Swami Sankarananda Next Friday

The Akron Peace Project, Spiritual Life Society, Free Akron Yoga, and Blue Hen Yoga bring an inspiring evening with a peaceful presence - Swami Sankarananda. Swami Sankarananda is a Peace Pilgrim on a journey walking across the US for Peace. Join us at the beautiful Hazel Tree Interiors on Market St FRIDAY JULY 17th at 7pm for a conversation with Swami. Seating is limited, and floor sitting is recommended, if this is an issue, please feel free to bring cushions or folding chairs.

About Swami in his own words:

I am walking a 10,000 mile Pilgrimage for Peace as a simple service on behalf of the cause that all may know Peace.

By way of introduction I am both a peace pilgrim and a monk from one of the Hindu ord...ers (thus "Swami"). I love, respect and honor all including all people, all creatures and all faiths. I'm midway in this pilgrimage having walked coast to coast through 2014 and am now (summer 2015) journeying from Portland, Maine through New Hampshire then northern New York, Ohio, southern Michigan and Chicago. I walk with no visible means of support; in full faith in the goodness of mankind and in the Supreme. My pilgrimage is inspired by Peace Pilgrim and through the example of many of the great teachers of all traditions.

I share a positive message and do not see need for conflict in any way. I see the path to peace as an inner journey coupled with outward experience and expression; as the source of real peace is inside each of us and may be touched by any of us through kind thought, words and deeds.

I walk openly in continuous prayer for Peace for all and serving through a smile and a wave for all. I neither expect not ask for anything, I simply do my best to be of benefit. When anyone wishes to stop to talk I listen completely and do my best to help the ones I meet to touch peace inside through sharing of stories, experiences and observations. Often I am asked to talk with small groups and am happy to meet and share with one or many. I've written a free downloadable book based upon this pilgrimage as a way to share the same. The book is available at www.steps4peace.org. There are articles available online regarding this pilgrimage if you would like more information, also I share regularly on Facebook and you can link too that through my website if you would like.

Thank you for taking your time to read this. Please let me know if you are interested in a visit, and also if you might be interested in my sharing any of these stories and experiences or talking about the book. I am quite flexible and will do my best to support what you see as beneficial for yourself and your friends. There is no fee nor expectation for any of this, peace itself is free and I believe that whatever I can offer should be as well.

If you are interested please respond and we will try to coordinate a date and time.
Thank you so much again! Namaste.

Deep Shanti THIS Saturday

Over the last few months I have been working with my friend and sweet yogi, Kelly McHood, to create a series of Furthering Yoga classes which integrate sound and mantra into the asanas, as well as add myth and storytelling, all of which are designed to help us delve deeper into our sadhana, or spiritual practice.

"Musician / Peace Maker, Zach Freidhof, and Yoga Instructor, Kelly McHood, invite you to explore the Yogic Path through sound and movement in the Deep Shanti workshop series. Each class will blend an aspect of yoga philosophy with mantra chanting (outward repetition of Divine names and sounds) accompanied by instruments and asanas (postures). Surrender yourself in a practice that goes beyond the physical body, tapping into a deep sense of peace and oneness.

"Divine Deities" will explore the Gods and Goddesses of Hindu mythology through asanas, chanting, and story-telling.

The class will be donation based (suggested donation is $5).

Future classes in this series will include "Yamas & Niyamas" and "The Bhagavad Gita" and "Gandhi".

***OM shanti OM***"

Join us this Saturday July 11th, 2015 at the Miller Ave Church, 1095 Edison, Akron, in Akron's Summit Lake neighborhood. Class starts promptly at noon and will wrap up by 2pm.

Facebook event link: https://www.facebook.com/events/1122683094415646/ 

Memorials

The best memorials are not made of stone or written in words.

They are written in our lives.

To know anyone is an enormous blessing. To think that out of all the energy in the Universe, it would ball up and condense into life, on this planet, in this species, in this state, in this town, and then be someone we meet and befriend - well, it's pretty incredible.

In that respect, anyone that leaves us, leaves us too soon. Though life never has lived by our timetables.

It's hard for me to even remember how or exactly when I met Peter. I associate him with Scott's Folkatorium, though I can't be sure if we go back further.

The Folkatorium was a magical place. It was like some sort of vortex. Scott found this space and drew anyone with positive energy to it. I feel in love with it instantly. And it was impossible to not like Scott. He was like what you'd expect Santa to be like in real life.

Or the Dalai Lama.

So it's been at least 6 or 7 years since I first met Peter Hessman. He was a poet. With a smile the size of the grand canyon.

His health was not great when I met him, and I never knew him in great health. He was always resigned to his wheelchair.

Yet, his spirit was unchained. People have told me that I am the most positive person they know. Well, I think Peter puts me to shame. Underneath his straw hat, his eyes were always twinkling and a smile was always perched upon his lips like an eagle hunting a fish.

Peter was a poet through and through. He would write all the time. About anything, mostly small things, things where humor or a pun could run wild. In fact, I had hardly ever heard a poem of Peter's that didn't include some pun or that wasn't written in a humorous nature. Only once, after his cancer returned, and he was facing the inevitability of a nursing home.

He loved poetry so much, he would host poetry nights at his house, since it was hard for him to get out and support his friends. They were always sweet gatherings lasting into the night. His soft voice reading and laughing until it grew raspy.

When my father passed, Peter made a point to attend all the Evening for Chuck events I hosted. No matter how difficult it was to get there, he would come rolling in, grin in place. Not only that, he would always leave me with a touching poem he'd written about me at some point during my set.

Whenever any of us vegans brought food to his house or an event, he would try it, and he would be so grateful for the friendships that even if he hated the food, we never knew.

A gentler soul I have rarely met.

A kinder person there just doesn't get.

He's an example for us all.

Namaste my friend.





    

Winter

Fall has been one of my favorite times of year ever since I was a little kid, something that brought about very ironic and mixed emotions as the coming of fall also meant the coming of school. Not that I disliked school. I just liked summer more.

Once that fall breeze began to freeze, a new joy come over me. Winter!

Winter meant holidays and big meals, Christmas and presents, and backyard tackle football in the snow. Since I didn't drive or have other obligations as a youngster, winter was never a hassle. It was just another thing to be enjoyed and played in.

Long afternoons well into the night were spent freezing cold playing football in on of the neighborhood yards. When there wasn't snow, I would still enjoy throwing the ball around and pretending to be all the positions.

I racked up some impressive stats in those me vs. me games.

And when the snow stacked up, we could run around and tackle each other, constantly hating and loving when our boots would come off, sending frigid snow to take its place. After hours outside, I would come in, rosy-faced and plant myself by the fireplace with hot chocolate, or some sort of hot beverage. The warmth rolling over me like a blanket, wrapping me up and half the time, actually putting me into a nap.

Perhaps it crept in, slowly, each year diminishing in winter bliss. Perhaps it was taken away with a drivers license. Maybe it was one of those collateral casualties of high school. Eventually, however it happened, I grew to dislike winter.

Yes, I loved the first snow, and of course any snow day was greatly welcomed. But I lost the magic of playing in that winter wonderland. Where I once saw football greatness and endless opportunities for fun, I only saw grey and cold.

Did I never notice the winter grey as a kid? Or was it actually sunnier? Is this a certifiable case of my outlook creating reality?

This trend continued as I finished my college career, when winter became ... difficult. As a working musician, I traveled in terrible snow and ice storms, just to get to a gig. Or, worse yet, the shows would cancel as the weather deteriorated. And even when it wasn't blizzarding, people would frequently be scarce at the other wintertime shows.

The clouds seemed to never leave to sky until May.

Seasonal affective disorder - I'm pretty sure I had it.

One grey, cold day, I asked myself, 'Do I really hate winter? Or just Cleveland winters?' If I only hated Cleveland winters, there are other places to go. Perhaps if I found a joy in winter elsewhere, I could bring it back into my life in the Ohio winter. Either way, hating 5 months of the year is no way to live life.

So I booked a tour to Jackson, Wyoming for the last two weeks of December. Rocky mountain wintertime winter. The real winter. Snow is measured in tens of feet there. Cold is really cold - zero degrees is a balmy day.

I didn't quite know what to expect as I crawled out of my van, my boot crunching on the snow-covered lot.

Something was odd already.

It was sunny.

The snow was pristine and shimmered everywhere.

The air was so still and dry that it shimmered as well.

I had walked into a snow globe.

Of joy.

Those two weeks took me outside in 20 below weather, traipsing around in snowshoes in knee deep snow, going miles and miles into the stillness of that marshmallow world.

Standing in an enclosure of beautiful, perfect pine trees, each one an image of the best Christmas tree in any movie, I found that bliss again.

Winter was not the enemy. It was spellbinding.

Yes, everything is spellbinding when in the shadow of a mountain, or alone in a sub-alpine forest, when watching the moose and elk forage, when the bison swing their mighty heads side to side to clear the snow.

But that bliss is more than that.

You see, bliss is not dependent on any external circumstance. Bliss is an inner state.

Bliss is a state where the curiosity of our childhood shines through, where the newness of each minute could bring infinite possibilities.

Bliss is everywhere. It is anywhere.

So I brought it back to Ohio.

Which is not bliss's natural habitat.

But it survives.

And waits with its face pressed against the windowpane in unbridled excitement for whatever winter holds.