Breathing Lessons Rhymed

How to heal? It’s all within you

You make it real when you begin to

Breathe more consciously

Small beginnings grow great trees

Saplings, limbs, flowing with ease

From breath to breath, sweet release

in the wind your choice of destinies

oxygen was made to please

preventive measure against disease

like inflammatories, or suppository stories

little stones lurking in the bladders and the kidneys

This is a student-teacher class alliance

Forget the rest, here’s the guidance:

Lay on your bed, sink your back in

A little music in the background, not too distracting

Or sit up in a chair, comfortable, relax your back

Lips part open, let your jaw hang slack

Breathing Lessons Rhymed

Ten quick little gasps at the upper chest

Then one big full one … then rest

A lot of you who have had enough of the sin scale

now take the time to find your exhale and inhale

This beat is fast, but there’s plenty of space

For you to slow your breath down

to a methodical pace

Long, deep, until you know

There’s no pain in relaxing

Tho you may hear your heart race

Breathing through your nostrils

will be calming ………..

Straight through the mouth

a little more disarming …

Either way you want to keep it uninterrupted

Or perhaps a sacred pause, just be aware of how you’ve sculpted

Breathing Lessons Rhymed

Loosen your feet, breathe from the core in

flex the toes, everything warming

Let them flop out, fully informing

the relaxation, and then the attention

Present moment only mention

mind may drift, feeling lingers

This time breathe into the fingers

Breathing Lessons Rhymed

I’m working now with a gentle approach

Telling you how ‘cos I’m your breathing coach

There is no struggle or fear in this cleansing breath

Wish I could have tried it with Lady Macbeth

It’s tingly and light near all the edges of my flesh

Nothing is arrested, its easy and fresh

It looks too easy to be true,

 but it’s not too easy,

 just easy

If you

Relax enough to not force yourself to breathe hard

Breath will reconnect when you let it go on the discharge

Breathe energy healing force into every cell

Guide it down to the gastrointestinal

or to the top of your head, your infant fontanelle

Feel the organs contract,  and then the organs swell

Exhale through the body, inch by inch

And when you catch your breath, notice how you flinch

Breathing Lessons Rhymed

Breathing Lessons Rhymed

Breathing Lessons Rhymed

We don’t need a diagram in our lesson plan

Just feel below your ribs:

 the diaphragm

Elastic muscle

thin and wide

Pushes out all

the carbon dioxide 

Cause what festers inside

Makes a gas miasma

Predisposing you to asthma

Other systems relate to the respiratory

Endocrine, immune, circulatory

like interlocking chapters in an epic story

of the body and mind in a spiritual glory

Respiratory and the cardiovascular

getting to know, so when they ask you who you are

you can take it back clear to the tribes of Abraham

elevated physical, spoken from the diaphragm

Some say it may be good enough to breathe unconsciously

Yet old patterns stay the same

obnoxiously

So keep on learning

Slow or fast

Your breath is with you

Built to last

A dozen little systems

Breathing for themselves

while you’re dealing and doing

we’re all made up of cells!

Take a deep one to your liver

And exhale one up to your brains

Breath always will deliver

Whatever it sustains

And remember, bye and bye

When you need to let out a sigh

{sigh}

Breathing Lessons Rhymed

Breathing Lessons Rhymed

Intercostals primed

Coordinated, timed

Breathing rhythms

Lessons rhymed

Breathing time defined

                                                                                                                           John Savlove 

                                                                                          SaveLove Music

                                                                                            October 2017

Cook/Live Beautiful 2018/20 review in song

How many friends in can she squeeze

Guests of guests and V.I.P.s

Where cold is hot, Galahad is brought

 As a gesture to the bought

Rastafari calimari

Oven baked a la Mata Hari

White Baccardi or red Campari

Not enough time to feel sad or sorry

Bridgehampton vintner, hand blown snifter

June blooms out there, in here it’s winter

Turn Down the A/C!      Turn down the A/C!

‘Cos there’s a chill in the air, unconditionally

Turn down the A/C!       Turn down the A/C!

‘Cos there’s a chill in the air, uncondtionally

White pipe railings, taffeta fringes

Plum cornmeal cake, transverse hinges

Fromage Blanc, late of the friary

Cottage frottage, lost in a diary

Stemware raised to Diana Vreeland

Skrillex, Prince, the Wiltshire Green Man

Winco Shank, most favorite banker

Standing, kissing cheeks, she thanks her

For keeping their lives worry free

Thermometers guard this property

Turn down the AC!   Turn down the AC!

‘Cos there’s a chill in the air, unconditionally

Turn down the AC!   Turn down the AC!

‘Cos there’s a chill in the air, unconditionally

Twinflammable

 triple souls

Bluer than ice 

hotter than coals

Medicine steel, modesty numb

Pinion colada, minion mignon

I need my lavender chocolate mousse

I’m burning up, I’m a roasted goose

Leave the dots alone, 

connect the doubts

If you want a clear picture of the ins and outs

They knew not to throw me in the boiling water

No, they know all the ways to make you loiter

Turn down the A/C!    Turn down the A/C!

‘Cos there’s a chill in the air, unconditionally

Turndown the A/C!    Turn down the A/C!

Turn down the A/C!   Turn down the A/C!

(my friends all tell me) Turn down the A/C! …..

           john savlove - rocking himself through June 27, 2018

John Savlove: a flame by any other name ....

... will surely burn as bright.

For loyal followers of this phase of my time as John Savlove, here is a photograph. For believers in Twin Flame Ascendancy, I ask you: how specifically can you explain the differences between Soul and Psyche? There is such noble value in believing in the work of two combined as one, however, we may not ever understand that progress without coming to it free of distortions. That is a long-term project, played out over the course of our relationships.

John Savlove Online Sampler

The link to hearing "Buddha" is on my EsotericOnline homepage.
"Art School Grad" is there too, elsewhere. You'll have to read the "Give Her a Dream" lyrics to find that link. The two song files are from 1994, with Anthony Wilson on guitars and Bill Dobrow drumming.

  The Savlove Scribd essay on Culture&Alchemy is finally blog-linked. It's about 10 years old, no reason to get exact. The main thing is the consistency of my thread. The wholesomeness of my life's work has taken some hits by the same people children are blaming for slowly killing off planetary eco-systems. Libby used to remind me that they're "just jealous". It took me this long to understand why - since the Climate Strike of September 2019.

American Character essay

Rosey's Realm blog

Visionary's Almanac psalms

YT channel playlists

YouTube user name kanlithunder will resonate for followers of the Taoist Medicine Wheel.

The best healer I ever found on YouTube just took down all her videos - light language, Reiki, a complete menu of pure, high, loving presentations. I'm not sure why, but I sense she may have been a little naive about paying the price for over 30,000 views on average. I have digested the work I did with her. I believe if I was not intended to bring these teachings to a mass level as filtered through my own talents (so different from hers!) there is no way this blog would always be referring to such fame.

Octo Sapien Visions

This is a dashed off Post Script to the conclusion of the SaveLove website: the domain name was picked up by the domain seller when the due date came up, but when my host advance payment expires in May, the site as we still see definitely shuts off.

Today's entry title - a play on the original "HELP!" film title, "8 Arms to Hold You", is also but an advertisement for the Hieros_gamos  theme that is so obscured by the victims and victimizers of the latest set of culture wars.

What I'm given to understand is that this blog no better gets people to understand my history with women than anything else. The response to this blog - in spite of the fact that 900 people have visited it in 2018 - is hollow.  To reiterate in plain black and white language: I was raised to look after my mother, who divorced my father when I was three. Placation is my biggest problem. I have never cat-called at women, never harassed, never hit or "hit on", I have never forced women to do anything they didn't want to do, I have always been gentle  with girls and women,  and that's been presumed  as well as proven every day and night I have lived since popping out all big-eared & happy from Peggy Savlov's womb. One would think this sets me up very well for where we are to go from here collectively.

 But now matters of style are under suspicion world-wide. I was traumatized by Crystal Ortiz in January 2011 - raped, if you will - and because any woman OR man in such a position often prefers a kind of cowed dignity to any other public presentation .... well, you've already read my offers to tell my story to anyone who might care. That's the best I can do without beginning to forsake my stipulation that all involved are Accepted and Forgiven.

But one will also have to accept and forgive that the liberal state elected Donald Trump. 

The liberal state cares more about much more psychologically weak - conflicted, bitter, envious, potentially violent - immigrants flooding American communities than it does about a white straight male of my deeds and reputation (minus the Bennington Banner articles about me on the web, which are vitiated by Prosecutor Rainville agreeing with me about what happened when I acted as my own lawyer to terminate probation). The liberal state looks at me, shrugs its shoulders and joins in on a chorus of "Wayfaring Strangers".

The liberal state had 8 years to cherish the first non-white family man to enter the White House. Cherish we did not. Oh yes, I'm with us as part of the One Soul, although my responsibility for where we are now merely is about my sweet essence. I still examine my motives as well as my breath every day. To be fair, 8 years is not enough for people who constantly stab each other in the back to heal what by now comes naturally. The war on the balladeer class,  as waged against yours truly, was not important enough to nip in the bud. 

Vermont elected Donald Trump. And is doing everything it can to deny this.

I love Vermont and Donald Trump equally. And you will hear it in the breadth of my voice. If I ever get to make a produced record and perform again. 

It has been a wonderful winter. Like I say at the start, I'd rather be writing about yoga, but the sacrifices I've made are too important to ignore (me, the guy who questioned the nature of sacrifice back in the more romantic days of swimming holes and unspoiled woods).

I was warned that Bennington College had had its heart and soul torn out of it back in the '90s when Liz Coleman destroyed tenure. I felt too much like the campus heart and soul to agree. I was still welcome there back then.

When Crystal Ortiz is found and comes forward, it won't be to say #Me Too. It will be to say, "When you asked me what I'd look back on when I was older, John, and I exclaimed, "You!", and you grinned ... well, here we are! Thank you sooooo much!"   {A win for undocumented refugees hoping to find support in the United States. Crystal did not feel at home in Bennington until she divined, broke and entered, and aggressively befriended the chaste hermit poet of North Bennington.}

let's let someone else have savlove.com

Remember "The Last Waltz"?
"We've spent 16 years on the road - 8 of 'em in the backstreets, pubs and waterin' holes and the other 8 as superstars, in the limelight, carryin' the southern cross.... and now it's time to call it quits."

That's kind of how I feel about www.savlove.com
"It's been, yup, 16 years since I posted that investment proposal, 10 of 'em as just another backwood messianic rock'n'roll wannabe and 6 of 'em actually known to people who take a vital interest in defeating the Blue Meanies...and now it's time to make or break."

The future young co-artistes imagined for me as a professional spiritualist has been realized. These days I'm an Administrative Manager of a sacred sciences site, welcoming people from many nations who volunteer an interest in alchemy.

The site is designed by J. Garrett, who tags himself Hermes Trismegistus, the syncretic link between the ancient Egyptian's Thoth to Hermes, the god of sacred sciences and arts to the Greeks. Under tris's aegis I work with co-seekers according to their needs and interests, and monitor any chat that could or did make users feel unsafe. And I brought Taoism to a Rosicrucian template, where the similarities are better off recognized. The only problem is that the alchemical feat I wish to bring off is all about studio magic. And on Esoteric Online, the music of today is EDM and the lessons of yesterday are vast, with the prior studio magic of Led Zeppelin and the Beatles only interesting as one of many musical supplements to individuated practices leading us -some of us anyway - to the ineffable "music of the spheres".

Either way, savlove.com has outlived its usefulness as a public invitation to a dance that is swung either in private or with an update in the approach to music underway today. The deadline is in three weeks. It's like everything else in this golden life. My part as an icon of good will is secure within myself.   I write a song a month, as if to confer form upon the formless - while other writing is transposed to the will of the esoteric chat room.

The collective culture could only do so much for my friend Libby. The whole axis upon which  senses of personal responsibility ride in tandem with social services, order, and cultural habits is a lesson in varieties of circumstance amidst a terrifying appreciation of the forces that make this planet so gosh-darn distinctly beautiful. Human behavior would be the axis here - spinning through the cosmos.



 

Quietly Resting My Voice

    51 Monteroy Road in Brighton, NY will be up for sale soon. Crane and crew shall soon be done refinishing the floors and throwing up fresh paint. Bidding farewell to one’s childhood home is classic diary material. We saw the other one go at 11 Water Street not too long ago, both relatively easy milestones in accepting loss. The concise pints of  Autobiography Ale are stacked in cases across four rooms now up at #3 Vane St., Newrap, VT; solitude, meet solitunes. The car returned from the final drives laden with archival replenishments.

    There’s a set of photos I lifted from the living room stacks, big black & whites of me and my sister romping in a field and jamming on the piano. She’s 16, I’m 13. In a couple, Meg’s on flute, in another I’m stretched out on the floor at the wheels of the Steinway as she sight reads. There’s more elegant china in my kitchen cupboard than I know what to do with. Lacquered match boxes - three sets of wooden sticks beneath one long Netherlands painting - reside here now, and a huge dry set of post cards from 1960s Egypt salvaged from stuff in the garage mine to keep or trash. 

     The last sessions on that Steinway went well. For my last visit home I focused on playing what I know. Although I did work with switching keys to inbred songs, like a way of proving I was fully warmed up. Anything about to ensue there was no heart in singing dropped unsung. “Rocket Man”, performed while the lawyer and interiors lady chose wall colors, stood out as the most enthralling performance of work by another author. And I wrote a new song.

      Savluvvies, must keep you in the dark about the title for now. But you can be sure I wrote extra special clear for all the confident kids out there. Something with a future. The terrified ones too. And for all of us in between. Not the first song of the year, but the last one at my original baby grand, so it has an old familiar SaveLove pulse. Minor, including a bridge with lots of majors. It’s about songs I’ve already written, where they fit into microspace, of who else might sing them. It begins, “Told you before about how not to conform to narcissism ….”

     

    

June G

   June G taught us how to teach our brains to feel safer emotions than the ones used to early trauma patterns. She said, "Never tell someone they should have done something differently. They could have done it differently, but the 'should' implies that their relationship with their potential to heal themselves was not nevertheless seeking health - and wherever it was has to be accepted as far as they could go at the time."

  

"Dream Big" (2014)

                                    Dream Big

I dreamt of peace until three policemen beat me with a poker

Woke up from that, said, “next time, not so mediocre”

Fell back to sleep...dreamed of his and her more curious as we

The boundaries disappeared yet I felt sweet security

Dream Big

dream large enough to cut the doctrine down to size

Dream Big

no one can blame you for living life that wise

Dream Big

dream greater than the emptiness in sleepers’ eyes

Dream Large

Dream Wide  

Dream Big

Ok. But could right a few that you don’t wime?  Force yourself not to rye-mm!

    Er - gently do a dance in the apartment to cleanse your mind between lines

Dream Big

dream greater than the state you occupy

Dream Big

a fire dragon moves along the ocean waves

Dream Big

so wide the dream remains after your body dies

Dream Large

Dream Wide

Dream Big

Hmmm now I hear the current of my voice here in the song

Spoken word that keeps the linear dimension moving right along

Dream large dream wide dream a tiny little dot

Dream the string that pulls it up without tying in a knot

Dream Big

no one can tell you what their meaning is

Dream Large

larger than the pad that logs your every move

Dream Wide

of freedoms still not yet understood by men

DREAM BIG       DREAM  LARGE       DREAM WIDE

Dream On

long after the old rules have died

Dream Long

and in these dreams we will confide

Dream Big

and on the dipper swing we’ll ride

Hold Fast!     Swing High!       Dream Big

Acrobatics of Compassion

                                         


What you do with your computer tells you what you need to know. You give it what you got.
It computes. This is the Information Age. Up pops onto the screen the information you searched. Facts are a kind of information. Friends are a kind of information. Politics is a kind of information. Religion is a kind of information. Web History is a kind of information.

DNA is a kind of information. The computer cannot replicate your DNA. Your DNA is smarter than any computer, minus the facts.

Professionals rely on various kinds of computers. Mass production is about an array of computers. Speed is a standard set by computers. The only really slow computer is one that's shut off. 

Computers are the brainchild of science and reason. I am not a computer. Reason is way over to one side of my Savivity. I have no reason to do anything today. Athena has no reason to call me. It made little difference to her that she told me the truth the last time I saw her. She said she had not thought about me and did not think of me again until the next time I interjected myself into her life, years later. My friend as a witness confirmed: "Yeah, she's got it going on! She doesn't need you, she's got her designer jeans and that ring on her finger and her little boy in a perfect leather sling strapped to her hip." But someone with an imbalance like mine doesn't use that as an "A-ha!" moment. That should have been a cold shower, wet washcloth and kick in the butt all at once. Instead I looked down and half-agreed until the other half overtook my inner drives again. It didn't take long. Believing in Athena stuck until way after it was too late. The politics of compassion are compassion for the self first in my case. By forgiving myself as much as I can forgive anyone else I might feel good when I do my part for the truly needy rather than feeling like a spoiled child who feasts on spoilt porridge and lives off of hand-me-downs because my self-esteem was never what I thought it was except for when I was 19 and attempting suicide.

chat with George Orwell

JS: George, awfully good of you to occupy the front of my consciousness.
GO: Face it, you deserve it.
JS: Must admit the frontal lobes are winkin' back 'atcha.
GO: The only person you've told a lie to in the last 5 years is your mother.
JS: Yes, and in that case there was no need to apologize!
GO: You are highly transparent.
JS: Oh George, is that another one of your puns-
GO: Rather cunning puns than NewSpeak chat, Sav.
JS: No doubt.
GO: And when it comes to taking responsibility, you've left the blame-sayers in the dust.
JS: Yep.
GO: I want to say from the git-go how sorry I am that no one addresses - nay, even remembers - the vital connection between health, kindness, and natural erectile function for men over 50 you've made and, in your own chaste way, bear out.
JS: Thanks. They really don't know an interesting narrative when they see it, eh?
GO: Let's just say they prefer your patience and compassion.
JS: George, I'm liking you better than your novels already.
GO: brb

GO: The topic is prevarication, then.
JS: Yes, and how prevarication is essential to "player mentality". And how the difference between cruel omission and tasteful silence is an inexhaustible discussion down here and yet a trivial boring matter of degrees to the angels.
GO: "Player" is a word with multiple meanings. I know the sense you describe. Where the difference between life and chess is that chess pieces don't dress up and go out at night.
JS: William S. was writing multi-laterally when he scribed 'the play's the thing'....
GO: Because they are themselves characters in a play? That's reaching. But you do point out to 'play' being centuries older than hustle or con.
JS: Or flim-flam, snake oil, white lie, scam, grift or fix.
GO: All in the game.
JS: Shakespeare also saw through the petty emotional drives behind one's self-legitimated motivations.
GO: Indeed. But he can't stop people from making those moves, can he?
JS: No, George. He's older and more studied than you, and no, you're right. They have better therapies for enhancing awareness now, but somehow matters of conscience remain---
GO: ---as constricted as chess pieces in a new version of the same old game?
JS: George, I wish I had someone as sensitive and wise as you to speak with about all this in real life.
GO: Oh Sav. You're not a child anymore. And playing Horatio to your Hamlet requires a reversal of omniscience. Get thee to a punnery.
JS: I was thinking a woman like Kerry Washington would be that kind of friend.
GO: Who is Kerry Washington?
JS: Not anyone who respects the politics of the English language in American mass media anymore. You've at least been that effective.
GO: Thank Christ.

JS: Anyway, when your own mother plays the omission game in collusion with your sister for 8 months while Fred Daley rewards you for writing a good letter in the Hill Country Observer about big-box stores by publishing in the next issue scum from a guy - like everyone else connected to my case - who is now nowhere to be found - well, it makes you realize that anything you thought people have said about you but not to you for the last 5 years may well be true.
GO: And that most of those things are very good, I have to remind you, John.
JS: Yeah, yeah, I know that's true. That's part of the crazy irony.
GO: It's their problem.
JS: Yes, yes, it is.
GO: And it took Rosey Cross being banned from Esoteric Online to accelerate the justice within your mother's psyche....
JS: Don't remind me about Twin Flame Ascension, please George. Now I'm feeling the weird upper chakra magnets that are the real reason it was just as well to leave me to my taping process all summer.
GO: But you've trashed that cheap recorder now, haven't you?
JS: Worked with it right up until New Years.
GO: And you could have made the same music under more loving circumstances.
JS: I guess.
GO: NewSpeak is a failure, John. The new generation of sensitives hear you, and they are telling you it is not the same as the abbreviated language of chat. You know now about how genuinely shared "group mind" feelings seep through the wires, er- wireless.
JS: My little angels, Google Jiminy Cricket.
GO (nods head and blushes): Yes, "always let your conscience be your guide."
JS: Don't make phony agreements.
GO: Forgive and forget.
JS: Don't conceal. Way back before I'd even formed the concept that I was a Rebel Poet Pollyanna I was reading Barbara Hand Clow. The Star Man's first advice is don't conceal, no need to conceal, you are innocent, you are free. I've never had anything to hide.
GO: You went in the direction me and Lennon and Janov were pointing you.
JS: I sleep well at night. My dreams are not in NewSpeak. Rolling Stone has crossed Sean Penn over as a journalist. If they're reading this, I'm restructuring the offer I made Bob Dylan's birthday 2012 from Water Street: I don't have to achieve anything musically first. I'll sell you the lurid prose narrative. I can change it round, a million pages give or take a few, 'cause i need a break and mom always did say I'd make a great paperback writer.....
GO: Well paperbacks sit in old cardboard boxes, and you have a lot to hide if you're going to let your Google page represent you.

JS: A sense of purpose and a Google page like that are incompatible. It's like my first small victory would be to write, sing, meditate, or teach my way into enough web mentions that the print media of 2011 would fall away.

GO: In my book it always catches up to you. 

JS: Only people who want to know the difference between self-love and narcissism are going to find out. In the big world, the shades in between are where the attention goes. Fashion therapy.

GO: Why do you think your life is an open secret, a legend in the making, a quaking rumor, a throwback to the old-school oblivious to Tik-Tok, Spotify, and the surge of diligence that is about to overtake the dumbing-down we've come to associate with scrolling and emojis?

JS: I don't think that anymore, George. I'm just not sure what to do with myself in the void of that revelation.

GO: I'm not going to send you a Christmas card either this year. It's not that you've been naughty. You've been nice enough. It's that you're too needy. Forgettably needy. Dependent on people to increase the length of your leash by a few drives to Price Chopper or the dentist and back. You don't have a cat, a dog, a wife, an employer, a car, you don't have an heir to your hundreds.

JS: He means the useless LPs.

GO: I mean the dollars you didn't know how to spend.

JS: You mean that there is no young person in my life I can leave any belongings to.

GO: I'll take the last word on this. Which is, that you're safe from the incriminating items on your Google page because nobody bothers to go that far. Nobody needs to follow up. There is no conversation. Tomorrow is the first day of 2023. While your peers retire from jobs they worked their whole lives and turn to things they've always wanted to do in their spare time - things related to their profession in most cases, like the way a philosopher turns to canvas to paint his reflections or a music teacher becomes a full-time performer - you are purifying yourself not only as a vessel for your prayer to future generations, but because you have no choice. 

message from lennon to bowie

     

    
              "Happiness is a Warm Sun"

Touch Deprived

                                                               Touch Deprived  

Left home for an alternate dance family

From a slug to a hug on a loan

I get out of my depth when I’m searching for the steps while I’m talking on the telephone

Acting like everybody knows you

Looking like you’ve never been denied

You’ve told me how alive that you’re feeling inside

Now you say you’re touch deprived

Touch deprived

Touch deprived

Touch deprived

Touch deprived

And there’s nothing else you haven’t tried

Touch deprived

The sea of tenderness

The flow of sweet caress

Of those pleasures we can guess

I would love to take you gently

Dreaming of you sentimeantly

I love the glimpse of your leather

I love the feel of your cloth

Around the room you glide until you flicker to my side

Quicker, you electric moth

‘Cos I’m too scared to ask you for a slow dance

And one kiss would be a roller coaster ride

I’ve shown you how alive that I’m feeling inside

I’ve got to say I’m touch deprived

Touch deprived

Touch deprived

Touch deprived

Touch deprived

And there’s nothing else we haven’t tried

Touch deprived

        

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