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#1451 - Thursday, June 5, 2003 -
Editor: Jerry
from http://engrish.com/recent/index.html
Happy
Anniversary to Us
June 2
marked our 4th year of publishing The Highlights. We were
so busy putting out the Highlights we forgot about it!
Jerry
Bijoy
speaks http://www.bejoy.org/self/Lila-web-video.wma
Visit his
website: http://www.bejoy.org
Flowers,
by Katinka Matson:
http://www.katinkamatson.com/intro.html
contributed
by Freyja
more
flowers...
Yosy
Nasrudin
dear
friends, lobster ed asked some time ago to share real
life nasrudin-like situations. well, the following tale
has, imho, certain nasrudin qualities (i will appreciate
your opinion on this...)
ps. :) as lobster knows, i smoke dope for medicinal
purposes; i hope the subject will not offend anyone on
the list..
yosy
As you may know, friends, in spite of 'peace' and
official diplomatic relations, there isn't much love -
yet - between the Egyptians and the Israelis. The
Egyptians take advantage to enforce their drug laws
ruthlessly. Quite a few Israeli youth caught with even
small quantities of dope in Egypt are serving long
sentences in unpleasant conditions; one person accused of
smuggling heroine is on the Egyptian death row in Cairo
for more then ten years now..
I was on my way to Sharem al sheikh with two ladies, (one
an elderly 'guru' from Berkley, ca.) and we arrived at
the border crossing in Taba, in northern Sinai.
The terminal was almost empty. When I came to the
security check on the Egyptian side of the border, while
passing the magnetic gates the ringer buzzed. After the
keys, lighter etc were removed from my pockets, and the
buzzing continued, eventually out came a small brass box
I carry in my vest pocket for emergency, containing some
delicious marihuana flowers and rolling papers. ( a
supidity; bringing grass to sinai is like 'bringing coals
to newcastle'...) The official's reaction was stern. He
immediately called the officer in charge and handed him
the box and my passport. The officer, serious like
pneumonia, signed me to follow him and I did, assisted by
each side by an armed cop. We marched through the back
corridors of the terminal. "Well, yosy, now you will
have an opportunity and time to learn Arabic
properly." I thought to myself, while telling the
shocked ladies left behind not to worry. Finally we
arrived at the Taba commander's office. We walked in.
behind a huge desk sat an elderly, tough looking general,
two aides standing at attention on his sides, Egyptian
flag and some other government icons behind him. The
officer saluted, approached the desk and handed him the
box and passport with some words I did not hear. The
general opened the box and asked me in a sonorous voice:
"what is this?!" "I forgot it in my
pocket" I answered, while thinking, "we both
know very well what it is, don't we?" (Egyptians
love dope and most of them smoke it). He became morose.
"Drugs in Egypt." hanging the sentence in
mid-air, he made a throat cutting gesture.
"Shit," I thought to myself, "seems I'll
learn writing and reading as well." while aloud I
said: "Allah karim..." (god is great). What
else was there to say? He gave me a penetrating look and
extended forward both hands crossed in unmistakable
'handcuff mudra'. "Ten years - minimum!" said.
I raised both my arms and said, resignedly, "kullu
min Allah!" (All comes from the lord). Key sera -
sera. his look softened a little. He made an
imperceptible sign. One of his aids took the box and
emptied the flowers on the floor, squashing them with his
foot, and handed me the box. "This time - no
jail!" said the general. "Thank you" I
said. "What about the papers? 'Waraga' (papers in
Arabic)' I added, seeing his disbelieving look. The
corners of his mouth moved up, and his eyes sparked.
"Tfaddal" he said, handing me the papers and my
passport, waved his finger and said: "be very
careful, mister yosy. Drugs in Egypt - extremely
dangerous!"
We walked back to the terminal in silence, the officer
dumbfounded. When we reached the main hall, he turned to
me and said: "mister yosy, you are extremely,
extremely lucky!" "You're telling me?" I
said, "ilhamdullah."
(Btw, the first Bedouin friend we've met when we reached
Nueiba, said: "yosy, wait a moment, I have something
special for you!" he walked away and upon returning
gave me a beautiful, nearly foot long flower. After a
week smoking and sharing it freely I still brought half
of it home across the border - but this is another story
lol)
*****************************************************************
by the way, friends, tonight is the eve of the hebrew
"shavuot", traditional "feast of the
weeks", a jewish holiday celebrating the harvest
season in israel. shavuot, (which means literally
"weeks"), refers to the timing of the festival
which is held exactly 7 weeks after passover.
shavuot also commemorates the anniversary of the giving
of the ten commandments to moses and the israelites at
mount sinai.
:)) so happy shavuot all, and enjoy the harvest...
yosy
Jerry
NDS
you're
walking straight ahead
down the street
and birds fly close overhead
toward you
going to where you came from
you don't turn around
you don't even look forward
the mass of birds eat the seeds you have left behind
the extremely rare one
lands on your shoulder
Vicki Woodyard The
Seeds--Part I
I left my bag in the open field today. It was not my
intention, but it had grown too heavy. The bag was filled
with
seeds of knowledge. I had been toting this burden over
the
years, thinking that someday I would plant the seeds in
orderly rows and water them with precision.
I had sat
down to take off my shoes and rest when I saw that
the bag had a small hole in the bottom and that the seeds
had
been dribbling out unbeknownst to me. No wonder I felt
better.
My burden had become lighter.
I looked
down and saw some ugly old crows eating my hardwon
seeds. Damn them. These seeds were meant for the ones who
really needed them the most. Now these crows were into
conspicuous consumption of my stash.
I was a
scarecrow out of work and I knew it.
Suddenly I
looked up and squinted. The sun was in my eyes. The
crows' feathers shone purplish under its
illumination....beautiful.
The seeds
left in the bag were few. It was time to let the
last ones go...knowing full well that they, too would be
eaten
by crows. That is the way of the world.
From now
on, I am a scarecrow without a job. If any of you
find my seeds, don't worry about returning them to me.
Without
a planned use, they will surely be more useful.
Let them
spring into spontaneity wherever they see fit. The
bag was a burden and a temptation. I was always on the
lookout
for bigger and better seeds...perhaps some hybrids that
would
yield a bigger and better crop.
I was
never sure of myself when I carried that bag. Now I
am.....I am.
The
Seeds....Part Two
The seeds
of knowledge that I carried remind me of Irina
Tweedie, who wrote Daughter of Fire. Her sheikh, Bhai
Sahib,
knew of the treasure that she carried within, for she was
of
his house.
Every day
through sun and rain and illness and mental
sufferings she would go and sit with him. And unfailingly
he
pushed her into her darkness.
He knew
that the uncooked karmic seeds were making her useless
to him and so he pushed and pushed until another seed
would
get cooked.
This was a
love-hate relationship on her part. An old woman
should not be treated in such a way. Indeed.
We are so
sanctimonious that it has made us blind to our
hatreds, so lovingly have we concealed them. Only a Bhai
Sahib
can unearth these festering wounds in order to gently
bathe
them....in our own healing tears.
Ah, I wish
that I had known Bhai Sahib.....if He'd have kept
his distance.
Vicki
Woodyard
http://www.bobwoodyard.com
J.
P. NDS
It has
been said by someone somewhere
that the Guru manifests in everyone
and in everything everywhere.
In my blindness, in my deafness,
who do I see, who do I
hear in the broken words
that come from the torn heart and mind
of this, my brother, my sister?
In my pride of understanding
what I only pretend to comprehend,
In my claim to a Love that
I do not even feel as much
as I would care to admit,
can I sense the Guru's hidden presence
in the tormented dissonance
of this fevered voice?
Did not my own voice once sound
just like hers, like his?
Will my voice not yet again sound
just like hers, like his?
Can I allow the voice to pierce me
to the marrow and instruct me?
Or will fear, pity, disgust cause me to
seek shelter in an imagined
fortress of silence
of trickling sands
wherein I hope
to remain untouched?
--------
Here It Is
Here is your crown
And your seal and rings;
And here is your love
For all things.
Here is your cart,
And your cardboard and piss;
And here is your love
For all of this.
May everyone live,
And may everyone die.
Hello, my love,
And my love, Goodbye.
Here is your wine,
And your drunken fall;
And here is your love.
Your love for it all.
Here is your sickness.
Your bed and your pan;
And here is your love
For the woman, the man.
May everyone live,
And may everyone die.
Hello, my love,
And my love, Goodbye.
And here is the night,
The night has begun;
And here is your death
In the heart of your son.
And here is the dawn,
(Until death do us part);
And here is your death,
In your daughter's heart.
May everyone live,
And may everyone die.
Hello, my love,
And my love, Goodbye.
And here you are hurried,
And here you are gone;
And here is the love,
That it's all built upon.
Here is your cross,
Your nails and your hill;
And here is your love,
That lists where it will.
May everyone live,
And may everyone die.
Hello, my love,
And my love, Goodbye.
(L. Cohen)
When
you're happy, I'm not
When you're sad, I'm not
A crane thinks of flying north or south
A swallow thinks of its old nest
Autumn moon and spring flower thoughts never end
you only need to know yourself right now
- Tao Chu'an
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