Author: tomgrasso (Page 13 of 38)

I Love You – A lyric.

January 26, 2012 / tomgrasso

I haven’t written a lyric in some time, but tonight this just would not leave my head. It was begging to get out, so here it is.

Peace.

We traveled along this far and wide,

And now we walk this great divide,

Still, I lay alone here in the dark,

And say I love you.

And though we think the end is near,

I shout these words you will not hear,

I can’t stop trying to say,

I love you.

Through those dusty roads within,

I can’t find a place I’d rather been,

Than to have walked those roads beside you.

When you see a shooting star so bright,

Fade in distance to the night,

I hope the miracle reminds you.

Time stands still…

An evening chill…

I can only say I love you.

A friend you need – don’t despair,

A friend in me is always there,

It’s just another way to say
I love you.

And though a part of me has died,

It’s a part I’ve long denied

That’s sprung to life to say

I love you.

This day’s end is no surprise,

Yet before I close my eyes,

I whisper softly in the night,

To say I love you.

Through those dusty roads within,

I can’t find a place I’d rather been,

Than to have walked those roads beside you.

When you see a shooting star so bright,

Fade in distance to the night,

I hope the miracle reminds you.

Today I feel as if I want to start my journey anew. I want to shed the burden of the past, end the silly roles and games that have been played far too long. I want to explore this life, feel its beauty and know its Love. I want to embrace it all.

Through the suffering of great pain I am finding my Self. Through the stripping away of the “me” I thought was there I am finding the me that was always there. Through the haze of a life lived in fear I have found the beauty of Love. I have discovered and rediscovered friendships that have shown me the power of acceptance and Love. I may feel rejected by some, but the embraces I have experienced in their stead have shown me a new kind of Light and for that I am grateful.

I will Love, and be that highest vision I have always sought. I will be who I am, and in that perfection know the touch of love as if for the very first time. I make no excuses, I seek nothing but that which I am, and trust that will be good enough for those who will do the same.

One day I may see you across a stream, and we both can smile in the knowledge that even though we are on different paths, each one is the perfect one for us. If our paths do cross again someday, we can know that such a crossing is, too, perfect.

The Fault of Mortal Man

January 23, 2012 / tomgrasso

To base your dreams on a lie,

To place your faith in a pile of weathered sand,

Only to watch it wash away

As if you meant nothing to the tide.

To think that you meant something,

Anything to the one you looked to,

Only to find it was never true,

Is to know that you have nothing to trust in again.

What if the Sun said to the Earth,

“I never loved you?”

What if the Moon refused to draw the oceans

Or the stars refused to twinkle in the sky?

What if the trees refused to bear fruit

Or the skies refused to rain?

Shaken to its core the Life we know would cease,

And never be the same.

Such is the fault of mortal man,

He creates faith in phantoms of the mind,

And the lies of the heart told countless times in countless ways,

While the messenger plots its next and most painful ploy.

Such is the fault of mortal man,

He creates hope in the shadows of the tortured,

And longs for some semblance of Love where

There is only a barren landscape.

Such is the fault of mortal man,

To count on nothing while told to trust,

To give his all to a cause killed long ago,

Even if his all is never going to be good enough in the eyes of his Master.

Such is the fault of mortal man,

To pray to a god not listening,

And to suffer the indignities of a babe

Suckling at the breast of a golden idol.

Yes, I know how you feel.

Yes, you have taught your lesson well.

There was no truth in any of it,

That bastard child was never going to be good enough.

A false smile, a phony embrace,

Came down to one simple truth withheld for far too long,

“I never loved you my child,

And now you may go away as I pretend you were never born.”

Yes, such things as told to a Mother to her Child,

Such worthlessness has been the only truth spoken in his ear,

Repeated, repeated, repeated once more,

Until the darkness drapes upon his weary soul.

“Oh, but wait! I can’t pretend you were never born!”

Utters the Mother seeing remnants of a life once lived in such false beliefs,

“So off you go my Child,

You may find your way through the frigid wastelands without me.”

And as the once steadfast Sun refused to rise,

He walks about aimlessly and without direction,

Even the Earth beneath his feet seems as if it cannot exist

One more day as a trusted, stable friend.

And so is the fault of mortal man,

To desire to be something so much better than he is,

For someone so much better than he ever thought he deserved,

To see what he always knew would be.

And so is the fault of mortal man,

To trust that the Sun will rise in the East,

And the Earth will hold true beneath his feet,

Only to awaken to darkness falling through the fault lines.

And so is the fault of mortal man,

To believe if even for one second that he could accomplish

What he always knew would end in certain failure.

A nightmare realized in the midst of unending pain.

And so is the fault of mortal man,

To dare open his eyes in the midst of Love’s sweet sanctity,

To believe he could be accepted as imperfect but trying

And to believe he could be so much more than he ever was.

Now close your eyes you mortal man,

And cry no more for your misgivings,

End the torture of living in that past,

While you seek the comfort you may now deserve.

It’s Painful

January 22, 2012 / tomgrasso

When I walk where we once walked,

And realize they are but footprints in the sand,

It’s painful.

When I see things that we once saw,

And realize that we weren’t seeing them at all,

It’s painful.

When I feel what you feel,

When I hear what you hear,

It’s painful.

This life is no mystery at all,

We weave a tangled web we feel we must destroy

Rather than untangle even a single strand.

We’d destroy such potential in the face of the work needed to uncover it.

When I realize what you have given,

And I look at all I’ve taken,

It’s painful.

When I realize all I’ve tried

And failed to do,

It’s painful.

And when I see the beauty that could be,

If only we would let it see the light of day,

It’s painful.

This pain is but a symptom,

This time but gracefully fleeting,

Yet my heart still sings out with unabiding truth,

“I love you.”

And when the song ends to nothing

But the stilled silence of an empty theater,

It’s painful.

When the breeze cannot be felt,

And the sun fails to warm,

It’s painful.

In such sweet melodies I see you,

And in the song of Love I feel you,

It’s painful.

Someday this pain will end,

But when I’ll never know.

I lay here stripped bare, a nothing but a soul,

Wanting, needing, pleading, resolute to its abandon.

When tears can flow no more,

And the sadness still remains,

It’s painful.

When faced with the realization,

That I am not who you think I am,

It’s painful.

And when we do nothing but

Endlessly replay the story and the roles to tired to survive,

It’s painful.

I cannot live in what was,

And beg you return to this moment,

See me, hear me, touch me, feel me,

And know that this is now, not then.

When I read this open book,

And utter not one single act of fiction,

It’s painful.

When I utter not a single act of fiction,

To be told such things are full of lies,

It’s painful.

To know this with every ounce of Being,

And to see it with ever ounce of Awareness,

It’s painful.

I am who I am, not who you think I am,

If there was ever but a single strand of love,

See this truth and walk along with me,

And discover if it was enough to hold your focus.

When I am left playing in your expectations,

A role for which I am not fit to play,

It’s painful.

When I see you struggle with the role

That time and practice have bound you to,

It’s painful.

And in your absence I can see so clearly,

What should be when you arrive,

It’s painful.

There is no role we must fulfill,

Except to be true to our Selves,

I am not this, and you are not that,

We are simply beautiful when the blinders are removed.

When I wake to meditate,

And see the first rays of light atop the horizon,

It’s painful.

When I sit in stillness,

But can only hear your voice,

It’s painful.

No sweet song is without your melody,

No sweet sound is without your harmony,

It’s painful.

And yet I see a ray of light,

A symbol of love not lost but desperately clinging on,

Is this my fantasy or is it real?

I guess only time will tell.

And that itself is painful.

Troy Davis.

September 24, 2011 / tomgrasso

Troy Davis

This post comes completely from my soul. It will be short, sweet, and to the point the Love within me wants to make.

I shed tears tonight at the death of Troy Davis. While it seems his guilt was a far cry from certain, a State in our Union decided it was just to kill him. Regardless of my very human emotions, any death of another human being at the hands of my brothers and sisters saddens me. I don’t seek to be a murderer or condone killing of any kind let alone for some feeling of “justice” the weak among us have decided makes things “right”. Even if Mr. Davis was guilty as charged, the act of killing him is not done by innocent hands but rather by a heart lustful for anger’s retribution. This lust pushes all compassion and sense of justice to the side.

Yes, I do feel the same sadness for the man who Davis was convicted of killing. Yet capital punishment is not, to me, about the victim. It is more about acting like the perpetrator. I cannot in good conscious condemn a man for doing something and then, in turn, do it to him. This contradiction goes against the sense of direction given to me at birth.

An executioner is nothing more than a murderer in fancy clothes with a piece of paper that makes his crime “just”. Those who condone the deaths of others are complicit in that death. There is violence in condoning violence, and there is violence in doing nothing to stop it. Those who live by the sword will die by the sword regardless of whether that sword takes the form of a hangman’s noose, an electric chair, or some mixture of chemicals designed to make the murderer feel better about his actions.

Finally, I leave this thought with a simple premise. We have an individual decision to make. We can be more like Jesus or more like Romans. We can be the man who forgives others as they drive spikes through his flesh or we can be the man who wields the hammer. We can feed the hungry or watch them starve from our feast. We can be our brother’s keeper or hide our selves in shame knowing what we have done. The choice is ours, but just as any stone that hits the calm seas the ripples will surely be known. Tonight, we have again lost a little bit of our Selves as our society kills one of its own in some fancy flight of “justice”.

I have made my choice and as I stretch my arms wide to accept my fate I look out to see yours.

My friend and fellow elephant journal writer Sunita Pillay wrote a tremendous follow up to the enormous power of forgiveness Troy Davis showed at the end of his human existence. It’s an inspiring piece written about a perspective few of us could exhibit in any resembling a similar circumstance, and I hope you read it.

Peace!

Remembering 9/11 by Not Forgetting 9/12

September 9, 2011 / tomgrasso

Over the last 11 years, we have been inundated with images of mighty buildings burning and collapsing thunderously to Earth. We have heard the many voices and seen the many images of those who would never know their place in history or of the honor their sacrifice brought humanity. We have been swept up in scenes of unspeakable violence, and of indescribable tragedy. We have seen the bravery of a few rushing in to save the many, and we have seen countless tears wash the whitened and bloodied faces of those that were left behind. We have touched fragments of steel, some charred and blackened with evidence of both the best and worst that humans have to offer. As that date comes within reach, we solemnly remember the cause for which we stand in the quest of living up to our ideals even when our innocence is shattered and our character tested.

September 11th is, for me, about honoring those who sacrificed so much in the service of their fellow man. As a firefighter, I have a certain love of those who would give it all to help a total stranger. I can relate somewhat to the fear those responders in Manhattan felt climbing step after step toward their destiny. I can feel the fatigue as they deliberately continued upward toward greatness. I can sense their call to duty, the unrelenting and unmistakable love in their hearts that drove them beyond the limitations of body and mind. Their minds did the thinking, their bodies did the work, but it was their souls that lifted them up beyond mortality.

9/11 to me is not about the attacks. It is not about the twisted remnants of great buildings. It is not about the fear, or the anger, or the loss. It is about the love. It is about giving. It is about the best that man has to offer one another. It is about the power of purpose and the sheer greatness of will that makes us who we are. 9/11 to me is not about terror, it is about the unmistakable and undeniable love that unites us all when we no longer are focused on those ideas that divide us.

Firefighter Mike Kehoe

Responders entering those towers on 9/11 were not American. They were human. They did not help other Americans, they helped people. They did not check voter registration cards, or immigration status, or the bank statements of those they were there to help. They carried with them an air pack, an ax, and left their ideologies and prejudices in their lockers back at the station. Black, white, brown, yellow, green, purple, orange…whatever you were didn’t matter because they were going to get you out or die trying regardless of it all. Your burka was irrelevant, your crucifix meaningless. Where and if you prayed and what language you spoke had no bearing on the day. What defined you and them was something much deeper than those meaningless ideas that are ordinarily used to define and divide each of us. For all, it was their finest hour not defined by anything else other than selfless service and unbridled compassion.

Yes, that is what I want to remember about 9/11.

I also remember 9/11 by not forgetting 9/12. I remember a people united in a common cause of service bound by something far greater than patriotism, or nationality, or faith. I remember long lines where people of all sizes, shapes, colors, languages and faiths stood together to give blood, sweat, money or just a piece of themselves in a common cause of service. I remember arms outstretched not to take, but to give. I had never in my life witnessed or experienced such a large and universal outpouring of selfless love from complete and utter strangers as I had on 9/12. I was extremely happy to be alive, and I was extremely grateful for those who had led the way and set the example just the day before.

Today, as I view the time since such an compassion and humanity was on full display for the world to see, I see the yin of those two days and the yang we have fallen into since. We have again become a nation divided by petty ideals and worship of money. We have again forgotten our brother, our sister, and they seem to have forgotten us. We have thrown away some of our humanity to fear, and we have allowed ourselves as victim to become the victimizer. So this anniversary to me is about refocusing and this day about dedication. I want to feel again the nature of the firefighter rushing up thousands of steps toward the needy arms of a total stranger. I want to feel again the weight of that stranger on my shoulder as I carry them back down. I don’t want to honor the scrap of metal until I can honor the deep love that showed itself as the best version of who we are on a day that began with the worst version of who we are. I want to love and be loved without condition…again. I want to be carried and to carry, to save and be saved, and I want to give it up to you, a person I may have never met in this existence.

So, I remember 9/11 and 9/12. Not the dates. Not the twisted and burning buildings. Not the flag-draped stokes baskets carrying the remains of the best of us. I remember something so much deeper in the hopes that this time I may never forget.

Peace.

The Question of Abortion ~ It Brings Out the Hypocrite in All of Us

August 26, 2011 / tomgrasso

Today I find myself basking in the afterglow of a huge explosion. Recently, I found myself discussing the issue of abortion with a group of conservatives. Needless to say I felt a bit banged up over the discussion, but such figurative bruising is necessary for me to understand how someone else feels and then, hopefully, why they feel the way they do. I put up a good front when arguing specific points, but invariably I am simply trying to better understand the viewpoints of others as well as the source of their opinions.

In this specific case, however, the answers I received only led me to more questions that others simply were not prepared to, or could not, answer. As is usually the case when you are discussing such volatile topics with ideologues, name calling and rhetorical threats ended the discussion when nothing else seemed to work. Fortunately, this discussion was held on an internet forum where physical violence seemed impossible.

That is how explosive the subject is. Yet, because I could not get the fundamental question answered I figured I would write about it here in the hopes that someone, somewhere could answer it. I have my answer, which I will share later, but I am curious to see if sans ideas and conditioning we can all arrive at the same answer or if we are just too attached to both to let go. First, however, some clarifications are in order.

I do believe that most people on both sides of the issue are very sincere people with good hearts. I believe that they care deeply about their perspective and that the passion shown is a testament to that caring. For those on the left side they care about women and their freedoms as well as children who are left without in our nation. They see abortion as stemming the tide of suffering while exercising the rights of women to choose whether or not a fetus can feed off her body. On the right, they see it as not only an issue of personal responsibility, but also an issue that defines how our society values life. Both sides care, both sides are exhibiting some kind of compassion, and neither side is truly “wrong” except to the other.

While I may have greatly simplified the views and the opinions presented, I believe this description accurately depicts the majorities on both sides of the issue.

For me? Well I am a self-described “pro-choice/pro-life” kind of guy. While I have been called “wishy-washy” by people on both sides, I see a woman’s choice as hers to make while seeing life as valuable and something to be honored. Personally, I could never have an abortion, not only because I am male, but because I simply could not make that choice. Yet, I know some who have and they are people whom I value as both human beings and as good, loving people. I could not simply condemn them for their choice because I can’t see it as defining them outside of it.

That said, I have found that the question of abortion brings out the ultimate hypocrite in each of us. For most who are “pro choice”, it seems they have no issue condemning the loss of life in other death-creating actions like war, capital punishment, and crime while appearing to embrace the loss of life abortion creates. Life has been relegated to a matter of convenience to some and a matter of wealth (or poverty) to others while seeming to be a matter of choice to all on this side of the isle.

On the right, I find the hypocrisy seems to run a bit more deeply. While most on the right define their opinions as “pro-life”, the majority of them seem to be nothing of the sort. They have no issue with innocent men, women (some of whom are pregnant) and children being slaughtered in some fear-based fantasy called “the war on terror” (not-so accidentally called “collateral damage”). They also seem to have no issue with the State killing men and women it deems guilty of something worthy of the ultimate punishment. Conservatives conveniently add conditions to life itself, which in my mind suggests that it isn’t truly life they value, but rather some idea of the value of life that they assign based on conditions.

Regardless of my opinion of those with opinions, I do have one fundamental question of people on either side. It is one that I would like answered, but not with the typical immediate reaction I get with questions on this subject (like the one you may me having right now!). Rather, the answer to this question should be contemplative and rather slow in coming. When I first asked it of myself years ago it actually took me months to come up with an answer that truly changed my perspective. It took time to have the reactions, understand them and their source, and then see if they truly represented my answer.

Warning: an image I am using below is a bit graphic, but necessary in order to properly ask the question. Please do not look if injury offends you as it does me.

So here goes with the question I find gets to the heart of this issue once and for all.

What makes this life:

More or less valuable than this life:

or more or less valuable than this life?

I can only assume, and I hope you will all clarify this, that the value we truly have on life belongs to the ideas we have created around it. I came to that understanding while pondering this very question for months until I arrived at an answer that made TOTAL sense to me. It didn’t just have to make sense to my mind, or my soul, or my conditioning. No, to me it had to make complete sense to my wholeness. It could not sit wrongly with one while making sense to the others. It had to be an unanimous decision, not a majority one.

The one I arrived at many years ago was such a unanimous answer. There was no difference. Each life held exactly the same value regardless of my ideas about it. If I removed the ideas I had about the person I was looking at, their life held the exact same meaning as my own.

Now I won’t lie to you. Getting my mind to agree was the hardest part of the meditation. I had backed it into a corner where it could not truly justify its answers when presented with the power of Love, Compassion, and Being. Each time it came up with an idea as to why a guilty man should be executed along came Love to say, “turn the other cheek”. Each time it suggested that the “war on terror” was necessary to protect my own family, Being suggested, “blessed are the meek and the peacemakers”. Once my mind silenced the ego that called out in fear the answer came to it quite easily.

So, is the “pro-life” movement truly “pro-LIFE”? Or is it simply in pro-“ideas about life”? When we make a choice to end a life unnaturally, whether in utero, in war or in an execution chamber, aren’t we making a statement that suggests we value the IDEAS we have about life more than the life itself?

Is that right?

I leave the answers up to the individual in the full knowledge that, without the ego’s reaction it is a very simple one to answer. I also leave the answers up to the individual to choose what is the right answer for them in the full knowledge that the answer they arrive at now may not be the one they find later. It’s an expression of liberty, it’s an expression of freedom, and it’s an assumption of responsibility. A responsibility not just for you to use, but also for me to allow you the chance to use it.

It appears that in this society we have lost the process to obtain wisdom while become slaves to the conditioning and ideas of others. We don’t exercise the inherent values that are a gift to each of us. It’s why we suffer under the weight of ideologues and why we inspire fear in those who believe we are mad with insanity. We look to political and religious leaders to fill the void left by our inability to sit still long enough to contemplate and formulate, giving them complete power over us. We rely on the conditioning of our parents for ideas that we ourselves have the power to create. We abdicate our responsibility to not only wake up to the experience, but allow it to set in long enough to understand its value and then act accordingly. In doing so, we often try mightily to keep others from having the experience that they wish to have in order to not threaten our own sense of “self” and attachment to the ideas we did not formulate on our own.

I truly trust that we will find our way. After all, a great man once said (as the story goes) that “the meek shall inherit the Earth.” I believe him, and although I know it will take time I know that after the entirety of the human “contemplation” we will arrive at not only the right answer, but the unanimous one.

Peace.

There is No Rainbow Without the Rain

August 24, 2011 / tomgrasso

The winds subside. The lightning and thunder move on. The clouds part revealing an intense sunlight as you step into its embrace.

Through the destruction left behind you see the Love that remains. Trees stand proudly in their survival as remnants of those left fractured and splintered by the storm lose their grip. You are faced with a choice. Do you focus on the wounded or on the whole? Your choice is yours to make freely. Neither is wrong, and both are expressions of a deep and abiding compassion.

You move freely in the open air. With arms outstretched you embrace the sun. The invigorating smell of air cleansed by nature fills your lungs as you survey the departing clouds in the distance. You see your family and neighbors actively moving about. Some are cleaning up, some are helping others, some are simply staring in disbelief. You begin to walk over to do your part, whatever “your part” means.

You see the grass around you. It seems to look a bit greener than it did yesterday, but perhaps you are just seeing it a bit clearer today. Still, nature all around looks more alive to you. The birds are singing more clearly, the trees look more alive, and the breeze seems to caress your face more gently than it had before. Is this your own perception or is it a reality?

You smile in the realization that there is no difference.

The sky seems bluer today. As you stare into what is not truly blue, it dawns on you that “this too shall pass”. This wonderfully blue, not-truly-blue sky will again became enraged by the clouds it nurses to life. The winds will blow and the rains shall pour. Lightning will strike and thunder will roll. Yet, you sit still observing this storm as you had the blue skies that gave it life. “This too shall pass.”

A wave of peace flows over your Entirety. You are content in the mud that now adorns your feet, and in the sweat that now hugs your brow. You wish you could share this with the others who are busily scurrying around in one dramatic form or another. “STOP!”, you want to say with authority. “Appreciate the moment and rejoice in it!”

You blink and awaken to the moment. You don’t cater to the voice that wishes to shout. You go about your business as you cater to the wave that has given you sight. You smile in peace and with joy in the realization of this moment. A friend looks at you and shouts, “what are you smiling about? There’s nothing to smile about here!”

“See that?” you say as you point to a fully-formed rainbow in the distance. “I love rainbows, and without the rain there would be no rainbows.”

Peace.

Sister Assumpta – The Story of the Monk and the Scorpion

August 24, 2011 / tomgrasso

When I was but a wee lad (that’s the Irish in me) there were many difficulties facing me. Those difficulties translated themselves in tough times both behaviorally and socially. This was, of course, no more evident than in my school life.

Needless to say, the fact that I was having a very tough time was an understatement. Yet, through it all, there remained this tough old nun (I went to Catholic school) who was there for me in some of the darkest moments of my young life. Her name was Sister Assumpta, and although she was tough I have yet to meet a person who offered such unconditional love to me as she had. In some ways she was a savior to me, and although it took many more years for my savior to arrive, she was there to do her best in guiding me through a time when I was utterly alone.

So, in this post, I wish to honor her, and you, with a story and explanation. The story is one that she told me during one moment when I felt an intense anger and was suffering horribly from it. This moment was a harbinger of things to come, but in this instance she was there to try to light a different, truer, path for me. It is with tears in my eyes with love in my open heart that I offer you this memory in honor of a loving woman who will live eternally in my Soul.

♥

A monk was walking besides a river swollen with torrential rains looking to see if there was anyone he could help. As he scanned the raging river, he noticed a scorpion struggling to stay atop a boulder. It was surely going to be swept away as the river rose.

The monk noticed a tree near the river’s bank that offered a sturdy branch reaching out directly over the scorpion. Without hesitation, the monk climbed the tree, shimmied across the branch, and reached out to grab the scorpion as a large crowd gathered to watch.

Each time the monk reached out, the scorpion would sting him. Still, the monk persisted until finally, after many, many tries, he successfully grabbed the scorpion and carried him safely to the shore. The amazed crowd watched as the monk let the scorpion go, staggered, and fell at the base of the tree surely to die.

“Why would you kill yourself to save a scorpion?” someone in the crowd asked. “Surely you would know he would sting you and you would die!”

“Of course I did,” said the monk. “Yet just as it is the scorpion’s true nature is to sting in fear, it is my true nature to serve in love. We were just being true to Who We Are.”

And with that the monk died, a free man true to his Self.

♥

Now, I altered the end a little to more fit my current understanding. I simply added those seven words that, to me, sum up the moral of the story. What Sister Assumpta was trying to tell a young boy losing himself in sadness, anger and chaos was to not lose sight of the true Self. Even then I understood what she was trying to say, but at that stage of my life I wasn’t sure who my true Self was. It seemed my true Self was the one getting me beat at home, teased at school, and in trouble everywhere. I simply did not have the tools or the experience to take that understanding and do something with it. Frankly, those few moments with Sister Assumpta just were not enough to stem the tide of the raging river within me. I eventually changed from being the monk to the scorpion and back to the monk again.

Actually, in my current understanding, I have always been the monk, the scorpion and the crowd. Those experiences are “who I am” in this lifetime. Today, however, I understand I have a choice. I have no need to protect myself. I have no need to cater to fear. I have no need to worship the ideas of who you are or who I am; I simply have the understanding that we are truly no different except in those meaningless ideas. In those moments when my ego rears up I try to go back to that scared and angry little boy. I see the smiling face of Sister Assumpta as she grabs my cheeks in love to share some light. This time, however, I smile back and tell her, “thank you, I understand, and I love you too.” Those moments of focus are coming quicker to me now as the hold anger has over me evaporates with the ideas that spawns it.

See, the scorpion allowed the monk to be who he was in shining glory. “No greater love is there than when a person dies for his friend.” In return, the monk allowed the scorpion to be who it was. Both allowed the crowd to be who it was. All accepted and none suffered.

I love you. I can’t help it. Even when the scorpion decides to sting (both when I am the stinger and the stingee) I love. As my mind conjures up ideas about you and yours about me, we both love each other in ways we simply have yet to recognize. I have to find ways to recognize that love in myself and express it to you. That’s the light that needs to shine. If Sister Assumpta tried to do anything it was to shine a light for all to see, and I will be eternally grateful to a woman who can still inspire a warm feeling of love within me.

Anyway, I hope this foray into memory and love had some meaning to you. I look forward to seeing your light shortly. Peace!

The Parable of the Sinful Donut

August 22, 2011 / tomgrasso

I learn so much from simply sitting back and observing. Today’s observation/lesson/experience comes from one of my oldest and dearest friends in this lifetime, and it is one that speaks so much to our times as well as to my relationship with the world around me. This friend, whom I have been friends with for about 35 years, simply stated something so obvious in the moment that it is often so blatantly lost in that moment. My friend’s message was this:

Life is like a box of donuts. Take time to enjoy each one for its special flavors. And never eat the whole dozen alone. Yeah Monday!! (As I eat a cream cheese frosted brownie.)

A true gift from a true friend! Allow me to share this experience and understanding as well as the inspiration it provided in the form of a story.

♥ ∞ ♥

Once, a man studied a religious book, and took instructions from others who were considered masters of the same book. He lived his life according to the teachings of this book, and tried mightily to adhere to each of the principals the book described and in accordance with the teachings of the masters. Regardless of how he felt about something, he followed the instructions and teachings of his masters and soon he became the book rather than a man who knew the book. He felt as the book told him to feel, lived as the book told him to live, and thought what the book taught him to think.

In one instance, the masters taught him in great detail how horrible apple fritters were. According to the teaching apple fritters were abhorrent, unnatural, and needed to be treated like poisonous tumors on the essence of humankind. The man never had experienced apple fritters before, but he knew from what he was taught how horrible they were as well as how horrible people who ate them were. He based his entire thought process on a notion given to him not from experience, but from the words and teachings of others. Eternal damnation surely awaited those who ate apple fritters.

One day the man saw a woman eating an apple fritter at a donut shop. It was obvious she didn’t read or believe in the book or its teachings. The woman looked so happy in the indulgence and so content in each bite. Yet the man could not get over his revulsion at the act. He frowned at her in distaste, and instantly felt anger at her joy. He could not understand how this woman could actually eat something his religion taught was so sinful. He wanted to stop her, and teach her the “right” way according to his book. Even though he couldn’t pinpoint the reasons if asked, he hated her joy in doing what was “wrong”, and completely disregarded her happiness in the process. For her part, the woman was so happy, so much in joy that she didn’t notice the man’s disdain for her.

What the religious instruction taught, from both the book and the masters who taught it, wasn’t love. It was judgment. It was anger. It was the natural reaction to ideas of wrongness. To make matters worse, the instruction taught him how to wrap those ideas in a shroud of an egoic idea of what love was. According to the instruction, you needed to change someone you loved to be “righteous” and show disdain for them until they saw things “rightly”. Otherwise, eternal damnation and fear were the answers.

As the man left the donut shop, he was in a terrible accident. Seeing this, the woman put down her apple fritter and ran to his aid. She was a doctor, and as the man lay there wounded she tended to him. Her love had not vanished, her joy had not vaporized. Rather, she simply exercised it in caring for a man who was a total stranger to her. She had no ideas of this man’s worthiness and no conditions attached to her aid. She simply worked actions of love that stated their intent to relieve his suffering.

The man was in agony. Although only moments before he had great disdain for this woman, his suffering and her attention to it allowed him to see the love in her. His anger was replaced by a different form of suffering which was replaced by pure, unconditional love. He realized that this beautiful woman helping him in his time of need wasn’t the cause of his anger. She had just been doing what was natural for her, what felt good for her, and what brought her great joy. She wasn’t hurting him, threatening him, or wishing him any harm, yet his ideas of her created a great anger. Those ideas, and his attachments to them, were the true cause of the anger he felt.

After he recovered from his injuries, the man returned to the donut shop. The woman was in front of him in line and didn’t notice him. As she ordered her apple fritter, the man looked at the cashier.

“Allow me to pay for that,” he said with a beaming smile.

The woman turned, smiled, and gave the man a hug. “Thank you”.

“It’s the least I can do for my hero,” he replied. “I may not like those fritters, but I love the person who does!”

The man had learned that any idea that is contrary to joy, love and happiness wasn’t an idea worth holding onto. Not only did those ideas create great anger in him, they prevented him from seeing the love he could have felt toward this woman. Now he no longer focused on what the book told him, or what the masters taught, he focused on what his own experience taught him and the joy, happiness and love those experiences inspired. He became the Writer of the Book, not a reader of a book.

He had become a true Master.