Spirit, Soul and Bread Pudding!

Spirit, Soul and Bread Pudding!

                                                       In the introduction to my blog I state  "I hope to share my stories through both my spirit and soul because with heart those two will write." Here is my attempt at explaining what I meant by that. Just what is the soul? And the spirit? Being of a curious sort...many moons ago I went to find out.

                 

          The classroom received the sleepy looking young men scrambling in, juggling notebooks and coffee mugs that looked more like kettles. The seminarians took seats and sat in a daze, still and quiet.

          I placed the plate of bread pudding on the teacher's desk and  grabbed one of the seats in front of my friend,  the psychiatrist, and his beautiful blonde wife. We had five minutes to wait for our last class of Old Testament Survey. That day we were to receive our grade for the semester. That day the professor had mentioned we could ask anything about the Bible and Marggie Rassler was ready.

       I turned around and smiled at my friend. "So, doctor, what are we getting today?"

      "Some of your bread pudding I hope. The rest I already got. Information. Don't care about the grade. The practice comes first."

      I turned to his wife and she grinned. "Not me. I want both. Information and the A. And you?"  I thought about it for a second and knew the answer. "I'm with you. My brain is mush. I worked hard. I want an A."  

     The class had been packed with much data, homework and exams. Memorization seemed the key to success. We tackled exams full of essay questions and blank maps of Israel to fill out with its cities and regions, important passages of  Old Testament portions to memorize and dissect, theme lines from each of the thirty-nine books of the Old Testament to learn by heart, etc., etc. All put together then, to shine knowledge of its relevance with  New Testament teachings. The class inwardly enriched me. The history and spiritual information learned turned into that artifact I worked hard to excavate but afterward, much satisfaction.  

     I heard the noise of books and papers drop on the teacher's desk and turned to catch a glimpse of Dr. Galleoti with a mouth full of bread pudding. He winked at me. I had come up with the promised goods.

     The Bible questions from classmates started fast and steady. One after another those hard to answer queries tackled by a much prepared teacher. Finally my turn came.

     "Dr. Galleoti, will you explain to me what is the difference between soul and spirit? Is there even a difference?

    He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Rassler, there is a difference. Look up Hebrews 4:12. If  the passage tells  you they can be divided one from the other and it gives you separate names for them, they are different. The soul is all your personality. That person who you are that makes you, you. It was given when God breathed  life into you. At death the soul departs. Look up Genesis 2:7. The soul is the habitation for your mind, emotions and will."

   My eyes traced every movement of  Dr. Galleoti's face. I watched as he took a breath but I could also sense my  classmates. The room pulsed with hungry curiosity. He cleared his throat again.

   "The spirit is that immaterial part of us that has the capability to connect with its Creator. If alive in Him, and open, it can receive its inspiration from Him. Some of the closest times to Him can certainly be when we create. After class I will give you more information for  research."   

    Dr. Galleoti turned to answer others' questions but when there was a pause I raised my hand again.

"Dr. Galleoti, I got one more question. Please?"

 "All right, Mrs. Rassler."

 "What's heaven going to be like? What will we find there?"

 Dr. Galleoti laughed. "That's two questions. Mrs. Rassler, I don't exactly know how to answer that  in the time we have here but I can tell you one thing. There'll be room for your bread pudding.

* I got an A.  Was it the bread pudding?

                              

   GRIEF ... almost a year after.

                    Mothers Day morning of 2013 found me covered with a dark shroud of sadness. The night before my mom had  passed away with a heart attack.

                    The last I saw her we had prayed together for a good night sleep. Then, I left to come up to my home, not far from hers in our property. Who knew that was our last good bye? The last time I kissed my mother good night.
                   
                      Soon I will come face to face with another Mothers Day. Already I'm remembering how two days before her death we spent a special day together at one of her favorite restaurants. An Amish restaurant in Sarasota. The memory of her happiness that day soothes the pain of her absence.
                     
                      Grief  almost a year after? It's still here. Not as a cut from a razor that jags but as a wound in the process of healing reopened by the ambush of memories.

                       Grief almost a year after is still an acute teacher reminding me that now is the time to kiss, to hug, to love.
                      To view my present as a priceless, fragile bird to caress and to hold. And to learn to sing in tune to that bird's song for that too, is a gift from The Master of all.
                 
         

                 

MY INTERVIEW ... HOW DID YOU BECOME A POET?

 AMARILYS, HOW DID YOU BECOME A POET?  INTERVIEW BY TAMPA WRITERS ALLIANCE POETRY COORDINATOR, ELLIOT GREENBAUM.

                                                       

Would you tell us about events in your past that contributed to you being a poet?

 Ms Rassler:                                      

I started writing poems about seven years ago when I was meditating on a Good Friday, on the crucifixion of Christ, and had something like a vision of Him on the cross. The words to the poem, The Vision, Jerusalem 33AD, came to me easily and fast as I put down what I was seeing. I decided to try a poetry group and found that Tampa Writers Alliance had one and I attended it with fear and trembling holding tight to my one poem. There I found the warmest welcome through Ella and Warner Conarton. Warner was leading the group. When I read the poem, Warner’s kind words were, “I wish I could write like that.” Of course he did and so much better than I do. But those words were exactly what I needed to continue to write.

 

Are there other poets in your family?

 Ms Rassler:

Yes! My grandmother, my Abuela, was a great poet and her sister also.

 What about music? Do you play an instrument? Sing?

 Ms Rassler:

I play the guitar a little and I’m teaching myself the ukulele. Sing? Of course. Are there any Latins who don’t sing? The question is how well? LOL. I try to sing for at least a half hour every day. It’s my medicine. I love music. Really feeds my muse.

I know you are also a writer of fiction. How do you see your poetry influencing your other interests?

Ms Rassler:

Poetry shapes my writer’s voice. I believe it weaves itself into everything I write. Poetry is in my blood. It cradles my soul in sad times and creates a fast happy orbit for my heart to spin in during those joyous moments life brings. For a writer of fiction today, poetry is an excellent exercise because the writing teachers of our times encourage us to trim our writing and tell a powerful story without being wordy. Poetry does just that. It tells a story using potent words within a small space. Great poems touch our hearts and move us to tears or laughter. Many have great endings that impact. All those elements align well with the perfect fictional story.

 

With all the chaos in the world now,

do you think a poet can help make a difference? 
  

 Ms Rassler:

Oh yes! Poets can be a voice to fight for what is right. I definitely think we can make a difference. I wrote my book, Cuban-American, Dancing On The Hyphen, with poems like La Cola, (The Line), protesting the injustices of Castro’s Communist regime. I wrote it to make a difference. I wanted to bring to light, through the poems and stories, the needs of an island in torment, stripped and raped of freedom. So I wrote many of those poems with the idea to protest against the conditions there and to inform the public that it is still happening. Little did I know that some of the book’s poems I would read at MacDill Air Force Base to encourage our armed forces … to let them know the importance of what they do for us in protecting our liberty and freedoms. Poetry is a strong weapon. It can teach, inspire, engage and motivate our world toward change. It can comfort, caress and entertain. A poem can be very memorable.

 

 

I know you have published one book of poems and prose, Cuban-American, Dancing On The Hyphen. I have a signed copy. Anything on the horizon we can look for?

                                                                                       

      

Ms Rassler:

Yes. December, 2014, my new book, with a Christmas theme, went on sale at Amazon. It is called THE CHAIRS, … four vignettes, stories, connected by supernatural activity around four Adirondack chairs. It is prose but, of course, has a poem in it called The Chairs. I’m also still working on my memoir, Beyond The Veil, and a novel, Commuters, a tale of demonic transference.

                                                                       

 

What is the best advice you think you have received on writing?

 

 Ms Rassler:

The best advice I have received on writing has come from what Julia Cameron says …

“Write because something ‘touches’ you, write because you want to ‘touch’ someone else, but most of all write to ‘get in touch’ with the divine or because the divine somehow has ‘gotten in touch’ with you.”

 

Two Poems By Amarilys Rassler (Marggie)

 

IN "NIKE SHOES"   A Poem For The New Year

  by Amarilys G. Rassler 

Nike, from Greek origin meaning "Victory."

 

Here I am

Running, running,

My soul's feet

Clad in "Nike shoes,"

My heart with Hope afire

Lit by fuse of 2015 plans,

Oh rising flames

From my desires!

 

Here I am

Running, running,

To Finish Line

Somewhere toward

Unknown horizon.

No knowledge of how close

My final moon shall be,

Or number of morning suns

He has left for me to see.

Yet I run.

Propelled by

His Good pleasure,

Carrying backpack of 2015

Dreams I treasure,

Trusting in His Abounding Love,

Impossible to measure.

 

Here I am.

Have extra pair of "Nike shoes" for you!

Come, come run with me ... too.

  ****************

¡SOFRITO!  Garlic, Onions And Green Peppers By Amarilys Gacio Rassler

From book, Cuban-American, Dancing On The Hyphen by Amarilys G. Rassler

 

Garlic, onions and green peppers,

Bathe in heated olive oil, 

Trinity of scents ascending,

Soon to pot of beans descending,

Make my cravings come to boil.

 

¡SOFRITOOOOO!

 

Moving to a little cha cha.

Feet caressing kitchen floor,

Cooking sofrito sabroso,

To surprise my darling esposo, 

Fast a-coming through the door?

 

¡SOFRITOOOOO!

 

Sensing warm anticipation,

And a thumping heart sensation,

The sofrito and aphrodisiac?

Causing pleasant transformation…,

Amorous thoughts, sofrito rendering,

That’s the dart, sly Cupid’s sending!

Sizzling senses,

Now surrendering,

Leaps of passions... kisses start!

¡Ay Sofrito! ¡Que Sabroso!

CUBAN CULINARY ART!

 

 

 

 

 

(Sofrito – garlic, onions and

green peppers, cooking. Then, used as seasoning for a Cuban dish.

The staple Cuban seasoning!

                                                                                         

Sabroso – delicious

 Esposo – husband, spouse                                                

¡Que Sabroso! – How delicious!

¡Ay!- A Cuban’s heart cry.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

MAGI, WISE MEN ... WHAT DO I WANT TO ASK THEM? JANUARY 6 ... EPIPHANY!

THE MAGI, THE WISE MEN … PEOPLE IN HEAVEN I REALLY WANT TO SEE! 

                                                                  

     

Magi, plural form, derived from Koine Greek (Biblical Greek). Magos, an Oriental scientist, a magician, a wise man

Today is Epiphany and according to Merriam Webster’ Dictionary, an epiphany is “an illuminating discovery.” I think these wise men had more than one of those! This last Christmas I spent special time studying about them. Here’s what fascinates me. 

They knew from the beginning what their mission was. They were to look for the child and worship Him.

                                                                                   

“Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem,  saying, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.”  Matthew 2: 1,2

They were open to the supernatural manifestation of a star moving in the sky as a guide for them. They faithfully followed it realizing there was something different about that star.  

“And behold, the star that they had seen when it rose went before them until it came to rest over the place where the child was.  When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy.” Matthew 2: 9, 10

They believed the warnings from a dream about Herod having, “malas pulgas!” Bad fleas … evil intentions. They obeyed the dream’s guidance and returned to their own country by another way. These fellows were tuned in well to heavenly guidance. They recognized the cellular buzzes with celestial connections!  

 ^“And being warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed to their own country by another way.” Matthew 2: 12  

They were gift givers! Their mommas had taught them well. You don’t come visit someone, let alone a King, while your arms hang loose by your long purple robes. No siree! Those arms brought gifts and each with a meaning. Maybe more of those special epiphanies slipped into their minds with Spirit-led goals. It sure appears so,  because of the symbolic meanings of their gifts.

                                                            

Gold – Symbolized royalty. The most precious metal of that day. A providential help to support the holy family in their flight to Egypt.

Frankincense – A resin used ceremonially. The only incense permitted on God’s altar. It represented deity.

Myrrh - A gum-like substance to embalm the dead. Sometimes a drink given for pain.  A foreshadowing of the Lord’s suffering and death on the cross.

 

 The Magi … Their Revelations … What Illuminations.

YES! Give me some time with them at their celestial abode. Here are some questions with anwers yours truly would like to own.

So, how many of you were there?  We know tradition speaks of three and this is mostly attributed to the fact of the three gifts given, but nothing is recorded in the Bible about how many actually came.

And, Wise Men, when was that moment when you knew, without a shadow of a doubt that that baby was no ordinary baby? When did you first believed?

And then … what happened to you, dear men? How did your life change after that sacred encounter?

One last one for now. Oh Magi, did you take special seminars on dream interpretation and star sightings? Would love to sign up for one of those!  

   Yes, another January 6^th … going by soon.

And thus now, for another year I close Matthew 2 and leave my ponderings till the next time I pin that old but special banner my daughter and I made years ago to our mantle. The banner that says, “And Wise Men Still Seek Him.” 

                                                                   

 

Studies, quotes and information taken from the Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance Of  The Bible, by Riverside Books and Bible House,

And from The English Standard Version, Study Bible, Crossway.

 

ANGELS ... WHY MY INTEREST?

            

                                   ANGELS … Why My Interest?                                 

            Angel Talk #1    June 1990

My father was dying of brain cancer. In one of my last visits to his hospital room while he was still very conscious and clear minded he wanted to know what I was doing and who I was counseling. He had always been very protective of me and I thought displeasure would come when I would tell him.

“Papi, the counseling is getting more serious now. I’m helping someone wanting to come out of Satanism.”

My father slowly turned his head toward me. I knew he was in pain but his eyes labored to search mine. “You’ve always had very strong angels, Mayita.” He closed his eyes and smiled. I wanted to ask him what he meant and why he said that but the time didn’t seem right … he needed rest.

I’ve often pondered those words which poured upon me as the balm of his blessing. I knew my father. By not telling me not to do what I was doing he had given me approval. But his words also left me stirred with a pricking curiosity. My dad, who had experienced and shared some of his prophetic dreams with me in the past, dreams that had come true, had he now seen something in his dreams about me? And angels? What did he know about angels? We never had the chance to finish that talk.

Angel Talk #2   Cruise, 1991.

Sunday at sea in a cruise ship heading to Mexico. A group of believers meet to read favorite Scriptures, tell their stories and pray. I’m the last to stand in front and share my story. I speak of voices that pounded my mind in 1979, voices that shouted torturous thoughts, words and commands that almost drove me to suicide. I speak to the small number of believers about the God who rescued me, and afterward they came to pray for me. They cried with me and hugged me; they encouraged me to continue to make known my message. We sang a final song, Amazing Grace together, and I made my way to the door, but a hand on my arm pulled me back.

“I have something to tell you.” A tall man with snow-white hair points to his eyes. “I saw something. Something on each side of you while you were speaking.”

“Yes?” I held my small Bible closer to me and saw that some of the people were still waiting for me outside the meeting room. Who was this person? What did he want?

 “I just want to tell you. There’re two very large beings of light with you. Very large.” The man smiled, nodded and turned to make his way out the door, never looking back. I didn’t see him again during the entire cruise. Once again my interest with angels flared. These two instances started a study and search that will forever be part of my life.

Mayi is the nickname my grandmother, my Abuela, gave me. My father added the ita  Spanish ending at times for endearment.  

If you enjoyed this story here are others that might interest you:

 Why Counseling The Oppressed?   Where The Natural Meets The Supernatural … Beyond The Veil. Story found in (December 10, 2013 blog).

 
               For a chuckle?
                   Pressure Cooker Friend Or Foe … and casabe   (September 3, 2012)

          Spirit, Soul And Bread Pudding  (April 23, 2012)

     A touch for the heart?          The Ten Cow Wife  (August 20, 2012)

                                         The Encounter Left Two Imprints  (June 21, 2012)

                                        The Day God Broke My Dam  (June 6, 2012)

                                        Art Work In Roma, 1995  (May 5, 2012)

                                       The Music Box  (May 1,2012)  

  Welcome to my blog, Dr. Marc J. Yacht, writer, poet, actor, friend! Thank you for so many hours of your volunteer work in our community.
                                                                                                    

   

                                                          Marc J. Yacht, MD, MPH

                                                          Hudson, Florida 34667

                                          Retired Director, Pasco County Health Department

 

    Guest Editorial:  Oh no, not more resolutions!

 

Have I made resolutions?  Several years ago, noting a long history of failed efforts; I decided to give greater thought to my promises.  The objectives: to make me a better husband and father, a healthier specimen, less angry, and saner.   I have had no success with “reducing anger” from a previous declaration and frankly I am sure that “irate” is now the norm among citizens who follow the daily events plaguing the nation.  It is doubtful that many are happy.

 

Ergo, my first resolution:  Thou shalt listen to the other side!

 

Watching the demonstrations and the counterdemonstrations that are tearing at the fiber of this nation, the old adage, “I’d rather fight than switch,” cannot encourage a healing process to foster civility. No one is listening and everyone is shouting.

 

And my second: Thou shalt not shout invectives at someone with an opposing point of view!   

 

 I have found it very difficult to win someone over when screaming obscenities and raising fists. Such behavior gets the deserved response.  A friend of mine solved his propensity for cursing.  He decided to penalize himself $5.00 for each profanity.  He would give his mounting fines to a free clinic. Not a charitable person by nature, he found success with this punishment.  The avoidance of fist-raising requires great discipline.

 

For the third:  Thou shalt study the issue well before forming an opinion!

 

It is very difficult to listen to anyone who has no clue what they are talking about.  Listening to TV pundits does not give one expertise.  Study the concern from all angles, then talk.

 

 

And the forth:  Thou shalt not riot and destroy property!

 

Sadly the damage is typically borne by the innocent and often a sympathizer.  Wonton destruction and looting serves no useful purpose. The police have every right to drag the offenders off to the slammer.

 

For the fifth: Thou shalt respect an opposing point of view!

 

Remember, no matter how right you think you are; you could be wrong! Remember the bet

on the sure winner that came in last. Recall that stock market pick that went south and cost a bundle. No one is right all the time.

 

And the sixth:  Thou shalt consider that everyone is right!

 

Agreeing with someone is a good start to defuse a hostile encounter.  It’s possible that the opposing party will show similar respect and agree with you. Finding agreement is a win-win and may lead to a beautiful friendship.

 

 

For the seventh: Thou shalt love thy spouse!

 

Kids will grow up. They never call or write.  You’ll rarely see the neighbors, and relatives can bring more trouble than your worst enemies.  Co-workers are fleeting and eventually you will retire.  In the end, the two of you are all you have – cherish each other.

 

And the eighth:  Thou shalt expect nothing! 

 

With such an attitude whatever you receive for you efforts or charity is better appreciated.

 

For the Ninth:  Thou shalt lighten-up!

 

Have a sense of humor, chortle and enjoy a good joke.  America has lost its sense of humor and is dying for want of a good laugh. 

 

That’s enough for this year.  It is doubtful I will keep any of them…maybe one or two.  However, I remain optimistic, which brings me to…oh never mind!

 

Accept my best wishes for a happy and healthy holiday season.

 

Dr. Marc Yacht, MD, is a retired physician.  This column courtesy of Context Florida.

  
Marc J. Yacht MD, MPH
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RAFTERS AGAIN! HOW MANY AND WHY?

                               RAFTERS AGAIN!   How many now and why?

Oh yes, conditions are so much better in Cuba. Who are they kidding? What are their motives? When I read some newspaper articles and hear those speaking of how much better off Cuba is today….

The empty rafts speak … and those rafters that survived the odyssey.

According to an article in The Tampa Tribune, October 12, 2014, the number of Cubans fleeing the island and attempting to reach the United States by sea grew nearly to 4,000 people this past year.

Who lives and who dies in the search for freedom? The article speaks of the danger for rafters. One of the worst Cuban rafter tragedies this year involved the 32 people leaving Cuba and lost at sea for nearly a month. By the time a Mexican fisherman found the rafters, 15 people were still alive. Two of those survivors later died. Some so desperate they drank their unrine and blood.

Why don’t Cubans come in other ways? According to another article in The Tampa Bay Times, October 12, 2014, for the past ten years, sophisticated smuggling networks that use go-fast boats were responsible for the vast majority of Cuban migration. Today, a crackdown on those boats and the high price they charge, which few Cubans are able to afford, stopped that operation.

“I believe there is a silent massive exodus,” said Ramon Saul Sanchez, an exile leader in Miami who has helped families of those who died at sea fleeing Castro’s regime.

A massive exodus?  And with what vessels? What are these floating devices like?

“We have seen vessels made out of styrofoam and some made out of inner tubes. These vessels have no navigation equipment, no lifesaving equipment,” said Cmdr. Timothy Cronin, deputy chief of enforcement for the Coast Guard’s Miami District.

                                                            

A Rafter’s Story:

Yannio La O, a 31-year-old wrestling coach who came to Miami after the shipwreck landed him in Mexico said, “If I had to save $10,000 with my monthly salary of $17, to make it to the United States in another way, I would not get here until I was 80 or 90 years old.”

Yannio and 32 others departed from Manzanillo, in southern Cuba, in late August, on a boat they put together in three months. They had engine trouble and their food was contaminated by a sealant they brought along to patch up holes in the hull.

“Every day at 6 a.m., or 6 p.m., somebody died,” La O said.

Are Cuba’s conditions better now? Why don’t we ask Yannio La O.

 "I would tell anyone in Cuba to come. It's better to die

 on your feet than live on your knees,” Yannio La O said.

     Art work by Tony Mendoza for the book, Cuban-American, Dancing On The Hyphen.