"Being ignorant is not so much a shame, as being unwilling to learn."
~ Benjamin Franklin
"It is no measure of health, to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society."
~ Jiddu Krishnamurti
"Dying To Have Known"
In DYING TO HAVE KNOWN, filmmaker Steve Kroschel went on a 52-day journey to find evidence to the effectiveness of the Gerson Therapy -- a long-suppressed natural cancer cure.
His travels take him across both the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans, from upstate New York to San Diego to Alaska, from Japan and Holland to Spain and Mexico. In the end, he presents the testimonies of patients, scientists, surgeons and nutritionists who testify to the therapy’s efficacy in curing cancer and other degenerative diseases, and presents the hard scientific proof to back up their claims. You will hear from a Japanese medical school professor who cured himself of liver cancer over 15 years ago, a lymphoma patient who was diagnosed as terminal over 50 years ago as well as noted critics of this world-renowned healing method who dismiss it out of hand as “pure quackery.”
So the question that remains is, “Why is this powerful curative therapy still suppressed, more than 75 years after it was clearly proven to cure degenerative disease?” The viewers are left to decide for themselves.
from Cinema Libre Studios
http://www.cinemalibrestudio.com/EarthNow/dying.html
Dying To Have Known (80 min.) WATCH NOW!!!
1http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-7357629140536485998#
Charlotte Gerson lecture "The Gerson Therapy":
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8384134159042346609#
See Also:
HEALING CANCER From Inside Out, The Beautiful Truth,
The Gerson Miracle, Food Inc., and The Future Of Food
"The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of because words diminish your feelings - words shrink things that seem timeless when they are in your head to no more than living size when they are brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within, not for want of a teller, but, for want of an understanding ear." ~Stephen King
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
New Collected (May 16)
The Angel of Death looks like a devil to all but the dying.
Truth is that inexpressible thing which resides somewhere in-between two brilliantly articulated and utterly irreconcilable statements of belief.
For me, "the mysterium" is as real as anything, but not more so. If you believe your visions reflect absolute reality, you're a fool, but if you believe they're empty figments, you're still a fool. Like Keats, I believe the imagination is holy. Like Novalis, I believe the division between poet and philosopher is a mistake and a sign of decadence. The same is true for art, religion, medicine, and science. Until we are all these things, or until we see how we are already these things, we will continue to be fragmented in our views and our expressions. As it is, if you ask a tradesman, you will get a tradesman's perspective, or if a mystic, a mystic's perspective. I myself identify with the mystic who said:
Why think thus O men of piety
I have returned to sobriety
I am neither a Moslem nor a Hindu
I am not Christian, Zoroastrian, nor Jew
I am neither of the West nor the East
Not of the ocean, nor an earthly beast
I am neither a natural wonder
Nor from the stars yonder
Neither flesh of dust, nor wind inspire
Nor water in veins, nor made of fire
I am neither an earthly carpet, nor gems terrestrial
Nor am I confined to Creation, nor the Throne Celestial
Not of ancient promises, nor of future prophecy
Not of hellish anguish, nor of paradisic ecstasy
Neither the progeny of Adam, nor Eve
Nor of the world of heavenly make-believe
My place is the no-place
My image is without face
Neither of body nor the soul
I am of the Divine Whole.
I eliminated duality with joyous laughter
Saw the unity of here and the hereafter
Unity is what I sing, unity is what I speak
Unity is what I know, unity is what I seek
Intoxicated from the chalice of Love
I have lost both worlds below and above
Sole destiny that comes to me
Licentious mendicity
In my whole life, even if once
Forgot His name even per chance
For that hour spent, for such moment
I’d give my life, and thus repent
Beloved Master, Shams-e Tabrizi
In this world with Love I’m so drunk
The path of Love isn’t easy
I am shipwrecked and must be sunk.
Rumi
Who can read Whitman, and not write? Who can be still for a moment, and not be deeply stirred? Here is the sigil and signet of health; a mind rooted in the bedrock of body; a body rising straight into a smile. Here is blood breezing through veins, and every hair perking up to meet the sun. Give me again the voice of that poet who neither mocks nor makes arguments, but witnesses, and waits; as he says.
One cannot question the deepest assumptions,
the ones rooted in the minds of the greatest number of men,
without being labelled an egotist.
Reality is not an example for some more general idea.
Realities are not examples. Realities are themselves.
Reality is itself. There are no laws, really.
The greatest leaders cannot lead.
Their followers have yet to be born.
Most people would rather laugh at,
than listen to, a new idea.
I do not affirm all that I say,
though I affirm the saying of it;
only a few ideas are close to me,
but there are many I have a care for.
It is one thing to make an argument,
another thing to make a case.
You can receive higher intelligence without preparation,
but it will inevitably disorient you for a time.
Knowing something isn't the same as KNOWING something.
Mostly, we're content to pollish a small circle in the glass,
and peer through it, like children spying through a keyhole.
Forgive my faults,
though they are many,
and receive my favors,
for they are more.
The teaching is: "Be Present"
But you cannot be present to everything.
Only to THIS.
When you pluck the beam
that shadows the "I":
Love is bind.
Understanding isn't difficult. Like all illusions, it's easy, just as long as you don't mind that it's an illusion. But it's harder to admit that you don't understand, -- that you can't possibly understand; not in a million years. That takes guts.
A sage is enlightened by the words of a fool,
but a fool is confused by the words of a sage.
Genius is the fruit of self-absorption; authentic self-absorption. Having considered the minds of great thinkers, I've found they have only this one thing in common: they are all turned inward on themselves.
You have to love Dostoyevski, that rambling, boiling, barrelling genius. The characters he created are fuller, and more interesting, than many of the people you meet. And so many of them, like their creator, burn with a heart on fire, anxious, not for salvation, but for sainthood.
If I love only the ones closest to me, let me gather everyone into my heart.
I don't think I'm above them. I just think their ceiling is my floor.
Can we fix our hearts on a single object, person, or ideal? Perhaps. But can we fix them on the Whole? How do we fix them? Where do we drive the nails? Who wants to hang on the cross?
Where God ends, the true religious life of man begins. God has done His part, so that we may do ours. He is incomplete, so that we may choose either to curse Him, or to get on with the business of living and healing one another. We blame God until we learn to take responsibility for the things we wrongly believe to be His concerns. Our real gripe is not with our Creator, but with ourselves. When we do what we think God should've done, there's nothing left undone, and nothing left to do.
Truth is that inexpressible thing which resides somewhere in-between two brilliantly articulated and utterly irreconcilable statements of belief.
For me, "the mysterium" is as real as anything, but not more so. If you believe your visions reflect absolute reality, you're a fool, but if you believe they're empty figments, you're still a fool. Like Keats, I believe the imagination is holy. Like Novalis, I believe the division between poet and philosopher is a mistake and a sign of decadence. The same is true for art, religion, medicine, and science. Until we are all these things, or until we see how we are already these things, we will continue to be fragmented in our views and our expressions. As it is, if you ask a tradesman, you will get a tradesman's perspective, or if a mystic, a mystic's perspective. I myself identify with the mystic who said:
Why think thus O men of piety
I have returned to sobriety
I am neither a Moslem nor a Hindu
I am not Christian, Zoroastrian, nor Jew
I am neither of the West nor the East
Not of the ocean, nor an earthly beast
I am neither a natural wonder
Nor from the stars yonder
Neither flesh of dust, nor wind inspire
Nor water in veins, nor made of fire
I am neither an earthly carpet, nor gems terrestrial
Nor am I confined to Creation, nor the Throne Celestial
Not of ancient promises, nor of future prophecy
Not of hellish anguish, nor of paradisic ecstasy
Neither the progeny of Adam, nor Eve
Nor of the world of heavenly make-believe
My place is the no-place
My image is without face
Neither of body nor the soul
I am of the Divine Whole.
I eliminated duality with joyous laughter
Saw the unity of here and the hereafter
Unity is what I sing, unity is what I speak
Unity is what I know, unity is what I seek
Intoxicated from the chalice of Love
I have lost both worlds below and above
Sole destiny that comes to me
Licentious mendicity
In my whole life, even if once
Forgot His name even per chance
For that hour spent, for such moment
I’d give my life, and thus repent
Beloved Master, Shams-e Tabrizi
In this world with Love I’m so drunk
The path of Love isn’t easy
I am shipwrecked and must be sunk.
Rumi
Who can read Whitman, and not write? Who can be still for a moment, and not be deeply stirred? Here is the sigil and signet of health; a mind rooted in the bedrock of body; a body rising straight into a smile. Here is blood breezing through veins, and every hair perking up to meet the sun. Give me again the voice of that poet who neither mocks nor makes arguments, but witnesses, and waits; as he says.
One cannot question the deepest assumptions,
the ones rooted in the minds of the greatest number of men,
without being labelled an egotist.
Reality is not an example for some more general idea.
Realities are not examples. Realities are themselves.
Reality is itself. There are no laws, really.
The greatest leaders cannot lead.
Their followers have yet to be born.
Most people would rather laugh at,
than listen to, a new idea.
I do not affirm all that I say,
though I affirm the saying of it;
only a few ideas are close to me,
but there are many I have a care for.
It is one thing to make an argument,
another thing to make a case.
You can receive higher intelligence without preparation,
but it will inevitably disorient you for a time.
Knowing something isn't the same as KNOWING something.
Mostly, we're content to pollish a small circle in the glass,
and peer through it, like children spying through a keyhole.
Forgive my faults,
though they are many,
and receive my favors,
for they are more.
The teaching is: "Be Present"
But you cannot be present to everything.
Only to THIS.
When you pluck the beam
that shadows the "I":
Love is bind.
Understanding isn't difficult. Like all illusions, it's easy, just as long as you don't mind that it's an illusion. But it's harder to admit that you don't understand, -- that you can't possibly understand; not in a million years. That takes guts.
A sage is enlightened by the words of a fool,
but a fool is confused by the words of a sage.
Genius is the fruit of self-absorption; authentic self-absorption. Having considered the minds of great thinkers, I've found they have only this one thing in common: they are all turned inward on themselves.
You have to love Dostoyevski, that rambling, boiling, barrelling genius. The characters he created are fuller, and more interesting, than many of the people you meet. And so many of them, like their creator, burn with a heart on fire, anxious, not for salvation, but for sainthood.
If I love only the ones closest to me, let me gather everyone into my heart.
I don't think I'm above them. I just think their ceiling is my floor.
Can we fix our hearts on a single object, person, or ideal? Perhaps. But can we fix them on the Whole? How do we fix them? Where do we drive the nails? Who wants to hang on the cross?
Where God ends, the true religious life of man begins. God has done His part, so that we may do ours. He is incomplete, so that we may choose either to curse Him, or to get on with the business of living and healing one another. We blame God until we learn to take responsibility for the things we wrongly believe to be His concerns. Our real gripe is not with our Creator, but with ourselves. When we do what we think God should've done, there's nothing left undone, and nothing left to do.
Friday, April 30, 2010
To Brother's Land
If I love only the ones closest to me,
Let me gather everyone into my heart.
Let God speed my way to meet that man
Who lives so far from me,
And hold my tongue until I know
His stalwart ancestry.
Haste has made us many,
And War has made us less, --
The bravest have gone quickest
To their deaths.
But we who come to strength
In this New Age
Must fashion into courage
All our rage,
To bear the sojourn every heart must make
To brother's land.
Let me gather everyone into my heart.
Let God speed my way to meet that man
Who lives so far from me,
And hold my tongue until I know
His stalwart ancestry.
Haste has made us many,
And War has made us less, --
The bravest have gone quickest
To their deaths.
But we who come to strength
In this New Age
Must fashion into courage
All our rage,
To bear the sojourn every heart must make
To brother's land.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Polytheists, Paths, Peaks, and Pilgrims
We are the inheritors, most recently, of the monotheistic tradition. But in the deeper roots of our past, and in the vast majority of our habits, we reveal ourselves to be polytheists. We do not commit ourselves to a narrow lifestyle or worldview. On the contrary, we seek diversity and variety in our interests and activities. We are not ascetics, intent upon a single, shining goal. We are distracted by a thousand points of light, scattered through open space. We've seen beyond our own sun.
We want to explore and imagine other worlds. We want to see through the eyes of every head. In our dreams, we do not fix our hearts on a single object or experience, but on countless shapes and shades. We want to know everything. We want to see what can be seen, and affirm whatever can be affirmed. We want to be taught and tested by every god. We love the mountains for the mountains, and the sea for the sea, without thinking to ourselves that it is All One God we love.
Can we fix our hearts on a single object, person, or ideal? Perhaps. But can we fix them on the Whole? How do we fix them? Where do we drive the nails? Who wants to hang on the cross?
We are more eager to meet our guides, than to bless our God. We want to linger in the valleys and villages, and speak deep with the people we meet. We want to follow the same path, hand-in-hand, with a stranger or a friend. But every while there's a split. And on the sharpest peaks, two can never walk abreast.
Have you heard of the man who climbed until he reached the summit? He balanced there for but an instant, before the plummet. I'm told it's the only way down. I guess nobody has the patience to descend.
Poor pilgrim... All day long, the sun is your companion, but every night, she takes her leave. The shadows grow colder, and shadows are your only cover. Some men have answers, like children have teddybears, to cling to in the dark. Cuddly mock-ups of the real thing. But you've just got an empty cup. You cling to it like the last grain of rice, drying like a drop.
Poor Pilgrim
without a bed,
or something for your head
how do you sleep at night?
"with the light on,
with the light on"
and when you go out,
even the shadows are bright
how do you find your way home?
"with the light on,
with the light on"
and if you've got no place
to call your own
how do you know you're there?
"with the light on,
with the light on"
We want to explore and imagine other worlds. We want to see through the eyes of every head. In our dreams, we do not fix our hearts on a single object or experience, but on countless shapes and shades. We want to know everything. We want to see what can be seen, and affirm whatever can be affirmed. We want to be taught and tested by every god. We love the mountains for the mountains, and the sea for the sea, without thinking to ourselves that it is All One God we love.
Can we fix our hearts on a single object, person, or ideal? Perhaps. But can we fix them on the Whole? How do we fix them? Where do we drive the nails? Who wants to hang on the cross?
We are more eager to meet our guides, than to bless our God. We want to linger in the valleys and villages, and speak deep with the people we meet. We want to follow the same path, hand-in-hand, with a stranger or a friend. But every while there's a split. And on the sharpest peaks, two can never walk abreast.
Have you heard of the man who climbed until he reached the summit? He balanced there for but an instant, before the plummet. I'm told it's the only way down. I guess nobody has the patience to descend.
Poor pilgrim... All day long, the sun is your companion, but every night, she takes her leave. The shadows grow colder, and shadows are your only cover. Some men have answers, like children have teddybears, to cling to in the dark. Cuddly mock-ups of the real thing. But you've just got an empty cup. You cling to it like the last grain of rice, drying like a drop.
Poor Pilgrim
without a bed,
or something for your head
how do you sleep at night?
"with the light on,
with the light on"
and when you go out,
even the shadows are bright
how do you find your way home?
"with the light on,
with the light on"
and if you've got no place
to call your own
how do you know you're there?
"with the light on,
with the light on"
Romantic And Divine Love
If we were living truly spiritual lives, says the ancient wisdom, we would find sufficient happiness in God, and in being good. "God" is that from which all things originate, and to which all things must be oriented. "Being good" means doing everything selflessly, for love. Naturally, it is extremely difficult to imagine the fate of human love and human relationship in the face of such transcendence. Nevertheless, before we can transcend, we must begin to imagine what it means, for ourselves, and for our relationships, to be good.
To let love, and lovers, come and go; to make no claim on their body, or their heart, or their time; to love them just as much, when they love somebody else more than you; -- with the notable exception of polyamorous, open relationships, all of these examples of loving bear a greater resemblence to Divine Love than to what we are accustomed to think of as romantic love.
One wonders if it is even possible to love one person more than another, without being (and becoming increasingly) estranged from Divine Love. If we are in spirit, -- and to the extent that we are atuning ourselves to spirit, -- how can we love anyone more than anyone else? Or does love become, -- is love then translated into, -- something else?
We might envision it as some manner of egoless attraction, which does not place the object of attraction above other objects (or people, or souls), but, which recognizes it/him/her as a partner, with whom the Divine has temporarily allied us in the flesh (in order to accomplish some impersonal task) while we are eternally allied to all souls in the Spirit. Such temporary alliances come and go, according to the Will of God on Earth, but we are always united in Spirit.
"On earth as it is in heaven" means: regarding the temporal with respect to the eternal. That is, putting everything in its proper place, with respect to God. Seen from this perspective, the moment we experience an attraction or interest in anyone or anything, our first honesty should be to God. Our first communication should be with God. And if there is to be betrayal, the first betrayal will always be a betrayal of God.
It may be honestly said that most marriages begin after a betrayal has already been made, and even as a consequence of that betrayal, -- of God. Who accounts to God, for the love they bear their spouse? Who asks God's permission to love a mortal? Rather, aren't we all terrified to speak to God of the feelings we bear others? And, if we are not, perhaps we ought to be! Perhaps we should confess our love to God, and say, "Lord, Lord, forgive me! I have fallen in love with a mortal creature, -- and now I am truly mortal!"
How shall we account for our marriages, which we glibly say are "made under heaven"? The only heavenly marriage I know of is that which takes place between the individual soul and God, the creator of souls. Have you been wed to the Divine? Have you been penetrated with Divine Love? Or are you a virgin still, in the ways of the Spirit? Do you preserve yourself from the One who preserves, and give yourself willingly to mortal creatures? And call yourself "faithful"?
These are questions which need to be asked,
contemplated, and, presumably, answered.
"On Earth, as it is in Heaven..."
To let love, and lovers, come and go; to make no claim on their body, or their heart, or their time; to love them just as much, when they love somebody else more than you; -- with the notable exception of polyamorous, open relationships, all of these examples of loving bear a greater resemblence to Divine Love than to what we are accustomed to think of as romantic love.
One wonders if it is even possible to love one person more than another, without being (and becoming increasingly) estranged from Divine Love. If we are in spirit, -- and to the extent that we are atuning ourselves to spirit, -- how can we love anyone more than anyone else? Or does love become, -- is love then translated into, -- something else?
We might envision it as some manner of egoless attraction, which does not place the object of attraction above other objects (or people, or souls), but, which recognizes it/him/her as a partner, with whom the Divine has temporarily allied us in the flesh (in order to accomplish some impersonal task) while we are eternally allied to all souls in the Spirit. Such temporary alliances come and go, according to the Will of God on Earth, but we are always united in Spirit.
"On earth as it is in heaven" means: regarding the temporal with respect to the eternal. That is, putting everything in its proper place, with respect to God. Seen from this perspective, the moment we experience an attraction or interest in anyone or anything, our first honesty should be to God. Our first communication should be with God. And if there is to be betrayal, the first betrayal will always be a betrayal of God.
It may be honestly said that most marriages begin after a betrayal has already been made, and even as a consequence of that betrayal, -- of God. Who accounts to God, for the love they bear their spouse? Who asks God's permission to love a mortal? Rather, aren't we all terrified to speak to God of the feelings we bear others? And, if we are not, perhaps we ought to be! Perhaps we should confess our love to God, and say, "Lord, Lord, forgive me! I have fallen in love with a mortal creature, -- and now I am truly mortal!"
How shall we account for our marriages, which we glibly say are "made under heaven"? The only heavenly marriage I know of is that which takes place between the individual soul and God, the creator of souls. Have you been wed to the Divine? Have you been penetrated with Divine Love? Or are you a virgin still, in the ways of the Spirit? Do you preserve yourself from the One who preserves, and give yourself willingly to mortal creatures? And call yourself "faithful"?
These are questions which need to be asked,
contemplated, and, presumably, answered.
"On Earth, as it is in Heaven..."
Saturday, April 17, 2010
The Master's Journey
A certain monk, who would have been known for his piety, had he been known to men, was followed in his walks one day by a small and excitable dog, more than eager to partake of his bread.
Whenever the monk would put a piece of the bread to his mouth, the little thing would bark and beg, and turn restlessly in circles, as if simultaneously celebrating the appearance of the bread and desiring a taste for herself.
"This dog," thought the monk, as he tore a particularly soft and delicate morsel, -- this time, from the heart of the golden loaf, -- and handed it to his appreciative company, "has no master. But, if I share my humble feast with her, she will take me for her master, and follow me."
So it is with us. We are without spiritual protection and nourishment in this world. But we have been fed from the hands of The Master, and followed him as faithfully as any dog. And, just as faithfully, Christ feeds and rewards our faith, and keeps us. All this, the monk thought, and knew, in his heart.
"So shall I keep and feed this little dog," he brightened, "and allow her to call me Master. So shall I be faithful to the example of my Lord."
Whenever the monk would put a piece of the bread to his mouth, the little thing would bark and beg, and turn restlessly in circles, as if simultaneously celebrating the appearance of the bread and desiring a taste for herself.
"This dog," thought the monk, as he tore a particularly soft and delicate morsel, -- this time, from the heart of the golden loaf, -- and handed it to his appreciative company, "has no master. But, if I share my humble feast with her, she will take me for her master, and follow me."
So it is with us. We are without spiritual protection and nourishment in this world. But we have been fed from the hands of The Master, and followed him as faithfully as any dog. And, just as faithfully, Christ feeds and rewards our faith, and keeps us. All this, the monk thought, and knew, in his heart.
"So shall I keep and feed this little dog," he brightened, "and allow her to call me Master. So shall I be faithful to the example of my Lord."
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
New Aphorisms
A delicious hunger inspires the seeker.
The golden belly is always fed,
and never full.
There are thoughts that disappear into the heart,
where only a lover may follow them.
We are haunted by the ghosts of idle hours passed,
and guided by the spirits of hours well spent.
Women have flowers. Men have women.
How fragile is the crystal cup? How frail, the age'd vine?
With just a word, the dream is cut -- and all who dream it die.
The Virgin wears blue because the sky is blue.
Her shawl is white because clouds are white.
She is holy, too, because they are.
To be thankful for your blessings
is the highest blessing you receive.
Even if the whole universe refuted it,
Christ alone would be proof of God's Love.
I have always been a huge fan of Christianity.
One day it occured to me, "Maybe I'm a Christian."
Truth is always just beyond the thing you are looking at.
Do unto animals as you would have God do unto you.
Animals are children who never grow up.
There are more inventors than there are
people who allow themselves to invent.
Many people have children as a substitute
for releasing their inner child.
If they can control the drugs you take,
they can control the thoughts you think.
Some won't drink, but want a drunk.
For men of action, simplicity is character;
for men of thought, it is suicide.
My passion is tame.
It's my reason that's wild.
Courage is ripeness of will.
The watering of your favorite virtue
brings the flowering of all the virtues.
There is one philosophy: Philosophize!
What we call the universal is another particular.
There is nothing deeper than an apple. Scratch that.
There is nothing deeper than an apple -- given away.
The golden belly is always fed,
and never full.
There are thoughts that disappear into the heart,
where only a lover may follow them.
We are haunted by the ghosts of idle hours passed,
and guided by the spirits of hours well spent.
Women have flowers. Men have women.
How fragile is the crystal cup? How frail, the age'd vine?
With just a word, the dream is cut -- and all who dream it die.
The Virgin wears blue because the sky is blue.
Her shawl is white because clouds are white.
She is holy, too, because they are.
To be thankful for your blessings
is the highest blessing you receive.
Even if the whole universe refuted it,
Christ alone would be proof of God's Love.
I have always been a huge fan of Christianity.
One day it occured to me, "Maybe I'm a Christian."
Truth is always just beyond the thing you are looking at.
Do unto animals as you would have God do unto you.
Animals are children who never grow up.
There are more inventors than there are
people who allow themselves to invent.
Many people have children as a substitute
for releasing their inner child.
If they can control the drugs you take,
they can control the thoughts you think.
Some won't drink, but want a drunk.
For men of action, simplicity is character;
for men of thought, it is suicide.
My passion is tame.
It's my reason that's wild.
Courage is ripeness of will.
The watering of your favorite virtue
brings the flowering of all the virtues.
There is one philosophy: Philosophize!
What we call the universal is another particular.
There is nothing deeper than an apple. Scratch that.
There is nothing deeper than an apple -- given away.
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