Gaia Community: Professor's Blog

"Horse Soldiers"

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 21:32:24 GMT

Horse Soldiers reviewed by Harry Johnquest

If Cedar Point had a rollercoaster named "Afghanistan" it could not out-thrill the reader of Horse Soldiers by Doug Stanton. This is the true account of how a small group of Special Forces soldiers, first ones post 9/ll/01, dropped in on the upper reaches of Afghanistan --- to negotiate with warlords on horseback and ultimately to ride victoriously to defeat the Taliban. Horse Soldiers is as surreally real as Ghengis Kahn punching buttons on a cell phone. Surprisingly touching, Stanton clearly and masterfullly filters through multiple points of view from the home front USA to soldiers' advance in the thick of battle. Local politics are as clarified yak butter, Stanton in an epilogue updates the reader to Afghanistan's current devolution. It reads as a thriller, it is hard to put down, I'd enjoy reading it again.

Horse Soldiers is major motion picture material. Besides, with its well documented thrilling prose it should win a Pulitzer Prize.

(to be cont.)

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Man Down from Silver Mountain

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 17:15:23 GMT

Harry's Rusty Metal Revival

Track 1

"Man Down from Silver Mountain"

by Harry Johnquest

(to the tune of "Man on the Silver Mountain" by Ronnie James Dio and performed by Richie Blackmore's Rainbow)

'Nana peel, slippery feel,

Like a Britney Spears' reel,

In space---I free-fall turning.

I can't run, I'm undone.

By this bailout I am stung,

My head and stomach churning.

Send out a wire.

I fell into the mire.

Someone's screaming, "Catch this."

God, please help me out of this mess.

M-m-man down from Silver Mountain.

I fell down from the Silver Mountain.

Climb all day, on my way,

Who knew I'd go astray?!

Big buzzards block out my view.

In the night, "yikes," they bite,

In fear my feet take flight.

Should have packed the parachute.

Save me from desire

From more things to acquire.

Someone's screaming, "Catch this."

God, please help me out of this mess.

[Guitar]

Send down a wire.

I fell into the mire.

Someone's screaming, "Catch this."

God, please get me out of this mess.

M-m-man down from Silver Mountain.

I fell down from the Silver Mountain.

"In God We Trust" now listen.

I'm a man, a man who fell in quicksand.

Underwrite this acolyte.

Or I'll be out of sight.

M-m-man down from Silver Mountain.

I fell down from the Silver Mountain.

Don't look at me, I have no plan.

I'm a man, a man who fell in quicksand.

M-m-man down from Silver Mountain.

c.2009, H.M.J.

Tags: Enlightenment, finance, spirit, Weird Al Yankovik, parody

Haiku Seeds

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 02:53:25 GMT

From seed catalog,

package ordered comes by mail,

Patient earth awaits.

Well it is to work

parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme,

so one always eats.

Windowsill seedlings

bring earth, sun, water for life

together spring soon.

Just one more season,

then another, and after that

I'm sitting pretty.

Nurture the good seed

expecting new life to show.

I see a triumph.

Norway rushed seed bank ...

seeds from our Earth all over ...

What's in your bunker?

Return of the King,

perennial favorite,

hope springs eternal.

Tags: Survival, end times, provisions, future

"The Game of My Life"

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 18:49:52 GMT

"The Game of My Life", by Jason McElwain,
a book review by Harry Johnquest
******************************************************

On top it's about an autistic kid who gets a chance to play basketball in the final four minutes of the final game of his senior year. He scores big, the crowd goes wild, videos circulate worldwide, major networks feature interviews and highlights of the game. Oprah gets him on her show. Now there's a book, it's written by that autistic kid, Jason "J-Mac" McElwain along with Daniel Paisner, New York Times bestselling author. It's a novel read, profoundly moving, and a great story. Columbia Pictures already signed the deal for a movie. This is huge.

The heart of the book is a very personal view, mainly through Jason's eyes, of a life with autism. Struggle. Frustration. Determination. It's about never giving up. It's "Rocky" meets "Rain Man" as a child. It's "The Little Engine That Could" incarnate. The book's "keep focused" format centers around Jason getting into the big game which keeps the excitement building. But author Paisner guides McElwain to take the reader with him deep into his life's trials and the triumphs that allowed for such a game as this. Statements from family and friends pepper the story throughout.

Jason's early diagnosis was severe autism. He couldn't do much more than flap his arms and scream. Oddly, coincidentally, Jason one day pointed at the tv and said his first words, "Big Bird." His mother cried she was so happy. Great family. His older brother took him along most everywhere, just to run, go do things with friends and to shoot hoops. His parents tried whatever they could, new, old, adapted and learned-in-process. Jason improved and was rediagnosed as simply autistic. He could run so in junior high school he made the cross country team still he couldn't even tie his own shoes. In high school they mainstreamed him. He tried repeatedly to make the basketball team, failed repeatedly, but as a senior he accepted Coach Jim Johnson's invitation to be team manager. Here enthusiasm properly prepared meets opportunity and amazing things happened. The coach let Jason, for his first time, suit up for that last home game. Recognizing the moment, he put J-Mac into the game of his life. Jason was the high scorer of the game.

Bottom line for me: "The Game of My Life" ultimately is about the great people all around Jason McElwain, those who never gave up on him and more importantly ever encouraged, sought new strategies, included him in their lives, and cheered when he did well. It's about us---we who recognize and bring forth others' greatness. In turn, an inspired Jason McElwain now inspires us, magnificently.

c2008, H.M.J.

Tags: triumph, inspiration, heart, Oprah, autism, basketball, perseverance

Fights of Your Life, Pavlik !

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Wed, 28 May 2008 22:00:43 GMT

Fights of your life, Pavlik !

What's it like to shake hands with a great boxer, Kelly Pavlik, the current middleweight champion of the world?

I met Pavlik at an interesting venue for a professional boxer, The Butler Museum of Art, Youngstown, his hometown -- a day before Memorial Day. Kelly Pavlik gave a word of thanks and a brief motivational speech, performing his role in a lively unveiling ceremony for a recent acquisition, a painting, a portrait of Kelly Pavlik.

By luck I happened to be there that day. Walking up the museum steps I noticed something different. Parked right in front of the white marble-faced museum, in a broad row, stood over a dozen gleaming chrome and bright-wild-painted motorcycles, big honkin' hogs. Even though that sunny Sunday streets were quiet (virtually empty for soaring gas prices and Youngstown's depression), the museum's lots were better than half full. Many had come to see Kelly Pavlik and the new painting.

Pavlik's art is heart. Background: he was knocked to the ground, hard, in round two of his first title fight. But he got up, barely, he struggled somehow and he boxed, fought on and won the bout big time. They say it's a spectacular fight. Classic. Underdog rebounds. Yet I found Pavlik a humble guy in person. I felt compelled to go and speak with him.

I said to him, "Thank you, for motivating people to get back on their feet."

He said, "Well, we still have a lot of work to do." I suppose he spoke for greater Youngstown as well as the world at large. He implied he was not alone in this fight, "WE -- still have a lot of work..." he said, "WORK " to help motivate people to get back on their feet, to rebound. He's thinking ahead, way beyond his next title fight, June 7, Atlantic City. Nevertheless, he takes every day seriously and does what he can to make the most of his time in and out of the ring. There's a good deal of gratis work for charities that doesn't get so much publicity as does a good fight. He enjoys family time, his two-year-old growing up and his many friends, friends longstanding before fame and fortune placed him in the center-ring limelight.

Through triumph, triumph he encourages in others. Thankfully, his handshake was not a bone-crusher. It may have been demure but it was certainly not a dead fish. Gloves off, the boxer imparted rarefied sensibilities: a strength of hidden reserves and a confidence in the future. That's what it was like to shake hands with a champion. What's in your handshake?

Tags: triumph, Kelly Pavlik, perseverance, motivation, encouragement, training, boxing, art, fighter, spiritual, heart

Learning Curve for a Landlord

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 15:45:03 GMT

LEARNING CURVE FOR A LANDLORD

My second trip downtown to be interviewed by a detective occured today in a spartan room with a camera perched overhead. There, unfortunately, will be more of these chats. I've had to call 911 a few times for tenants acting out inappropriately (one is hospitalized, in a home for the mentally bewildered, and out of the picture) and I may have to get involved to help prosecute societal miscreants that have serious needs--needing to be taken off the streets. Who lives in your sub-neighborhoods? Do you demonstrate actively that you care whom they affect and how? What can you do? Jail won't resove their problems.

The second floor tenant says he won't pay and he won't leave. He acts as if he has taken this stance before. He throws trash and tv's smashing from his second floor perch. Filing an eviction notice costs $99 in Youngstown, takes time, and the law stands by your side. But when the ax falls, it's in their hands. One of the landlord books at the library suggests that one can pay the offending tenant to vacate the premises, that it's cheaper and faster than evicting. Pitiful. It could so easily backfire. Vigilance and diligence is the order of the day, progressive action. Proactivity positively paves the way before there's a problem. It's a lot late now.

Last night 2:30 am I couldn't sleep. I got up to see about the gravel-crunching footsteps I heard faintly outside my window. Even in the shadows it was unmistakably the second floor tenant going back and forth to the house three doors down and across the street. A silver four-door cruised slowly by, turned around and pulled into that drive and around back of the house three doors down and across the street. Nothing was happening for a while, then two newer flashy cars took off up the street, a Cadillac and a two tone Chrysler. I went to bed and fell asleep. I awoke later as (possibly) the same silver car was just leaving now from the back lot outside my window.

The bad news is that Youngstown, Ohio is the per capita "Murder Capital" of Ohio, USA, and lately, maybe of the world. The good news is that I live on the so-called good side of town. The bad news is that they're passing out samples of crystal meth to school kids and that crack and heroin are already rampant problems. Could it be that Youngstown's infamous organized crime bosses have all gone... underground? The good news is that somebody has to be a good guy. You, maybe. If I were a good wise guy, I wouldn't be here. But, I am here, for now.

It's not even my gig. I might-could just cut and run. The owner/landlord is out of town; I'm just filling in as property manager/junkyard dog. There may be a job opening here all too soon, one way or the other. Have a nice day in the neighborhood. .

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Preservation Mystery

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 02:11:33 GMT

Preservation Mystery.................................................................................................
...........
In preserving and restoring a wall mural over the fireplace mantle, I'm helping revive an ambiance of grandeur within a century-old house. I found the mural quite by accident under a couple of layers of wallpaper that I had been working on, priming and patching and painting, for a couple of days, along with the rest of the grand living room. Then it started lifting near the top; I tugged at it and discovered underneath hand painted leaves on the plaster wall. So curiously and carefully I kept pealing away larger and thankfully larger sections of the old wallpaper. I had that wonderful feeling of opening a big Christmas present. The "wrapping" paper came away fairly clean. Perhaps the paper-hanger was himself an amateur preservationist, a generous artisan who used an extra coat of wall sizing over the mural before he papered it over. So, now, it's not too shabby.

It's a classic pastoral scene, a grove of birch trees by a stream running into a reflective lake stretching out to wooded hillsides and sky. There's a young man standing, holding an eight-string harp, wearing a Romanesque or Greeky red mini-dress drape, staring away across the water. It's signed S.W. Rettegi, 1911. The house was built 1910-11.

The massive dark stained cherry wood trim, defining and dividing most of the first floor, retains its original finish. It's patina here and there has crinkled with age and is, amazingly, fantastically intact throughout. I have hardly to do much at all to that beautiful cherry woodwork (except for the stair steps requiring spot-staining and and an overall oil finish). Primarily I've been painting walls and ceilings. The solid oak floors could be sanded and varnished. The built-in oak cabinets and trim in the dining room need some cleaning and special treatment to bring it all around to look as though it has simply been treated well, practically unscathed, for a hundred years. The solid oak kitchen cabinets were painted over layers and layers ago. They're nice and white in the main kitchen and dusty rose in the butler's pantry.

Two days ago I met with the Realtor who will list the house for sale and soon enough I will have to find a new place to indwell... or on into even an older one.

Tags: Preservation, restoration, art, mural, painting, wallpaper, classic, house, cherry

PEACE NOW

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Fri, 30 Nov 2007 20:53:09 GMT

PEACE NOW.
by H.M. Johnquest

I got prompted to promote peace by coming up with five ways to create peace at the "Universal Peace Now" Zaadz pod, and then to post it in my blog. Here's my five.

MAKE IT RIGHT RIGHT NOW

1. Call anyone at random and say, "I love you, peace be with you." Or write a note, "I love you, peace be with you," and post it--somewhere. Still challenged? Look deeply into a mirror and say softly, with feeling, "I love you, peace be with you."

2. Wage PEACE, if you please, not anti-war.

3. Grow your own pure foods, herbs, and/or flowers. Purify your water.

4. Smile from inside out.

5. Take a deep breath...

Tags: peace, power, empowerment, purity, breathe, smile

IAPETUS, MOON WITH A VIEW

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 20:49:17 GMT

IAPETUS, MOON WITH A VIEW
by H.M. Johnquest

Of the photos back from Saturn, a revealing shot of Iapetus, that two-faced rogue satellite, tugs at me remotely. Its globular cover has a subtle repeating geometry indicating a sub-frame structure, it's 900 miles in diameter. Rough and glazed, black and white, it's yin and it's yang. This moonscape is half dark organic matter and half (H2O) water-ice. Hemispheres appear to be enjoined by a protruding five-mile-high, twelve-mile-wide equator, a twin-ridge that shoots straight across the patchy irregular black and white surface.

Let's simplify the picture. Iapetus resembles a blackened, pockmarked, walnut shell wearing an ice jacket that's half taken off. In the sun's light, it's black and white. The ice from afar is white but zoom in close and it's gleaming dirty black ice. Iapetus has large and small craters. Looking into their shadows, some are iced-over, some are filled with coal-black organic matter with a greenish cast according to spectrophotometry studies. There's nothing in the known universe that's simila., not even remotely close.

Curiously, most of Iapetus' craters have sprouted center peaks. [Perhaps there was a plasma semi-liquid layer under the surface so that when attacked by an asteroid projectile, Iapetus reacted with a liquidic splash that sealed on the spot, leaving a single mountain peak frozen in place.] Three distinct ages-old epochs are derived by noting the three distinct directions in which craters have been formed.

Around the pastel-hued Saturn-world and well outside its rings, Iapetus circles once every 80 days. It hurtles through space but doesn't spin. It leads with its dark and damaged face while its ice-encased tail trails. Iapetus artificially was placed into orbit; it's in apogee; it orbits in opposition to Saturn's spin. What a show. And it's on a tilted track -- 15 degrees inclined to the rings. Half the time Iapetus has a view of the lighter side of Saturn and its rings and half the time it looks upon Saturn's shadow-side where sunlight sifts through the rings. But Iapetus itself stays in the light of the sun, hardly ever eclipsed. Still, it's very very cold on the surface. It's theorized there is a layer of ammonia ice under the water ice.

There are tons of theories about Iapetus. One of the more likely theories of just how Iapetus received it's two-tone paint was posed by a Youngstown State University astronomy and physics professor (now emeritus), Warren Young. Years before the Casinni space probe transmitted data from Saturn, Professor Young and a colleague proposed this: one hundred million years ago, Iapetus was struck by a passing comet which ripped half its face off. [Perhaps a larger comet passing by sucked away the layer of ice as it dragged Iapetus into Saturn's stronger gravitational field where it now resides. But where did it come from anyway?] How about some more of the natural facts on Iapetus? It's not easy to get to the truth so deep, so close, and yet so far far away.

Better info on Iapetus comes from private sector sites, obscure sources, from various non-commercial publications. One's critical thinking needs be exercised. NASA, for their current freaking-control-freaking reasons, holds too tightly onto interesting new data and perspecuitous revelations obtained from the September 2007, Cassini-Iapetus fly-by. Those are my photos, my data; I need to know and I have a right (miniscule tax-payer that I am). Most of the better pictures still come from the 2004 Casinni-Iapetus fly-by, although just last month Casinni was 100 times closer! That close range radar imaging will be the most telling data to come forth. NASA has withheld those radar images from 2004 and from 2007. Why? Because they might-could show this world what's on and below the surface, inside of Iapetus. For now, the best radar data comes from privately funded ground based observatories [go figure]. One can learn a lot by perusing scientists' blogs, little from the NASA public press releases.

I would like to see deeper views and further analysis of our own moon so marvelously circling planet Earth. Why does this moon of ours seem to be off limits? What's up with that? How much farther out there into our just reachable outer limits is Iapetus? Is Iapetus also destined, deemed by NASA to be just another forlorn and lonely satellite? For now...

My theory is that Iapetus, even if it is older than dirt, is an affordable fixer-upper. An abandoned death-star. Mightn't it be turned into a great space hotel and research facility for R&R and R&D? A life-star. Bids for occupancy could commence August, 2020. Free enterprise will be out of this world. We may see a private sector space-race land-rush onto Iapetus. Stake your claim. Make of it what you will, Iapetus may very well be what's left of an intelligently constructed aeons-ancient ruins that is just now being revealed from under a battered sheet of ice -- it's a mother lode of a time capsule.

Some say that NASA wants you to think that you, yeah you, are the most highly advanced and most intelligent life form in the entire universe, ever.

Here's looking way up at you, kid.

c.2007, H.M.J.

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Sailing into the Night

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 01:56:12 GMT

SAILING INTO THE NIGHT by H.M. Johnquest

Just this last Labor Day eve she launched a borrowed kayak into the dark Connecticut River and was swept away by currents into darkness. My sister, Amy (www.bannerqueen.com) Johnquest, said she "found out immediately what it's like to try to steer a gyroscope." Okay... sounds like... fun. She struggled just to return to the landing and vowed not to go back out; she didn't think she would make it back after a longer voyage than this little preliminary trip of being swept away in a moment only to have to fight her way to reclaim safety. Bummer beginning. She was scared. But wisely she was not alone.

Amy told her friends to go ahead without her but Jeff intervened and "gallantly offered to take over that runtish, scrappy and unruly craft. Loaning me his kayak -- a long sleek and easy to glide vessel -- I was amazed at the huge difference in manageability." The kayakers paddled in the dark upstream to an island, they landed, found a place to sit, and watched the moon rise over the river. "Big smileness," she wrote. Now she wants to buy her own kayak. That's a good trip.

For encouragement, I related my first night-sail which was also my first time out on a good-sized sailboat, the Pearson Triton 28. Friends Paul and Sandy had invited me simply because I had never navigated a sailboat at night. This would be a treasured gift. The sun was sinking, its soft atomic colors were fading. In the twilight we motored away from the docks, past old boat-houses, pilings and piers and beyond into the void, a darkened Sandusky Bay. Save for a few red or green buoys winking and bobbing and marking the channels, our little running lights were alone coursing across the water. After raising sail and cutting the engine, we shushed into the night, sailing silently all out and about for a couple of hours. I was thrilled and I learned plenty.

Thank God that first night sail was an exhilarating heavenly experience. Even if peaceful, it whetted the appetite for many a night sail; some would prove to be more ostentatious than others. Night sailing is a viable option depending on the weather. One takes advantage of conditions when and where one can and/or they'll take you. Here's a good example.

********************************

Heading south along the East Coast, my cousin Marty Root and I were fit to be tied up at a little marina in Atlantic City, New Jersey -- because of foul weather and repairs -- for two days we worked on the boat, a DuFour 29. I kept an ear on the weather radio and waited for a break. There were changes in the autumn air. The rain had stopped, winds were shifting coming from the North. I'd had enough of waiting and I lept into a narrow window of opportunity to get the show back on the road. We sailed at 8:00 p.m. into the Atlantic and headed South and down into tropical storm Fabian. The big storm wasn't due to hit for a few hours; we thought we could make Cape May as strong North winds blew, speeding us on our way, pushing, running us further southward.

We sallied past the firey red, orange, and yellow blaze of Atlantic City casino hotel signage which tinged the sails with pastel colors spread out before us wing and wing. Those glitzy hotel lights advertise for miles even past the horizon on a clear night at sea. But we ran close along the coast and after Ocean City, the New Jersey got pretty dark. Phosphorescent plankton shimmered in our bow wave and rippled alongside beaming a little more brightly leaving a light green glow in our wake--marking our passage behind us and fading away into the black ocean.

We almost made it to the Cape May inlet before the storm front hit us. We had already shortened sail to reefed main and storm jib and donned the foul weather gear. By dead reckoning, we were approaching, we thought, Cape May inlet. We saw lighted piles of rocks. Winds worked around to the West and buffeted the boat in gusts and whipped up waves heaving oddly. It was the front of a full gale. In the next two days we'd hear over the marine radio two boats calling "may-day, may-day". Yet instead of sailing right in, we went out to sea to see the number on the marker buoy and check it against the number marked on the chart. I wanted to be sure we were precisely where we thought we were. We thrashed about and things got worse as we sailed storm-tossed to get near enough to read the markings by waving a flashlight beam at the wildly bobbing red blinking buoy. It was the right one.

The boat was over-canvased. We droped mainsail, lashed it, cranked up the diesel. Now motor-sailing with the propellar pushing and the little storm jib pulling like crazy, we fetched the inlet directly. Lucky for us we had stayed out to sea to check that buoy number -- because it went wild out there with storm front winds shifting, veering and backing wily nilly at 50 miles per hour yet with plenty of dancing sea room -- instead of getting dashed against the rocks.

By the time we gained the inlet, the wind was a steady freight train roaring out the narrow rocky inlet. The waves, smaller, more orderly, came rolling like trestle timbers awash, wave crests breaking, sea foam spraying, shooting cross troughs, hissing and stinging into our faces. Under motor alone we would have been blown slowly back out to sea. So, with all that wind-power right on the nose, with the storm jib set, we could zig zag, tacking, motor-sailing, sail angling into the wind, leaning far to starboard, then far to port, sailing and turning from breakwall to breakwall, flying back and forth along the narrow rocky inlet, about a dozen quick short tacks skillfully executed (thank you, Marty) before we made it through into the unfamiliar safe harbor in the dark.

Even though I had already plotted the course on the chart, and which "four-second green flash" lighted-buoy to look for next, and on what compass bearing, and approximately how far to enter the harbor before changing to the new course, I could not see the "four second green flash". My compass said I was dead on the right bearing. But in any strange harbor at night, four seconds is a long time between winks of light. Shore lights distract; some blind your night vision. Car headlights or taillights in the distance can mislead one's eyes off course. In a gale, visibility varies moment to moment. Eight seconds, twelve seconds, no green flash. Maybe I hadn't factored in enough leeway, or too much; I could be blowing off course and into shallow water in no time. Things had been going relatively well up to this point but now I panicked, my heart pounded.

Suddenly, it just came out of me, a prayer. There was no time to think out a properly holy prayer and I know this may sound incredibly trite or banal, I said, "Jesus! Help me see the light!" I swear, right away, there it was. Four seconds later it blinked green again; I changed course several degrees compensating for drift and thrashed on.

By chance we found in the mayhem an empty set of pilings by a wharf where we tied to for two nights, a day, and a half. We set sail when forecast winds were to diminish to "small craft warnings" for the afternoon. We weren't the biggest boat to take shelter inside Cape May's generous harbor but we were first to set sail in Fabian's aftermath. Several cruisers followed, sailed around us and on ahead -- their sails becoming distant dots across a vast but calming Delaware Bay. That evening in the clearing sky was a fine sunset. I felt radiant... thankful for the light... glad to be sailing again, and for sailing into the night.
c.2007, H.M.J.

Tags: Sailing, Atlantic, ocean, night, light, storm, triumph

KISS, Keep It Simply Sublime

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 14:04:05 GMT

KISS, KEEP IT SIMPLY SUBLIME by H.M. Johnquest When asked to contribute a page to an ebook of Tips For Making Life Easier, I had ten days to come up with something. [Download the complete ebook now from www.creatingsoul.com ] I wrote out four loose pages, tightened them into one page, and sent that in at the last minute. Here's the entry which is page seven in the ebook, Tips for Making Life Easier. ********* Making Life Easier by H.M. Johnquest It's about making life easier, not taking life easier. It takes work to make it easy. Preparation. Guidance. Friends. Visibility. Tenacity. Vision. These things involve purposeful effort. But how do you put it all together? Easy. It's in the old anacronym with a new spin. KISS! KEEP IT SIMPLY SUBLIME, you sage, you. Already you've got it going on, maybe too much, or you wouldn't want to make IT easier. So let's look at this new KISS. Focus. KEEP your eyes and actions on what you know needs to be done. Don't get sidetracked. Go for the goal. KEEP IT going. IT is your life, your world. IT is what you make IT. IT is your responsibility. IT is your behavior and the results of your behavior. Own your feelings, thoughts and prayers, even if esoteric, you are projecting potential futures. Choices today forecast more choices for tomorrow. Once you realize your responsibilitiy, you become increasingly more response-able. SIMPLY SUBLIME. How wonderful is that! start by streamlining. Eliminate the clutter you rummage through life with. Look for the good in others and self and you'll find it. What is SUBLIME anyway? My little dictionary says it's "exalted; lofty; inspiring awe; impressive; moving." But bigger dictionaries define SUBLIME in epiphany-like terms; state of lofty exaltation; elevating in dignity or honor; "to render finer as in purity or excellence." To make life easier the key is in the making. So, sage, KEEP IT SIMPLY SUBLIME. c.2007, H.M.J. *********** If something works for you about making life easier, share it. Add a comment, if you please, and thank you. Peace, Harry

Tags: sublime, KISS, simple, sage, choices, easier

The Bicycle as a Weapon in Self Defense

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 20:34:42 GMT

THE BICYCLE AS A WEAPON
by H.M. Johnquest

Two ways I know to utilize a standard-issue pedal metal bicycle as a survival weapon.

First, a former employer, a genuis with patents and millions and a good atttitude, relayed to me a dramatic practique he deployed in a time of extreme need. It happened when this old boss and his wife were bicycling through a park on the near east side of Cleveland, Ohio.

What's right with this picture? He's married to his high school sweetheart. Their kids are grown and doing fine. They absolutely love and trust each other and love life. She handles the books and he handles the inventions. Things can only get better.

On this particular day, life seemed to be going by like a walk in the park, except they were riding bikes in the park, when a gang of dogs-gone-wild, street dogs running in a pack, began chasing them, barking, dogging them, hounding them.

Watching him tell the story, I sensed the adrenaline, norepinephrine and all surging behind his eyes all over again. If you were ever chased by a barking dog nipping at your heels, you know how it feels. Picture half-a-dozen canines coming from behind and at both sides and they're dirty, lean-hungry, snarling dogs. Imagine you're with someone you care about very much. Are we there yet? Try and see...

The edge of the park came in sight. They were close but there was a hill to climb. He sent her on ahead, posthaste and he hung back - slowing - to let her get away on up over the hill.

To the dogs he must have looked like a weak old bull lagging behind the herd, ready to be run down and overwhelmed. In life, the thrivers wisely choose their battles and battlegrounds when and where they can, even when it's forced upon them to make a stand. He veered his bike into the open, stopped fast and hard and hopped off.

WARNING to mamzie-pamzie armchair millionaires, do not try this at home! You could easily throw your back out or bring on a heart attack. First off, it is recomended proceedure to alight from the side of the bike from which you observe a lesser number or least ferocious of the dogs attacking. This he did. Next, hit dog(s) with bike. Repeat. Move bike as shield. Swing bike as needed and/or in a continuous circle round and round. He did this. Keep moving for safety. Be aggressive but take it easy; you may need to ratchet it up a notch to effectively thwack and creditably execute fell swoops so as to continually collide with the lunging, darting dog snouts. [When handy, a padalock on a chain may be considered a formidable accessory.] Although this instance of dog-bashing was minor, the dogs slunk away for easier prey.

That was that. Happy ending. Hugs and kisses. Police were dispatched. There had been other reports on these dogs. This one was their last.

The second practique in the fight for life with a bike is in my experience. I bike a lot. I go for groceries with a big back pack. I ride the bike to the libriary, to yoga, tai chi, to buy vitamin C, E, bee pollen, almonds, organic produce, pure water and whatnot. (I buy loads less whatnot traveling by bike.) So here's my death defying, life enhancing, bike-as-weapon story. Blink and you'll miss it. It took a dozen bikes and decades of riding for me to achieve this. I'm 56. My blood pressure is 109 over 63 (that's good), my cholesterol is low and my spirits are set for soaring.

I choose life by beating back death with a bicycle. Every day it's life or death on the road; I keep choosing life. Because I'm in tip-top shape and experienced, if I see a pack of wild dogs coming at me, I think I'll climb a tree. Enjoy the view.

c.2007, H.M.J.

Tags: Bicycle, bike, self defence, health, wealth, millionaire, survival, dogs

THE ART OF DODGING GAMMAS

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Tue, 10 Jul 2007 00:44:42 GMT

THE ART OF DODGING GAMMAS My experience of the dog days of summer feels like a dog with a dry bowl. So I hydrate with "So Be" and gallons of spring and distilled water. I can hardly appreciate being in intense sun for long on those ozone-hole-days. It's x-rays, gamma rays, and ultra color spectrum wave lengths that get to me. I put on sunblock but the sun can turn me to toast, wearing me down, inside out. Nevertheless, yesterday, a Sunday in the sun, I perused the celebrated Summer Festival of the Arts hosted at Youngstown State University. Sixty-one artists displayed for sale their wares from ceramics to oil paintings, jewelry to original furniture. I imagine the lemonade stand did some of the best business. The fine art artists are struggling. I mingled and was encouraging when I could be. However I chose to enjoy more of the free and indoor cultural events as much as possible. A harp soloist played celestially in the central gallery of the grand Butler Museum of Art. The last piece strummed and plucked was Debussy's "Clare de Lune", a reverie in melody for me especially on a harp. The Opera Guild scholarship recipients sang their little hearts out to Mozart, Bottesini, Schubert, and Straus. They did quite well but the one who won the lesser prize moved me the most, her sensitive interpretation truely sweet and pure. I had brought my Cocoa Grows screenplay along to work but I didn't get to it until the USA Dance troupe performed. They did the usual demonstrations of the Rhumba, Cha Cha, Fox Trot, Jitterbug. But I wrote while they danced and came up with a great line in my script only tangentially related to the dancing. Outside I wrote too few precious words while sitting on a bench under tall oaks by the fountain, half-watching a wood carver carving a two foot by seven-foot tree stump into a penguin standing on blocks of ice, while an amplified Irish band drowned out the wood carver's chain saws and power sander. It's distracting -- hard to create while other arts activities flourish all around. Still, it must have been inspiring. Last night I stayed up well past two a.m. writing. Fiinally I went to sleep smiling, pleased with the day's progress.

Tags: arts, writing, creativity, music, dancing, inspiration, summer, sun

Haiku Hitting Home

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 18:21:46 GMT

Spontaneous hands to heart conveys one essence in true namaste. Greet this time now where, we're one, in love, you and I, forever divine. We're on the home stretch but it takes an angel to go the extra mile. Quantum awareness, recreating creation, one and all we are. I love [namaste] to honor you, divine light lively, bright within. Enlightened inside perfect love casts away fear "Come Rain or Come Shine." Sutures choose, not wounds. Recreate. Rev-volition! It's your illusion. Stop the world-spin, kingdom of heaven's within, but while here, let's roll. Scare yourself or not, ballance, take courage or fall, hearten the heartless. What you say and do, what's in your eyes and smiles, all makes and breaks hearts. Brush hog made of fire leaves tall trees standing if scorched, better growth next year. Should be so lucky to have home sweet universe whisper, "transcendence." c.2007, H.M.J.

Tags: haiku, poetry, namaste, quantum, illusion, divine, summer, love

Landlord on the lam.

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Tue, 22 May 2007 20:19:19 GMT

LANDLORD -- ON THE LAM
(Only the names have been changed.)

When the police left, Moose said that was the third time they'd been there that night. Between times he'd gone out for beer and cigarettes... to keep himself going... or something. They'd never take him in sober. They wouldn't have to if he'd sober up. Anyway, he's not going back in, he said, he'd get two to eight for sure this time.

Joseppi and I tried to have a talk with Moose. It's pointless to reason with a drunk except that you feel as though you've at least tried to do and say the right things. Nevertheless, Moose really only wanted to hear himself blather.

He wants to go to Belize. I asked if he spoke Spanish. Nada. He said he'd learn. When would he ever learn? He bragged he could hide out in Texas or in New York City, maybe forever. He says he could just disappear. Ffffffft. Gone. He said he's got time to pull it off, five or six months before this thing goes to trial.

I explained to him that he doesn't have near enough sense and even less savy to keep from getting arrested for the rest of his life (duh). He'd be better off lying low locally, minding his own business and getting his affairs in order because it seems likely he's going to go to jail. He could use the penitentiary time to sober up and even for penetence. There's a thought. Here's looking at two to eight, kid.

Joseppi tried to convince Moose to check into some kind of hospital treatment program soon, before he is arrested again. Detox not retox. Show the courts that he's trying to get help--that he's rehabilitating himself. Yup. It could make a difference in the impending sentencing. Come on. Put the beer down. He did but one gulp at a time.

I left around two. Joseppi drove Moose elsewhere to hide out: a derelict, plumbing-stripped house now occupied by his best friend's brother. (His best friend was unavailable due to serving a six month jail sentence). They were almost there when a plain-clothesman in a plain-wrapped car pulled them over to the side of the road.

Moose bolted from Joseppi's truck, thrashed into the woods and was swallowed by the darkness. He pulled a muscle and it hurt. He said he felt it tear and snap that he could feel something slide down inside his calf muscle. No yelling allowed. He kept going, breathing hard, sweating bullets. He thought he knew where he was but got lost. He climbed some fences and came out on a road, figured out where he was, climbed back over the fences and before dawn Moose, limping painfully, made it into the safe house.

He'd crash there all right.

c.2007 H.M.J.

Tags:

LANDLORD HIDES OUT

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Sun, 29 Apr 2007 20:56:03 GMT

LANDLORD HIDES OUT
(True story. Names are changed to protect the innocent.)

My landlord stayed out of trouble for a whole month. And well he should. He's free on a $12,000 bail bond: ten thousand for breaking-and-entering and stealing a bird and two thousand for hosting a yard sale without a permit. You'd think he'd pencil-in wisdom into his day planner and cross-off recidivism. Yet he has been drunk mostly lately.

One-o'clock a.m. I hear knocking. My name is called. Sounds like the landlord asking for keys to open up the main house. I figure he lost the keys. I holler I'm coming out. It's not the landlord. It's his brother Joseppi. I find three cops, two of whom shine lights in my face. My pupils flinch and I squint back. "What's up?" I ask.

"Moose got into a little trouble," says Joseppi. "They want to talk to him..."

I opened up, policemen brushed past me. Flashlight beams crisscrossed and waved, zapping the darkness. I switched on some lights and settled into the office/dining room. Moose was there. His keys lay sprawled on the desk. I knew where and I knew they'd never find him unless I woggled my finger or rolled my eyes toward a hidden chamber. They might then find the spring-loaded panel on their own. The old house features solid oak built-ins, pocket doors, and secret compartments. Inside of one, Moose lurked.

I asked what this was all about. Earlier that evening, Moose in a jealous rage, kicked in Maddy's door. He was drunk and feeling amorous. She was too, and drunk, but she already had a boyfriend inside. Moose had knocked upon her door, she hadn't answered, he went and stood under her bedroom window. Maddy is a moaner and she moaned, possibly for Moose's bennefit. Maybe he'd take a hint and take a hike. Whatever. He busted in the door and she dialed 911. He'd have been better off kicking himself in the head.

I knew Moose could hear every word we were saying. I engaged in small talk about what an idiot he is---how he needs serious help---how he gets nutsoid when he's drinking---but how a lot of his friends would say he's the nicest person most of the time, but not when he's drinking. Then he's his own worst enemy.

The search turned up nothing interesting. The sergeant was telling me how serious this was and all the time wasted to apprehend Moose since 9:30 p.m. I couldn't help it; I interrupted and told him that it takes two to tango and that Maddie drives people crazy. I won't even talk to her, I just walk away, I told him. And I appologized for interrupting, yes sir. But I had to pitch those two bad pennies into their searchlights.

They left. Cars sped out. It got quiet. Joseppi called out, "They're gone." A few minutes later, Moose slunk out of hiding, skunk drunk, aiming a big 40 oz. Colt 45 malt liquor at his face. After a while he and his brother would make a run for it.

c.2007, H.M.J.

Tags:

Landlord, Day 3

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Mon, 16 Apr 2007 00:01:12 GMT

LANDLORD, DAY 3

I made such a deal with the landlord. It might not sound so good to you but I have no complaints. It's work in exchange for renting the space above the garage.

This "carriage house" might-could actually be rented except for its bowing, slumping and leaning due to the shifting foundation and ground level biodegradation. Entropy happens. One corner droops nearly 18 inches. (Wait 'til I get photos.) The stairwell holds the middle up and the whole thing slants to the west by southwest with a twisted list. A mint Porche is parked inside the east bay because the west side floods in heavy rain. It's nowhere near as wet as it was before I did some minor excavations.

The apartment boasts three rooms with kitchen and bath. There's the bedroom, an office, the living/dining/art-studio/tool room, a short hall and a steep set of stairs. It's one-hundred-and-one years old. I've been here a couple of years.

The main house is a mansion and divided into three apartments. Second floor sports two fireplaces and two full baths. First floor has one of each but more grandeur overall. Third floor--not too shabby. When the landlord goes away, I'm entrusted with property management such as it is. He once had more: lost two houses and an auto repair shop due to bad habits. On those occasions when the landlord is off on an extended stay, say in jail, I spend days at his computer with its 22 inch monitor, highspeed internet connection, etc. Yet I accomplish more caretaking and building maintenance while he's away. Why? I can't work with him and I won't work around him. He puts up with my intollerance and distance pretty well, I guess.

My personal hovel could be worse. I've slowed the building's descent, perhaps prevented its collapse with makeshift props. Scavenged, scarf-jointed lumber. An upright I-beam for the main beam. Masterfully I utilized three hydraulic jacks to lift the building, little by little, until a joist split with a tearing, splintering sound.

Gravity may win but for now I'll maintain things with what levity I can muster up. It may be considered a death trap but I'm just not ready to go. But I'm fixin' to be ready when the time comes.

c. 2007, H.M.J.

Tags: for rent, ascent, home repair, caretaker, upright

Landlord, Day 1

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Fri, 13 Apr 2007 20:45:52 GMT

LANDLORD, DAY 1 (True story. Names are changed to protect the innocent.) My landord, Moose, is behind bars, again. This time they brought him in on an outstanding warrant from last summer because of an unpaid ticket for hosting a yard sale without a permit. Yikes. However, the reason police came upon the scene is that he stole a bird, a budgee. Budgees resemble parakeets but more talkative and friendly. It was a kidnapping of a beloved pet. The budgee belonged to his friend-girl Madie who loved this bird. She wasn't all that upset when Moose had kicked in her door and chased her out of her own house. Seen through an alcoholic haze, these things happen. But when she returned and found the bird and cage missing, she flew into a rage and called 911. She stormed up the street to his house, ahead of the police. Madie was mad. Pounding on the door she yelled obscenities and for him to let her in and give her her bird back. Neighbors said they could hear her quite plainly but at that moment it was hard to understand just what it was all about. "Gimmie my bird you &%#+ $#( @*>!! Open up, I want that bird." After she went around yelling and pounding from the front door to the back and back to the front again, he finally let her in. Inside she found Moose with her bird out of the cage, free and flying around inside the house. Two police cars came soon after. Since her bird seemed okay, she didn't want to press charges anymore. Moose and Madie were like two turtle doves. She told the cops how it was when they first met. Ahh. However, the police checked their records and found an outstanding warrant for Moose's arrest. Ahha. He never had bothered to pay a ticket for having a yard sale without a permit; now he would have to go to jail. Coincidentally, one of the arresting officers had arrested Moose three years earlier for breaking-and-entering and assault, for which he served 18 months in jail. That officer wanted to see the damages at Madie's house, even though she wasn't pressing charges, he was. So she and the budgee received a police escort home. The policemen all went inside to investigate the B&E at the scene of the birdnapping. Meanwhile, Moose, back-handcuffed in the back seat of the cruiser, started rocking the police car, trying to bring the cuffs under and around front, but, in frustration he kicked repeatedly at the door trying to bust out and get away. They had to ask him to settle down. They think that drugs and alcohol may have been involved. It's a safe bet he's penitentiary bound for two to eight years. Birdnapping is a serious offence. I can hear the conversatiion with his new cell mate after the iron door slams shut that first day on the inside. "What are ya in for?" Weak and vulnerable, he blurts out the awful truth: "For having a yard sale without a permit." c.2007, H.M.J.

Tags:

Spring Wranglings, Haiku

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Fri, 06 Apr 2007 20:39:42 GMT

Thriving through winter
to spring, a heartbeat strengthens
for love unfolding.

Herb garden sprouting
in peat pots on windowsills,
daffodils in snow.

Spontaneous hands
to heart, one conveys essence
in true namaste.

Chiaroscuro words
strain to sing in the colors
of spring and summer.

Greet this time now where
we're one, in love, you and I,
forever divine.

Rows of chirping birds
suddenly flutter away.
Nearby, a jay shrills.

c. 2007, H.M.J.

Tags: spring, garden, namaste, heart

New Year's Revolution -- Haiku

http://Johneeequest.gaia.com — Sat, 06 Jan 2007 21:17:45 GMT

Achieving your goals
has the magic of a well
practiced hockey team.

Attention!! At ease.
Fluid honor, grace, and poise
in dance I salute.

Cheers roar in the night
half-mile away through the trees
fireworks splay; they've won.

Editors advice:
good writing means rewriting
for their sake not yours.

My voice is learning
so listen, this lesson sings,
we've two ears, one mouth.

Live each moment as
if this was your one last chance
to have no regrets.

Not just "ring, ding, ahl..."
it's the spirit within Thee
Carol of the Bells.

Bright cool night,
silvery full moon, clear sky,
we smile up...

Christmas lights reflect
across red, white, blue green-scapes;
I'm happy and warm.

Your poem dances still,
touching heart to heart to tears;
I had to respond.

Tags: Resolution, revolution, goals, team, magic