General Discussion

1965. I came home for a weekend my junior year in college, noticed right away my different dad. Same man, altered TV habits.  “Hi, Dad.”

            He stared at the set, rechecked the channel, then his watch. A few seconds later, at 6:46, a full color commercial aired for National Airlines. A bikinied blonde waded out of surf showing more and more tantalizing tanned leg and less and less inhibition as she grew bigger and bigger on our new 24” screen. When her flesh took up 23 of them she flipped her hair, pouted, suggested flying National and bent over to pick up a sea shell. Her breasts spilled from her top, almost onto our living room carpet. The screen morphed to a National jet’s tail where the same girl’s face, now a logo, took it to the next level.  She winked.  “I’m Sally. Fly me.” It seemed to take…

James Ortega knew the abductors would communicate, even if it meant leaving body parts somewhere prominent—communication in its most brutal form.  The negotiator didn’t think this was one of those cases.  In his rumpled clothes, James looked out of place working beside the other professionals, but he took charge, monitoring every facet of the set-up.  Roberto had no problem giving him complete command of this operation.  This was his specialty.  With his low scratchy voice, he called for an informal meeting of the group.

“Gentlemen, we have a ransom situation here and I want everyone to be clear on our strategy during the negotiations.”

barnettTHE TRUTH

I parked my car in front of the worn-out house. A sign announced: Christian Rest Home. I walked up the sagging steps wondering, “When it’s my time, will I find an Atheist Rest Home?”

I carried with me the antique Bible my grandmother Essie had given me prior to

her passing just last week. I didn’t really want to [accept] it, but I couldn’t disappoint Granny Essie on her death bed. After all she had shown me kindness throughout my years. She took me on her knee and told me stories when I was little, cooked me her famous gumbo when I was a teenager and continued to have hope that I was a good Christian even when I went away to the State University in the capital where –diós mío—there abounded atheist professors in all departments, Communists in every nook of the campus and nude model…

Swami Satchianada & the Integral Yoga Institute

Retreats…. silence, vegetarian food, no looking at

other participants, keeping our gazes down, away

from other yogis, etc.

In New York City when I attended Sivananda style yoga classes at the upper West side branch of the Integral Yoga Institute my young son wanted to go with me, so he attended the yoga classes for kids while I was in the adult classes.

The Institute regularly hosted retreats in a serene wooded area of upstate New York . During these weekend retreats we ate only vegetarian food, kept silence during the entire retreat, kept our gaze internal, not making eye contact with other participants—the purpose of these behaviors being that of increasing & deepening our internal experience.