T H E   M O N T H L Y   M I S S I V E

 WINTER  2001/2002
Editor............Morty Breier

November's Bipolar Mantra:

Change your internal dialogue from:
"What's in it for me?"
"How can I help?"

Depak Chopra

Contents of This Month's Issue

















HIP SOURCES (Contributors): 




In future Issues look out for


C U R R E N T   C O M M E N T A R Y


By Morty Breier  



Karen and I flew out of JFK at 12:30 am, the early morning of September eleventh, arriving in London some 3 hours before the nightmarish events in New York City. We were starting a 45-day tour of “the old country” that would take us through England, Scotland, the Netherlands, France and Spain. On the way to the east coast, we had stopped in San Anselmo to visit my daughter Nicole and her husband Steve, and Nicole had told us she was pregnant. The week before we left Connecticut we had attended my son Max’s wedding to the beautiful Lynnette and my other son Damien and his wife Hilary told us that Hilary was pregnant with their second child.  We were also planning to attend a wedding in Paris of a friend of Max and Lynnette, who were to join us there for a few days. And, at the end of our trip, we were to attend a wedding in Burlington Vermont by flying back from Madrid to Montreal, and then, afterward back to Kona Hawaii, our home. We started our trip with joyful hearts.

We had arrived at our hotel in the Kensington area of London at about 1:30. Our room was not yet ready, so we left our luggage with the concierge and we went out for a walk and a coffee. When we got back to the hotel some 2 hours later, the concierge asked us if we knew anyone in the World Trade Center, since a plane had just hit that building. We went up to our room and turned on the TV to CNN. We watched the replays of the second plane hitting and then the collapse of both buildings. It was horrific and we had the same emotions as most: unreal, unbelievable, unimaginable, catastrophic, and indigestible. I had been living in New York, my birthplace, in Manhattan’s East Village, while those towers were being built. Karen and I had been on the observation deck of one some three years earlier. My son Max, whose work is securities trading, had interviewed there during the preceding months.

We were quiet in the hotel room that afternoon, staying glued to CNN and the BBC. In strange beds in a strange room, we slept restlessly that night. Early morning half wakefulness kept the images repeating behind closed eyes. We toileted and dressed with the TV on and we left our room slightly dazed. An olive skinned older guy in our hotel lobby asked if I was American, said he was from Qatar and offered his condolences for the tragic event in NY. We walked London for the next few days. Security was apparent, especially at historic sights and government buildings. We tried to push those distant tragic events aside and go on with our trip. We only partially managed in that first week.

England was very sympathetic to America’s plight. Blair was the eloquent spokesperson for the English-speaking world at a time like this. A few columnists hoped that Bush would not come out guns blazing like in some bad western. He was complimented for his restraint as time passed. Over the next month I was to learn that the Europeans are a lot more circumspect about world events and the politics that underlie them. They are much closer to Africa and the Middle East than we are. Many Muslim Africans and Middle Easterners rub shoulders with Europeans daily. Europe has been subject to war and terrorism much more often than America has. England had the Irish, France the Algerians, Spain the Basque separatists. They seem more experienced at balancing competing interests and managing sensitive borders.

Many in Europe see America as kind of naïve (which we see as innocent), rough edged (which we see as refreshing), without historic perspective (which we see as unencumbered), go it alone (which we see as rugged individualism) and prone to ill-considered action (which we see as a can-do attitude). The cultured European, immersed in political scenarios, surrounded by historic artifacts, dining in exquisitely mannered salons, and articulately discussing affairs of the world, tries to accommodate to the fact that America is today the pre-eminent power in that world, and that George Bush is America’s spokesman and leader. Most of this we gleaned from the newspapers and TV. 

We met few people on our journeys. We had little opportunities to discuss events with others. We are generally pretty quiet when alone. We walked all over the big cities we visited, London, Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona, and Madrid. We had the opportunity of spending three weeks along the southern coast of Spain, past Gibraltar and up into Portugal, before Madrid and our trans-Atlantic flight. We became a little careful about revealing our nationality after the U.S. started bombing Afghanistan. This is my first opportunity to discuss my thoughts on the events of the eleventh, their underlying explanations and our reactions to them.

My thoughts about these events are embedded in the concept of a moving story line, an unfolding process, a journey of consciousness, in which we, you and I, our country, humanity, are involved. Such a journey produces a changing landscape, both because it actually changes and because our worldviews change. Such changes are assured by advancing technologies, by increasing information exchange, by expanding economic frameworks, by shrinking resource availability, by progressing human aspirations. Standing still means being stuck in a fixed mindscape while the world changes around you, means becoming more and more disconnected from that world. Any discussion of the events of the eleventh must examine these in terms of this changing world-scene.

If you are a person who believes that the world’s foundations are lawful and meaningful, then unexpected tragedies, especially those we think are undeserved, are reminders that we’re not seeing a big enough picture. They are demands by reality that we include in our understanding important elements that we have been disregarding or been blind to, that’s why those elements suddenly and violently make themselves known in the form of tragedy. That’s one of the teaching methods that one’s journey uses to broaden our vision and hopefully deepen our wisdom. Whether one calls it God, or spirit or Reality, we are not left alone to live out our fantasies but are reminded time and again, by small jolts or large knocks, that there is a higher power that seeks recognition, and which is disregarded at one’s peril. 

Ideally one would like to fit these gruesome and horrific events into the history of humanity, as those who’ve learned from it might write it 200 years from now. Such a history would unquestionably place the United States of America as the key actor at this time, the first years of the third millennium. The history of the world will, no doubt, reflect the worldview of America as it digests these events. And it is to this worldview that I address the following thoughts.  I’m going to attempt capturing this moment in history by examining a number of threads, trends or changing factors that run through it. These I’ve titled: Inequity, Polarity, Karma, Lessons and Objectives. 



A R T S Y    O F F E R I N G S


These Mandalas were drawn by Morty Breier with markers on 6" x 6" bar napkins

 during Karen and Morty's trip through Europe, with the dates and places notated



 9/18 Hotel Krasnaposky, Amsterdam      9/18 Javarama, Amsterdam    9/19  Magna Plaza, Amsterdam    9/20 Train, Amsterdam to Paris


9/21 Place De Bastille, Paris           9/23 Montmartre, Paris                   10/1 Outside of Motril, Spain              10/2 Almunecar, Spain


           10/4 Almunecar, Spain           10/6 Almunecar, Spain                   10/12 Sagres, Portugal                      10/13 Lisboa, Portugal


        10/16 Cafe, Madrid            10/17 Museo de Jambon, Madrid            10/18 Airport, Madrid                          10/19 Cafe, Montreal 


M O D E R N I T Y ' S   M A D N E S S

A new byline by JoEl Cohen



Like the Jews after the holocaust, I approached my last computer crash with the words “NEVER AGAIN”. I’m now 58 years old and tired of fumbling over doc’s, xls’s, mp3’s, avi’s, pst’s and so on. Computers suck; they always have and they always will. I’m soon to see my sixth decade and I’m tired of records, floppies, cassettes, cd’s, cd-rom’s, dvd’s, 8mm, super-8mm, iomegas, flash memories and so on.


Each piece of software information waits for its corresponding hardware to fail, making it impossible to ring out the few truths represented therein; as all of it replaced by the next generation of software located on the next generation of hardware which arrives in 1/10 the time is ten times as big, ten times as fast, and ten times as hopeful, but always destined for the dustbin of history.  My son works for GE, one of the most advanced companies on the face of the earth and I’m now two generations ahead of them in operating system.


Each major crash seems to be preceded by minor insults which in my generally enlightened state of mind, I choose to avoid dealing with at their time of occurrence, as I assume such maintenance activities are a waste of time. Then the crash comes – perhaps too many functions were launched when I kicked the computer or as Pat say’s I have found a way to wear out every computer I have ever owned.  I broke Windows95 after six weeks. It took me six months to break NT and one year to break Windows 2000.  Now I am running Windows XP and XP everything.


So my answer to all this was either:          

    a)  Ignore it all, fix it and go on () or

    b)  Go back one or more generations or

    c) Take another whack at entropy – this time getting it right.


Correct; as usual I chose the less trodden path, choice c:,  so I have spent the last two weeks recovering from my crash, as I remember a dozen or so brilliant e-mails I never sent and are now gone or some brilliant note to my secretary at ‘take’s or some  infamous poem I sent to my cousin about ‘too many chiefs’  - (at spincycle he was the ceo and he had a cfo, a cio, cto and a clo for finance, information, technology,  and legal (what a poem). 


So now I have built my final system – the final solution ; making my memories auto-redundant with online real time full buggy monitoring; in fact I buggered the whole entropy battle with anti-static, anti lightening, anti-viral, anti everything, triple redundancies and all on auto.  Now I think I will be able to get the same reliability I had when I wrote my first diary essays at twelve years old which is still around.


As I think I explained on the telephone – my previous redundancy system backed up everything but itself and the same is true of you and me. We have billions of liver cells, trillions of brain cells; countless physical rivers and rivulets of blood and lymph and endless virtual chemical and electrical paths but no way to back us up. I don’t care what it is and this includes the whole universe. If you want it to keep on working you’ve got to back it up.  Thusly have I learned about the insults, evolutions and devolutions of information, belief, knowledge and truth.




Jo-El, (as in Isra –El, Ishma-El) – keeper of the only true faith  (an absolute belief in the right to believe whatever) Cohen, Redding, Connecticut


P O E M S   &   P O L T E R G E I S T S

JUDY SHEEHAN,  In Memoriam. 

Judy will never be remembered as an incidental acquaintance. She was never incidental, never an acquaintance. She was always the one and only, incomparable Judy, big as life itself, constantly filled by it, going at it full tilt boogie. She was continually feeding us, mothering her brood, handling Pat, the dogs, and the guests, laughing, telling stories, and getting us high on the antics of characters she was forever coming in contact with. You can’t imagine Judy without that look of “isn’t it unimaginably wild and unendingly funny what people say and do in this world.”

Of course the last months of her life were painful beyond sympathy. Her big family was there, Pat was there, as she struggled with staying alive while her body was being eaten by the multiplying cancer that finally took her. Against the grain of a lifetime of living, of birthing life, of nurturing it, of being in messy, intimate, loving contact with all of its varied, morphing and multiplying forms, that last vicious form, brought her down. And a piece of each of us with it.

Pat and Judy, what a hip, witty, east coast sharp and gritty real pair of human beings. From the urban, multi-cultural, multi-racial matrix of New York and its City Colleges they married and adventured forth into the WASP stronghold of Fairfield County Connecticut. We who remained for some time in the city remember being entertained with scenes of the ensuing confrontations. Everyone remembers the frying lox skins and the pair from the town’s Women’s League welcoming committee at the front door. 

That contrast, that juxtaposition, that eye for detached detailed mirth in the midst of teaming, and I do mean teaming, fecundity defined the Sheehans. “Don’t let that man in the Recovery Room” was the order given after each birth, their happening so close on one another that the physicians suspected Pat of unrestrained libido, notwithstanding the possibility of post partum depression, white hospital sheets, and the new infant’s need of its mother’s breasts. Feigning atheism Pat followed his Catholic instincts and turned Judy, the unsuspecting Jewish pomegranate, into a flowering tree of biblical proportion.

And we all watched, amazed at the wildness of that overflowing suburban household, taking turns at driving up into the Connecticut wilderness to visit, be fed, drink bourbons and scotches, get high, talk, argue, joke, tell stories and listen to music. There were real logs burning in the fireplace on winter days and a screened porch and pool to play in on summer days. There were always kids of various ages in various garbs appropriate to their stage of bowel control and the latest dog threading their ways through your legs. There was always the most recent house addition or room re-arrangement to reorient yourself to. And Judy was always at the center of it all, the quarterback, with Pat as coach, advisor and charging fullback when required.

Goodbye, dear friend. An era has passed with your leaving us. It was a great time, a parlous time, seminal to all our visions and hopes, the mulch that nurtured our accomplishments, a moment in history like no other. And we lived it, you and I, dear Judy of the laughing eye, we lived it with all our contemporaries gathered here, we lived it like no other generation has or will, that unique confluence of opportunity, hipness, idealism, skepticism, humor, diversity and expanding world-views. Who else can appreciate this second half of the twentieth century scene than your friends gathered here in celebration of you, an icon of those years. Thanks for letting us know you, it has been one of the pleasures of my life. I know you’re keeping them all chuckling wherever you are. We love you, dearest Judy. Goodbye and Godspeed.

Morty Breier, 

Kailua-Kona, Hawaii

November 5, 2001


S A G E   R E M A R K S


By Morty Breier


    We Jews are in the days of Chanukah, the festival of lights. We celebrate our victory over our Hellenist conquerors, our retaking and rededication of the temple in Jerusalem about 125 years before the birth of the Jew Jesus of Nazareth, celebrated in just a few nights by another of the west's biblical wisdom traditions, Christianity. Over 2,000 years ago, Jews of that time set their temple free from the rule of temporal power and rededicated it to the sovereignty of HaShem, the everlasting one.


    We were out-numbered and out-gunned. We have always been out-numbered and out-gunned. We are not alone. The truth, the way of compassion and love, of justice and righteousness has always been out-numbered and out-gunned. Yet it is my faith, it is the Jewish faith, it is humanity's faith, that truth, love and justice prevails. Otherwise, would we be here today celebrating. We celebrate not only its survival as one of our historic holidays but its powerful new representation in the world's democracies, their concern for human welfare and their rule of law. We hope that this new found power is a harbinger of change for this new millennium.


    We are the oldest of the biblical wisdom traditions. We trace our lineage back to Abraham. He began our tradition of serving truth, love and justice above temporal power. HaShem, the force, was with him. We nurture and empower ourselves to do likewise by claiming Abraham and the other patriarchs as our ancestors. We sometimes succeed and often fail. We are not unlike humanity as a whole in that respect. A mixture of failure and success, we are a work in progress.


    What does that mean exactly. Do our lives just repeat like the planetary cycles, the seasons, the waxing and waning moon, the spin of the earth on its axis. Or are we that plus something more. Are we an unfolding, a development, a work in progress. We seem to have the same proportion of success and failure as we did 2000 years ago. But haven't our standards, the points around which success and failure are measured, changed? When we take the time to view history in its broadest sweep we see, in my view clearly, the standards themselves move, albeit in fits and starts, with a few slips backward, gradually but inexorably upward.


    Celebrating HaShem's victory, our holiday of Chanukah, how can we not help but see our overall journey in that light. Our faith in HaShem is reinforced by this view of human progress. We can join in HaShem's work by ourselves helping move that standard upward. We do it by raising the standards each of us have for ourselves. It is called tikkun olem and it is a holy calling.


    Let us remember, during this week called festival of light, that humanity itself is a work in progress. Let us remember there are those with very high standards in all wisdom traditions, all religions, all cultures. And there are those in all traditions, including our own, with much lower standards. Humanity is a bell curve of both standards in various stages of development and of success and failure rates. Like each of us. A work in progress. And let's remember, like each of us, like the biosphere itself, humanity is nurtured by diversity. It is not that devotion to hashem, the Jewish paradigm, won out over the Greek paradigm of classic beauty and reason, canceling it out. Or later that Christian beliefs cancelled out Roman accomplishments. Our world and ourselves are the result of the intertwining wisdoms, paradigms and technologies of all the traditions that our history has learned from, all their experiences. We are a composite. We are a multi-colored tapestry. Each strand unique and meaningful.


    To make my Jewishness meaningful to me, I must not rest in my ancestor's accomplishments. In fact, I must consciously refrain from believing their righteousness adheres to me. why should I be accorded anything on that basis. We are long since past inherited virtue. I must be virtuous myself. My standards must be high. My standards of truth, love and justice. Not just for my people. Standards that I apply to only my small percent of humanity would certainly be of less meaning, be earlier in the development process, than if my standards apply to everyone I come in contact with, to 100% of humanity. If I want to demonstrate that I am made in the image of god isn't it necessary that I include all of humanity, all its variations, in my circle of truth, love and justice. The rabbis said that every human being is preceded by a band of angels shouting "make way, here comes an image of god." I want to be held to that standard.


    So, here we are, on an island in the middle of the pacific honoring the results of a war 2,000 years ago and half way around the world. Far out. Talk about the Diaspora. It don’t get more Diaspora than that. Come to think of it, America is in some essential way a nation of the Diaspora. The native Americans are the only ones that could claim it as a homeland, but even they came here from other continents. The same is true of Hawaii. Maybe that's why we Jews have done so well here, in America. We have more experience with the Diaspora than most.


    Maybe we Jews were scattered by HaShem for the purpose of being able to hold standards in the face of a mixed multitude, in the face of the great diversity of nations, cultures, beliefs. Maybe that is the root lesson in the blossoming of this amazing experiment called America. Maybe this experiment is the quintessential test of our inclusiveness. Maybe the last world war was a Chanukah of planetary proportion, where an inclusive democracy rooted in high standards of truth, love and justice once again won out over an exclusive mind-set wielding inordinate temporal power. Maybe America's success as the world's most enduring, most inclusive, most powerful democracy is a measure of HaShem's success, of the success of history, of humanity, of the Jews in their striving to raise the standards.


    We all, Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Taoists, we Europeans, Polynesians, Asians, and Africans have much to be thankful for here in our newfound homeland called America. If we as Jews find time to honor those parts of our tradition that give homage to the unfolding progress of our human story line, the story line that led us from that moment when we rededicated the temple, to our existing American traditions, traditions that hold us to high standards of truth, love and justice, let us also praise all our fellow travelers for giving homage to their own story lines that also led them here. May we all celebrate the lighting of candles, the bringing of light, the reign of peace, the victory of the loving heart and open mind, the victory of HaShem, over the divisions of brutality and cruelty that darken our brows, harden our hearts and narrow our minds. May we, in each of our hearts, with HaShem's help, celebrate our soul's en-light-in-ment not just for the eight days of Chanukah, but for all the days of our lives. And let us give that hope a resounding amen. Thank-you.


Morty Breier


M I R T H   &   M A N I A



The New York City school board has officially declared Jewish English - now dubbed Hebonics - as a second language. 


Backers of the move say the city's School District is the first in the state to recognize Hebonics as a valid language and significant attribute of New York culture.


According to Howard Schollman, linguistics professor at New York University and renowned Hebonics scholar, the sentence structure of Hebonics derives from middle and eastern European language patterns, as well as Yiddish.


Prof. Schollman explains, "In Hebonics, the response to any question is usually another question -- plus a complaint that is implied or stated. Thus 'How are you?' may be answered, 'How should I be, with my feet?'"


Schollman says that Hebonics is a superb linguistic vehicle for

expressing sarcasm or skepticism. An example is the repetition of a word with "sh" or "shm" at the beginning: "Mountains, shmountains. Stay away.  You want a nosebleed?"


Another Hebonics pattern is moving the subject of a sentence to the end, with its pronoun at the beginning: "It's beautiful, that dress. "Schollman says one also sees the Hebonics verb moved to the end of the sentence. Thus the response to a remark such as 'He's slow as a turtle' could be: "Turtle, shmurtle! Like a fly in Vaseline he walks." Schollman provided the following examples from his textbook, Switched-On Hebonics.


Question: "What time is it?"

English answer: "Sorry, I don't know."

Hebonic answer: "What am I, a clock?"


Remark: "I hope things turn out okay.

English response: "Thanks."

Hebonic response: "I should BE so lucky!"


Remark: "Hurry up. Dinner's ready."

English response: "Be right there."

Hebonic response: "Alright already, I'm coming. What's with the 'hurry' business? Is there a fire?"


Remark: "I like the tie you gave me; I wear it all the time."

English response: "Glad you like it."

Hebonic response: "So what's the matter; you don't like the other ties I gave you?


Remark: "Sarah and I are engaged."

English response: "Congratulations!"

Hebonic response: "She could stand to gain a few pounds."


Question: "Would you like to go riding with us?"

English answer: "Just say when."

Hebonic answer: "Riding, shmiding! Do I look like a cowboy?"


To guest of honor at his birthday party:

English remark: "Happy birthday."

Hebonic remark: "A year smarter you should become."


Remark: "A beautiful day."

English response: "Sure is."

Hebonic response: "So the sun is out; what else is new?"


Answering a phone call from son:

English remark: "It's been a long time since you called."

Hebonic remark: "You didn't wonder if I'm dead yet?"


P H O T O   G A L L E R Y




LONDON                                                        AMSTERDAM








   MAZAGON            LISBOA               TOLEDO           MADRID                VERMONT




M I S S I O N   S T A T E M E N T


Hit Counter

H I P   S O U R C E S
Marcus Uzilevsky: We are proud to have as a contributor distinguished California artist and musician Marcus Uzilevsky. Talk about hip, he's in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, for his 1965-68 group The Third Bardo, (he jammed with Dylan in the Cafe Wah). Under his present name Uzca, he has two world music CDs Slice of Light and Gypsy Dreams, this last he calls Nouveau Klezmer. Klezmer, the Jewish music of Eastern Europe with its weeping and laughing clarinets and violins has always been in Uzca's heart and soul and his latest CD blends Gypsy guitars, African talking drums, Middle Eastern belly dancing rythms, Klezmer violin and clarinet and hypnotic vocals in his intuitive universal language. We are invited to join in the dance of life to celebrate our common humanity. As an artist Marcus is well hung in permanent collections and 50 one man shows, selling over a half million lithographs. Born in Brooklyn, migrating to California in the late sixties he is now esconsed in an old railroad building on the fringes of Marin. Uzilevsky has long been a spiritual journeyer, creating his poetry in both the visual and musical arts. The man is out there and be here to tune in on his poetic offerings..

Rose': Rose' was born deep in the Bronx in 1934. He began crafting his poetry attending a number of colleges during the 50's. After a stint in the army he bounced around working as a lifeguard, masseur and astrology writer. He saw his heaviest combat duty teaching High School English in New York. In the early sixties he assiduously pursued Ancient Greek while dining on Mexican beaches, toping in European cafes and slumming in Moroccan dives. Between a stint of acting, including the movie "The Edge", he published a book of drawings and launched skin diving trips throughout the Yucatan and the Florida Keys. His "School of the Night" specialized in occult classes and his "Liquid Wedge Gallery" made media history with sculptor Tony Price's first "Atomic Art Show" in NYC in 1969. Struck with what he calls his "Man-o-pause", Rose' started his epic poem "The Pearl in the Crown", still a grand work in progress. He performs as a stand-up poet in salons, homes, theatres, clubs, sushi bars, on radio and television in New York, Los Angeles, Miami and Santa Fe. Rose' now lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Tony Price, 1937-2000: Thomas Anthony Price wa born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1937. He began his art career in the Marine Corps, painting sixty-foot murals and portraits of generals. After his stint in the marines, 1955-57, he painted and illustrated books, poetry and magazines in New York City and Mexico. Price then worked from 1962-3 as an art director and set designer in films and television for Studio 30 in New York and Brazil. In 1963 Price left for Paris and Rome to paint. His European work is held by collectors in Italy, France, Holland, Germany and Spain. In 1964 he returned to New York and began sculpting in stone, metal and electronic materials. Since his move to New Mexico in 1965, Price has worked with nuclear scrap materials exclusively from Los Alamos from which he has created icons of world religions. Tony died in early 2000 after a yearlong battle with a stroke that had left him partially paralyzed.

HOLIT BAT-EDIT.   The term that I made up, SPIRITUAL BIVOUAKING could be seen as a “conceit” — that is, each word has the opposite meaning. This is not my intention. For me the meaning is that I have found both a safe and nurturing place to be/live.
    It has taken me 55 years to arrive! First I had to acknowledge that the ancient rites or customs of my tribe could seep through to me over thousands of years - and that was hard to conceive. My tribe wandered around the middle east, then got exiled into Europe, Asia, Africa and the Northern Hemisphere taking us through different customs, different colors, different foods and different languages — it certainly rubbed off on me and my family. I spent nearly half a life time, trying to return to the metropolitan desert of unleavened bricks (Israel, Greece, Egypt) and then, the second part, trying to spiritual bivouak here on the Pacific Rim of the Big Island.
    At the beginning of the 90’s, I landed on the Big Island, and with just a few escapes back to my roots in the middle east, I have bern sinking healthy roots into this rock.
    Luckily I have crossed paths with a Hawaiian woman sage — The Messenger-Mahealani. Many spirits here have visited, tested and frightened me at the beginning. Semi-conscious, I went through some ceremonies, perhaps they were initiations of which I knew nothing; of seeing marchers go by, of having animal guardians that I was too ignorant of understanding and accepting. Sometimes I tried not to see it negatively and just to interpret it as wild, dramatic and inexplicable!
    Ultimately I crossed Pele on her own summit — Kilauea, and she gave me a lesson that I still shudder to remember. I was thrown flat into a deep crevice of newly dried lava one night. When I was helped up by a friend, I was unscathed, not one scratch! We screamed with surprise that I wasn’t bloody. Mahealani explained to me later what I had done and how Pele taught me a lesson and she did!
    Humbled by my actions, starting to feel how I fit into this powerful place. I know this as a warrior — biivouak is a fitting word. For me it means: finding a place to protect myself, while also nurturing myself with the spirit of Pele, her people and her island.


Joel W. Cohen      Mr. Cohen was born and bread in Brooklyn . His early life was spent planning his escape to Connecticut . For most of his life he has been self-employed usually working on secret projects. By agreements with his partners he is unable to disclose the nature of these projects.

    Mr. Cohen was high-schooled as a scientist, colleged as an engineer and graduate-schooled as a computer-scientist.  As a result he is totally incapable of empathizing with artists and those that are spiritually motivated. Nevertheless he is known to engage people in long and potentially intimidating conversations with almost anyone on any topic much to their dismay. 

    As a young man in college Mr. Cohen performed as a free-lance hypnotist usually against the will of his subjects, a technique which he subsequently found useful during the 1980’s when he founded, developed and sold a high tech networking company.

     During the madness of the Internet Era of the last millennium Mr. Cohen jointly founded an Internet company called This company was approved for a public offering by the SEC after which the SEC issued a cease and desist order regarding activating the web site on the Internet.  His partner will only allow him to disclose that this web site did not involve sex, gambling or in any way cater to the seven deadly sins, excluding greed of course. 

    Mr. Cohen has often been described as a madman and for the last three years he has been institutionalized in his home office or more properly he has turned his home office into an institution.  When asked what he does he describes himself as a consultant though he rarely consults with anyone. None of Mr. Cohen’s poetry or prose has ever been published nor are their currently plans to do so.