Quantum Leap

All my lines are born of intuition pure thought-dreams

rule the day is what at I say writing down the bones 

every which way meanwhile, I remember a time 

when I became one with the universal mind and saw  

the divine within every living thing oh, these inner 

visions far below the trillions of galaxies and stars 

all these illusions going round in my head taking me 

back to where it all began for time points both ways 

until infinity or so they say and these are things 

worth wondering about in my lonely room right 

before the dawn then comes  the rising sun in the 

fabric of spacetime as if a gravity wave forcing me 

to begin the beguine again and take a quantum leap

The Pandemic Yogi

Just as the pandemic was unfolding last March, and we knew not what we were in for, I wrote a piece about my nascent Yoga practice. 

At that time, I had been practicing for a year or so, a very modest practice at that. And while it served me well physically, and mentally to a lesser degree, I was no more enlightened than before I first hit the mat, so to speak.

 

Nonetheless, the Hatha poses and Vinyasa flows were proceeding swimmingly in the early days of the outbreak, keeping me fit and calm as best as could be expected while the death toll started to mount, and food stuffs and toilet paper were in short supply.

 

In late June, however, I was seriously injured in a bicycle accident and fractured four ribs. My practice came to a dead stop.  Little did I know then that it would be months before I could get back to practicing. I made several attempts along the way, only to restrain my ribcage; and if you’ve never had broken ribs, I don’t recommend it.

 

I’ll spare you the gory details, there’s already TMI about everything and everyone on the internet – and in society at large. And by the way, whatever happened to discretion or privacy for that matter?

 

Anyway, my practice has only recently returned; after my last couple of sessions, the rib injury appears to be healed. And so now, I’d like to impart some wisdom on you all, for wisdom is the wellspring of Yogiism; and that’s not even a word…yikes! 

Unfortunately, my ignorance far surpasses my intellect, and life has been a lesson in humility. But take heart, better days are coming, it is only a matter of when, and if you're looking for wisdom, look within.

Joy to the World

Having said that, let me say this: joy can be found in most situations. Unless you or a loved one are suffering a fatal illness, or you're being tortured in a prison camp, or some other dreadful fate has befallen you, life is good, no matter what.

 

Luckily for me, I’ve long relied on my creative impulses to carry me through dark days, and there have been many, some self-inflicted, others the mere stuff of life. With that, I’ve put this year of being locked down to good use, playing my guitar a ton and writing with abandon.

 

Meanwhile, I’ve been delving into the mysteries of quantum mechanics, which has manifested itself in my last series of verses. Trust me, I don’t understand advanced physics, but it certainly is mind blowing. 

There is far more to reality than we can perceive. And the latest science indicates that everything in the cosmos, including us and our consciousness, emanates from matter. We gaze at the planets, stars, galaxies, and universe(s) as if they are something other than ourselves, when we’re all made of the same stuff--protons, neutrons and quarks, oh my!

Of course, this is no great revelation. It’s akin to what they once taught in Sunday school…but the operative word here is science, one that has been thrown around like a political football during these unprecedented times.

 

Surely, we should trust science; look at the advances our species has made since the ancient Greeks. They didn’t come from heaven, a Yogi or space aliens reverse engineering technology for the benefit of humankind, as many seem to believe. 

 

Anyway, scientific progress is what brought us the vaccines and therapeutic treatments that will help to end the pandemic. From what little I understand, mRNA vaccines have been in development for nearly 30 years, so they’re not magic but products of scientific experiment and labor.

So yes, we should trust science; but scientists are human, and humans are highly fallible, prone to mistakes and biases. Even Albert Einstein made numerous mistakes with his mathematical equations, fancy that if you will.

There’s been a lot of misinformation about the SARS-cov2 virus that causes COVID-19, some of which has been peddled by various so-called scientists employed at government agencies. In other words, bureaucrats with an agenda. 

Whether shutting down the economy was the right thing to do remains to be seen. Given that this virus specifically targets the elderly and infirm, perhaps there was another way to go? 

But I am not a scientist, nor have I ever lived through a pandemic before. So what do I know?

In any event, my plan for the time being is to keep a low profile, keep hitting my Yoga mat and continue pursuing my creative musings. They have gotten me nowhere in terms of recognition or financial reward. But the personal satisfaction that comes from working at something day-in, day-out, and getting better at it on my own terms is reason to be cheerful.

And so too is scientific progress, which has nothing to do with the false promises of politicians on both sides of the aisle or new age mysticism.

March Madness

Looking up at the stars with my mind 

on fire thinking about creation when the 

universe was born so expansive the elusive 

truth of time depends on your motion with 

the world on a string swing over to the garden 

where all will be revealed it’s a matter of choices 

yet free will is so mythical like these dreams

so lyrical going round in my head in the wee

small hours shaking me from my bed could

it be coming back around again is this the end

or only the beginning of more March madness ?

The Scientist

Beneath the surface noise 

of the universal mind

calling from the other side 

of time where broken arrows lie 

short of their mark never reaching 

the end friends and relations 

remain memories deep in a dream 

lingering between everything 

where forgiveness is a daisy chain 

of our being, our bodies, our minds

are merely made of matter protons 

starring in the quantum show

prophets call it the immortal spirit 

the scientist says dark matter

Eternal Matter

Phase transitions through the gravity

of our times in separate spaces 

of eternal matter where nothing remains 

but constant change as galaxies drift 

away like lovers estranged left with 

nothing but bittersweet memories tinged 

with sadness and pain over the way things 

used to be when we naively believed 

in freedom, democracy, and liberty 

my country tis of thee and all that

jazz but we’ve been had the world’s

gone mad it was only a ruse to stop

us from finding the truth inside our

hearts and minds silently waiting to

be uncovered as if an elusive pearl

Under Winter Sky

Jupiter moon sailing by

a lone wolf on the outskirts

of town only a second or so

away on this perilous night

as if Judas Iscariot e tu Brute

we all fall down like ashes  

mere particles lost in galaxies

of mind alone and together

entangled forever and a day

come what may in the beginning

was the word and the word is

love far more than matter

the mystery of what will be

from here to eternity elegantly

entwined under winter sky

The Astronomer

Gravitational waves traveling through

 

spacetime at the speed of light from 

cosmic yesterdays into the quantum 

mystic waxing so rhapsodic about all 

these metaphysics  and cosmologies 

  

of theoretical mathmagicians new age 

theologians sans frontiers espousing for 

particles, quarks and bosons, oh my, 

undetected warps  under blankets of bliss 

enshrouded in darkness rising Krishna 

consciousness or Buddha nature within

all of us light universally speaking still

seeking searching for the origin the wonder

of it all of you and me unbound until 

eternity sets us free to see reality flowing 

from the heart and mind of the Astronomer

Cosmology Blues

Far and wide diamond sky faint signs 

of the origin of time in the beginning 

was the word  until Einstein’s dreams 

blew our minds with new visions of 

space-time, of gravity, of different 

realities for people, particles, or angels 

in motion, meanwhile back on Earth 

the world keeps turning where hearts 

and minds are yearning for truth, 

love, for liberty, as galaxies expand

asymmetrically oh, the mystery 

of quantum waves separating you 

and me yet we remain entangled 

until entropy becomes our destiny 

Genesis Revisited

Ripples in the 

fabric of space 

as if cosmic waves 

of particles on 

a string or angels 

dancing on the head 

of a pin that toil 

and spin over quantum 

fields of majesty echoes 

in the dark last night 

when the world 

was young and you 

appeared in my dreams 

announcing prophecies 

while waxing scientific 

about realities that go 

unseen to the naked eye 

like the watcher in the sky 

with diamonds and pearls 

signposts of eternal time

before the fall from grace 

Autumn Blue

Mercury smoking under the harvest moon

down by sea of mind where memories lie

left behind in the foggy dew of yesterday 

when we threw it all away then Jupiter 

stepped in to begin the beguine reminding 

me of the one with flowers in her hair 

the scent of romance in the air so sincere 

or so it seemed but it was only a dream 

another scene seldom seen from days 

between bewitched bothered sounds 

familiar until we meet again say a prayer 

for me go tell it on the mountain or down 

in the valley of the heart where love lies 

crying to be heard as words go unspoken  

in the still of the moment only silence remains

in the eternal now of this autumn blue

 

Venus and Mars Again

Sitting on my front porch 

step down under the stars 

wishing I could write a song 

like Venus and Mars but 

the world’s gone wrong and 

everybody is going insane

as so called leaders make like

weathervanes genuflecting before

the mob taking it to the street

living in a police state where 

democracy is a picture show 

been that way since freedom 

died that day in Dallas long ago,

somewhere over the grassy knoll

the bell tolls for liberty for glory

for only the lonely in the darkest

hour looking for love in the time

of corona and knowing all we 

really have is this present holy 

moment to wake up in America

New Society Blues

Flags are flying 

half-mast all around 

something’s so wrong 

with the air that we 

breathe if ever we 

meet again who knows 

where or when  oh, sweet 

mystery as philosopher kings 

wax polemic with empty 

beatitudes don’t forget us 

so relentless what’s going on

the world’s gone wrong sound
the alarm of imminent harm 

there is no explanation for 

suspicious minds the chosen 

few left behind without a trace 

like spitting atoms as choirs 

of angels sing new society blues

Return to Liberty

“Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.” Benjamin Franklin

And so it goes the battle against the novel cornonvirus rages on and we may be on the far side of the pandemic that has gripped the world; every leader was caught on the blind side.

Now, killer corona is everywhere, bend every bush, but don't get a test unless your presenting symptoms of Covid-19, put on a ventilator, or stacked in a refrigerator truck.

What’s with that?

As it has widely been reported, NY is the epicenter of the plague, where we have a one in a thousand chance of contracting the virus. Those odds are hit or miss.

How did we get here? And how do we avoid the fiasco in Italia?

Call it Covid 19, call it the Wuhan Flu, call it what you will, this situation is far more serious than every nation originally thought. So, armchair experts can continue throwing stones while conspiracy theorist populate the internet. I’ve got other things on my mind.

This global disaster ultimately belongs to the Communist Party of China which has violently oppressed its own people and unleashed this scourge on the world.

Though we will survive the novel corona pandemic, the damage to the economy and changes to our way of life will be long-lasting. But one way or another, we need to get going again…otherwise, some will die of starvation, if not the novel corona disease….

I don’t believe in the apocalypse or much of anything else, but there’s got to be a reason we went from having the best economy in generations to a global medical-financial calamity…and now everybody gets to take a bite of this tsunami.

And me thinks Covid 19 is everywhere among us; and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. Quarantines are an illusion If we are going to grocery stores and pharmacies and taking food deliveries. 

Can you say Chinese take-out?

And six feet can be hard to come by if you’re living just enough for the city, masks and gloves notwithstanding.

There’s reason to hope as well since science and American ingenuity will provide us with anti-viral treatments even if a vaccine is ways away if  ever.

We’ll be much better prepared to wage the second half of the battle when the next wave comes round during the fall flu season, and it will. The 1918 Flu behaved in similar fashion and was even more devastating in the second wave.

Back on the farm, there’s a growing narrative that we need to defend the US constitution at all costs; they will never give back what they take. It’s more than metrics, it’s about the cost of freedom. As of this moment our rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness have been alienated by a microscopic enemy.

From afar, it looks like a power grab by the billionaire elites here and abroad who have long studied matters like pandemics and depopulation. And the media has weaponized the virus and scared the people, causing a panic and a run on toilet paper. Nice one.

Meanwhile, put those coronavirus guidelines into practice and stay away from one another…sigh….

Surely, healthcare professionals and first responders are on the front lines of the battle. And who knew grocery store employees would become unsung heroes?

And most of us are hunkering down and doing what we got to do: staying alive.  As the number of cases rise and deaths mount. Scary…tru dat.

At some point, however, we need to come to the realization that this year’s model of the corona virus is here to stay. Whether our society can adapt, and whether we have the courage to assume the risk, remains to be seen.

But we can’t hide behind closed doors forever.

If nothing else, safety and security is an illusion. Life has always been fragile, which is why we should celebrate every moment. In the meantime, stay calm, avoid a cytokine storm, and keep keeping on.

The Mythical Yogi

This weekend marks one year since I began practicing Yoga; much progress has been made and the benefits are plenty. My latest session was almost a revelation.  

After a long set of asanas, I was lying in Savasana, focusing my intention on my inner eye when I suddenly astral projected through the ceiling and found myself being guided by a Sherpa climbing the Himalayas. 

Then, a massive snow squall fell upon us and we were blinded by the white. Through the howling wind, the Sherpa’s voice cried out, “The jewel is in the lotus,” as we tumbled down the mountainside. Fear not, though, for I landed safely on my mat, chanting “om mani padhme hum.”

STOP THE PRESSES! 

That never happened. 

In fact, I am no more enlightened today than I was yesterday, and probably know less now than I did back in college when I thought I knew everything. Just ask my dear old friend Karen about that.

The real benefits of my Yoga practice have been twofold: increased strength, flexibility and balance, which is crucial as we age. Oh, the inevitable decline. Also, the meditative aspects of a vinyasa flow help to ease my mind, at least for a short while. 

However, I am still struggling with certain poses. The real far out pretzel stuff is beyond my pliability; and handstands and headstands are not something I should mess with. Meanwhile, my incredibly bad web-like feet make certain balance poses a real challenge. 

When I was taking lessons last summer/fall, the instructor once remarked “It’s all in your mind.” And I was like, “no, it’s my feet.” But she insisted. 

To demonstrate my point, before the next lesson, I struck Tree Pose with my sneakers on, and she says, “I knew you could do it.” 

Then I took my shoes off and popped my orthotics out and said, “It’s not in my head, it’s in da-feet.”

Now, my head may in fact be stuck some place, but I know my body and mind, and my limitations, far better than any Yoga instructor. And there are always modifcations available.

Besides, I am wary of all the woo-woo stuff, and skeptical of “mysticism” in general. So, buying into the whole “Yogi” thing is unlikely. 

I also have my doubts about its so-called sister “science of life,” ayurveda. There is no scientific evidence or data that supports this Ancient Indian medicine; and it will not give us a vaccine for the dreaded Covid 19 corona virus…yikes! Then again western scientists seem baffled as well. 

Speaking of baffled, can you say Joe Biden? Beats Bolshevik Bernie, I guess....only tomorrow knows what will become of Agent Orange. "Don't follow leaders, watch your parking meters." (Dylan)

No worries, however, it’s like Machiavelli opined centuries ago, “True power lies behind the throne.”

But let me not digress. 

Anyway, practicing Yoga has enhanced my well-being overall, so I’ll stick with it. At the same time, I’ve got no need for a guru, or being  a teacher either; after all, I’m just a humble guy trying to get by in life.

Given the many missteps I’ve taken, I have no business telling anyone how to live or to be happy. Like the Yogi chant goes, “ong namo guru dev nomo,” which loosely translated means I bow to the teacher within.  

In other words, trust yourself. 

Nor have I plunged into Yoga blindly. As previously mentioned, I did take 20 or so classes over a period of months last year. I’ve also picked a few books on the topic. My most recent read was by an accomplished Canadian Yoga instructor I’d never heard of.

His point was to embrace the 8 limbs of Yoga which will lead to a path of letting go, mostly of our innate fear and/or denial of death. As it turns out, this guy died of an overdose of fentanyl-laden street drugs about three years ago. He apparently was battling bi-polar disorder and was about to go public with his travails. 

So, he may have been a renowned Yogi, but Yoga couldn’t save him. And the untoward sexual conduct of certain other Yogicians has been well-documented. Tragic and sad: ong namo guru dev nomo, indeed…

In any event, I’ll continue with my very modest practice. But it’s like anything else in life: take what works and leave the rest.

Or like that Yogi Frank Sinatra once said, “Ya gotta dig living, baby, because dying is a pain in the ass.”

Confessions of an Intuitive Empath

Many’s a time I've felt like a misfit, almost an outlaw, as if something was wrong with me: being able to pick up people's emotions, not read their minds, but share their feelings. The term for a person with this intuitive ability is “empath.”

While empath is a strange word, cluing into people's feelings enables me to relate to others. Being a highly sensitive person can also toss you away -- it often led me astray in my younger days, getting involved with toxic, emotional vampires who sucked the lifeblood out a of me.

Becoming aware of this inner power and establishing boundaries has been a product of maturation. That empathic energy is also the heart of intuitive writing. I'm not certain who coined the term, but intuition is the wellspring of my work.

Personality Typing 101

Though skeptical about psychology, I’ve delved into personality typing of late to further comprehend this empath business. Labeling people can be tricky, because there are many factors that drive our behavior.

From what I gather, however, there may be something to the various type assessments such as MBTI, even if their scientific validity has been called into question. Also, these assessments don't account for soul…the life force that sparks our existence.

At the same time, we all may very well have an innate set of characteristics that drive how we respond to the world, how we learn, and how we love. The key word here is “respond” which is not the same as “react.”

Here too, moving from reacting to responding is a product of maturation. Of course, humans are highly adaptable, and thriving in society dictates that we evolve, if not modify our behavior. But to some extent, we are hardwired when it comes to external stimuli.

The Intuitive Introvert

For what it’s worth, my personality type is INFJ, an intuitive introvert, an advocate or a counselor as it were. Apparently, INFJs only comprise one percent of the population, about as rare as Unicorns, only we are hiding in plain sight.

Not sure how near or far afield this assessment may be, but the insights into my personality I’ve gleaned from this exploration have been illuminating. Whether by choice or circumstance I’ve always spent a lot of time alone, sometimes using it effectively to create, others just to roam around in my head.

At times, sadly, I've also stumbled into some pretty low down places, chasing rabbits. But I pulled through.

Just the same, alone time also allows me to recharge my psyche, which gets drained when I’m surrounded by too many people, for too long, mainly because I absorb their energy-- the good, the bad, and the ugly.

At this juncture, I’ve come to accept my place on the introvert/extrovert spectrum, if only because the ratio (according to one assessment), is 57-42, which means there’s a fair amount of extra helping me pass through the world unscathed…lol.

I remarked to someone recently that writing, and performing back in the day, helped make me more extroverted, which is a good thing since spending too much time stuck inside of my own mind is not a good idea. More on that some other time.

Then again, why is it that introverts are often pressured to be more extra?

The social conditioning begins in our early school years and expands outward from there. Anyway, while I may verge on being an ambivert (people often mistake me for an extrovert), my natural inclination is to turn inward to process the real gone world, to borrow a phrase from Ferlinghetti.

On Intuitive Writing

That said, writing and expressing my thoughts in a public forum such as this also breaks down barriers, even if my cadres of readers is small and my words are sometimes misconstrued, most likely because I am an intuitive writer, relying heavily on insights born of energy emanating from within.

Intuition in this realm is akin to improvisation for a musician or an actor. Kind of hard to explain, but when I’m really onto a good thing writing wise, it's as if a vibration flows right through me. My best jams are free style riffs that I sculpt into final pieces after they’ve cooled on the shelf a bit.

Talk about introvert power.

But to bring it all back home, intuition often goes hand in hand with being an empath. This is not to time to take a deep dive into the differences between being empathetic, which many can be, and an empath – that’s an emotional trip on a whole other level.

On Being Authentic

This all may sound farfetched to some, and it’s possible I’ll lose a few readers and friends here. But there’s no point in writing if you’re not being authentic, the internet is filled with pretension aplenty.

Anyway, being an empath also manifests itself in my work at times -- I have on occasion written songs and free verse about the experiences of others after hearing their stories and relating those emotions. It’s a fascinating thing to be able to do, to say the least.

So too is picking up other people’s emotional vibrations, strong ones hit you right in the chest…thump! 

Intuition, on the other hand, flows from within like the wind...

The point of this muse is that it’s time to take my work to another level, tie it into my true, introverted-intuitive nature, maximize my gifts, and manifest positive vibrations in this sphere. If that means being more open and honest, so be it.

Until next time, keep on the sunny side.

Becoming

We don’t need to die
to be beatified now is
the time to be glorified
for heaven is all around
us if not in our minds the
divine lies within us more
than chemicals and dust
and who can you trust when
everything’s a bust to lend
a hand up when you stumble
and fall if not yourself so be
humble and stand tall face
your fears looking back in the
mirror like a truth teller no
time for fronting for running
for hiding nowhere left to go
for here now this is it the
eternal becoming where
souls are waiting to be born

Epiphanies of the Day

Although a new decade is upon us, our time is limited, so don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. Follow your heart and intuition -- they already know the way.

Of course, this takes courage, for it is often the road not taken, and yet it’s the only way to go. In that spirit, my writing journey continues, the essence of my being made manifest in stories far beyond all comprehension until they’re processed here or with a guitar and a pen.

Truth well told peels back the layer of superficiality of our day-to-day existence, separating you from me and everybody, as if breakers on the ocean with crests and troughs like the ups and downs of life.

It comes down to forgiveness I believe for we are living under grace as opposed to the law when we choose to believe each moment is holy. We tread along sacred ground following in the footsteps of our forebears not to be forgotten or forsaken.

All these epiphanies of the day, transporting me to another time and place, before the fall, last night when we were young or so it goes in a song.

Remembering things in the corner of my mind, a dark hollow in forests of azure where songbirds sing a melody in a minor key, off beat is the way to be for I am bored by predictability; it dulls my senses which interferes with my empathic energy and stifles my creativity. 

Ergo it is often necessary to shake things up let it rattle and roll as it were. The question remains as to whether we can withstand the inevitable blow back from the misfits and malcontents who show up like rainy days.

Where this is all going is unclear to me, for I am merely freestyling, writing with abandon past the point of oblivion where seldom is heard from the herd, the poor huddled masses contemplating carcasses of the past when the future is at hand.

In the grand scheme of things, I have no agenda, but then that’s a family trait, a fatal flaw if you will. Plans are another matter, however, and working my plan is taking more time than originally anticipated, God only knows how much time is left.

What I really want to know is what’s going on which means questioning nearly everything, why and what for even though it’s nearly impossible to truly know the score, but don’t the deal go down just the same.

And who was it that said, “Cool is a rumor?” 

It might’ve been some far flung character in a dive bar opining about the passing scene, saying something like “arguments over taste are no arguments at all,” before sailing through heaven's gates where the keeper waits to lead us to paths of milk and honey like a holy goof. 

Wait a minute, that sounds stranger than fiction like in a spaghetti western where gauchos have Asian eyes and conquistadors chart their course under constellation skies until they are stranded in the horse latitudes searching the Beatitudes for the way back home.

To know the truth, read between the lines, where my mind takes flight til the morning comes as shotgun blasts ring out from hunters across the bay stirring me from golden slumbers reminding me to be giving as a Magi each and everyday.

Melancholy Moments

In a melancholy moment
when first I heard your voice
calling from a deeper place
than memory can erase
where we long to be real
to be seen to breathe
again after all these years
as if a waterfall of tears

Speaking from the heart
is the path of least resistance
for seekers of truth of liberty
for all is temporary this holy
moment is all there is then
suddenly it’s gone before too
long until it comes around
again on the wheel of destiny

Turning back before slipping
away returning to air like
morning dew where feelings
linger in the space of intuition
looking to atone for what went
wrong but it’s too far gone still
searching for solace for you
in this melancholy moment

Shadows and Light

Solitude is the air
that I breathe
on a journey to
the center of mind
of self where all
seems serene until
intrusions come
from strange situations
absurd and obscene
eternally chances are
it’s not too late to turn
back time to re-calibrate
cognition to learn by intuition
sensing the scene from
a place of power with
inner visions going around
and around from pillar
to post when all is lost
at such a cost for these
invisible thoughts hovering
in the shadows waiting
for the light of day


(for Lauren in SF)

A Newspaper Boy Comes Home Again

One of my first paying jobs, after helping neighbors with gardening work, digging in the dirt, planting trees and things, was as a newspaper delivery boy. And to this day, having a paper route was the best hustle I’ve ever had.

It started when a friend decided to turn over his LI Press route over to me one spring, since he was also delivering the Newsday (back in its prime). The original Press was an everyday person’s kind a rag, but it had a great sports section (still the best writing in most print newspapers imho).

Sadly, the paper folded 6 months or so later at which time the New York Daily News swooped in and took over the Press’ preexisting customer base. For all intents and purposes, I became a Daily News deliverer by default, my first taste of a corporate takeover (didn’t know it then), and certainly not my last.

Then the Newsday route was offered to me, and my paper delivering career took flight. I was able to add on a bunch of new homes and had a decent-sized route.

Sundays would find me rolling up the road with a shopping cart absconded from the nearby grocery store stacked high with the Sunday edition listening to WPLJ 95.5 (also in its prime). If nothing else having a paper route made me an early riser and taught me about responsibility and money as well.

Friday was collection day of course, and I would often be invited in to customers’ homes to witness the strangest of things – the father of a friend who preferred to walk around in the nude, or the old woman who was routinely bombed on beers and chasers by the time I rang at 6:30 pm or so. She would stammer away, frequently pay in coins, and I would ramble out of her house clanging away – very strange days indeed.

But when the collections were done by the next afternoon, I would count my earnings and portion off some tip money to treat myself to a Dr. Pepper and some chips at the deli up the road, now long gone, like lots of other things in my hometown...sigh.

The best part about delivering papers was that I was totally independent, my first taste of freelancing (also did not know that then). I got up in the morning, collated all the inserts and such, delivered the papers, and that was that. End of the week, I picked up the loot, like a Soprano collecting a “vig” or not…lol.

Anyway, being a newspaper boy certainly was better for my head than working on Wall Street, or anywhere else for that matter.

Don’t know what it is about Office Space, but people in these settings – and everywhere else – are fucking incomprehensible. All the hypocrites, liars and backbiters, like in a Bob Marley song, they try to drag you down like crabs in a pail.

I have no time for malcontents…how about you?

Fast forward to today where it was with some karmic satisfaction that an essay written by yours truly looking back on the superstorm was recently run in the Newsday. Not quite a homecoming, but a byline just the same, which is hard to come by when spend your days writing anonymously.

Though the Google bots know my work quite well, or so it seems. Then again, they know everything…about everyone…scary, huh?

The coolest thing about this Newsday feature was working with the crack editorial team who spent quite a bit of time on the phone with me to flesh out my story and add details and specifics to my original draft. The lead opinion editor, who’s retiring soon or so I’ve learned, took my comments and seamlessly sewed them into my story, making for a much better piece.

The collaborative process in which we engaged was extraordinary, actually; I was not expecting so much editorial input. Editors truly are the unsung heroes of the media/publishing game, and writers would be nowhere without them.

Given my personality type (more on that later), it's best not to rest on my laurels as it were, on to the next thing, a new beginning. Or is that begin the beguine (which by the way is a hasty tango)?

With the Newsday story behind me, I’ve come full circle and can see clearly my younger self pushing that cartful of Sunday papers up the road. These days, however, I’m pushing papers on a whole other level. In any event, who was it that said you can’t go home again?

Until next time, be blessed.