Do you struggle with signs, blessings, and gifts?

by Stan Faryna

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The Easter Mass at the Cacica church (Bazilica Adormirea Maicii Domnului) ended with the ringing of the church bells. At that moment, the rain turned to snow. Really.

Within an hour, a white blanket covered the hills and valley of Cacica. And a peaceful quiet. Chickens did not cluck, dogs did not bark, and the world was still.

I should have received it as a gift. As a sign. As a blessing. Peace.

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Modestep, Show Me A Sign

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Why should your message be heard and shared?

by Stan Faryna

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Around the monitor of my MacBook Pro, a green slope sprawls with grass, apple or prune trees here and there, and fenced yards at the bottom of the hill. An elderly woman (maybe in her 70s) is feeding clucking chickens in one of those yards. A duck is quacking in complaint in her footsteps.

A boy (five to seven years old) is running up that hill. He’s got 100 yards more to go – if he’s aiming for one of the farm houses at the crest.

Above the hill, a blue sky spreads out to forever.

The symphony of sound is enchanting: clucking chickens, quacking duck, barking dogs, wild bird songs, honking geese, excited children, neighbors speaking loudly at their fences, and that’s not the half of it.

The middle-aged hotel manager wants to see something on Youtube. Or show it to me. I’m not sure which, but I push my laptop in front of him.

Pitbull, Give Me Everything

He gives me a thumbs up as the music starts to play. Then he pushes the laptop back in front of me.

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Empty-handed and Less Traveled Roads. And other social media DOHs.

Empty-handed and less traveled roads. And other social media DOHs.
by Stan Faryna

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Play the soundcloud player to hear the podcast. Or download it here. The podcast sounds awesome with earphones or played on hi-fi speakers. Try it and tell me what you think.

Mobile users: you should be able to hear the podcast here.

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Notes:

There are bloggers that I cherish, like, and fan – bloggers who have embarked upon a pilgrimage to fame, fortune, success, and happiness. They travel a road less traveled – in a manner of speaking.

These bloggers arrive at destinations (100 readers/month, 1,000/mo, 10,000/mo, 100,000/mo, etc.). They often arrive empty-handed with great expectations and hope. They move forward into empty-handed whole-heartedness. They move forward undaunted by disappointment and seemingly unrewarded faith, due diligence, and sacrifice.

They connect. They uplift each other. They do amazing things, day and night. They declare victory in the midst of the test. Again and again.

I relish and celebrate their courage, fortitude, and hutzpah.

The trials of these brave bloggers remind me of my own pilgrim’s progress. My disappointments. And my spiritual defeats.

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Road to Cacica

A Day in the Ordinary Life of Stan Faryna

I’m Only Human

I blog about what’s in my heart. Or on my mind. I don’t blog much about me. Perhaps, because I don’t think my days and nights is good content. But I get feedback now and then.

Every now and then, someone will ask me to write about me and my day. Because, somehow, I don’t seem real enough to them. Not insincere – but as, someone recently wrote, “not real.” Like an imaginary friend.

“Like Harvey?” I asked with a grin.

“More like an angel,” they replied the next day. Who is Harvey?!

I reply: This is not going to be a five minute read.

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Human League, I’m Only Human

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Book of Carrot: Chapter 2.3 by Stan Faryna

This is a continuation of the posts originally titled, An Untitled Novel About The Long Road of Hope.

[ Chapter 1.1 is here. ]

Chapter 2.3.1

All for one and one for all!

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Grace, Max and Lumi reviewed the different footage of the incident as captured by the K-9 units. Eight videos were being projected simultaneously on the wall of the living room of their Sanctuary apartment.

They hadn’t gone down for dinner. In fact, they had missed lunch as well. They just weren’t hungry. They all felt a little dizzy, a little sick to their stomachs, and they had headaches.

“Everything is different now…” Grace said as tears flowed down her cheeks. “We only have each other now – this is what’s left of the world. This is it! Things aren’t going to go back to the way it was…”

Book of Carrot: Chapter 2.2 by Stan Faryna

This is a continuation of the posts originally titled, An Untitled Novel About The Long Road of Hope.

[ Chapter 1.1 is here. ]

Chapter 2.2.1

Ultra Violence, Black Magic, And A Dirty Old Man?

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Lumi awoke just before sunrise. A faint lavender scent lingered on the crisp, clean white sheets. She thought to stay in bed. It was so cozy. But thoughts – of the day they left Bucharest and what today and tomorrow hold – tumbled into her attention.

She’d review messages and find coffee.

Book of Carrot: Chapter 2.1 by Stan Faryna

This is a continuation of the posts originally titled, An Untitled Novel About The Long Road of Hope.

[ Chapter 1.1 is here. ]

Chapter 2.1.1

Forty Acres of Pristine Paradise – Mule Not Included

05 July 2023

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The B52s, Rock Lobster, started to play in John’s ear set.

B52s, Rock Lobster
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John woke up. Cristina was sleeping; her head rested on his shoulder. He played his social messages.

Ok. Playing Social Messages from 04 July 2023 from 4:58 am in reverse order.

Bucharest Herald

A Belgian student has sold her virginity in an online auction for the equivalent of £45,000. The 21-year-old named only as Noelle put her body up for sale on the Amsterdam-based Yantra escort girl site in March, the Daily Mail writes. link

 Jar

There is no objective reality. There is nothing outside of you that doesn’t come from inside you. You always get what you are looking for. Everything is subjective. So what are you creating? Hell on earth? Or paradise?! You own paradise. It’s always been yours.

An Untitled Novel About the Road of Hope: Chapter 1.3

Chapter 1.3.1

[ Chapter 1.1 is here. ]

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Max and Grace missed their shots at the bare-footed man. Missing just didn’t make sense to them. They were all good shots.

“WTF!” texted Max and Grace!

“Tough audience!” observed the bare-footed man and laughed.

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Zach and Eree lifted the barrels of their shotguns. At the same time, the bare-footed man lifted John off his feet and heaved John toward Eree.

The bare-footed man threw the bloody tanto at Daniel’s feet and pushed the barrel of Zach’s shotgun to the side as it went off. Daniel yelled out as the hot salt shot hit his hand as he reached for the tanto.

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Motorcycles were getting around the burning wreckage. Lumi, Max and Grace gave cover fire.

“Let’s chat again. Soon!”

moby and me: Easter Pilgrimage To Bucovina (part three)

If you missed part one of my Easter Pilgrimage To Bucovina, go here. Part three follows herein.

Last year, about this time, you [moby] did some gigs in Europe. You gonna make the same rounds again anytime soon?

Let me know when you’ll be in Madrid. Hopefully, sooner than later. I’d like a good reason to hang out there. I have some friends there that I’d like to see too.

Below, a little background music: yello, ooooh yeah:

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Easter Sunday

Sunday was a long day. I wasn’t feeling well. Taking pictures of the moon in the freezing night did something to me. Nonetheless, we visited the Romanian orthodox monasteries of Putna and Humorului as well as St. Mary’s in Cacica. We looked forward to a sumptuous feast for dinner. In the morning, Aurelian of Casa Antonio had gone to the shepherds to slaughter and quarter a lamb.

View of the rear of St. Mary’s church in Cacica

The feast at Casa Antonio would begin with a traditional lamb-based meatloaf. Next came a sour lamb soup thick with lamb fat and garden vegetables. Then, Aurelian brought out the big guns: a massive lamb shank that had been boiled in liters of wine. We ate greedily and made lots of whimpering sounds after we had over-filled our bellies.

We went out to do some night photography, again. And there was a light rain. Unfortunately, there was no moon in the early evening. The temperature was near freezing (5 degrees celsius) and I think I pushed my luck. Perhaps, there was too much cloud cover for a moon when we went out. Finally, I did see a moon from the window in my room about 4am.

Around 2am, I decided to go for another bowl of sour lamb soup. Aurelian wasn’t sleeping and he was glad to warm up the ciorba for us. That was a bad idea. I loaded it with sour cream and fresh, crushed garlic paste. And I ate it with bread smothered with sour cream and garlic paste. The garlic put an unstoppable fire in my belly. And not just mine.

moby and me: Easter Pilgrimage To Bucovina (part two)

If you missed part one of my Easter Pilgrimage To Bucovina, go here. Part two follows herein.

moby writes:

“oh, we’ve also put up the new album [Last Night] in its entirety on my myspace page (and it might be elsewhere on myspace, i’m not sure).”

Hear Last Night here (warning: product may contain peanuts, based on Schrödinger’s paradoxical thought experiments using quantum superposition).

Thanks, moby. Have a great weekend in Miami!

BTW, I think removing the forums was a great idea. Don’t cave to the mob of angry trolls. Comments to your journal should be sufficient to keep your website personalized and almost Web 2.0ish.

Below, a little background music: moby, Whispering Wind:

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St. Mary’s Church in Cacica

In a small Romanian village, I stood in an old church in the freezing cold. I stood shoulder to shoulder with the villagers. They were strangers to me. These people spoke another language, they worried about things which I did not worry about, and given the opportunity on any other occasion – most of them would be trying to sell me a square meter in their village for a preposterous amount – like nothing less than a million dollars.

Maybe, I exaggerate. But not by much. Been there. Done that.

And, yet, here we were in the same place and time, contemporaries, doing the same thing and not trying to get the better of each other. We were expressing by our very presence in that church, a desire (more or less) to be involved in something bigger than ourselves, bigger than our worries and everyday concerns, and bigger than our differences and our personal self-interest.

Standing there, I felt a strange community with these strangers as I reflected on the resurrection of Christ and anticipated a hot bowl of sour soup.