Warm Houses

WARM HOUSES

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By Melissa Gordon Rhine © November 2006

There’s a house

deep inside the woods

Where you and I

Can live out our days

Constantly amazed, that we found each other

A Journal from Jules: The Maestro of Peace

Palmero, Italy, July 2008

Hi Folks…

I am typing in the dark back of my hotel room in Palermo so as not to wake my room-mate. The computer will go with her today and I want to get this to you, so I am writing. I cannot read my notes in this light, so I will start again so I can share with you – and savor my own memories, while fresh – of this amazing event which unfolded as a tale of old.

Corleone is not city like Palermo — indeed it is a small town. The bus ride took about 1 and 1/4 hours and way route was lined with grapevines and hay-fields, beautiful mountains and a picturesque countryside.

Grown men baling and stacking hay waived at our bus, the way children wave to train engineers in rural areas. The town square – named for two men who were shot because they stood up to the Mafia – was smaller than a football field.

Chairs had been brought in and some bleachers at the back. They said this important event could have been held indoors, but that they wanted it in the open air where all who wished to could come. Their sincerity and genuine affection for Mr. Prem Rawat was evident and very touching.

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)

The inhale and the exhale of the moment of now

Last month, I received “the call”. My sister announced that my father was terminally ill with an advanced and particularly aggressive type of prostate cancer.

My first reaction was shock and then the grief set in. My father, who raised me with no partner, who taught me to search from the earliest days of childhood for TRUTH is dying.

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 DANGLING LINES OF TIME

change you will

your underwear, your oil, your car, your wife, your children,
your underarm deodorant, your overalls,
your designation, your birthmarks, your will & estate,
your long-range goals, your hard-boiled eggs,
your nails and soup, your rusty soles,
your dusty shoes, your trusty dog,
your 9-life cat, your coat and hat,
your car & rails and suit and tails

Perky The Pidgeon

I chose parenting later in life.

My first-born is a pidgeon. He resides on my balcony.

He actually has 2 ‘real’ parents, but they don’t spend much time here anymore. Perhaps – given that the tedious days of egg-sitting are over – they’ve gone south to Vegas to party and forget for a while.