
things that
bring joy
to others.
Don't sacrifice
your passion
for money
or power.
You are
a vessel
for work
that matters.
-------------------------------------------------------
Work That Matters
By Don Iannone
Work at
what matters
to you
in life.
Do those
things that
fill you
with joy.
Do those
things that
bring joy
to others.
Don't sacrifice
your passion
for money
or power.
You are
a vessel
for work
that matters.
-------------------------------------------------------
Sunday, March 14, 2004
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Answers with a Question
By Don Iannone
God answered my first and second questions this morning:
"Follow your own poetry and it will lead you to Me and
to yourself. What is there left to know once you have found Me?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Answers with a Question
By Don Iannone
God answered my first and second questions this morning:
"Follow your own poetry and it will lead you to Me and
to yourself. What is there left to know once you have found Me?"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Find Your Own Poetry Inside
Poetry reminds me of the sacred geometry of life. This geometry of Oneness challenges us to trust both what we can and cannot see with our eyes. For what the eyes cannot see, the heart knows intimately. The heart always knows. To know what the heart knows, we simply need to allow our heart to speak with us.
Poetry is a special language of the soul. The words of poetry build tiny spidering bridges to the mystical wonders that exist in our heart. Every word in a poem is significant. Each is a step. Each word is a bridge to the next. When is a poem complete? Well, when it has done the best it can in conveying what lies in our heart. A poem is complete when it is One with our heart.
For most of my life, I failed to see the value of poetry. The turning point for me was in the early 1990's when my own personal spiritual journey took me to some places that I could only describe in poems. I find myself there once again today as poetry helps me to understand the sacred geometry of my own heart. So, let there be poetry!
Poetry reminds me of the sacred geometry of life. This geometry of Oneness challenges us to trust both what we can and cannot see with our eyes. For what the eyes cannot see, the heart knows intimately. The heart always knows. To know what the heart knows, we simply need to allow our heart to speak with us.
Poetry is a special language of the soul. The words of poetry build tiny spidering bridges to the mystical wonders that exist in our heart. Every word in a poem is significant. Each is a step. Each word is a bridge to the next. When is a poem complete? Well, when it has done the best it can in conveying what lies in our heart. A poem is complete when it is One with our heart.
For most of my life, I failed to see the value of poetry. The turning point for me was in the early 1990's when my own personal spiritual journey took me to some places that I could only describe in poems. I find myself there once again today as poetry helps me to understand the sacred geometry of my own heart. So, let there be poetry!
--------------------------------------------------------------
Experiencing What the Heart Holds
By Don Iannone
While floating on a lotus blossom this morning,
I discovered a wonderfully peaceful place,
A place just beyond my heart's door,
A place deeper than I had been before.
A glittering silver stream rushed and bubbled
through an inviting deep green field.
The sky seemed to rise all about me,
Not just from above.
My body felt air light, and
my heart vibrated like a tiny fluttering butterfly
in the stillness of the moment.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Experiencing What the Heart Holds
By Don Iannone
While floating on a lotus blossom this morning,
I discovered a wonderfully peaceful place,
A place just beyond my heart's door,
A place deeper than I had been before.
A glittering silver stream rushed and bubbled
through an inviting deep green field.
The sky seemed to rise all about me,
Not just from above.
My body felt air light, and
my heart vibrated like a tiny fluttering butterfly
in the stillness of the moment.
--------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------
Small Thank Yous
By Don Iannone
Today an old lady in the store winked at me,
A robin in the front yard sang me a new song,
The sunrise this morning lasted an extra minute,
A friend called out of the blue just to say hello,
This evening my heart glowed as I appreciated
the small things in life that bring us happiness.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Small Thank Yous
By Don Iannone
Today an old lady in the store winked at me,
A robin in the front yard sang me a new song,
The sunrise this morning lasted an extra minute,
A friend called out of the blue just to say hello,
This evening my heart glowed as I appreciated
the small things in life that bring us happiness.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, March 13, 2004
----------------------------------------
Let Yourself Out to Play
By Don Iannone
Lounge about
in the warm morning sun
like the lazy grimalkin at my feet.
Reflect upon your life,
with all the reverence
of Buddha at the circus.
Smile, laugh,
Make a silly face at yourself,
Let yourself out to play.
----------------------------------------
Let Yourself Out to Play
By Don Iannone
Lounge about
in the warm morning sun
like the lazy grimalkin at my feet.
Reflect upon your life,
with all the reverence
of Buddha at the circus.
Smile, laugh,
Make a silly face at yourself,
Let yourself out to play.
----------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Musing in the Morning
By Don Iannone
Muse on a lazy Saturday morning about...
higher states of consciousness,
and why we're afraid of heights,
Absolute freedom,
and what we'd do with our lives
if we broke the handcuffs of time,
The afterlife,
and knowing about it...
without ever having to go there,
Shakespeare as our next President,
and how sonnets replace bills in Congress,
A lullaby you remember,
softly sung to you by momma at bedtime,
Rap music,
and why people cover their fear with anger,
Terrorists killing innocent people
on a train in Madrid,
just because of some idea in their heads,
Muse in the morning,
Unleash your imagination on the world
with the break of dawn.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Musing in the Morning
By Don Iannone
Muse on a lazy Saturday morning about...
higher states of consciousness,
and why we're afraid of heights,
Absolute freedom,
and what we'd do with our lives
if we broke the handcuffs of time,
The afterlife,
and knowing about it...
without ever having to go there,
Shakespeare as our next President,
and how sonnets replace bills in Congress,
A lullaby you remember,
softly sung to you by momma at bedtime,
Rap music,
and why people cover their fear with anger,
Terrorists killing innocent people
on a train in Madrid,
just because of some idea in their heads,
Muse in the morning,
Unleash your imagination on the world
with the break of dawn.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, March 12, 2004
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Naturally Inspired
Mother Nature deserves much of the credit for my poetry during the past week. She seems to provide exactly what we need at any given moment in our life, including inspiration. The birds remind us to sing. Sunsets remind us of our sense of awe. Trees remind us of our need for roots and the importance of reaching for the sky in life. Circling hawks and lurking coyotes call our attention to what we fear. What more could we ask for?
Naturally Inspired
Mother Nature deserves much of the credit for my poetry during the past week. She seems to provide exactly what we need at any given moment in our life, including inspiration. The birds remind us to sing. Sunsets remind us of our sense of awe. Trees remind us of our need for roots and the importance of reaching for the sky in life. Circling hawks and lurking coyotes call our attention to what we fear. What more could we ask for?
-----------------------------------------------------
The Chased Deer
By Don Iannone
A white-tailed deer is chased
through the forest
by a ravenous coyote.
The animals streak past me,
breaking my early morning
silent meditation.
It is a narrow escape
for the deer, and
another hungry night for the coyote.
This reminds me how
fear chases us through life,
even where we find deep peace.
-----------------------------------------------------
The Chased Deer
By Don Iannone
A white-tailed deer is chased
through the forest
by a ravenous coyote.
The animals streak past me,
breaking my early morning
silent meditation.
It is a narrow escape
for the deer, and
another hungry night for the coyote.
This reminds me how
fear chases us through life,
even where we find deep peace.
-----------------------------------------------------
Thursday, March 11, 2004
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Keep your soul alive in trying times.
Click here to find 50 ways you can do just that.
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Keep your soul alive in trying times.
Click here to find 50 ways you can do just that.
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The Entrepreneurial Squirrel
By Don Iannone
Squirrel,
Hungry,
Birdfeeder,
Wanting...
Seed.
Thinking,
Running...
Sliding,
Thinking,
Jumping...
Missing.
Thinking,
Leaping...
Falling,
Thinking,
Flying...
Crashing.
Thinking,
Flying...
Landing!
Finally,
Eating...
Seed.
No more...
thinking!
-----------------------------------------------
The Entrepreneurial Squirrel
By Don Iannone
Squirrel,
Hungry,
Birdfeeder,
Wanting...
Seed.
Thinking,
Running...
Sliding,
Thinking,
Jumping...
Missing.
Thinking,
Leaping...
Falling,
Thinking,
Flying...
Crashing.
Thinking,
Flying...
Landing!
Finally,
Eating...
Seed.
No more...
thinking!
-----------------------------------------------
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
------------------------------------------
The Monk and the Faery
By Don Iannone
Next time...
you stroll through Sherwood Forest,
Sit under the biggest tree
that you can find,
Raise your chalise in toast
to the straying monk,
who met a beautiful faery
and fell madly in love with life.
------------------------------------------
The Monk and the Faery
By Don Iannone
Next time...
you stroll through Sherwood Forest,
Sit under the biggest tree
that you can find,
Raise your chalise in toast
to the straying monk,
who met a beautiful faery
and fell madly in love with life.
------------------------------------------
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
--------------------------------------------------
Patience
By Don Iannone
Sometimes waiting
and not doing anything
can achieve better results
than pushing ahead
when we or others
are not ready.
We will know when
the time is right for
the right thing to happen.
It will just happen.
--------------------------------------------------
Patience
By Don Iannone
Sometimes waiting
and not doing anything
can achieve better results
than pushing ahead
when we or others
are not ready.
We will know when
the time is right for
the right thing to happen.
It will just happen.
--------------------------------------------------
Monday, March 08, 2004
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I Am Joy: A Meditation
By Don Iannone
I am joy.
I am a free-flowing mountain stream
with an eternal supply of fresh water.
The sky gives me color,
My banks keep me focused,
The stones and rocks give me character,
The fish that swim in me animate my soul.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I Am Joy: A Meditation
By Don Iannone
I am joy.
I am a free-flowing mountain stream
with an eternal supply of fresh water.
The sky gives me color,
My banks keep me focused,
The stones and rocks give me character,
The fish that swim in me animate my soul.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Painting the Real You
by Don Iannone
Too many boundaries,
Too many definitions,
Too many self-imposed
limits on who we are.
Imagine a fresh white canvas,
Take the brush in hand,
Allow the colors to flow through
your hand and into the brush,
Now paint the real you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Painting the Real You
by Don Iannone
Too many boundaries,
Too many definitions,
Too many self-imposed
limits on who we are.
Imagine a fresh white canvas,
Take the brush in hand,
Allow the colors to flow through
your hand and into the brush,
Now paint the real you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
100+ Things About Me...has been updated.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
100+ Things About Me...has been updated.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday, March 07, 2004
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Learning From Street Corner Drama
By Don Iannone
"Spare a buck, friend?"
Asked the gravelly man's voice next to me.
His voice...penetrated me,
So...haunting, so...empty, so...lifeless.
"No, afraid not," I blurted out without even thinking,
"Please? Just a dollar," he begged,
For an instant, I looked at the man's very badly bruised face,
His bulging, swollen eyes,
His unshaven, scraggly whiskers that seemed to point at me,
His strangely crooked mouth,
Mocking me in a most subtle way,
Such a hideous accusing face, I thought,
Asking for money, but really asking for something more.
My heart jumped at his sight,
So...pathetic, I thought,
Why does God allow people to come to this?
The light changed, giving me an escape,
My feet quickly carried me across the street.
Pausing momentarily on the other corner,
I saw the full view of the rumpled man,
His small fragile stature,
Again, his gray...dying face.
His eyes caught me staring,
"Bastard," he railed,
Waving his fist in my direction,
Like I had anything to do with his pain, I thought,
Did I really deserve that?
I felt hurt, but whose...
My own or the desperate man's?
Then remorse, a deep pang of guilt
grew in the pit of my stomach,
I thought, pity the poor insane man,
He doesn't know what he's saying.
Suddenly, an angry woman's voice rose out of nowhere:
"They should do something about him!"
Stunned, I mutter in autopilot surprise:
"Yes, uh, something, I think,"
My empty words trailed off into thin air,
I forced a smile that failed to appear,
as I Inventoried the rotund woman's
shimmering mink coat, her expensive jewelry,
and her, well, surreal plastic face.
"Bastard," she added,
Not again, I thought,
"Excuse me?" I queried.
"Him", she points,
"That disgusting old bastard 'cross the street."
I felt helpless at this point,
No real words seemed to come,
"Yes, uh, have a good day ma'am."
I rushed away from the sour old woman,
"They should do something about him," she screamed,
Her fist waved uncontrollably at my silent back.
Later that evening I realized,
That I could have done something different
on that busy noonday street corner of life,
That the poor old man and the rich old woman
were indeed tipping points in my journey
to find greater heart in everyday life,
I then realized...
They had given me something quite valuable,
They provided the drama I needed
to see myself in action...
A clean mirror to see how
I really am at living in the moment.
I give thanks for street corner drama
and the lessons it teaches me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Learning From Street Corner Drama
By Don Iannone
"Spare a buck, friend?"
Asked the gravelly man's voice next to me.
His voice...penetrated me,
So...haunting, so...empty, so...lifeless.
"No, afraid not," I blurted out without even thinking,
"Please? Just a dollar," he begged,
For an instant, I looked at the man's very badly bruised face,
His bulging, swollen eyes,
His unshaven, scraggly whiskers that seemed to point at me,
His strangely crooked mouth,
Mocking me in a most subtle way,
Such a hideous accusing face, I thought,
Asking for money, but really asking for something more.
My heart jumped at his sight,
So...pathetic, I thought,
Why does God allow people to come to this?
The light changed, giving me an escape,
My feet quickly carried me across the street.
Pausing momentarily on the other corner,
I saw the full view of the rumpled man,
His small fragile stature,
Again, his gray...dying face.
His eyes caught me staring,
"Bastard," he railed,
Waving his fist in my direction,
Like I had anything to do with his pain, I thought,
Did I really deserve that?
I felt hurt, but whose...
My own or the desperate man's?
Then remorse, a deep pang of guilt
grew in the pit of my stomach,
I thought, pity the poor insane man,
He doesn't know what he's saying.
Suddenly, an angry woman's voice rose out of nowhere:
"They should do something about him!"
Stunned, I mutter in autopilot surprise:
"Yes, uh, something, I think,"
My empty words trailed off into thin air,
I forced a smile that failed to appear,
as I Inventoried the rotund woman's
shimmering mink coat, her expensive jewelry,
and her, well, surreal plastic face.
"Bastard," she added,
Not again, I thought,
"Excuse me?" I queried.
"Him", she points,
"That disgusting old bastard 'cross the street."
I felt helpless at this point,
No real words seemed to come,
"Yes, uh, have a good day ma'am."
I rushed away from the sour old woman,
"They should do something about him," she screamed,
Her fist waved uncontrollably at my silent back.
Later that evening I realized,
That I could have done something different
on that busy noonday street corner of life,
That the poor old man and the rich old woman
were indeed tipping points in my journey
to find greater heart in everyday life,
I then realized...
They had given me something quite valuable,
They provided the drama I needed
to see myself in action...
A clean mirror to see how
I really am at living in the moment.
I give thanks for street corner drama
and the lessons it teaches me.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, March 06, 2004
---------------------------------------------------------
The Gravedigger's Silence
By Don Iannone
From my window,
I intently watch as
the gravedigger quietly
prepares the earth
for someone's return.
His work is done in
reverent silence.
What does he, or
the man he buries
need with words?
The talking stops
in the world beyond words,
The prayers are
for those who remain,
The poems for
those who still journey.
---------------------------------------------------------
The Gravedigger's Silence
By Don Iannone
From my window,
I intently watch as
the gravedigger quietly
prepares the earth
for someone's return.
His work is done in
reverent silence.
What does he, or
the man he buries
need with words?
The talking stops
in the world beyond words,
The prayers are
for those who remain,
The poems for
those who still journey.
---------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------
Capturing the Journey Through Poetry...
Poetry captures some of the recent discoveries I have been making about myself. The poems are "pictures" I've taken along the way. Love has a sacred geometry all of it's own. No scientific equations capture that geometry, but poetry seems to capture a sense of what the journey is all about and the discoveries made.
Capturing the Journey Through Poetry...
Poetry captures some of the recent discoveries I have been making about myself. The poems are "pictures" I've taken along the way. Love has a sacred geometry all of it's own. No scientific equations capture that geometry, but poetry seems to capture a sense of what the journey is all about and the discoveries made.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Journey to the Heart
By Don Iannone
Wonderful, long-held secrets
abound in your heart,
They patiently await you,
Open the door,
Enter with honesty, and...
trust whatever
that honesty brings.
Discover and unwrap
the many unopened presents
awaiting you at your heart's door,
Take them inside,
Open them,
Allow the love
they contain to grow.
Rediscover the many
gifts of love that have
filled your heart
throughout your lifetime.
Revel in their beauty,
Live in their promise
that once a gift of love
has been given,
It is always with you.
Love is what
we all come back to,
For some of us,
It has taken longer
to realize...
that love is...
what we really are.
For some of us,
Our entire journey in life
has been about...
discovering the secrets
that lie buried in
the cave of our heart.
It's not a long journey, really,
when you're ready,
The heart requires
no reservations to visit
what it holds.
Getting there...
can be...
as simple as...
floating on a lotus blossom
on the still waters of your soul.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Journey to the Heart
By Don Iannone
Wonderful, long-held secrets
abound in your heart,
They patiently await you,
Open the door,
Enter with honesty, and...
trust whatever
that honesty brings.
Discover and unwrap
the many unopened presents
awaiting you at your heart's door,
Take them inside,
Open them,
Allow the love
they contain to grow.
Rediscover the many
gifts of love that have
filled your heart
throughout your lifetime.
Revel in their beauty,
Live in their promise
that once a gift of love
has been given,
It is always with you.
Love is what
we all come back to,
For some of us,
It has taken longer
to realize...
that love is...
what we really are.
For some of us,
Our entire journey in life
has been about...
discovering the secrets
that lie buried in
the cave of our heart.
It's not a long journey, really,
when you're ready,
The heart requires
no reservations to visit
what it holds.
Getting there...
can be...
as simple as...
floating on a lotus blossom
on the still waters of your soul.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Friday, March 05, 2004
-------------------------------------------------------------
The Weekend
By Don Iannone
Everyone awaits
the weekend,
That special resting
place and time
away from our work.
Saturday and Sunday,
Just two meager days
to re-group,
tend to ourselves,
reflect, and maybe play.
For many,
the weekend is...
a designated time
to escape our suffering
about our work.
A time for...
hopefully,
relaxation,
joy and...
yes laughter.
And a time
when we, hopefully,
allow ourselves to
forget about...time.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The Weekend
By Don Iannone
Everyone awaits
the weekend,
That special resting
place and time
away from our work.
Saturday and Sunday,
Just two meager days
to re-group,
tend to ourselves,
reflect, and maybe play.
For many,
the weekend is...
a designated time
to escape our suffering
about our work.
A time for...
hopefully,
relaxation,
joy and...
yes laughter.
And a time
when we, hopefully,
allow ourselves to
forget about...time.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, March 04, 2004
---------------------------------------------------------------
Living in Color
By Don Iannone
Paint...
your life with color,
Vivid shades
of red, yellow, and blue.
Imagine...
each day as a rainbow,
Filled...
with dreamy hues and contrasts.
Color in...
those parts of yourself
begging...
to be noticed.
See...
the tapestry of color
that you are,
Lead...a colorful life.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Living in Color
By Don Iannone
Paint...
your life with color,
Vivid shades
of red, yellow, and blue.
Imagine...
each day as a rainbow,
Filled...
with dreamy hues and contrasts.
Color in...
those parts of yourself
begging...
to be noticed.
See...
the tapestry of color
that you are,
Lead...a colorful life.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Greeting Spring...
"I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose, I would always greet it in a garden."
--Ruth Stout (in Cleveland Botanical Garden Bulletin, Mar/Apr/May 2004)
"I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose, I would always greet it in a garden."
--Ruth Stout (in Cleveland Botanical Garden Bulletin, Mar/Apr/May 2004)
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
-----------------------------------------------------------
Lightning Bugs
By Don Iannone
Hot summer night,
Boys playing outside
well past their bedtime,
Waiting,watching,
Suddenly...
one appears, then
another, and another,
Soon, the yard is filled
with blinking yellow bugs.
Lightning bugs, fireflies,
Magical flying...
illuminations,
Twinkle, twinkle
little star, but oh,
how about those...
lightning bugs?
At first,
we are content
to just chase them,
Then the temptation
grows beyond control.
There is the matter
of the empty jelly jar...
that beckons to be
filled with the
glorious flying Edisons.
Yes, yes, grass,
The bugs must have
a few blades,
And of course,
they need air,
So the jar's lid...
receives a few
well placed stabs
from our new
Boy Scout pen knives.
"I'm coming" we shout
in unison, as our Moms
bellow from the back porch
for us to get in the house.
One final decision...
must be made,
Keep the bugs, or
let them go?
It's a split vote,
meaning...we
do the opposite of
what we did last time.
So...
the mysterious winged
twinkle bugs are freed...
at least until tomorrow's
night falls, and then,
Who knows?
-----------------------------------------------------------
Lightning Bugs
By Don Iannone
Hot summer night,
Boys playing outside
well past their bedtime,
Waiting,watching,
Suddenly...
one appears, then
another, and another,
Soon, the yard is filled
with blinking yellow bugs.
Lightning bugs, fireflies,
Magical flying...
illuminations,
Twinkle, twinkle
little star, but oh,
how about those...
lightning bugs?
At first,
we are content
to just chase them,
Then the temptation
grows beyond control.
There is the matter
of the empty jelly jar...
that beckons to be
filled with the
glorious flying Edisons.
Yes, yes, grass,
The bugs must have
a few blades,
And of course,
they need air,
So the jar's lid...
receives a few
well placed stabs
from our new
Boy Scout pen knives.
"I'm coming" we shout
in unison, as our Moms
bellow from the back porch
for us to get in the house.
One final decision...
must be made,
Keep the bugs, or
let them go?
It's a split vote,
meaning...we
do the opposite of
what we did last time.
So...
the mysterious winged
twinkle bugs are freed...
at least until tomorrow's
night falls, and then,
Who knows?
-----------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------
Gifts of Spring
By Don Iannone
An old man approaches
the park bench,
armed with a single daffodil.
The old woman
blushes and...
pretends to look surprised.
Her radiant smile says volumes...
about the flower,
the man, and Springtime.
The two sit quietly together,
knowing...it will always be
Springtime in their hearts.
---------------------------------------------------------
Gifts of Spring
By Don Iannone
An old man approaches
the park bench,
armed with a single daffodil.
The old woman
blushes and...
pretends to look surprised.
Her radiant smile says volumes...
about the flower,
the man, and Springtime.
The two sit quietly together,
knowing...it will always be
Springtime in their hearts.
---------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------
The Springtime Robin
By Don Iannone
Robin...
red-breast,
soaring,
landing,
chirping,
hopping,
listening,
pecking,
pulling...
worm,
Spring,
mating,
nesting,
turquoise...
eggs,
young...
Robin.
---------------------------------------------------------
The Springtime Robin
By Don Iannone
Robin...
red-breast,
soaring,
landing,
chirping,
hopping,
listening,
pecking,
pulling...
worm,
Spring,
mating,
nesting,
turquoise...
eggs,
young...
Robin.
---------------------------------------------------------
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
Being Satisfied with Who We Are
By Don Iannone
Sometimes it seems
we are never satisfied
with who we are.
Sometimes we feel
that others aren't satisfied
with us either.
Sometimes we don't
allow ourselves to accept
others for who they really are.
At times like these
we need to see perfection as
what exists at any given moment.
By Don Iannone
Sometimes it seems
we are never satisfied
with who we are.
Sometimes we feel
that others aren't satisfied
with us either.
Sometimes we don't
allow ourselves to accept
others for who they really are.
At times like these
we need to see perfection as
what exists at any given moment.
Monday, March 01, 2004
Dedicated to Mary...
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Grasping at a Sunset
By Don Iannone
Pink lemonade streaks of clouds
decorate the early evening sky,
I hold my breath, hoping...
the tantalizing colors of the sunset
will dry upon the disappearing canvas
before my eyes.
They slip away.
One more reminder...
Live in the moment.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Grasping at a Sunset
By Don Iannone
Pink lemonade streaks of clouds
decorate the early evening sky,
I hold my breath, hoping...
the tantalizing colors of the sunset
will dry upon the disappearing canvas
before my eyes.
They slip away.
One more reminder...
Live in the moment.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
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