Inspiration Sunday

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Peace is a universal language

peace paris

Paul Éluard

Translated by A. S. Kline © 2001

On my notebooks from school
On my desk and the trees
On the sand on the snow
I write your name

On every page read
On all the white sheets
Stone blood paper or ash
I write your name

On the golden images
On the soldier’s weapons
On the crowns of kings
I write your name

On the jungle the desert
The nests and the bushes
On the echo of childhood
I write your name

On the wonder of nights
On the white bread of days
On the seasons engaged
I write your name

On all my blue rags
On the pond mildewed sun
On the lake living moon
I write your name

On the fields the horizon
The wings of the birds
On the windmill of shadows
I write your name

On the foam of the clouds
On the sweat of the storm
On dark insipid rain
I write your name

On the glittering forms
On the bells of colour
On physical truth
I write your name

On the wakened paths
On the opened ways
On the scattered places
I write your name

On the lamp that gives light
On the lamp that is drowned
On my house reunited
I write your name

On the bisected fruit
Of my mirror and room
On my bed’s empty shell
I write your name

On my dog greedy tender
On his listening ears
On his awkward paws
I write your name

On the sill of my door
On familiar things
On the fire’s sacred stream
I write your name

On all flesh that’s in tune
On the brows of my friends
On each hand that extends
I write your name

On the glass of surprises
On lips that attend
High over the silence
I write your name

On my ravaged refuges
On my fallen lighthouses
On the walls of my boredom
I write your name

On passionless absence
On naked solitude
On the marches of death
I write your name

On health that’s regained
On danger that’s past
On hope without memories
I write your name

By the power of the word
I regain my life
I was born to know you
And to name you


Thanks to Miriam Sagan for the translation above!

Miriam’s Well: Poetry, Land Art, and Beyond

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Two Minutes To Bliss

Hello Lovely Reader,

Our senses have had a bad rap. Instead of being recognized as unique forms of intelligence through which we understand the world and our selves, they have been treated as untrustworthy narrators or as gateway drugs that lead us down the path to temptation.  The truth and our relationship to our senses is far more complex and interesting. The senses are the operating systems through which we process information. It takes all of our senses to pick up on, and make sense of, all the stimuli pleasant and unpleasant, we are encounter on a daily basis.

How does your experience of one sense affect all the others? In addition to being the conduits of pleasure and pain, your senses are the midwives of intelligence.  -Michael Gelb

We each use and rely more on certain senses than others. For example, some people are very visual and think in colors and images.  They are likely to notice how people and objects appear and tend to have very active imaginations and strong, detailed memories. Others are auditory oriented and think in sounds and rhythms. (I do both and my poetry has been described as both strongly imagistic and lyrical.) They are excellent listeners and can easily pick up on all the layers of different sounds around them. (I’ve included a link to a fun quiz to help you determine your sensory style at the end of this post.)

Then there are those who think in tastes and smells. They notice and interpret the world around them more in terms of physical sensations, and remember how situations and memories made them feel physically. These people are often drawn to the culinary arts. When they get a whiff of something they often have flashbacks to memories associated with that smell and can almost even taste it.

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader – not the fact that it’s raining, but the feel of being rained upon.  – E. L. Doctrow

Our senses connect us with the world and our selves. Yet often we deprive these essential ‘parts’ of our selves of true nourishment.  We are running as fast as we can subsisting on a diet of  TV, reality shows, magazines, shopping, catalogs, fast food, alcohol, social media, smoking and any and all other kinds of escapism, instead of the Beauty we really need.  No wonder why we often feel like something is missing. …. Our lives are stuffed full of list making, doing and buying, but they are short stocked in being and receiving and creating. We tend to take better care of most everyone and everything from children to possessions. Or maybe we lavish money on adorning our body, while starving ourselves of true sustenance. 

What we really crave is Presence. And no matter how busy we are, we can and do have two minutes to attend to and befriend ourselves.  So the next time you have two minutes to spare, instead of checking your phone, you might want to try checking in with yourself!

It is as easy as taking three mindful breaths in and out through your nose as you soften your jaw, throat and belly. Let the muscles around your eyes relax too.  Continue to breathe fully and deeply, sighing out any tension as you exhale. Then imagine the shape of a smile at your heart center, as you let your shoulders drop down away from your ears.  Lastly, feel your feet on the ground as you place one hand lovingly on your own heart and give it a little ‘hug’. Beautiful. 

QUIZ: In Which Way Do You Think According To Your Senses?.

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“We all shine on, like the moon and stars and the sun.” – John Lennon

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Engaging with Stars

Hello Beautiful People,

I have to admit I was a bit starstruck after looking into James Franco’s eyes while holding his hands late late Saturday night after meeting Scott Haze, Jacob Loeb (Soon to be seen in James Franco’s much-anticipated independent drama, Bukowski, portraying legendary American poet Charles Bukowski as a teenager struggling with an abusive father, disfiguring acne, alcoholism and his first attempts at writing.), and Joey King (looking scrumptious in Kate Spade) after the premier of the Sound and the Fury outside Busbys in Los Angeles, Oct 24th.

Getting smaller films the distribution they need is an art in itself. James and the sparkling Page Ostrow

Getting smaller films the distribution they need is an art in itself. James and the sparkling Page Ostrow.

What I like most about James is his appreciation of American Literature and Poetry; and his willingness to take risks and to educate; all the while continuing to learn himself. After attended several MFA programs he is now a Ph.D candidate at Yale no less,  and has said “..the best thing about graduate school is that it’s a place where the things you consider sacred are also considered sacred by the people around you.. I’ve gotten to be with people who speak my language.”

I whole heartedly share with James (and a great deal of other people across the globe) a love of great American Literature. We share a passion for Beat era writers, like Alan Ginsberg, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Diane Di Prima, and the 50’s in Greenwich village where my parents met and talked with artists, socialists, thinkers  and writers including Anais Nin, Henry Miller and Paul Goodman. One I was born into, and that is almost as natural to me as breathing and writing itself. My mother had a flat on Barrow Street.  She and my Dad, whose step-father was a well-known literary editor in the 20’s of Hemingway and others attended parties, and frequented the famous Chumley’s* whose unmarked Barrow St entrance backed onto my mother’s tiny subterranean apartment. Talk about location. “They shared a common wall with my apartment which was fine.. until I walked into my apt one day and there was a rat sitting brazenly on couch. It was very startling.” That wasn’t all that was startling. Greenwich Village and later San Francisco were America’s Paris of the twenties. The stream of creative consciousness and counterculture that was dreamed into existence then gave birth to the modern literature, poetry, deep ecology and mindfulness of today.

He may get most of his beauty sleep on planes in-between shoots, but James still looked every inch the movie star he is (and not the least bit tired) as he shook hands, answered questions and posed for pictures on the red carpet, and later outside Busby’s at 12:30am. Before leaving the party to go, not to bed, but to work. Anyway, I thought I’d close with some fun pix from The Sound and the Fury premier and a Lawrence Ferlinghetti poem, and wish you a very fine day indeed!

“Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace”

One grand boulevard with trees

with one grand cafe in sun

with strong black coffee in very small cups.

One not necessarily very beautiful

man or woman who loves you.

One fine day.

Engagingly yours,

xoxoxo Sabrina


*Chumley’s is a historic pub and former speakeasy at 86 Bedford Street in Greenwich VillageNew York City. It was established in 1922 by the socialist activist Leland Stanford Chumley, who converted a former blacksmith’s shop near the corner of Bedford and Barrow Streets into a Prohibition-era drinking establishment. The speakeasy became a favorite spot for influential writers, poets, playwrights, journalists, and activists, including members of the Lost Generation and the Beat Generation movements.Some features remain from Chumley’s Prohibition-era history. Notably, the Barrow Street entrance has no exterior sign, being located at the end of a nondescript courtyard (“The Garden Door”), while the Bedford Street entrance, which opens to the sidewalk, is also unmarked. Inside, Chumley’s is still equipped with the trap doors and secret stairs that composed part of its elaborate subterfuge.

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Saturday night! James Franco’s The Sound and the Fury premiers at the Historic Fine Arts Theatre in Beverly Hills

A 1942 view of the Fine Arts.

A 1942 view of the Fine Arts.

Word is that James may be flying in for the The Sound and the Fury’s opening night from the the set of HBO’s The Deuce where when asked about the relevance and timing of the making of the film he laughed and said, “Well, I think any time is great to be interested in Faulkner. For me, it was interesting to do this at this time because the books “The Sound and the Fury” and “As I Lay Dying” were written over 80 years ago, and if they were made in that time, it would be very different because people made movies differently then. Nowadays movie audiences are pretty sophisticated. Music videos, reality TV, reality TV confessionals — all of these weird techniques have accustomed audiences to read film and video in new ways. I thought, “Faulkner’s books are so experimental, I can apply a lot of these contemporary approaches and techniques to Faulkner and actually achieve a closer stylistic adaptation of the novels by using these contemporary techniques.”

Set in Mississippi at the turn of the 20th century, “The Sound and the Fury” portrays the decline and fall of the Compsons, a once proud, aristocratic Southern family. Translating WilliamFaulkner’s famously challenging experimental prose into the language of cinema, “The Sound and the Fury” reveals the secrets and betrayals that have tarnished the family name and continue to haunt the Compson children.

Told in distinct chapters, the film juxtaposes the unique perspectives of the three Compson brothers: mute, man-child Benjy; sensitive, melancholic Quentin; and cold, calculating Jason. Meanwhile, the fate of the lone Compson sister, Caddy, gradually unfolds across all three narratives. “The Sound and the Fury” spans three decades in the lives of the Compsons and offers, through this single family’s history, a meditation on the relationship between time, memory and history.

After waiting for more than a year to find distribution, I am so excited to finally see this movie on the big screen this Saturday.  Hope to see you there!

Engagingly yours, xoxoSabrina

ps. Check out this revealing interview with actor, director James Franco if you’re interested in learning more about the process of making the film!

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If you knew you were going to…

Autumn Sunrise

Hello hello Beautiful,

This poem wrote itself last week after I finished making my daughter a smoothie to have for breakfast on her way to school, and was still able to bake a batch muffins just for the pleasure of baking- just because I wanted to- for the first time in more than 3 years!

If you knew…

after Ellen Bass

Today I am celebrating

not only did I wake up feeling

well, I was treated to a sunrise

sky of ballet-slipper-pink

ribbon clouds, from the kitchen window

Today I am celebrating without ceremony

making my daughter

a blueberry smoothie,

the earth that grew them

the blender that blends it

the means to buy them

and that I have

every thing I need, almost,

and much of what I want

which brings me back to breakfast

Today I am celebrating

making my daughter

a blueberry smoothie,

with a heart full of ballet

ribbon pink clouds

and a mind full of sky,

even though she is grown

and doesn’t need

me to feed her anymore,

this isn’t the point and never will be

You have to stand in the shoes

of another before you know, really

know what they have suffered,

and so trust me

when I tell you I didn’t know

if I would be able to,

stand that is,

such a simple thing..

any two year old can do it,

Today I am celebrating

my daughter

and this blueberry smoothie,

the strength to make it

and the maker

that gives me to myself.

-Sabrina Coryell 2015

Mind you it was only an add water to cornbread mix which I spiked with real vanilla extract, and a cupful of frozen organic berries. And mind you, I did need to sit down while I mixed till the lumps disappeared. But instead of letting that hinder me by wishing it were other, I used it as an opportunity to mix mindfully, and really be one with the good upper arm firming simple pleasure of mixing mud pies, I mean making muffins.

Happiness is a warm muffin

Happiness is a warm muffin

How long since I was strong enough on my feet to let the experience of mixing something be just that, and nothing more… How long has it been since I remembered how much I loved making mud pies in the sandbox…the touch and color of the grainy grimy pebbly sand, the sound of the ice-cream truck bells, the satisfaction of sliding the red pail from the molded whole pie. One of the nicer things about the senses is their connection to memory.  How they can remind us of other things, and can even be utilized to help those with severe depression feel better. The only thing that would make this a little sweeter would be if you could pop over for muffins, tea and some good company.

Engagingly yours,  Sabrina xoxo

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Being and Breathing Peace

Hello Beauties, 

Happy International Day of Peace! When I was a little girl one of the songs we learned at school went like this..

Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth
The peace that was meant to be.
With God as our father
Brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony.

Let peace begin with me
Let this be the moment now.
With every step i take
Let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment
And live each moment
With peace eternally.
Let ther be peace on earth,
And let it begin with me.

I can still remember holding hands with the other kidlets as the pale winter sunlight shone through the brownstone’s dirty single pane windows, and feeling a sense of belonging and happiness as we sang .  Gender and personal pronouns aside, I still get chills if I let myself really feel the meaning of the song’s words.
So on this first day of Autumn, I invite you to aside five minutes just for you to totally relax and tune into that place of peace we all hold within our hearts.  If you don’t visit it often you may have forgotten how to find it. Just do the best you can. Part of being peace is being ok with yourself and your life just as it is,  in all its messy, inconsistent, beautiful, sticky, shininess. Because news flash, the part of you that needs and wants to grow, blossom and be known doesn’t respond well to threats, and or name calling. So today, please get acquainted or re-acquainted with your essential enoughness, and goodness. liveinlove And tomorrow, or the next day, meet me here again. I’ll be sharing one of my favorite Engaging Peace Practices!
I am going to end this post with a poem Jennifer Louden read last week called

The Myth of Epiphanies by Samantha Reynolds

The myth is that epiphanies roar
when in fact they are more
like bubbles in mud
a whisper
a gurgle
a hunch
everything is small
when it is born
and so it is
that so often
they are buried
as so many small
things are
so you ask
the wise ones
how do you feed them
and they tell you
to jump
so you do
not knowing
if you are falling
or flying
because at first
they are
the same.

Engagingly Yours,    


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Engaging in Inner Peace

world peaceJoin the Evolution and thousands of people this weekend leading up to September 21st’s  International Day of Peace!

BeThePeace invites people from every culture, every spiritual tradition, and every political perspective to join Together as One. Together, we are creating a world where inner and outer Peace is the normal way of life. Together, we are creating history. Join us! It’s time to Be The Peace we want to see in our world!

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Please Call Me By My True Names and open the door to your heart!

Today you may want to give yourself the gift of this poem…

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Hear Candy: a poem to engage your senses and get you going.

A poem to engage your senses and get your week going by the incomparable Rives!

If I controlled the Internet
You could auction your broken heart on eBay
Take the money, go to Amazon
Buy a phonebook for a country you’ve never been too
Call folks at random till you find somebody that flirts really well in a foreign language.

If I were in charge of the Internet you could mapquest your lover’s mood swings
Hang left at cranky, right at preoccupied, u-turn on silent treatment
all the way back to Tongue Kissing and Good Loving.
You could navigate and understand every emotional intersection.

Some days I’m as shallow as a baking pan
but i still stretch miles in all directions
If I Owned The Internet
Monster and
Friendster dot com
would be one big website.

That way you could listen to cool music while you pretend to look for a job and you’re really just chatting with your pals! heck,
If I ran the web — you could email dead people.

They would not email you back.

but you’d get an automated reply.
their name in your inbox, that’s all you wanted anyway
and a message saying, hey it’s me…
I MISS YOU. Listen you’ll see being dead is, dandy
now you go back to raising kids and waging peace and craving, candy.

If I designed the internet, would be a loop. of a boy. in an orchard.
With a ski-pole for a sword, trashcan lid for a shield shouting
now follow me ok?
Grandma dot com would be a recipe for biscuits and spit bath instructions (1, 2, 3)
that links with…
Hot Diggity Dog dot com that is my grandfather
they take you to
Gruff ex-cop on his forth marriage dot dad
he forms an attachment to
Kinda ditzy but still sends gingersnaps for christmas dot mom
who downloads
The Boy In The Orchard
The Emperor of Oranges
who grows up to be
the guy who usually goes too far
so if I were Emperor of the Internet, I guess I’d still be mortal huh?

But at that point, I would probably already have the lowest possible mortgage
and the most enlarged possible penis
so, I would Outlaw spam on my first day in office,
I wouldn’t need it!
I’d be like some kind of Internet Genius.
and me? I’d like to upgrade, to deity and maybe just like that.

I’d go wireless.
ehhh? Maybe GOOGLE would hire this
i could zip through your servers and firewalls like a virus
until the world wide web is as wise as wild and as organized
as I think a modern day miracle slash oracle can get, but
ohhhew weeeeee, you wanna bet
just how wack and un-PC your Mac or PC’s gonna be when I’m rocking hot shit hot shot GOD dot net

I guess it’s just like life. It is not a question of IF you can, it’s do ya…
We can interfere with the Interface
We can make you’ve got hallelujah the national anthem of cyberspace.
Every lucky time we log on.

You don’t say a prayer,
You don’t write a psalm,
You don’t chant an ommmmmmm
You send one blessed email

Whoever you’re thinking of
daddle a da da daa daa didaddle-la-daddle-la-daddle-la-da daddle da
dot com.


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