Beautiful Boy, Be Not A Man

Oh my beautiful boy, be not a man, you are young;
Your life has barely begun, your song still unsung,
And there’s nothing wrong with those lower rungs;
Don’t be so anxious to climb up to the slimy grime
Of crimes, quicktime rush, and hush of pantomimes
Wearing masks, hiding behind facades with rods
Of business-as-usual, golden wads, and by all odds
Never ready to die but live in the lie of being alive
When their hive is ill-begotten, and ever-so rotten;
But you, child so meek and mild, need not succumb
To any scum or grown-up strum that thrums away
Every night and day… No! Please laugh and play!
Stay child, wild and unbeguiled, free and unreviled;
Stay this way, and ne’er mourn each day of youth,
For in truth if you sleuth to uncover and discover
What misery lay in the bay of adulthood, you would
Ever remain as you are and bar the process of age
With the turning of every page of time till chime
Of fare-thee-well rings and angels sing for you,
Bringing you home with tome of joy and happiness

Oh my beautiful boy, be not a man, you are young;
Your life has barely begun, your song still unsung…



Healthy Living, Beautiful Blog

Okay, confession time!  I am not Vegan, and thus could not believe that “Luxury Gluten Free Vegan Sponge Cupcakes” could possibly be anything delicious to eat; quite the opposite, in fact. However, another blogger friend shared the link to “Luxury Gluten Free Vegan Sponge Cupcakes,” and I took a look. And then I had my wonderful sister, Angela, look and read, too. Well, to make a long story short, we both agreed that this treat is not only exceptionally nutritional, but looks quite beautiful and sounds inviting… My sister copied the recipe and we’ve decided that, yes, we’ll have a go at it!

So, I’d like to introduce you to Pines Lifestyle, and especially its creator-author, Eliza Pines. Have a look-see and I’m sure you’ll be pleased. This is certainly a well-crafted, warm and peaceful, uplifting and inspirational blog … good, wholesome, happy. And who of us does not need more light and enlightening, motivational goodness in our lives? Yes, and Eliza does not confine her blog to recipes!  I happily recommend reading her article on “The Art of Yoga.”  Again, this is an investment of time very worth making; let me know if you agree (or disagree.)

Posizione del Loto e chakra coloratiBlessings to one and all!

Jon N

Post Script:  Just as a note of interest, since I mentioned Eliza’s article on Yoga; the practice of Yoga arose from within the larger, approximately 5,000 year-old medical practice/system of ancient India, known as “Ayurveda.”  Ayurveda is quite probably the most ancient, holistic practice and/or art of medical treatment, providing “an integrated approach to preventing and treating illness through lifestyle interventions and natural therapies.” (Webster’s New World Medical Dictionary: Third Edition, 38)  Thankfully, the holistic Ayurvedic approach to healthcare and medical treatment is being more and more integrated and interwoven into the normal, contemporary Western health and medical care.



Unequal Equality (?) Too Confusing: Just Can’t Get It!

So my thoughts may be random,
Scattered somewhat in tandem
With battered emotional abandon,
But release brings some peace,
And maybe my raging will cease?

You see, this cannot be for me
To agree, and yet neither to flee
From such intellectual debris,
Spiritual humus that only creates
Brumous ideas in every heartbeat.

So what do I want to say this day?
If I may express my own dismay
In such an unabashed, cutting way:
Some make profusion of confusion
In the ‘biblical’ goal of sex roles!

Did not the Apostle say, “There is
Not any longer the male and female;
For you are all one within the veil
Of Christ?” And is this not the scale
To measure one’s worth from birth?

Did not the same Apostle declare
To the married pair, “Submit one
To the other,” sister and brother,
Husband and wife, father, mother;
And this means loving one another!

Should we dare to stare at wisdom
From the ancients to better prepare
Our hearts and, thus, begin to repair
Damage done by neglecting the Son,
What this One truly, newly brought?

If a woman so chooses to submit,
Then who am I to cry and then try
To remit her choice, silence voice
And complain she should remain
Solitary in some stark-cold equality?

Ah! But then even from ancient times
Wisdom chimed women were vessels
Of glory, quarry of the very heavens,
So the story has been boldly told
And retold through pages of the ages.

Has it not been said of old, “I am he,
You are she; I the song in the throng,
You the verse to traverse the universe;
I am heaven, you earth and birth-giver.
So will we dwell as one under the sun.”

I am confused, then, by evangelicals
Choosing to follow traditions so hollow,
While clinging to Bible and miracles
Of God, who is neither male nor female;
Scriptures holy are sacred tales spun,
Centering upon rugged cross and nails,
… and inexplicable love from above.

Willingly in the position of submission,
Still, why do these good women accept
That this means disrespect, dishonor
And neglect? Do they not ever reflect
On love, and marriage elect to correct?

Representing heaven and earth, God
Did leaven the world with man, woman
And gave birth to beauty of humanity,
But not the insanity of profane vanity
Of men who often excuse their abuse!

But why, oh why, do evangelical women
Accept this tragic-comical situation,
Which is only a mock representation
Of most holy matrimony, as some sort
Of divine patrimony given to her cohort?

Ah! But the churches preach and teach
An unequal equality impossible to reach;
Command compliance, demand obedience,
Reprimand any woman held in defiance,
And she takes it and bakes it in her mind!

Why? Is the “real biblical man” she wants
Expected to taunt and flaunt his manliness;
To be proud and loud, brash, foolishly rash;
And a cruel jackass, as stubborn as a mule?
Is this the love-pool for which she drools?

Ah, I persist too long and insist too much;
Tis better for me to be a man such as I am,
Without inquiry into such mirey theology
Fraught with an ontology of misery bought
At the price of humiliation and degradation.

Now … I have written and vented enough.


Just Another Spade to Play?

Seduce4So, is unexpected beauty making me the fool again?
Is this the gouging tool; just another spade to play?
Am I falling again, crawling toward another mirage?
Is this another barrage of dreams that’ll fade away?

Model image of beauty;
Coddle my lonely heart;
No audile sensations;
No twaddle in revelation,
Throwing myself open without hesitation.

So, I willingly wade into the swamp of lies again,
And begin to hope this is not a trope to rope me in,
And I know better, but I show myself like a babe
Under cascade of weighed hopes and all I’ve prayed
When it’s no more than just another spade to play.

Friendly friend request;
Show of amorous nest;
Answer my soul’s behest;
Longing to be blessed,
Knowing I’ll end up again the jester dressed.

There’s no expense for her to make such a pretense,
With sharp blade in hand; another spade to be played,
And I lower all defense, throw away my commonsense,
Entering dense fog of intense emotions for a shade;
There’s nothing more than another spade to be played.

So have I strayed before with heavy price to be paid
… when that spade is played.


Sélená and Secrets of Life: Astonishing Revelation

Bright light of full moon soon took shape before my eyes,
And then did I spy Sélená in all her grand glory standing
With a mild smile, as if for a child, and she reached out
And said, “Come;” with some dread I obeyed, and she led
Over starlit beams, thru heavenly dreams, what seemed
So real that I could feel every vibration of the exhilaration
Of cosmic life, pulsing and pounding, dashing and flashing.

“Here’s a treat, for you to meet fair Fáelána and Suíbhnæ;
Ah! Is it not man’s law to behold sublime beauty in awe?”
And, indeed, were they beautiful enough to feed my soul;
Quivering inside as they stood by placid pond, not flaccid
In strength, either one, but tall and well-toned and honed;
“For years they’ve been friends; now will their love ascend,
As they strip to dip, they will learn and in passion burn.”


Suíbhnæ cried, “You have what God has given me, I see,
But more!” to which Fáelána begged, “Yes, but I implore
Do not for this the bliss of our friendship now deplore!”
Suíbhnæ laughed, “My dearest sister, how can I ignore
Such visible miracle? But wait! I do not hate nor deplore;
Seeing all of you now as really you are, I truly adore!”
Fáelána questioned, “Can you abide what I have to hide?”

“Their story? Very young they were sent among the Druids,
But the fluid in their veins could not let them long remain
In the ways of such religious haze and mad spiritual maze,
So as one they fled and bled in frightful flight to freedom.
Along the way they grew in strength and skill and cunning,
Learned to kill … for meals but, too, for cheated deals.
And so have they been for years but never so near as now.”


Fáelána embraced Suíbhnæ, and caressed her back with no lack
Of tender touch, with such soothing sigh from Suíbhnæ, eyes
To eyes, lips to lips for each to sip from love’s sweet drip;
“Truly I have loved you from the moment we met in wet street
In front of the Druid prison-mont,” Fáelána whisper-breathed;
“And I you, too, but never to know you could make me whole.”
Sélená smiled, “Here is where they dare sanctify deepest care
And love from above.”

One question arose for me to pose: “Why do you show me this?
Am I amiss in wondering for what greater purpose than what
Is seen on the surface?” Sélená gently pulled me to her side
And did not chide, but led me in stride to the water’s edge;
“Love does not hedge, my dear; love is not leery nor does it
Grow weary, even though those who love so often do, tis true.
Love is being, seeing, and freeing; giving and forgiving.”


Still I did not understand, but there came no divine reprimand;
“You see, Fáelána and Suíbhnæ have become one in a way that
Will stay them sure for all days to come, and this will bless
So many, not just some; for here from their own pain and love
Will be lain the foundation of an orphanage for the unfortunate
And destitute children, and this will constitute the first here
In this desolate region, filled with legion of human demons.”

Amazed. Awestruck. “You see, even now they are coming to know
What it is to show unconditional love and to embrace the least,
Who’ve been treated like beasts; to show passion of compassion
Without stingy ration of water and food imbued with ashen hate.
Come and come again will the little ones to this place of grace,
Never again to be disgraced or defaced; they’ll be all embraced.
And it shall be known as the Cove of the Mistress of Christus.”


“Really?” Sélená pulled me chest to her breast, “Yes and more
In store!” Her radiant eyes danced in the moonlight so brightly;
“Suibhne will give birth to Caillína, anointed saint-shepherdess
Of all of her people who will raise the first steeple of eternal love.”
Astonishment! Sélená only laughed, “Scientists are not so smart;
They only know in part and they’re persona is really quite tart,
Don’t you agree, my pet? They don’t believe what they cannot see;
Why, if you raised them in the desert they’d deny there’s a tree!”

Sélená turned and I blushed in the thrill of her still holding me;
She smiled, “Let us go so I can show you more glory of this story.”
My face to the place of Fáelána and Suíbhnæ, I saw there they lay
In edge-water shallow embraced, coupled in fine supple movements,
Giving and receiving, living love in thanksgiving for one another.
Sélená gently tugged, “There is more to see from me, my honeybee;”
And quietly she added, “And more satisfaction in my transaction.”


Suibhne means “well-going;” Fáelán means “little wolf.” Obviously, the spellings have been slightly altered.

Annette and Julietta: A Love Story

teen-girls-hugging-outsideFields of flowers, yields of apples, dancing and prancing:
Pretty girls, brown-eyed Julietta, and Annette was brunette;
One was rosette for the other, who for her played clarinet;
Like one, the two played and prayed, and together stayed,
Never strayed in love, like turtle doves, in beauty arrayed.

Annette and Julietta, two blossoms of near-flawless promise,
Budding in form and warm affection; rouge lips for lips
And sips of sweet nectar from growing gardens free flowing;
Arm in arm walks, heart to heart talks, sharing one soul clock;
Miles of smiles, skipping and prancing, stripping and swimming.

Annette and Julietta, one silhouette of finest courtly minuet,
Vignette of an angelic song sung by the stars far flung in sky
Of cloudless night, darkly bright; they lay in softly breeze,
Roll and teasingly squeeze to please, immune to the disease
Of the unkind of stony hearts, closed minds, and spirits blind.

Annette and Julietta, grown and storm-blown but sewn together,
Not to be torn; they were sworn in ever-union so soon as born;
Dancing still across the hills, laughter filled the air so fair;
No snare nor care could quench hot flare of their love affair;
And the maze of their days were unpretentiously venturesome.

HandnHandMany cried, “scandalous,” while others were simply jealous;
Pharisees were zealous; only few thought it something to relish,
And hellish hours flowed like scours for Annette and Julietta,
And though they moved deep into forest keep, and did not weep,
Still they could not leap for joy nor sleep in heavenly peace.

Yet remains flower fields, apple yields, dancing and prancing,
And eternal joy, where bright stars ring and their voices sing,
And left here now only intertwined bones on cold hard stones.


God, Preachers, and Healing

“You don’t need medication for depression,” the minister taught
As he brought out his chart. “Studies show what you should know;
Nobody gets better with pills for meals, trust the Lord to heal!”
Several mouths in the congregation gave their “amen” approbation.
But the man of cloth saw a sloth in a pew that gave him his cue.

“You there! You look skeptical, not a receptacle of God’s glory!
You’ve never believed, have you? Never received the holy Spirit?”
I shifted on the seat, sifted through my thoughts, and drifted
Back to times gone by for lack of anything to say with no dismay.
“Listen to me, the Lord can heal everything with which you deal.”


Smiling, I looked at him sweating and lying; would I start crying?
As he was flying into an holy frenzy, I was trying to keep my cool,
But my face must have given a trace that I thought him a disgrace;
“You don’t trust the Lord, but even dogs eat crust from his table!
Go ahead and tell me, if you die are you going to heaven or hell?”

With that question posed, I rose up tall and straight, without hate;
Looking into his eyes, I could see the lies, and the roil of turmoil;
Slowly I spoke, not to provoke, but suddenly something in me awoke.
“Sir, God has been good; she has never turned her back nor do I lack;
And for so long now the Spirit has been mine and treats me just fine.”


Already stunned by reference to “she,” the minister could hardly see.
“But you, sir, seem to me like a man who struggles with the repression
Of very deep depression, saying and braying what he wants to believe
Rather than what he needs to receive; a man telling his congregation
What they want to hear, selling them lies while hearts cry with pain.”

Shocked silence hung thickly in the air, blocked any word to be heard
Except mine, so I continued to opine, “You are one sinister minister
And only half-believe and then deceive from your own torn-apart heart,
Instead of talking like a real human instead of balking at the truth;
Instead of being brutally honest, you snootily look down with a frown.”


Mouth open, spirit broken, he looked now like only a token of ministry;
Among the congregation there were a few cheers, yet some were in tears;
“Now all of you listen to me, see, and be enlightened, not frightened,
And I will tell you, it’s true, God loves you and gives you life anew;
Our mothering God her Spirit freely gives that you and I might live.”

All eyes were fixed on me with mixed emotions, but no bit of commotion;
“Jesú came offering light, life and love from above, but what is unseen
Is far more than what is seen, and no one is keen enough to understand
To steal from heaven, nor leaven the truth with acquired fire of desire;
You ask, but do not bask in glory; your task is in your unfolding story.”


Still finely suited, the now-broken minister wept, no more pretense kept;
Among the people, some cried, some smiled, some tried to keep their calm,
Applying balm of prayer lifted high into the air, but some would not spare
Freeing themselves in agreeing with what was spoken as some angelic token
Gifted for them to be lifted out of cruel endless course of insane remorse.

Asked what next, I answered, “Go to cross and steeple, but also to people
Who will help bear your burden, and know that medication is not dedication,
But physiological remediation; fly to the good Shepherd, hold him and cry,
But try to remember Jesú called physicians in admission among his apostles;
And our Mother God has been revealing healing medicines since time began.”