Thursday, March 31, 2022

114-Uncle Albert's Mountain,( The Lure Of The Mountain King,)Tiger's Moose Jaw, Chapter III


Do not continue to live in the same old way. Make up your mind to do something to improve your life, and then do it. Change your consciousness; that is all that is necessary.

-------Paramahansa Yogananda,”Self –Realization Magazine








                                Tiger’s Moose Jaw Saloon





Tom walked slowly passed the classic buildings that lined the main street of his winter home. The Old town had long since disappeared after the Denver Water Board purchased the rights and flooded the town to form the Dillon Reservoir, to the opposition and dismay of it’s citizens. The new Town was fashioned after “Old Dillion” back in the gold rush days. Its heritage still remained.

     He cheerfully kicked at the snowflakes falling from the skies. They floated gracefully to the ground like large white silver dollars. The vibram soles of his hiking boots squeaked leaving large footprints in the eight inches that had already fallen. He had never known snow to fall this hard or fast. Turning he looked at the virgin tracks he had left down the walk. They reminded him of a painting his Grandfather had hung on the living room wall. It was simply titled ‘A walk in the park’. It triggered a fond memory of home.

Tom spun back around and continued his exploration of the old mining town. The sound of music grew louder as he noticed a large weathered wooden sign protruding over the sidewalk.

     “Tiger’s Moose Jaw Saloon," he spoke to no one in particular. “This has got to be the place.”

He approached the saloon door grabbed the brass handle fastened to the wide planks and yanked it open. Standing in the entrance for a few moments to allow the music to register. “You poison my clear water. You chop down my green trees. I live like an outlaw, in the land where I was born. I’m always on the run, Hey, Hey, What you gonna do about me?” Tom recognized the tune by Quick Silver Messenger Service. A rustic interior with a black upright in the corner opened up to a dark wooden bar with a wall of glass and bottles. A poker game was underway around a large table under a handmade wagon wheel chandelier. Tom expected to see a gun drawn over the inevitable fifth ace up the sleeve of one of the players.

     “Only in the movies,” he laughed as he made his way across the room.

     The regulars had been slowly showing up since around five when Sara punched in.  Tucking her western denim shirt into her tight hugging jeans she flipped her shoulder length hair free from the collar. Well aware of her status as the ‘Queen of the Silver Dollar’ she smiled coyly at the men lining the bar. She noticed some unfamiliar faces in the crowd and expected that. This was the time of the year for the world to converge on Summit County, Colorado, Keystone and Arapahoe Basin ski area respectively.

     She noticed one fresh handsome face in particular. Although a bit rugged and unrefined, his yellow down vest was thread bare and torn. She noticed his patched denim jeans clung nicely as he walked up to the bar.

     “What’ll it be?” Sara asked in her best western drawl.

     “J.D. and coke and hold the coke,” the young man smiled.

    “Whatever’s your pleasure, Old No. 7 it is, you here for the show?”

      “You might say that,” he laughed, “As long as everything goes as well as it has today.”

    “Well, welcome to town. I’m Sara, Sara Lacey”

She was attracted to his confident, strong appearance. Attitude was always the first thing that drew her to a man.

     “Tom Dillion,” he returned”

Her dark sensuous eyes accentuated a mysterious yet soft air. He could tell that she loved her job, the way that she smiled joking with all the customers.

     “A blister a day,” he overheard her say. She was laughing with who he guessed was the mailman sitting down at the end of the bar.

     “What can I get ya?” Sara asked another customer who had just walked in. He had the Olympic Logo pinned on his black ski sweater, and another on his matching cap. He stamped his freshly polished cowboy boots on the floor to shake off the snow. They had collected a considerable amount from the storm raging outside.

     “Grapefruit Juice if you have it,”

     “It’s your funeral,” Sara grabbed for a glass. “I’ll have to keep my eye on you, drinking this stuff.” She grinned at the young man as he removed his hat revealing long dusty blonde hair his six foot five frame towered over her and everyone else at the bar.

     “This one’s on me,” Tom broke in.

     “Thanks. Toby White,” the young man reached out his hand.

     “Nice to meet ya, Tom Dillon. You here for the show?”

He gave Sara a wink as she twisted the ends of her long red hair. He felt the warmth of her smile and found himself smiling back.

     Toby looked at them both and laughed.

     “For a couple of months anyway. Coach says that I got the technique, but not the style. So he sent me to the Basin to loosen up. I’m shooting for the Olympics.”

     “Impressive,” Tom nodded and raised his glass. “I’ve never had the ambition, but it would be glorious.”

     “We’ll see if I get there,”

     “When you get there,” Sara replied

     “She’s right ya know, Ya can’t expect to go all the way without a winning attitude.”

     “I know, that’s another thing coach wants me to work on. Loosen your heart and strengthen your mind, he always says.”

     “He’s a wise man,” Tom sipped his drink.

     “I was never big on skiing. My late hours here don’t leave much time for daily activities. A few times a year at best,” Sara looked down the bar for anyone who might need a refill.

     “If you ever get the urge. We could take a few easy runs.”

Tyler couldn’t believe he was asking her on a date.

     “That sounds like fun,” Sara smiled. “Excuse me duty calls.”

     “So where are you staying?” Toby asked.

     “That’s my last obstacle. I’ve got a job at the Basin in exchange for a season’s pass and a little spending money. There is no place to stay.”

     “I guess we’re both in the same boat. Maybe Sara can steer us in the right direction.”

     “It’s worth a try,” Tom looked up and waved to Sara.

     Sara walked over wiping her hands on a bar rag that was hanging out of the back of her denim jeans.

     “I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “I figured you guys would need a place to stay. My friend owns a boarding house in town. Maybe she’s got a room. Don’t wander too far for now.”

     “Be right here,” Tom watched her move as she walked away. Her thin waist and rounded hips were looking finer all the time.

     “She sure is a sweetheart,” Toby poked Tom with his elbow. “You got yourself a fine filly there.”

     “Naw,” Tom shook his head. “She’s just being friendly. There’s nothing there.”

     “Want to bet pal,” Toby leaned closer. “My mother always said, it’s all in what they don’t say.”

     “Tom glanced up and caught Sara looking back at him. She quickly turned away.

     “Maybe you’re right.”

     “I know I’m right.”

     “I hope you’re right.”

     “I’m sure, I’m right. By the end of the winter you two will be an item.”

     “I certainly hope your right,” Tom added. “She’s the prettiest mountain girl I’ve ever seen.”

     “Listen, I have sisters. I know I’m right.”

     “We’ll just have to wait and see,” Tom replied.

     “O.K. have it your way, she’s not interested,” Toby laughed.

They both burst out laughing.

     “Tom, Toby, meet Jilly.”

They turned around and came face to face with every young man’s dream. Jilly was dusty blonde like Toby athletic build and a knock down smile. Tom thought she had a little too much make-up. Toby on the other hand was entranced by it.

     “Nice to meet you,” Toby jumped up offering his chair. He stumbled in the process. A bit gawky on flat land, he skied like a demon.

“I’m Tom, He’s Toby,” Tom motioned.

“Hi,” she was looking at Sara. “I’ll have a martini, very, very dry,” she didn’t notice the two boys. They eyed each other behind her back.

     “Thanks Sara,” Jilly replied reaching for her wallet.

     “I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” Toby slapped a twenty on the bar.

     “Thanks,” she reached over and sipped her drink and set the glass on the bar.

     “A little less Vermouth next time Sara.” She ignored Toby’s gesture and didn’t acknowledge his attempt to be friendly.

     “Sara tells me you boys need a place to stay,” she said curtly.

     “Desperately,” Toby answered, mesmerized by her charm.

     “Do you think I can trust these boys Sara?”

     “They look pretty shady to me,” Sara smiled at Tom.

     “I’ve got a room with two single beds and two dressers. You can stay this evening and if you’re still interested we’ll talk in the morning.” The business woman was showing through.

     “Sounds great to me,” Toby said.

     “Fine,” Tom added.

     “Well I have to be going,” Jilly downed her drink and hopped off the stool.

     “So soon? Where ya headin?” Toby questioned curiously.

     “Got a date,” she answered with a sly wink to Sara.

Toby fell silent his face went blank and void of expression. He recovered, smiled sheepishly, held his hand to his heart and acted wounded.

Sara knew better than to ask who the date was with, she already suspected. She wouldn’t have given his name or where they were gong to meet. Friends should be interested but not prying. She would let it be, for now. She wondered if Jilly had any other friends in town. If she did, she never came around with any of them. Maybe the Moose Jaw wasn’t classy enough for her kind.

     “Stop it Sara Lacey,” she chastised herself.

     “See you later Jilly.”

     “Bye Sara,” she tossed a dollar on the bar. “Up the stairs, second door on the left. Sara will tell you how to get there. We’ll talk business in the morning.”

     “Thanks,” the boys said in unison. She turned and walked out the door before they could finish their sentence.

     “Just my luck,” Toby sucked on a cube from his empty glass..

Sara grabbed the glass filled it to the top and shook her head at the boys,

     “Don’t waste your time. There’s something distant about that girl. She’s got it all but still seems to want more.”

     “She’s probably lonely,” Tom said. “Beauty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Sara shrugged her shoulders and was off to wait on another customer.

     “Well Toby,” Tom extended his hand. “Not bad for the first day.”

     “Not bad at all, Tom.”

It was to be the start of a long close, adventurous if not contentious friendship. Those were the best, the ones that could weather the storm. The storm was on their horizon.

Sunday, March 27, 2022

113-Accepting the Reality of Miracles and How to Attract Them

'"What is a miracle? Tis a reproach,/ 'Tis an implicit satire on mankind."
------Edward Young, "Night Thoughts" "Who ever realizes himself as a son of God, even as Babaji has done, can reach any goal by the infinite powers hidden within him."
                            Babaji the timeless avatar,  
Materializing a Palace in the Himalaya's for Lahiri Mahasaya his disciple.

Miracles abound in our lives you have to be open to receive them. Water does not flow from a closed faucet or a dammed stream. Why would you think that a miracle could be manifested in your life or ether if you are not a believer although the Bible (And All Holy Books) are full of such stories. You must open your heart and mind to the possibilities that exist in the Universe that you know nothing about. Are you so sure that you know all that there is to be known? I think not. If you become a beacon of positive light and energy through Meditation and Practice the Scientific Methods of Kriya Yoga you can be assured of the Law of Your  Success. Look around at the World and the Searching and Lost Souls, you need no longer be among them. Find your Hearts Desire and you will find the True Meaning of Your Life and Why You Grace the World We Live In Today!

Friday, March 25, 2022

112-How The Law of Miracles is Operable by Any Man!

 The Law of miracles is operable by any man who has realized that the essence of creation is light. A master is able to employ his divine knowledge of light phenomena to project instantly into perceptible manifestation the ubiquitous light atoms. The actual form of the projection (whatever it be: a tree, a medicine, a human body) is determined by his power of will and of visualization.   Paramahansa Yogananda; The Autobiography of a Yogi

Unfortunately when it comes to visualization the bumper sticker from years ago comes to mind. Visualize Whirled Peas! or Visualize Using Your Turn Signal! While both are cute it is symbolic of the society that would scoff at or dismiss Creative Visualization. However any great Athlete, including Mountain Climbers have first visualized the completion or accomplishment of the goal or dream. Do not be deterred by your discouragement fraternity. You know those who say you will never win, your goals are too lofty, it can't be done, it has never been done before. All the better than to be the first to achieve the goal. Attach your self to divine will and access divine knowledge open yourself up to the light and love of your Higher Power. It is beyond any power you could perceive. Do not fear not being a Master, all masters once started as a Chela' (student.) Read great works by great masters. Even the greatest men of all respect those who have gone before them. In an interview of Reinhold Messner, Life of Reinhold Messner, World's Greatest Mountaineer , he talks of reading Ernest Shackleton,Ernest Shackleton, A Life from Beginning to End before conquering Everest without oxygen. Everyone has a mentor, hero, is it so far fetched to align your mind and dreams with the Divine? Miracles appear in the strangest of places, now that you know that you can open your being to the light and through the power of will, visualization and prayer form a projection of the miracle you desire why would you not. So if in the crazy scenes of the Russian Invasion of Ukraine and the death of innocent Women and Children, we would implore you to Visualize Whirled Peas with all your Heart and Soul! Then, after we accomplish that visualize a Miracle in Your Own Life!

The Weight, Playing for Change/Song Around The World, Featuring Ringo Star, Robbie Robertson

Thursday, March 24, 2022

111-Uncle Albert's Mountain,(The Lure Of The Mountain KIng,) Chapter II (November)



                                                                Chapter II  

                                             Joe’s Office and The General



Joe loosely shuffled some paper work together. It was a ragged pile on the corner of his oak desk. He stood up, stretched and walked over to lie down on a tattered old brown couch. Like Joe, it had seen better days.

"We've both seen better day's," he thought.

He turned the radio on low, a habit that allowed him to concentrate on an issue. His mind was well organized, although the condition of his office today might belie that fact. Several torn magazines were thrown on a scratched coffee table. A pile of out of date newspapers stood stacked in a ragged pile in the corner. A half empty mug of coffee from the day before was the crowning glory of the mess. A mess that one might think reflected his character. It was not the case. Joe never stopped to take the time with things he considered meaningless.

     “What the hell can I do,” he sighed. It had been five years. Five of the hardest damned years of his life, five long bitter years and they were still at his throat. Bit by bit they had chipped away at everything that stood in front of them. Rolling over everyone like a thunderous machine. Compassion and justice were unheard of phrases to them, unless it fit into their warped perception of business.

Joe had lost his clout entirely in town. They had convinced ,or replaced, the local council that their way was the only way to a prosperous Summit County. He indeed was a Sampson against a mighty Goliath, only this Goliath, was a Untied States Senator. He was alone in the fight that should have had the whole country on his side. No one cared anymore, if it wasn’t their back yard or wasn’t a loss to their profits then it wasn’t worth the effort.

     “To hell with them all. I’m not going to lie down and let a faceless group of filthy rich corporate whores walk over me! Not as long as I have a few aces up my sleeve. No better time than the present to play my hand.”

He jumped up and walked briskly to the phone. Thumbing through his files, he pulled out a single yellow card. ‘General Matthew Dowe’ was printed in large black letters. The office number, extension and home phone number appeared underneath.

Two years ago the army needed a place to hold winter maneuvers, Joe had offered Arapahoe Basin to the ski troops. The Basin had been founded by the men of the 10th Mountain Division after they returned from the fighting in the Italian Alps in the Second World War. General Dowe had promised to return the favor, if the need ever arose.

     “Anything ya ever need Joe,” he had laid his hand on his shoulder. “You hear me Joe! Anything at all!” he boomed. The heavy smoke of his cigar had risen and choked Joe.

Joe was desperate, although he hated asking for favors. He wasn’t sure what, if anything the General could do. A General in the Armed Forces should be able to come up with something threatening, he thought. Joe laughed out loudly as he picked up the phone. He was mentally picturing the entire Tenth Mountain Armor Division taking their corporate offices by storm. Arresting the Board of Directors for being Heartless Sons of Bitches, and the secretaries for putting you endlessly on hold.

     “That’ll teach the bastards,” he thought. We’ll force them to have dignity and honor for the rest of their lives,” he said dialing the number.

     “I wonder if he’ll go for it?”  

                                                        * * *

My Greatest Audience,  who loves a good story. We share a mutual desire to be adored. I as an older man, she (Pete) as a  toy champagne poodle. (She never really liked Mr. Strump and hopes he never comes back.)

                     Once Upon A Time------   I dwelled upon a Mountain in a Land of a Thousand Suns. They were Great  Rising Suns and I had a beautiful wife. She was the most beautiful woman in the land of light. Her name was Mom and we would rescue abused horses and heal them and set them free. We taught other people from all over the land to Rescue Horses.They were giants and we would sit in the evenings an watch the the suns set, but it was never dark for long because a new sun was always rising. We would listen to the thundering hooves as they ran wild up the mountain. The setting suns lights were so bright that when the horses galloped they would glow fiery orange. It was a land of peace and harmony and there were no evil warlords because all the good nations put a stop to the last bad warlords childish tantrum because like Humpty Dumpty he couldn’t put his nation back together again after its fall. And that's a good story right!  

   Song from that Time                             

 Broken Wings, Mr. Mister

Sid and Sam

Wednesday, March 23, 2022

Uncle Albert's Mountain,(The Lure Of The Mountain King,) Chapter I-Begin at the Beginning

                   The Lure of the Mountain King

                                  Albert Bianchine



     The red Mercedes slid to a halt on the loose gravel of the roadside. The young hitchhiker stepped to the door, loosened his backpack and removed it. He slid into the passenger seat.

     “Thanks,” the young man said.

     “No problem,” the driver replied, as the Mercedes moved forward.

     The young man eyed the older warily. His tanned skin was weather checked, like that of a sailor who has seen the salt of the seas.

     “Where ya headin?” asked the old man.

     “Arapahoe Basin, my name is Tom, Tom Dillon, ” he smiled a warm ivory smile. He liked the weathered sailor.

     “ Hi Tom, I’m Joe, Are you a native or just passing through?”

     “Just passing through, I was on my way to Big Sky, Montana, but met three young ladies I’m living with from my home, I’m from New York originally, upstate New York. You tell people out West you’re from New York and right away they think of the city. I’m from Albany actually.”

     “Oh yeah!” he brightened, “I was in Troy once.”

     “Troy,” the young man chuckled. “If the world ever needed an enema, Troy would be it.”

     The old man exploded laughing accentuating the deep wrinkles around his eyes.

     “Let’s just hope they don’t stick it in Colorado.”

     The young man grinned. He took off his brown Stetson, looked at the rattle snake skin rimming it, and ran his fingers through his long black hair.

     “So you want to ski the Basin, eh?” the driver asked.

     “Yeah, every day if I can, the hell with Daniel Webster, I’d sell my soul to the devil himself for another powder run.”

      “I know what you mean,” the old man said. “Did you ski much back East?”

     “I skied the Adirondacks and Green Mountains. I even climbed Tuckerman’s Ravine on the backside of Mount Washington, it just wasn’t enough,” he confessed.

     “I’ve heard the headwall at Tuckerman’s pretty steep.”

     “Yeah it’s righteous, but it’s nothing like Mount Baldy at Alta. The Baldy chutes are intense, real gut suckers. Once you’re up there, there’s only one way down.”

     “So you’ve skied Utah!” he looked at the younger man with a new respect. “How about Snowbird, Alta, Brighton, and Solitude?”

       “All of Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons. I’ve climbed all day to ski powder where there are no names for the trails. They’re just called things like the big rock trail. Places where if you miss a turn you will die!”

     “Let me tell you something son,” he looked directly at the young man. “I’ve skied all over the world, and I’ve never found better powder than a good March in Utah.”

     “I know steep and deep.”

     They both laughed.      

     “Blackcomb and Whistler in British Columbia have some of the finest leg burning verticals I’ve ever skied. Blackcomb is a mile of vertical, and Whistler has some incredible glacier skiing. It’s just that the Pacific Northwest snow is usually wet and heavy. I fell a thousand feet in Saudan’s Couloir and dislocated my shoulder severely. The only thing that saved me is I had my skis cranked and was able to spin and carefully grab and edge. I thought I was dead,” the young man wiped his brow grinning.

     “Isn’t that named after Sylvain Saudan, the father of extreme skiing,” said the sailor, his eyes shining brightly.

     “Yeah, I spent a few years following in his footsteps.”

     “Couldn’t think of a better role model, he created a whole ski industry outside, out of bounds.”

     “There are only 2% of skiers that venture that far out. I get real quiet in those places,” the young man said reverently.

     “I know it certainly is God’s Kingdom in the wild.”

     “I think the Grand Tetons of Wyoming are just about the greatest mountain ranges I’ve ever seen. I love Jackson Hole. It’s one big- rock,” the younger man said.

     “Jackson! Jackson is special! Corbet's Couloir is pretty gnarly!”

     How much like himself he thought this young man was. He had loved every mountain also, that is until he skied A-Basin, the Legend. He was about the same age. What was the lure? What drew men to mountains? Because they were there, that just wasn’t good enough. He was indeed the King of the Mountains. He looked over at the young man. The young man staring out the window, the awe radiating from his face. What would drive his dreams for the rest of his life? His grip on the wheel tightened baring the big white knuckles of his calloused hands. These had been his golden years. This was his last golden year. He had been a young man with a dream, the grandfather of all dreams. When you are the King there is always someone after your crown. He had always known they would come, the multinational corporations. Christ, he had hoped they wouldn’t. Looking at the young man again, he knew he would spend the rest of his life coming back. Once you have been on top, you simply know of no other place to be. There is a fine line of tempting fate in the mountains. It will always be there. Some men live and thrive on that challenge. Some men never know it. If you accept it and step over it, you have got to conquer it, or it will forever conquer you.

   “Ever skied New Zealand or Australia?” 

     “What are they like? I didn’t even know they had mountains down under.”

     “It’s a lot like the Alps, Mt Aspiring in New Zealand is often referred to as the Matterhorn of the South. They’re jagged and mean like the Rockies, the Alps of the South. I’m thinking of retiring on a ranch there someday soon. Their winter is our summer, I know some ski patrol man that live in perpetual winter.” He guided the Mercedes into the parking lot of A-Basin. The car stopped in front of the large A-frame lodge. The two men got out.

     “Thanks for the lift,” the young man reached out with his hand.

     “My pleasure,” said the older man. He shook his hand, smiled and walked away.

     “The highest lift operated mountain in North America,” the young man said.

Steep runs and open snow filled bowls were common in the Rocky Mountains. They could be found anywhere. It was Arapahoe Basin’s claim to fame, being the highest, that separated her from the rest. The Continental Divide was a few hundred feet up the road.

     He was at the Top of the World. The silver grey peaks spiraled up all around him. The soaring rock spires rose up to touch the sky and there formed a giant dazzling bowl, filled with precious white powder gold. He thought that high atop its thirteen thousand foot summit he would be able to reach up and like chalk, with his fingernails, scrape the blue from the sky. He was and enigma to a modern day society. He knew every inch of every trail and every mountain peak in America. This was the crown jewel. He would ski here every day this winter.

     Wheeling about, he faced the lodge. Its blue tin roof dotted by a double row of skylights. A white pole topped with a large brass eagle flew the red white and blue colors of the American Flag. It was flapping lazily in the pristine morning breeze. Starting across the lot briskly, he reached the third step when he stopped abruptly. His big hand was shaking unsteadily, he grasped the rail, he had not yet acclimated to the thinness of the air. He breathed deeply. There it was his friend. The first faint trace of the dampness of winter in the air, he had maniacally waited for that smell. Methodically, he had brought out his equipment and readied himself to leave, to who knows where.

     “Ker, ker, ker,”

     The flutter of wings startled him. Two rock ptarmigans were hovering above the lodge. The male already winter white. The female partially turned speckled autumn blending brown. Something deep inside him told him that this was his last winter on the circuit. The season hadn’t even begun and already there was talk of Targhee next year. Grand Targhee, Wyoming, first and last with the snow. Breathing a deep breath, he ascended the remaining stairs.

     A picnic table with six men sitting at it was on the deck. They were playing a game with three little pink pigs. One of the men rattled the pigs in a small brown cup and threw them onto the table. One pig was mounted on the other.

     “Makin bacon mate, I win,” a man said with an Australian accent.

     “Hello,” he said to the nearest man.

     “What can we do for ya?”

     “Where do I go to fill out an application for a winter job?”

     “See that building with the lift ticket sign,” he pointed across an open courtyard with empty ski racks. “Go in there and talk to Joe, I just saw him pull in before.”

The young man stood bolt upright.

     “Do you mean the man who just drove up in the red Mercedes?”

     “That would be the one.”



     “Looking for me,” Joe said, standing with his hands resting on his hips.

     “As a matter of fact, I am”

     “What can we do for you?”

     “I’d like to fill out a work app, I’m pretty handy with mechanical things.”

     “ I’m afraid there’s no more jobs available. We filled them all. But, if you repair some of the things in the restaurant and the lodge rooms, I’ll give you a season’s pass.”

     “Repairs for a pass, you got it. When do I start?”

     “Be here first thing Monday Morning,” Joe said as he turned and walked away.

     “The young man walked across the parking lot and up into an adjacent meadow.  He had a season’s pass to the highest lift serviced mountain in North America. He was not impressed by fame, or by claims to fame. Having searched out and conquered each and every claim, only to become disillusioned and bored by them. He was America’s greatest ski bum, or so he thought. He smiled to himself smugly. It was the self -assured cocky smile inherent in a young man accustomed to challenging and conquering nature in the mountains. If he had only known this snow capped earthen rock mound, where a century earlier the melting spring snows would come cascading, crashing off a slope now called the Professor, and her seven cornices, like her seven saintly sisters, unimpeded by the tarmac of Route Six. A place where the Uncompaghre Utes, dwellers of the turquoise skies, lived in harmony with the elements, in a land they called (Nah-Oon-Kara) the Valley of the Blue. If he had any inkling, this earthen rock mound, would alter the very core of his existence forever. He wouldn’t have smiled so smugly.  


Nether Lands, Dan Fogelberg


Tuesday, March 22, 2022

110-What is Social Climbing? In The Time of The New Renaisance


God and bad habits both take time to acquire force. Powerful bad habits can be  displaced by opposite good habits if the latter are patiently cultivated. 

Paramahansa Yogananda "Scientific Healing Affirmations"

Character Musings

Tom shuffled slowly past the rows of western buildings, his hands stuffed into his denim pockets. This was the worst day of his life. He had never wanted it to end like this. It had been the greatest winter of his life. A winter that he would cherish and carry deeply in his heart for the rest of his waking life. He kicked maliciously at the chunks of snow lining the walk to the Moose Jaw. He thought about his friend and his favorite saying, "be careful what you wish for Tom my boy."

He had been a part of something. What that something was, he didn't know. Maybe he would never know. He just felt it in his heart and he knew it was there. There are somethings a man learns that he may not like, somethings he may like to change, but doesn't know how. Somethings will never change, that's just the way it is. 

"Can I ever change?"he thought. He yanked at the big wooden door and it swung open. 

Sara glanced up and quickly turned away. She walked to the farthest end of the bar. This was not going to be easy. Sara smiled afraid that if she didn't she would cry. Tom was a lone wolf. He would never change, and would know a lot of pain and heartache and grow tired of the loneliness and uncertainty. She knew he had so much to give, but didn't know how to give it. There would always be the next higher mountain. He used to lie awake late at night and say, "I wonder what the Himalaya's are like? The Basin is only 13,009 hundred feet. What must 30,000 feet or 8,000 meters be like?" Poor Tom he would never learn that he was born two hundred years too late. Once he learned to conquer himself he would conquer  anything, or spend the rest of his life trying. He might settle down for awhile, but to him, sitting in the whiteness above it all was what he came here for. It was his idea of social climbing.

Baba Hanuman, Krishna Das, Breath of the Heart


Sunday, March 20, 2022

108-Accomplishing Your Worthy Objectives


Your Part is to awaken your desire to accomplish your worthy objectives. Then whip up your will into action until it follows the way of wisdom that is shown to you.

Paramahansa Yogananda SRF Lessons

          Colder Than A Well Digger’s Ass

     Hitchhiking into East Vail I was picked up by and old man. He was traveling to Colorado University to visit his wife, who was a teacher at the Colorado Mountain College and had returned to school for her Master’s at the young age of sixty.

     Her son being a student, told his mother,  “I’m leaving campus, I won’t be at the same campus with my mother.”

     The father said, “Several years ago, I was traveling a lot without my wife.”

     She said to me, “Honey we’re older now, we don’t have that many years left, let’s try to stay together as much as possible.”

     The father agreed saying, “I love my wife so I decided to “respect” her wishes.”

     Then she ups and tells me she’s going back to college.

     I told her, “You better call before you come home. There may be someone else in your bed.”

     He says to me, “ my reception since then has been colder than a well digger’s ass. Did you ever say something, that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever said?”

     I smiled knowingly

     “Well,” he says, “I’m going down to Denver, and I’m going on to campus, and walk right up to her and hug her, and tell her I love her.”

     I felt happy and sad. I was happy he loved her so much to do this and she loved him. I was sad, thinking, I know this author on a campus in New York- I left standing- blue thermos top in her ink stained hand, of her autobiography and memoir writing workshop.

Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd

Wednesday, March 16, 2022

107-A Simple Man of Dreams; In the New Cultural Revolution

      In Light of the Russian Invasion of Ukraine and the Video of Children being buried in Mass Graves . 

        A Ticket to the Fair

(For the rededication of the Statue of Liberty 1986)

I dream that my manuscript of poetry

will be my ticket to fair

so that I could

look into the eyes of

all of the who’s who of the they’s

that will be there. 

So that I could yell,

“Set the Children Free”.

The name of Steamboat Springs is thought to have originated around the early 1800s when French trappers thought they heard the chugging sound of a steamboat’s steam engine. The sound turned out to be a natural mineral spring, to be named the Steamboat Spring.
In 1909, the railroad arrived, which sparked a boom for the commercial industry in Steamboat Springs. Ranching was the primary industry of the valley and the cattle ranchers turned the new railroad depot into one of the largest cattle shipping centers of the West. Consequently, the construction of the railroad silenced the Steamboat Spring’s chugging noise forever.


Written for the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics

Fresh Powder Down

A blinding blizzard beckons me into Steamboat Springs.

I arrive on the last greyhound from Vail.

My pockets full of snowflakes, a lonesome geyser’s whistle wails.

Always hiding, never tears to a cowboy’s eye.

Lord don’t let me be forsaken, the Baron’s have already taken

America by rail.



My darling I grow weary often lost without a home

but you know I’ll keep on searchin these mountain trails alone.

I wander through green valleys across the prairies, past the villages, farms and fields,

out beyond the concrete illusions where the Rocky Mountains pierce the aqua skies.

I find solace in the seclusion of another winter’s season, another place to ski,

as long as he will lay fresh powder down for me.

While you seek your fortune or search the world for fame,

be careful what you wish for, because when darkness falls upon you,

you’ll be wailing out his name.

Ski through barren aspens, see the forests through the pines,

sitting on my golden perch, am I crying out in vain?

Sometimes you awake to find, you get what you need,

other times you take what you can get,

it is from the children that, they take everything.

My gift is in my words, and for the children I’ll let them ring.

Go and tell everyone, silence is a snowflake falling,

until they hear me calling, to all the children I will sing.

Never take the last of anything.



These day’s I’m a city, pretty girl painted, street wizard in his poems.

My freedom most men will never know, never have been wary of wooden box labels,

fabled to contain rainbows.

Someday when their hair turns grey, their youth will have faded away,

with the colors that lost their shine.

The all American Gazebo Band plays behind, the new red white and corporate blue,

flag that flies against the changing hues.

Another rock opera story, of old glory and an American town without it’s name.

Somewhere in time, the poet’s rhyme, makes a cosmic connection,

Then the Seer Sayers arrive in stages, and history endures the ages.

A simple man with dreams beyond the Appletree Lane.

He sees a sunrise within her eyes.

And the hobo dude plays Howard Hughes, attempting to fill Dylan’s shoes,

to find out why they came.

But in disgrace, he falls from grace, to find success is not what they claim.

Listen Children to a thorn bird shrilly singing,

this truth you’ve heard, from a poet and his strings.

Of Mountains and Men (2010 For Vancouver,  British Columbia, Canada: Winter Olympics)

Albert Bianchine

The Hanuman Chalisa Tutorial, Music By Krishna Das

English Translation And Story Animation