The Future of "Abba's Way"

"Abba's Way" is now a book, a mode of living, and a series.

As a book, "Abba's Way" is simply out there. The initial seventy meditations are available in hardcover, paperback and e-book form

How goes it?

I cannot answer yet, but I will know more in a few weeks when the iUniverse statistics for January are made available.

I do not live for a huge audience for this.

It will be disturbing to those who are partisans of organizad religion. It will be more appealing to those who cotton to the lyrics of John Lennon's "Imagine".

For, at heart, "Abba's Way" is not merely a true and profound theological assertion, but also an assertion that the time of violence and the values of violence has ended. That is, violence must now be replaced by accommodation, negotiation, retreat from the manly virtues, affirmation of a higher human state, of an Abba-infused culture.

The future of "Abba's Way" is therefore the future of the world under the seal of imagination, creativity, change and hope.

So "Abba's Way" is a mode of living.

It is a series also. The second volume will be similar to the first, only written not as the words of Jesus to the world, but as the words of one on Abba's way IN the world.

Some of the entries are the most recent in this blog. Many are merely titles now, waiting for those most life-filled moments when the work of Abba's way is done.

Abba's Way 1 Is Now An E-Book

The first volume of Abba's Way is available as an ebook for the modest price of $6. Since it is really a dip-in-an-out meditative book, it makes sense to have it as an ebook that will always deliver you to where you were last reading.

Click here to visit the Ebook Mall and Purchase Abba's Way

On Games

Games are a conundrum that's so profound,
Sheer puzzlement abounds and overflows.
I speak of games whose echoes may resound
Deep in the depths where no one ever goes.

I disclude games with others on their face;
It's not too hard to see their large appeal.
I speak of games that open inner space,
Where competition with oneself seems real.

It is this competition I would plumb,
When games are played solo, one against ... who?
Is it myself? Or am I playing dumb?
Or is it self-division? Is that true?

And what of the computer I oppose?
Or virtual opponents? Is that strange?
The hours I have spent nobody knows,
I have a sense that I may never change

Is it like smoking was before I stopped?
A simple, time-consuming addiction?
Or an adventure that cannot be topped?
Is it my private place in my own sun?

Or just a testament to action's pull
One decision, a hundred, any, some!
Roll dice, turn cards, fall fate, time full!
And what emotion might we hope would come?

I do not know. We all are who we are.
I see games finally as mysteries
For some a waste of time, for others far
Far more. A vehicle for thinking as we please.

Whatever rings your bell, is that the way?
Is there a whole life somewhere else that's lost?
How free am I if games exert such sway?
Could I rise up? How much would freedom cost?

And there's an even deeper level too
For if I walked away, would the game end?
If it's with me, no matter what I do,
Then finally it's I I must defend.

Ah, conundrum, you see it written plain:
It all comes down to how you see it all.
I shy away from every bloody stain
And seek protection in my own downfall.

On Chance

Listen to New Rain. This is a recording I wrote and made in the 1970s. It is over 50 minutes but worth a hearing, I believe. Just Click the play button. Adjust volume on your computer. Enjoy.





A chance is what occurs when destinies
Are viewed to be just random happenings.
We end up with a bunch of histories
As truthful as eye-witness offerings.

Only in games with rules does chance exist.
Most chancy things do not take place by chance.
Most chancy things are more a simple twist,
A twist of fate, a new step in life's dance.

If gambling was chance, you might prevail,
But all those great portentous turns and rolls
Are nothing but a preordained travail
By which the bell for every gambler tolls.

Ah yes, the dice, come seven, whoops it's craps.
And vaunted chance has played its deadly game.
But no, the game is plain, no hidden traps.
The odds are sure, the end always the same.

I wish to state the power of the will.
So much addiction is a fantasy.
The gambler knows, and yet he gambles still,
For this is how he wills his life to be.

He or she, for women gamble too,
Believe their life of failure knows no bounds.
They do not know what Abba's poised to do,
But if they listen, Abba's voice resounds.

Our accidents result from causes, right?
You'd not believe it. Chance drives everything,
In the beholder's eye, not Abba's sight.
There is a song of sparrows we still sing.

Can Abba within be omniscient?
Come, come, is not this something we all share!
Don't we take steps to be less prescient?
The better to avoid life's standing dare.

Seize all your power and reach for Abba's hand;
Come, overcome by grasping the good prize.
It is the prize chance-owners understand:
Make active choices, good futures devise.

Chance is the flip side of necessity,
A common coin, a trap, a lethal team.
They'd fling us all into passivity,
And blind our souls to Abba's saving beam.

Each day's a summons to creative act,
To navigate around the hidden shoals.
To overcome, to make an Abba pact
That your day will tend toward creative goals.

Let chance recede and willful doing advance.
Let Abba's presence light the way ahead.
Somewhere between, Take care, and, Take a chance,
There is a path on which we're freely led.

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New Rain

Listen to New Rain. This is a recording I wrote and made in the 1970s. It is over 50 minutes but worth a hearing, I believe. Just Click the play button. Adjust volume on your computer. Enjoy.

On Anti-Semitism

The lines were ended when I first spoke out,
There is no blood that specifies degree;
Let boot heels march and hateful voices shout,
The truth is there for all with eyes to see.

The scapegoat vanishes with binaries,
The yeses and the nos, the all opposed;
The scream of mobs disperses in the breeze,
More easily than might have been supposed.

Those in denial once were too naive,
Death knells of evil rang throughout the halls;
And few there were who could see Abba grieve,
In killer and in killed behind those walls.

And yet the seeing spoke apposite truth,
When they said we must move to a new stage;
Moving one by one from un to couth,
Accepting suffering with less than rage.

If suffering is needed to prevail,
Against the haters and the insecure;
Then we shall stand for truth or else we fail,
And live mid lies of races high and pure.

The human race is one, Abba's in all,
Abba went to the ovens in each one;
Abba's denied whenever hatreds fall,
As clouds so dismal they blot out the sun.

The human race is one, Abba's in all,
Kill one, you kill Abba each time you kill;
That Abba lives is so, life cannot fall,
Before the depredations of our will.

The lines were ended when I first spoke out,
There is no blood that specifies degree;
And more and more we learn what life's about,
And how we all can be all we can be.

On Jonestown

False messiahs break down weaker selves,
The weak seek out the strong, then weaken more.
They hear the very dreams they know too well:
Salvation's near! It warms them to the core.

The next step: Isolation, break them down
Coerce them with group-think if they protest
Then smother them with false love till they're bound,
As powerless as newborns in their nest.

Above all, watch them. See how they conform;
For they have long since lost autonomy.
To follow your desires is their norm;
For they have lost all desire to be free.

Thus false religion's ultimate extreme:
This promise of redemption is all lies;
Controlling you is your cult leader's dream
He does not mourn if your frail freedom dies.

False messiahs feed on battered souls;
They practice hellish rituals of death.
You give your yes to their seductive goals,
And even pledge to them your final breath,

Jim Jones called out, All die with dignity!
His acolytes passed Kool-Aid to the crowd.
He did not drink with them apparently.
It took a shot to bring that reverend down.

Banality of evil? I suppose.
But I would rather call it Abba's loss.
For when all hearts and minds to Abba close,
False interlopers come, and at what cost?

The cost of battered selfhood, so abused,
The end can only be vain suicide
For Abba's freedom, totally refused,
Leave a destructive portal open wide.

A growing crop of gurus seeks weak souls;
Deadly incursions are their stock in trade.
Resist in Abba's name! Avoid their rolls!
Take Abba in, stand free. Your debts are paid.

The weight of guilt that made you weak inside
Is lifted and new freedom grows within.
The door to a free future opens wide.
You'll solve your own life freely. Now begin.