Monday, February 28, 2022

95: Mastering The Art Of Inaction, In The Time Of the Invasion of Ukraine by Russia

Sri Yoganandaji described as follows the state of "inaction" mentioned in the Bhagavad Gita.

 "When a true yogi performs an action, karmically it is like writing on water. No mark remains."*

*ie., no karmic record is kept. Only a master is a free man- one unbound by karma (the inexorable cosmic law that holds unenlightened persons accountable for their thoughts and actions). In urging Arjuna to fight on the battlefield, Lord Krishna assured him that he would incur no karma if he acted as God's agent, without egoistic consciousness. Sayings of Paramahansa Yogananda

     You can move forward with lightening fast speed in your life by ascribing to God's will for you. Do not assert your will but rather perform what God's will for you is. How do you know? Listen in the quietest moments of your life to your inner voice. The voice that tells you in your silence which way to proceed. Ours has enlightened us to continue our teaching and rescuing. Instead of the Equine souls we once saved our mission is to raise and support humankind. We wish to use our limited platforms to the fullest extent of their possibilities in the hopes that they will grow exponentially in magnitude. Having been listeners since the beginning of Covid-19 and captives as well, we are finally at the point like Howard Beale in the movie Network, where this is the start of my rant and we are not going to take it. Silence is no longer a snowflake falling in one of my poems. We are writing on the water our displeasure and disillusionment and sitting back to watch the Karma of the world snap back with its own response in the Americas. Beginning with these new blogs our mission is now set in motion. We are willing to watch the course it now takes.

The outrage of the invasion of Ukraine by Putin is beyond belief in these times. It is past time to stand up and to be heard and to speak your truth. Truth is our only weapon against such atrocities. Through all our collective wills coupled with Divine Will it is time to no longer be part of a silent majority. Be heard and speak your Discourse with great firmness and authority. Be one of those who will not have your will be bent or swayed by Tyrannical Rhetoric. See and Say what your Heart and Soul speaks to you.

Perhaps it is our time to lead our people out of bondage! Beware you who lead through Autocracy and Aristocratical Arrogance.!

Wednesday, February 23, 2022

94; Embracing the Everlasting

 Our dear ones promise to love us forever, yet when they sink into the Great Sleep, their earth memories forsaken, what value their vows? Who, without telling us in words, loves us everlastingly? Who remembers us when all others forget us? Who will still be with us when we must leave the friends of this world? God alone---- Paramahansa Yogananda, "Whispers from Eternity" 

The Ghosts they do come in all sizes, shapes, species and forms. They are woven deeply into the fabric of our daily lives. Yet the one true love is often over looked or ignored. Shame on delusion and her sister maya that keep us in our darkness and fearful isolation. Isn't it everyone's wish to become a part of something greater than one's self? Look for the one who hides in the ocean, air, mountain's and earth. They are ever omniscient and present. It is not that they aren't looking for you. It is you are not showing the desire for spirit's presence. Change all that today! Use your sense's and intuition to put your life on track. No matter what the World is doing, the global conflicts are increasing intensely and disillusionment seams to be on the rise. Why do we care about your Spirit or your advancement in this world? We were once of you, the trials and tribulations are not just yours alone. Through Divine Will not our own Will we have opened our hearts and minds. There is a Scientific Method through Kriya Yoga that will lead you to Peace (Samadhi). It is not the only method. If you are skeptical take the time and research your own path. There is a Strength and Truth that you can gain through Discipline. You owe it to yourself to explore it. 

We will move on to our own writing goals. Hopefully you have read the posts of the Beijing Olympics. They represent youth and the promise of hope. It is time to shift the focus to our new writings. Perhaps they will entertain you and help you to enjoy the New Dawn we all face.

Tuesday, February 22, 2022

93-How can I learn to Meditate?

 The more you meditate the more helpful you can be to others, and the more deeply you will be in tune with God. Selfish people remain spiritually hide-bound, but the unselfish expand their consciousness. When you find your omnipresence in meditation, you will find God. If he is pleased with you, all nature will work in harmony with you. Learn to talk to Him with all your soul---Paramahansa Yogananda, SRF Lessons.  

You must do Kriya Yoga everyday is the edict that Gurudev has given us. Meditate deeply to find your truth. It will become clearer to you the deeper into Spirit that you journey. If you do not know how to meditate the SRF Lessons are a wonderful place to begin. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. Simply put you must make the effort to begin. The journey is filled with joy and freedoms that you have no idea exists. Why not take the journey today, right now. What are the alternatives, suffering and desperation that is the world we live in today. Do you wish for a change. Then be it!

The Autobiography of a Yogi

Saturday, February 19, 2022

92- Allowing Intelligent Cosmic Energy To Work In Your Life, In The Time Of The Omicron Variant Corona Virus

      Our deep conviction has been justified again and again over the years. It is that, if the spirit is truly expansive and self-giving, then God—perhaps through the Intelligent Cosmic Energy—will always provide.

Swami Kriyananda

     The quote paraphrased is "The Lord Helps Those That Help Themselves! What is it that you want to achieve in your Life in these frightful times. Affix your gaze to the heavens and place your will in God's Will and you will be able to accomplish your goals. "He said to them, "Because of your little faith. For truly , I say to you, If you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible to you." Matthew 17:20.
Nothing is impossible to you in the coming times. The world is a new world. Do not let yours be filled with fear and doubt. You are a child of God and have been given all of his gifts. Use them wisely and apply yourself and you will see the results. Do not accept anything but your greatest success.

Friday, February 18, 2022

91 - The Ghosts, They Come


The Ghosts, They Come

When the Moon is a ghostly stallion                                                                                                                   proudly prancing, hooves pounding,                                                                                                                 turf billowing                                                                                                                                                     upon the peripheral plains,                                                                                                                                 the Ghosts they,                                                                                                                                                 are free to come.

Dad and his girl Pete

Laughlin, Nevada

 Aristotle's Advice: Please get Vaccinated and Wear a Mask!

Pete's Advice: If they don't get Vaccinated and wear a Mask. Take away their talk boxes, watch boxes, and think boxes!

Is there anyone out there?
Can Anyone hear me?

Thank You for Sharing 
The Journey of My Youth
Through the Valleys, Forests and Mountains
of North America
Can you recognize the Mountain Pearl?

Wednesday, February 16, 2022

89 A Gift Given Me.

For Verne F. Champlin

My grandfather who worked for the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation as an accountant, he had Gore, Whiteface and Belleayre Mountains as his accounts. He filled my Childhood Dreams with Mountains of Snow.

A Gift Given Me


One Day,

at the base of Whiteface Mountain

I thought of someone special and

about a gift he’d given me.


I ascended swiftly into a silver silken sea

in a crystal vision Mother Mary came to me.

She whispered to me softly,

words to sooth my fear.

I soared so gracefully

far above the timberline.

I descended slowly only

after I had picked my line

down among the emerald pines.


One Day,

at the base of Whiteface Mountain

I thought of someone special about a gift he’d given me.

Written for the shortening of Chair Six of Whiteface Mountain for the 1980 Winter Olympics.



Chair Six


Oh! carousel of well worn

blue wooden chairs ascend me swiftly

upon the summit of your face.

Stark, lonely, loving, longing,

fair milk maiden’s lips

forever locked, granite windswept cheeks

ominous in your blue ice

laden grace.


Teeth chattering trembling fear

your North winds wailing,

searching, searing, stiff

frozen denim jeans.

The smell of

wet grey woolen ponchos.

 Out of the Gondola Shed at Gore Mountain

(with Touloose)


Bright radiant red

chariot cherry plastic bubbles

“All the way to the top men,”

a lift attendant’s

warm wry smile.


His bright orange ski cap,

pulled well over the ears

Keeping out the biting cold.


Clomp and thump,

Clomp and thump,

hurriedly mad crazed killers

Plunging home our skis and poles.



Heaven’s gate slides shut

a zero down gloved hand

bearing a radiant silver cross

that turns the key

clicking the latch

locking away

the chosen ones.


Bumping, bouncing,

bursting out

bathed in luminous sunlight

ivory crystals

set upon forest green pines


pale blue skies

swaying, swinging,

precariously perched on a sterling

stranded string

dangling there.



his purple passion hat

cocked over an optic gleam

a comrade in arms

comes his familiar cackle,

“Ain’t it the tits,” his breath hangs frozen

a cumulus cloud


splashing against my brow

dissipating with our fears

into the quiet

frigid serenity.

Adirondack Day, Jon Bowers and Gordon Grey

2 cents overdrawn


Mick Jagger on a full screen

MTV video screaming,

“I’m just waiting on a lady,

I’m just waiting on a friend.”


Gold Peak restaurant bar

warming my hands on a

steaming ceramic coffee filled mug

arriving one day later than,

the Vail Mountain employee draw.


Being 2 cents overdrawn and scribbling,

like Gollum caressing his precious, precious,

my powder snow poetry.


Leaving the restaurant like that,

I mean with blue words

on a white paper napkin

thinking them worth much

more than 2 missing pennies.


Pulling on down gloves

trudging into the wilderness,

like Strider the Ranger.


Never really fitting in

like a brown slab wood cabin

mud caulked chinked

with a grey stone chimney

sizzling snowshoe rabbit

smoke billowing wafting

through silent aspen’s.


It hangs drifting like

cotton ball clouds

sparkling crystals bending emerald boughs of pines.


A skinny ski trail snaking around

deep powder tree wells

to a stoked glowing fireplace

in the White River National Forest

warding off dusk.

A Tear By The Way


“Been climbing at Devil’s Tower

some of the 5-8 pitches were hard

Tho, I laughed all the way up.


I live in Breck, (Breckenridge, Colorado) during the winter

work as a waitron nights so I

I can board all day. Same

as now cept

I’m a fly clinging to and climbing

cracks all day.


Wyoming is big and beautiful,

endless vista’s and horizon’s

stretching into forever

glowing orange sun hanging

half in, half out of the Earth

light blue hue

tiny white wisps of cirrus

clouds rushing by

winds whipping

ripping my hair blonde

from it’s long pony tail

stinging my breasts.


There was nothing I could do

dangling on my descent

rappelling requires

complete concentration.


Saw you hitch-hiking your

blue and black Dana Design Pack

against your tan smooth skin

you know you have a climber’s body.

It’s too bad I turn here for

Eldorado Canyon tho

this should get you far enough

out of Boulder.


It’s a pity

we couldn’t climb with one another.

My name is

Tear by the way.”

Sierra, Boz Scaggs

Tuesday, February 15, 2022

88 - Uncle Albert’s Mountain, What would you do to Ski the Tetons?

For Craig Sweem

Thank You for Introducing Me to the Big Horns

And Sheridan Wyoming

 Gandy Dancer


cold, hard, heavy,

steel sings, ring.


Gandy Man,

blisters upon your hands,

understand life’s lot.


Blue, so very god damned blue,

is the color that I choose,

just a starrin down at my tattered,

hiking shoes.



grey is the color of my pants,

as yet one more,

of they’re working ants.


Writing my poems by the light

of a kerosene lamp,

my arms too tired,

to slide under my pillow,

looking toward another day closer

to a future filled with great white hope,

but a night time filled warding off

the smell of industrial soap.

Blue Sky Mine, Midnight Oil

An Alone Poem


I was all alone

at Kendricks Crossing, Wyoming

sitting Indian style on the rough wood

of a Burlington Northern Railroad

flat bed car.


Discussing life with an itinerant hobo,

when he jumped up and left

a half empty pail of rail spikes

along with his hammer.


For the beckoning call

of an open door

on a Burlington Northern/Santa Fe rail car.


Leaving me alone

to watch the sunsets

silhouetted against the ridges of the Big Horns.


Dying with the dull aching

in the muscles of my arms

between the lines

of one of my powder snow poems.

Written in Sheridan, Wyoming


Disco Bars


I am

just a child

of the sun, moon, and stars.

Sitting with my

Rattlesnake skin rimmed Stetson hat in

Buffalo Bill’s Disco Bar.

Life in a Northern Town, The Dream Academy

Monday, February 14, 2022

87 - God Is The Boss, Francis!

In Loving Memory of Frank Thompson

You were a brilliant light illuminating our youth.

You were light years ahead of everyone.

                     God Is The Boss, Francis!


     I was visited by an old friend the other day walking along the Rio Grande Trail through downtown Aspen. I had just passed the Aspen Art Museum on my way to the John Denver River Sanctuary, passing a stainless steel 30 foot artist’s rendering of the “Last Tree.” The Rio Grande Trail is a beautiful scenic trail that skirts along the river and opens upon a small meadow by the river. There are large boulders with John Denver song lyrics carved into them. It was there among the yellowing aspens that I sensed it, that very faint trace of the dampness of winter in the air. My good childhood friend came to me. I looked up and saw him hiding in the scrub oak turning red along the base of Red Mountain and the multi million dollar mansions that exist there. The Aspens’ turning gold along Smuggler Mountain, one of the last working silver mines, that made Aspen the Silver City.  How I used to wait on its arrival with great anticipation in Albany, New York. The fall season is different in the East because of all the hardwoods to be found.  In the Adirondacks, the Berkshires, the Green Mountains, and White Mountains, you will find an array of reds, yellows and golds. It signaled to me the coming of winter and my sport of choice, skiing. I imagined all of the hats that I have worn over the years to pursue my great love of the sport. How it has been my refuge through my trials and tribulations and how whenever life of the world got to me, I would simply choose another mountain to learn and ski.

It had begun simply for me in the early days. My grandfather filled my head with dreams of the Adirondacks and the beauty of them. I quickly made friends with the other skiers in my class. One of those was my good friend, Frank Thompson who has become “ The Captain” in my stories. I, a shy retiring bookworm, who found great solace in learned knowledge versus outdoor activity, was immediately attracted to him. He was already a ski technician and worked with skis and understood ski hardware. He turned me on to my first pair of jet foamed form fitting ski boots, called Strohlz, and my Rossignol Strato 105’s, they were 215 cm’s long. “My steel beams to hell,” I called them. My boots were purchased for me by my high school girlfriend Sandy. Frank’s room was a classic of ski posters and equipment leaned up in every available corner. One particular poster of a buxom woman in a tight fitting yellow Bogner ski outfit, unzipped to her navel exposing her abundantly large breasts, she was exploding through this incredibly awesome mogul field, and the caption read, “Keep those tips up.” It was a K2 ski poster. I thought he was the coolest kid in school. He was a real rebel where I was the nerd.  Other  posters, like the infamous Solomon Ski Binding Poster that said, “Solomon, Deliver Us From Premature Release.” These have all become great collector items. Frank became my ski mentor, and mountain teacher. Every available evening, weekend or cut day from school was spent chasing snow flakes and sunsets, until at a very young age, I took a year off from college, to pursue my dream of being a true ski bum, (I wish to write, Every Ski Bum’s Bible, a commentary of all the things you need to give up in life to pursue that dream.)
The culmination of that dream was skiing at Arapahoe Basin, which at the time was the highest lift operated mountain in North America. I had arrived. The steep, the deep, anti everything that corporate society stood for. No material hang ups or needs with a true disdain for the Corporate Whores who would sell their soul for the almighty dollars. I considered myself the self appointed King of the Mountains. I knew every inch and every skiable trail in America. Many places in America that I had skied were not accessible by lifts and had to be climbed. I was young, “no problem.” I conquered and truly loved every one of them.
Every year my friend that first trace of the wet dampness of winter would arrive and I would gear up for winter. In the early years we would leave Albany on Sunday to ski the mountains of Vermont, a state that I came to love dearly.
     Francis’s mom, Bea Thompson, was a devout Christian and practicing Catholic. Her greatest concern was for our almighty souls and redemption from sins, she was sure that we were committing. Her concern included where we would attend church on Sunday if we were skiing. We were quick to allay her fears by informing Bea, that we attended Mass on the Chapel on the Mountains, every Sunday. We  justified our lie by rationalizing that God invented Mountains and they were places of awe and inspiration since the days of Moses and we were somewhat of Biblical Characters ourselves with long hair and beards. Modern day Prophets if you will, we attended the almighty church of the high mountains. Our justification was dashed one particular Sunday Morning when Frank and I dressed in our White Stag ski sweaters tight fitting ski pants with our brightly colored ski jackets were confronted by Bea Thompson in her large blue terry cloth robe on her snow covered concrete steps in suburban Colonie, New York as were fastening our skis and poles to the roof rack of Frank’s Tan Dodge Dart. (Algernon, named after the Book Flowers for Algernon, yes it had push buttons on the dash to shift instead of a typical stick or automatic shift lever.) We had to face down the wrath of Bea who had found out about our lie, that ski areas did not have chapels on them. Like Moses, delivering her edict to the infidels who were worshipping the false gods of gold they had wrought, she stood with her outstretched blue terry cloth arm raised in accusatory fashion delivering a divine message straight from the mouth of our Lord himself.  The cold chilly air crackles and rings in my ears to this day as she yelled, “God is the Boss, Francis!”

A Universal Soldier

There is a Universal Soldier                                                                                                            A Universal Soldier                                                                                                                        I Think I've seen                                                                                                                            He's painted                                                                                                                                  John Deere Green.

  Loose Items O.K.

 So Listen!

The National Centers for Disease Control

unveiled a $20 million “hot lab,”

a super-sealed facility

for the study of

The World’s deadliest viruses,

including pathogens “far”

more dangerous than


(In Protest of the use of explosives for terrorism)


Paris, France. Wednesday September 17, 1986 Tati Discount Department Store 3:28 pm

Blast. 53 wounded 5 dead mothers and children.


The report of a one hundred and five millimeter recoilless rifle

echoes through Big Cottonwood Canyon of

The Wasatch National Forest of Utah

gently awakening avalanches

rumbling through snowfields

above the timberline

of a sleeping Brighton and Solitude mountain sides

snow shifting, sliding, slicing, slamming, snapping

down among hundreds of year old pines.

I'll Stand By You, The Pretenders

Trading Trinkets, Tall Tales, Telling Lies


Downtown any town’s Main street

this town, down

passed a shellacked shiny brass handled

carved crescent moon wooden door of

“The Ancient Mariner”

across the street from an old fashioned Bijou

sequenced white bulb Marquee

Flashing, “Fiddler on the Roof.”


Butted by a brown concrete, steel, Lake Placid Hilton

descending down two flights

of green canopied wooden stairs.


“The Artist’s CafĂ©”

lapped white waves of Mirror Lake

reflecting the lights of “The Cottage”

and the excitement of the 1980 Winter Olympics

across from the Lake Placid Club

it’s walls filled with the owner’s original art

bustling buxom waitresses.


Comrade Ivan leaping to his feet touching my pins from Solitude and Brighton

would I care to trade for his shiny Soviet bears

slapping him on the back saying,

“certainly mine were worth a bit more, perhaps

one possibly two martini’s.”


Telling tales till they became martooni’s


The bustling waitress asking,

“Was I, could I be, an Olympic Athlete?”

Me smiling devilishly saying,

“Why, yes,

would she,

care to come to my room.

to view my gold medals from Europe.

For George Anson

Thank you for the High School Fraternity Ski Trips and showing me the Ski Area's of New England. 

“No Hang Gliding”


...Goats Path....

dropping off

a narrow winding cat walk

from Mt. Mansfield,

Stowe, Vermont.


A square wooden sign says,

“No hang gliding."


Before entering a field of Moguls,

as big as Volkswagens,

parked sideways.

Against the Wall

(At Killington, Vermont)


The prevailing winds


they dance

across the rolling meadows,

at Killington in Vermont.

Blowing snowflakes

that stick to my eyelids

and freeze my toes.

Low Spark of High Heeled Boys, Traffic