The Luna Park Gazette

“Prayer is when you talk to God; meditation is when you listen to God.”—Diane Robison The daring young man on the flying trapeze climbs to great heights, but the show doesn’t start until he lets go. Letting go has been one of my biggest challenges. I hold on to negative thoughts, old resentments, ancient anger and all sorts of emotional chazerai that makes me miserable. I’ve been meditating regularly for the last two years after taking a mindfulness course at the Interdependence Project and I’m very slowly learning the joys and benefits of staying in the present moment. It hasn’t been easy for me to sit quietly for 20 whole minutes and listen to nothing but my breath. Some days are better than others, but I believe I’m getting better and now my morning meditation is one of my favorite times of the day. But now I’m taking a closer look at what goes on in my head after the meditation ends, thanks largely to a recent New York Times article entitle “ Think Less, Think Bette...

Today is Father’s Day and I’m thinking of my dad, a World War II veteran, who fought to keep this country safe. He saw men die in great numbers and I’m sure it scarred him in ways I’ll never be able understand. But after last week’s horrific events at Pulse, a gay club in Orlando, after yet another mass shooting in America, I’m wondering what was the point of all that sacrifice and suffering? The Greatest Generation fought to keep foreign killers out of this country, but today we can proudly kill each other with terrifying weapons that my father and his comrades couldn’t begin to imagine. So here we go again, another senseless fucking slaughter in the Land of the Free. There will be the usual candlelight vigils, and flowers piled up at the site of this latest abomination, and people will pray and vow that the victims will never be forgotten. But why? Why bother with all that horseshit when we all know that there’s another mass shooting just around the corner waiting to happen?...

He who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.-- Muhammad Ali Sometime around 1984 I was walking through the mall at the World Trade Center when I noticed this man coming toward me in the opposite direction. Of course there were thousands of people passing through that mall every day of the week, but this gentleman stood out. I looked closer to make sure that I wasn’t imagining things and turned to a guy walking behind me. “Is that Ali?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. It was indeed Muhammad Ali, the former heavyweight champion of the world, walking with another man, his hands in his coats pockets, avoiding eye contact with any of the scores of people who were gaping at him in disbelief. He was so unlike the brash braggart I was used to seeing, the man who roared at the world “I am the Greatest!”; who floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee; and who gave us the rope-a-dope and the Ali shuffle. It was a meeting of two ic...

Winston Moseley knew no one would stop him. “I knew they wouldn't do anything,” he told police after his arrest. “They never do.” Moseley murdered Kitty Genovese in Queens in 1964 in one of the most infamous murder cases in modern times. The horrific crime gained worldwide attention largely because of a New York Times article that said “38 respectable, law-abiding citizens” did nothing while Moseley attacked Kitty Genovese on three separate occasions. The story sparked worldwide condemnation and provided material for writers and composers, including the Phil Ochs song “ Outside of a Small Circle Friends .” There was talk of the Bystander Effect or the Genovese Effect and the words “I didn’t want to get involved” summed up life in the big city. The Kitty Genovese case is the subject of a new documentary called The Witness that explores the mythology surrounding the murder. The film features Kitty’s brother, Bill, who was 16 years old at the time of his sister’s murder. ...

The greatest writers, philosophers, and statesmen of all time have made brilliant comments about the futility of war, but my late father had them all beat. Many years ago he and I were watching a Memorial Day ceremony on TV when my dad, a World War II veteran, slowly shook his head. “You know,” he said, “war is such bullshit.” I think that’s sums it up perfectly. Tomorrow is Memorial Day when we honor the soldiers who died defending this nation. All around the country people will lay wreaths, blow taps, and wave the flag. There will be talk of never forgetting those who made the ultimate sacrifice, politicians will crank out the sound bites, and everyone will go to barbecues. But you just know that sooner or later the chicken hawks, the war profiteers, and their idiotic followers will start screeching about invading some global hell zone, taking us down the road to yet another unwinnable war, and the body bags will start filling up all over again. Some people will say now ...

“ Whatever you're meant to do, do it now. The conditions are always impossible. "--Doris Lessing. Wow, does this guy know me or what? I just read my horoscope as interpreted by Rob Brezsny on this, my 59th birthday, and his words went right to my soul. He starts off with the above Doris Lessing quote and then tells me to take her advice to heart. “It's senseless to tell yourself that you will finally get serious as soon as all the circumstances are perfect,” Mr. Brezny writes. “Perfection does not and will never exist. The future is now. You're as ready as you will ever be.” Do it now? But I’m The Procrastinater, who puts everything off to some distant future time that will never get here. And now I can use my age as yet another excuse not to do anything about…anything. Or perhaps not. Maybe I can take this celestial suggestion and make some changes. Why the hell not? My company is very kindly giving employees their birthdays off in honor of the firm’s 10...

The young mother held her baby to the window of their Madison Avenue apartment one recent morning and pointed down at the hopelessly snarled traffic. It was late by commuter standards, almost 9:30AM, and it seemed like everybody and his brother had decided to cram into this particular thoroughfare. I was riding—or crawling—through that very same traffic and that mother and child were about the only pleasant sight during a particularly rotten morning ride. It was such an odd contrast, seeing this tender scene in the midst of all this traffic and commerce. I didn’t know there were apartments in the building, but then the realtors in this city would stick condos in the clouds if they could pay gravity to look the other way. I was going into a work a little later than usual and I was paying the price. I knew the traffic would be bad, but I had no idea it would suck this much. We had just crept by the Syndicate Trading Company building on 37th Street, which has become something o...