Thursday, December 24, 2015

Be Peace. Love One Another.

Be Peace. Love One Another. 

From me to you from Buffalo, New York, USA. 

Video Link HERE 

Wednesday, December 23, 2015

The Beauty Of The Darkness Of Light

Published on Rebelle Society 
Published on Mogul

I lay my hands folded across my breast and close my lids to humanity, yet it claws at my calves as waves rushing to slate rock.

Pulled to duty, I hesitate. I shed skin per second, and parts of me embed within the dirt and sedimentary layers of this Earth. It is tiring. I am able to look into one’s eyes and see fathoms they do not. I bow my head in grace, not quite knowing how to proceed…

So, that was pretty much how I spent the last year.

Real light-minded things, like facing the horror and the beauty of the darkness of light while single-handedly cracking my sternum into pieces, and putting my splintered ribs back together like some Freudian jigsaw puzzle while enjoying afternoon tea with Kierkegaard and Jung.

I am, obviously, me, just a bit… lighter.

Kafka stated:
“I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for?… we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.”

 - The axe for the frozen sea within us -

Well, I took that axe just like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, possessed and crazed, but much more calm than he was, and definitely not dangerous, and hammered that baby right through my skullbone.

My blow to the head was facing myself in order to align with right now, not yesterday or tomorrow, right now. My disasters were not awful, they were lessons that involved letting people, situations, attitudes and behaviors go that no longer serve my placement.

To be perfectly honest, ‘banished to the forest far from everyone’ is not as bad as good ol’ Franz makes it sound up there.

The universe exists, there are stars, planets, and worlds we have yet to discover, endless void, and we only know of one galaxy.

We survive on one planet out of many, that happens to possess perfect conditions for our functioning human bodies which require no electricity, batteries, or gas in order to run.
Existence is a sort of dream, another state of being, a perceptive state and we all perceive life differently.

My lamplight is dim. The desert winds are cool. My forehead grows hot, then cold. I am not feverish. It is Earth calling my name, my real name, the one given to me in incarnations long past. I wrap myself in lambswool, protected. I seek solace from the harsh winds…

We are here to learn and experience everything, and a massive energetic force composed of elements we have yet to understand is our lighthouse.

This energy is everywhere: sun, moon, seasons, grass, trees, sea, sky, breath, movement, the beating heart, the speaking voice, the kind words of a good heart, a friend, a lover, a love.

We experience this — humanity — in order to grow, and when we pass, are accountable in a lovely fashion, not a condemning one. There are no magic rewards or gifts, yet further exploration.

We choose our existence, our life, our love, our struggle, our beauty and our pain. If we do not accomplish what we are set here to do, we repeat it now and/or later.

My lamplight may dim from time to time, yet is never out, and you must be wondering by now what the actual point of this article is.

I must admit, I truly have no idea, seriously, but you are still reading, and my duty as a writer is to come up with something intelligent-sounding.

So this is all I got (so far):
  • Trust the process; trust what is correct for you and only you.
  • Trust that your own actions, words, and existence carry the ability to hurt and heal.
  • Trust that you have the power to create sacred spaces for others to enter safely in order to experience and learn of love on giving and receiving ends.
  • Trust that being human (is the craziest thing to ever agree to) is about observation, perception, experience, and growth.
  • Trust that you are important, and were born for reasons yet to be discovered.
  • Trust that your placement on this globe transcends what the human mind is capable of fully comprehending.
  • Trust that you have work to do, and if you are not doing this work, then you had better get busy finding your work.
  • Trust that if your actions are consistently cruel and unkind, and you are fully conscious of this, then you have the chance to create change in your life before life chooses to create change for you.
  • Trust that something negative can be positive, provided you pay attention.
  • Trust that if you are being the best version possible of yourself right now, then that is enough.
  • Trust your happiness, your passions, and trust your absolute divine self in recognizing that right now is the answer.
All of this — being human — is a battle within self.

The purpose?

Enjoy this experience for what it is. Break open the human shell, and discover what is inside.

The rest is beyond me, for I am only human. When I pass from this plane, then and only then will I know, without need to study, debate or experiment, if I have truly succeeded.

Calm, my heart. Calm your fears and attributes. You are good and needed in this world, so calm, my heart. Calm the aching memories of past, calm the thought that pools like tears in ventricles and atria. Calm the future.

Calm, my heart, for the angels watch over you. Do not close your pathways, keep your senses acute and open. I understand it is difficult for you, my heart; take this world in all embraces, in all cultures, in all aspects. You, my heart, you are too giving, and that is a beautiful thing.

Yet calm yourself, my heart. You have nothing to fear.

If I extend my arm outwards a few feet beside me, what is there that I cannot see?

I have absolutely no idea, but I have so much fun trying to find the answers…

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
             ~ Edgar Allan Poe

Wednesday, December 16, 2015


Somehow, I am elsewhere -
my spirit is screeching -
every moment
of breath,

1977 JC Penney Catalog OR "How To Get Your @$$ Kicked" - Haha!

The world is a bit too serious so please, check this out, share it, re-post it and laugh! 

Life is meant to be enjoyed. This catalog is real & hysterical and the captions are priceless! 

Welcome to my childhood. 

Original post is HERE 

* * *

Last weekend I put an exhaust fan in the ceiling for my wife's grandfather. While my wife's brother and I were fitting the fan in between the joists, we found something under the insulation. 

What we found was this:

A JC Penney catalog from 1977. Holy hell, this was two solid inches of it, right there for the taking. 

I thumbed through it quickly and found my next dining room set, which is apparently made by adding upholstery to old barrels: 

Also, I am totally getting this for my bathroom:


There's plenty more home furnishings where those came from, however I'm not going to bore you with that. Instead, I'm going to bore you with something else. The clothes.


The clothes are fantastic.

Here's how to get your ass kicked in elementary school:

Just look at that belt. He probably needed help just to lift it into place. 

                                    How to get your ass kicked in high school:

This kid looks like he's pretending to be David Soul, who is pretending to be a cop, who is pretending to be a pimp that everyone knows is really an undercover cop. Who is pretending to be 15. 

Here's how to get your ass kicked on the golf course:


This "all purpose jumpsuit" is, according to the description, equally appropriate for playing golf or simply relaxing around the house. 

Personally, I can't see wearing this unless you happen to be relaxing around your cell in D-block.

Here's how to get your ass kicked pretty much anywhere: 

If you look at that picture quickly, it looks like "No-pants" has his hand in the other guy's pocket. In this case, he doesn't, although you can tell just by looking at them that it's happened - or if it hasn't happened it will. Oh yes. It will. As soon as he puts down his matching coffee cup. 

Here's how to get your ass kicked at the beach:

Is he reaching for a gun? Naw, probably just a bottle of suntan lotion in a holster. 

How to get your ass kicked in a meeting:

If you wear this suit and don't sell used cars for a living, I believe you can be fined and face serious repercussions, up to and including termination. Or imprisonment, in which case you'd be forced to wear that orange jumpsuit up there.

        How to get your ass kicked every day up to & including St. Patrick's Day:

Dear God in heaven, I don't believe that color exists in nature. There is NO excuse for wearing either of these ensembles unless you're working as a body guard for the Lucky Charms leprechaun.

                                  In this next one, Your Search For VALUE ends at Penney's.  

As does your search for chest hair: 

And this -- seriously.  No words.

Oh wait, it turns out that there are words after all. 

Those words are What. The.****.   

I'm guessing the snap front gives quick access to chest hair. The little tie must be the pull tab.

Also, judging by the sheer amount of matching his/hers outfits, I'm guessing that in 1977 it was considered pretty stylish for couples to dress alike. 

These couples look happy, don't they?

                I am especially fond of this one, which I have titled, "Cowboy Chachi Loves You Best."  

Nothing showcases everlasting love more than the commitment of matching bathing suits:

After the lovin', relax in one-piece matching terry cloth jumpsuits: 

I could go on, but I'm tired, and my eyes hurt from this trip back in time. I think it's the colors. 

That said, I will leave you with these tasteful little numbers:

                                                                           Man, that's sexy. 


Thursday, December 10, 2015

Amina Masood Janjua: Voice of Missing Persons

© Amina Masood Janjua

This video is the result of a live interview conducted with my dear sister, Mrs. Amina Masood Janjua, CEO of DHR (Defence of Human Rights and Public Service Trust) one of the few human rights activist organizations founded by the victims of the violation of human rights founded by Amina after the wrongful abduction of her husband Mr. Masood Janjua.

To aid Amina and other families in their quest to find family members wrongfully abducted, please go here -->

My love and peace to you Amina, keep fighting the good fight. I am so proud of your strength and courage and my hope is that this video, on Human Rights Day, and everyday, brings you peace, love and hope.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

Waking Up To Consciousness

Published in Rebelle Society

 © Susan Marie 

You know those moments when you thought, “Wow, I almost died!”

Right now, I can feel a scar on the side of my neck left by an innocent bee that stung me in September, and once again, I almost died.

Yet, I am alive.

I look at such times as windows. Portholes in life where one small instance, a millisecond, saved our lives.

Each instance causes me to question my path, purpose, every fiber of my being and those connected to me and this immense human family I belong to — all of us swirling around in a globe, wondering why we are here.

There are times that you simply must capture, just for a moment. The start of each day before it begins, when birds trill selflessly against a beyond cerulean sky.

Listen, do you hear that?  
Shh. Go ahead, open the window, walk outside. 
Take a look around you and do not forget to look UP. 

Harness that every day, right now, bring that into yourself, the woods and forests, the turns and paths, the leaves and trees and Earth. Take a walk, work in your garden, play with your children, create art, write, sing, dance, whatever it is that you do that brings you to life — that feeling — harness that.

Catch first morning rays breaking through limbs when the dew kisses the leaves, ever so loving.

Stand with your back against the spine of Mother Nature, tilt your head upwards, maniacal, and be happy planted pure, in her face, the dirt, her blood, the bones, her roots, your feet, and feel complete because my dear soul, you are home.

Walking out of nature, energy shoots right out of my back between my shoulder blades. A celestial shotgun to the sternum — shazam!

The entire front of me guarded, preparing me for stepping back into society. In those moments, I am weightless and able to fly, and I spread my wings — glorious and majestic — and thank Dear Earth for unblocking what keeps me chained to myself. I realize then the extent of the power of consciousness.

It is a blessing to walk into this. Everybody is in a rush, caught up in whatever. 

I am mesmerized by the sun, the way she dances and dapples, illuminating leaves with paprika and turmeric. The veil is with me always, where I am able to move my hand, lucid and glass-like, lifting silken skirts of varied states of existence.

I blankly stare at people walking and kids riding bikes, and somehow, I don’t belong; somehow, I’m somewhere else; somehow, my spirit is screaming to be let free; somehow, I’m here, yet somehow no one notices me.

Two worlds within one: illusion, reality.

Traffic traffic, traffic… there’s got to be more to life than waiting. How do we live like this? Look at this! Look at us all, turning and waiting and going, and everybody is suddenly addicted to being busy. What are you busy with?

What is your purpose?

Why are you here?

Where did you come from?”

I am a bastard child of the new world.

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Write for Rights: Write a Letter/Change a Life

Hashtag: #Write4Rights

Let's get ready to Write for Rights! 

December 10th, you can make a difference alongside other human rights supporters in homes, workplaces, schools, and public spaces around the world.

---> 10 Ways to Write for Rights

Meanwhile, here are a few tips and resources to help you get started!
Letter-writing cases: Take action on one or all of this year's important human rights cases. 
Letter-writing tips: Make your letters as effective as possible.

Get together with friends and family! Check out the Activism guide for fun and simple ways to gather with others.

Follow and share Write for Rights news on Facebook and Twitter

Encourage others to write!
Send an email to friends and family about why you're writing and invite them to sign up at
Let us know if you have questions or comments: or 1-800-AMNESTY (1-800-266-3789)

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

The lone late rose

The lone late rose cut -
from thorns and bramble,
uprooted from limbs as legs,
and burnt sienna skied roots.

The lone late rose,

a most holy November
one of Indian summers,
of love lost,
and blessed.

The lone late rose
upon Italian marble,
stoic and bold,
beauteous and courageous,

The lone late rose cut

as cheeks blushed,
as sweet cherry bitters,
slender and heavenly,
like Madonna and child,
like daVinci sketching
a divine revelation
on canvas.

The lone late rose was cut,
and the wind howled,
and the heavens cried,
and the lone late rose
not once complained,
yet wept, in silence.

The lone late rose
sent supplications
to the dirt and silt,
eve after eve,
grateful to be alive,
yet oh, ever so lonely.

And the lone late rose woke
to a most Vesuviant dawn,
one of mythology and magic,
one of precious hands
as angels wings,
embracing her existence,

And the late rose
was no longer lone,
and blooming beside her
was another lone late rose

And together
they adorn one another,
on Italian marble,
with cheeks blushed,
as sweet cherry bitters,
slender and elegant,
like Madonna and child,
like daVinci sketching,
a divine revelation. 

Phrase "The lone late rose cut" and photo © Edmund Cardoni
*This poem was inspired by photos posted by Mr. Cardoni when a single rose was cut in November during winter and after it was brought into the house, a pure white rose bloomed beside it.