525,600 Minutes 1997

             525,600 Minutes

To get it down the first day

Feels important – no, essential.

That gives five hundred and twenty-five

Thousand, six hundred minutes

To attend to the tangential,

Dedicating actions:

I dedicate the morning walk

To you; my makeup and my love

Of face; commit the TV talk,

The foods I’ll eat,

Both veg and meat;

Give up to you the grabbing sin,

The appetites, my place within

The universe.

Now that was terse.

Terse and pointed as a pin;

Terse enough to set the spin

On five two five six naught naught minutes:

Time to get the tasks I set within them

Done.

And win.

©525,600 Minutes 1.10.1997 

To The Child Mystic; A Mystic Visits Thousand Oaks;Arlene Corwin

A’s Food Diary 2007

07.7.28 A’s Food Diary

The world may be going to hell in a wheelbarrow, but for most of us, at least those of us who are reading this (you do own a computer after all – a sign of some privilege) food choices are more abundant than ever, nutritional information more accessible.

It’s mostly a matter of training or re-training the mind to choose correctly at every food moment, and since eating goes on all of your life, you’ve loads of moments in which to practice [choosing] – from what to how to when you will eat.

Food is nice. I can’t think of a more pleasurable way to develop the character.

It’s always a balance between nutrition, cost, time, imagination and what’s at hand. This little tract is written for those who know their way around a kitchen – who have a feel for amounts and bulk and the tastes of things.

It is possible to look at a recipe and sense the taste just by reading the ingredients. It comes with time – and experience in the kitchen.

Cooking is, in fact a form of yoga. It even has a proper name: Anna Yoga. Since yoga presupposes and teaches focus and concentration, cooking as a form of yoga leads to spontaneity, creativity, correct judgements and a good meal. Cooking a means and goal.

If you like to eat, Anna yoga is for you. If you’d like a means to change your life, cooking might be just the answer. Food!

Bondage of Attachments 2007

07.7.2 The bondage of attachments: I read that in the Dhammpada this morning. After my morning coffee, always extra sharp and receptive, I thought, “I’m working on it, boy, (that’s my teenage self expressing it in the strongest known language) – boy, is it ever hard!)

This consumption thing, this morphine of pleasure, this burden of holding on in boredom, in anality, this heroin/amphetamine of wanting more to maintain the, the what? The time, I think. Time wants to be filled and it prefers easily accessible pleasure. The mindless kind.

I know a woman who goes to flea markets, otherwise known as flee markets, every weekend. The stairway up to the bedrooms is lined, crowded, a safety risk. The living room downstairs is tidily stuffed with ornaments, all in glass cabinets specially bought, on shelves specially built, on table tops meant for space. What comes in never goes out.

Her husband, dear man, is resigned, stoic. Accepting her ever provided layer cakes, he devotes himself to his choral group and keeps his eyes on the piano scores. “My wife likes to collect things. There’s more upstairs.”

She’s hooked. He’s drowning. He’s bone thin. She’s well rounded.

See poems:Our Times, Our Culture;Things; You Have To Be Focussed To Live In America;Things Get Dirty

2X ABCDEFG And An H 1996

              2X ABCDEFG And An H2X ABCDEFG And An H 4.19.1996

I’ve been saying this

For thirty six-

Years.

And lest one day someone says.

“In nineteen sixty-something

She anticipated things she was

To celebrate three decades later’,

Let me jump the gun:

One works out fears,

Gets rid of tears,

Learns not to look but jump right in

And romp with honesty and depth the pater.

Learning joy is what one does;

Sweat to fuzz upon the brow – funny that!

That underneath the look of gloom

Is room for ha! ho! hee!

That chance is chaos with a bloom –

An all is synchronicity.

©Nature Of & In Reality; A Mystic Visits Thousand Oaks; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

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