Posts by Mitch

I’m Moving to a Blog Cabin in the Woods

I see the future.

Everyone will have a blog. Every blogger’s pet will have a blog. Every blog will have a blog. Every blog’s blog will a have a blog. No one will be reading any of these blogs because everyone will be too busy writing blogs. Bloggers will occasionally visit other blogs, but only for the purpose of leaving comments that will direct readers back to their own blog. Letter writing will become popular once again, gaining a new lease on life after the internet crashes repeatedly because of the profusion of blogs and youtube videos created by 5-year olds and terrorist groups.

Why all the blogging?

Because people want to connect. And WHY do people want to connect? Because there is a fundamental need inside each of us to feel connected.

“Connected to WHAT?” is the question. Connected to ourselves.

Bottom line, for each of us to feel truly wired, we need to connect with ourselves. Then, and only then, does it make sense to connect with others.

Otherwise, all our efforts to connect will be fundamentally flawed — tinged with the slightly neurotic need for approval and completion — neither of which are really necessary once we master the fine art of tapping into who we really are in the first place.

And speaking of the future — high rises are out. Blog cabins are in.

(Excerpted from The Heart of the Matter)

34 Reasons I Like Being with Mr Rawat…

This past weekend I attended a two-day event with a speaker named “Prem Rawat” at the Palace Theater in Albany, NY. As always, I enjoyed the experience immensely.

On the way home, I started thinking about why, specifically, I enjoy being with him as much as I do — and how I might describe these benefits to others, especially those intrigued by Prem’s message, but not totally sure it’s for them.

Well… at the risk of trying to explain the unexplainable, here goes:

The One-Minute Seeker

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This posting will take you less than a minute to read.

In days gone by, classic “seekers” had to endure a ton of trials and tribulations to find what they were looking for. They walked across deserts. They fasted. They hunted for the ONE in faraway places.

No more. Those days are over. The game has changed. Things have heated up, big time.

Now, that which you are looking for is looking for you. Your inner questing for something timeless, pure, and full of love has been responded to.

Really.

Excerpted from The Heart of the Matter

What Moves Us All to Dream

What moves us all to dream,
to think, to love, to act,
to give it up for some great cause
or double back to pause before our plans
of having more or getting there
or going to the country fair
is the same for everyone:
the sage, the fool, the king,
the self-appointed ministers of fun.

Einstein said it best, I think,
or maybe it was Rumi,
both of whom were missing links
from this to that, from here to there,
mystics of the unseen arts,
demystifying what it is that moves the air
and the human heart.

Still I wonder what it is I thirst for in my bones,
what will be enough to feel.
Is it what I see with these two eyes
or what I know beyond them both
is always just a bit concealed –
that which seizes me from deep within,
the mirror of my soul, my other half, my perfect twin,
the one who knows, but doesn’t tell
or if he does, it’s just enough
to dig my tunnel deeper to the well
where all the seekers that I am have come to drink,
long before the first parable was told.

excerpted from The Heart of the Matter

The One For Whom It All Makes Sense

I have written a thousand poems for you
that have never left my room.
They fill the pages of notebooks stacked high on a shelf
no one can reach.
Orphans they are, beggars afraid they are not noble enough for the King,
would never make it past the guards.
I make a vain attempt to dress them up,
disguise their ridiculous origins, but still they smell bad.

There are times, late at night, however, when they think I’m asleep,
I can almost hear them talking to each other,
conjuring new ways to make it to your court.
Oh, the arguments they have! The barroom brawls!
Some of them actually think a shower and a shave is all they need.
Others insist on practicing, all night long, the perfect way of greeting you.
There is much to be said for these backroom bards,
these arm wrestling vagrants from another world.

Indeed, if I was dead,
my ambitious biographer, after paying his due respects
and asking permission of my dear, sweet wife,
would borrow them just long enough to search for pearls
and find the perfect turn of phrase, the verse,
the sudden storm of brilliance even my harshest critics would have to praise.
He’d think of clever titles for the tome, describing, in his carefully written way,
the “man who left his muse too soon”
or some such thing that might make you wonder
why I never gave these poems to you –
the one for whom it all makes sense even when it doesn’t.