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HEAVEN is real. If you look at the world and remove all of its bad parts (starting with Somalia: United Nations please get off your bureaucratic arse and tend to 400,000 starving Somalian babies! Or do they have to wait for your signature?) there is heaven right now before our eyes and it is real. It is all that the reader sees that is good and peaceful and loving happening …

SAINTS and sinners alike, we are a gift to ourselves and to each other, a thought gleaned from 'A Course in Miracles', a rare voice-channeled document which neatly meshes with many other spiritual texts, ancient and contemporary.

ACIM is what I call a 'mind-boggle' of a book, employing the patriarchal Christian order of 'the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost', but the truths are universal and you'll get …

We were friends. Then we sat at the Bagel Shop one night and I asked, “Penny for you’re your thoughts.” He blushed and grinned. He asked me the same thing. I blushed and grinned; and then… we knew. Soon we kissed.
We were young, too young most said. But we fell head over heels into LaLaLand love. And so in sickness and in health, in poverty and …

When I was just a teen, my heart wasn't easily taken. To be honest, love was somewhat of a foreign language of the heart to me. I never could quite grasp the "feeling" or "commitment" it took to "fall" in "love". Why all the quotation marks you might ask? Well, at this point as a 22 year old woman I am still unsure of what "love" means or consists of. …

I imagine few viewers deduced from the documentary that Gardner's rehabilitation has already begun with the sole act of forgiveness expressed by the mother of the 14 year old, who, in the process of forgiving him, liberated herself so that she could move on with her life.

Forgiveness is the foundation for any true healing on both sides of the fence. Carrying anger around with you will eventually destroy …

('If I feel like murder', said 70s American serial killer Gary Gilmore in NEWSWEEK, 'it doesn't necessarily matter who gets murdered. Murder is just a thing of itself, a rage, and rage is not reason, so what does it matter who?')

Sorry, but the riveting 48 Hours Mystery documentary on serial killer John Gardner begs for a Part Two. We've seen how Gardner's actions, including the rape and murder …

That would be the extent of my psychiatric counseling at U.C. Maybe their 'technique' had worked, for I eventually got tired of the harmful game I was playing with myself. I was still here, so maybe they were saying through their distilled, silent way: 'So you're going to kill yourself? What's taking you so long?'

Nowadays I like to kid around and listen to my inner dog. If someone …

I remained a veggie for forty years, until I was struck down in 2006 with cancer (an aggresive form of B cell lymphoma which partially paralyzed me), and during my two-year recovery I began to eat chicken and fish to help build up my strength.

After state-of-the-art medical care at Rochester General Hospital, including radiation and chemotherapy, along with my own positive mindset, plus the love of family, friends …

The following tale, which includes 'My .22 Caliber Christmas Rifle', is real-life fodder I plan to weave into a semi-autobiographical novel titled MEMOIRS OF A GARBAGE COLLECTOR (the first chapter 'The Awakening' was posted earlier on THE MOMENT).

I surprised myself during the process of writing this book, discovering much later that I was unconsciously putting it together like a QUILT. (Lacking access to italicization, I'm capitalizing some words.) …

When I was still on the floor, and you left the room, slammed the door. Something had snapped in you. You had gone too far. But I only knew it was over when you started calling my cell phone. Ten feet away on the floor, I was too spent to answer it. Too many fights. Too many bruises. Too many mornings when my throat was raw from trying to …

I fell in love with my best friend at seventeen. We had been best friends since elementary school. He was a funny-to-compensate-for-the-insecurity type. He loved to play the piano. I got into writing during this time. I found myself writing poetry about long fingers dancing across piano keys. That should have been my first clue.
He moved away before our freshman year of high school. Still, we remained as close …

Sometime after AOL had bought Time Warner and all the muckety mucks on the 34th floor and scattered elsewhere in the great Time and Life Building,had skeedaddled with their pockets bulging with earlier stock options that had come due I was called into my new boss' office for a meeting.

The great, near great, and pretty near great had all left Time Inc., either by choice or by public …

It was February -- the second month of the second year in the new millennium and just two days before my mother lapsed into her death coma.

“I feel like I want to cry,” she said. Her voice was feeble, anguished.

“Mom, you can cry if you want to. It’s okay if you cry.”

She appeared genuinely surprised by my response. “No one has ever …

I thought I had cancer (sarcoma, the worst kind) and had about six months at most. I asked myself a really big question "How will I live the rest of my life if I find out I'mgoing to die?" Then an even bigger question came to mind : "How will I live the rest of my life if I find out I'm NOT going to die?" Why …

The stadium air was ice, but we still filled our side with a million die hard fans. Our team, our boys, marched onto the field, victory burned in their eyes. I have never felt so alive as i watched the boys play that day. They played for the one, for the boy who left too soon. They gave it their all and we all left our hearts on the field …

The above six-word Memoir title was a chant my beloved late mother Annie often used when she wanted to instill guilt in her children.They were making her angry and she wanted them to envision the pools of sadness they'd be wading in when she kicked the bucket. When Annie got really mad she would stiffen her right hand and shove it into her mouth, biting hard on it until she …

The title of this six-word memoir -which has neither an ending nor a beginning- began with a past altercation with a close member of my family. I won't say who because we're Italian-American and I don't want to find a decapitated horse's head on my blanket some morning. I'm kidding.

One day my dear 'paisano' confessed to me. 'Dhani, I love you, but I don't LIKE you!' Scratching my …

Whether the U.S. economy (or the world economy, for that matter: we're global now and there's no turning back) is recessed, depressed or 'IMPRESSED', our celebrities and unknowns alike continue to shamelessly splash all their material toys that their immense wealth creates -houses, cars, yachts, clothes, jewelry-right onto our flat screens. Look at the size of my closet! You can drive a trailer truck through it! Ha! Ha! Let them …

I work 4 days in the summer sun building my river raft, complete with fishing chair. My family gathers on the shore to watch the launching of my Molly Mermaid. I climb on board with my pole and an uncle shoves me out on the river. I go almost twenty feet before the rushing river covers my ankles, then rises to my waist as the raft sinks beneath the waves. …

A former Symphony Mezzo-Soprano develops head and neck cancer. There's irony for you!
I resisted considering treatment because I knew the radiation would destroy my voice but save my life. For some this would be a 'no-brainer' decision, but for me who at the age of four realised I was a singer, my identity WAS my voice.
To help me gain clarity I began free association journal-dialoguing …
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The Moment Book

Moments from the SMITH Community

Tomorrowland "Daisy, F3," my son Archer says as we pull into our parking spot. Disneyland’s about to open and we've arrived, just the two of us, our last hoorah before school starts. *** The alarm goes off and I pull the pillow tightly over my head. My husband, Hal, offers to wake the kids so I roll over, fall back asleep until Archer's voice wakes me, this time for good. "Hi, Mommy. It's …
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With Both Hands Whenever I think of my mother, my mind flips to this story. Not to the whole story, but right to the middle of it, the worst moments of it. For me, that's where the story always starts. My mother was beating the hell out of me. The first few blows seemed to come from every direction as I grabbed my nightgown and pulled it over my head, not …
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Reasons to be Thankful By Robert Israel They scraped me off the street, my bicycle in a heap nearby, and ever so gingerly placed me on the gurney. A crowd of curious onlookers watched intently, thankful they were not being loaded onto the ambulance. The nurses at the hospital were calming as nurses are wont to be, and administered an intravenous tube of morphine, and soon everything around me became fuzzy and numb, and the …
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Read More Community Moments →
 
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