Wednesday, June 3, 2026
Via FB \\\ Tibetan Review
As China continues to disappear Tibet’s 11th Panchen Lama, Gedhun Choekyi Nyima—abducted with his family 31 years ago at the age of six and held with impunity to this day—Ashu Maan notes that a regime can take away the Tibetan people’s religious leader, ban his photograph, and forbid his name, but the belief that recognized him, the tradition that gives him meaning, and the love Tibetans carry for their spiritual heritage cannot be confined to any detention facility.
Via GBF \\\ "The Resilience of Joy" with Mary Stancavage
Another talk is now available on the GBF podcast and website:
https://gaybuddhist.org/
Mary Stancavage explores the vital necessity of cultivating joy as a spiritual practice to maintain internal balance and equanimity in a world marked by violence, cruelty, and despair.
Drawing on the wisdom of The Book of Joy by the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu, she argues that joy is an internal ease that remains independent of external circumstances. By embracing her personal mantra, “right now it’s like this,” Mary invites us to meet the present moment—whether it holds a beautiful sunrise or deep grief—with intimacy and kindness, rather than reactivity or denial.
Mary provides a roadmap for navigating the obstacles to well-being while actively “inclining the mind” toward joy. She explains that much of our distress arises from the “Eight Worldly Winds”—the fluctuating pairs of praise and blame, gain and loss, pleasure and pain, and fame and shame—which we must learn to hold without being swept away. To move toward this “lightness of being,” she suggests several practical shifts:
- Regulating Despair: Cultivating joy to balance the human tendency to fall into “doom,” which Mary describes as a state of being out of alignment with reality.
- Identifying Obstacles: Recognizing “foreboding joy” (the fear of experiencing joy because it might end) and the “shoulds” of societal conditioning that block self-compassion.
- The Power of Gratitude: Actively acknowledging simple gifts—such as the many hands involved in bringing food to a plate—to neurologically prime the brain for well-being.
- The Bliss of Blamelessness: Living a life of integrity and non-harming, which creates a sense of safety for others and a lightness of spirit for oneself.
- Mindful Presence: Using mindfulness as a foundation to stop reacting to discomfort and instead rest in the “sweetness of loving ourselves.”
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Enjoy 900+ free recorded dharma talks at https://gaybuddhist.org/
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Via White Crane Institute \\ TODAY'S GAY WISDOM Part I of Allen Ginsberg’s Kaddish for Naomi Ginsberg 1894 - 1956
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| This Day in Gay History | |||
June 03 | |||
Today's Gay Wisdom  2018 - TODAY'S GAY WISDOM Kaddish for Naomi Ginsberg 1894 - 1956 Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village. downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph the rhythm the rhythm—and your memory in my head three years after—And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud—wept, realizing how we suffer— And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers—and my own imagination of a withered leaf—at dawn— Dreaming back thru life, Your time—and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse, the final moment—the flower burning in the Day—and what comes after, looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed— like a poem in the dark—escaped back to Oblivion— No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance, sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worshipping each other, worshipping the God included in it all—longing or inevitability?—while it lasts, a Vision—anything more? It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder, Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shouldering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant—and the sky above—an old blue place. or down the Avenue to the south, to—as I walk toward the Lower East Side—where you walked 50 years ago, little girl—from Russia, eating the first poisonous tomatoes of America—frightened on the dock— then struggling in the crowds of Orchard Street toward what?—toward Newark— toward candy store, first home-made sodas of the century, hand-churned ice cream in backroom on musty brownfloor boards— Toward education marriage nervous breakdown, operation, teaching school, and learning to be mad, in a dream—what is this life? Toward the Key in the window—and the great Key lays its head of light on top of Manhattan, and over the floor, and lays down on the sidewalk—in a single vast beam, moving, as I walk down First toward the Yiddish Theater—and the place of poverty you knew, and I know, but without caring now—Strange to have moved thru Paterson, and the West, and Europe and here again, with the cries of Spaniards now in the doorstoops doors and dark boys on the street, fire escapes old as you -Tho you’re not old now, that’s left here with me— Myself, anyhow, maybe as old as the universe—and I guess that dies with us—enough to cancel all that comes—What came is gone forever every time— That’s good! That leaves it open for no regret—no fear radiators, lacklove, torture even toothache in the end— Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul—and the lamb, the soul, in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change’s fierce hunger—hair and teeth—and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin, braintricked Implacability. Ai! ai! we do worse! We are in a fix! And you’re out, Death let you out, Death had the Mercy, you’re done with your century, done with God, done with the path thru it—Done with yourself at last—Pure—Back to the Babe dark before your Father, before us all—before the world— There, rest. No more suffering for you. I know where you’ve gone, it’s good. No more flowers in the summer fields of New York, no joy now, no more fear of Louis, and no more of his sweetness and glasses, his high school decades, debts, loves, frightened telephone calls, conception beds, relatives, hands— No more of sister Elanor,.—she gone before you—we kept it secret—you killed her—or she killed herself to bear with you—an arthritic heart—But Death’s killed you both—No matter— Nor your memory of your mother, 1915 tears in silent movies weeks and weeks—forgetting, aggrieve watching Marie Dressler address humanity, Chaplin dance in youth, or Boris Godunov, Chaliapin’s at the Met, hailing his voice of a weeping Czar—by standing room with Elanor & Max—watching also the Capitalists take seats in Orchestra, white furs, diamonds, with the YPSL’s hitch-hiking thru Pennsylvania, in black baggy gym skirts pants, photograph of 4 girls holding each other round the waste, and laughing eye, too coy, virginal solitude of 1920 all girls grown old, or dead, now, and that long hair in the grave—lucky to have husbands later— You made it—I came too—Eugene my brother before (still grieving now and will gream on to his last stiff hand, as he goes thru his cancer—or kill—later perhaps—soon he will think—) And it’s the last moment I remember, which I see them all, thru myself, now—tho not you I didn’t foresee what you felt—what more hideous gape of bad mouth came first—to you—and were you prepared? To go where? In that Dark—that—in that God? a radiance? A Lord in the Void? Like an eye in the black cloud in a dream? Adonoi at last, with you? Beyond my remembrance! Incapable to guess! Not merely the yellow skull in the grave, or a box of worm dust, and a stained ribbon—Deathshead with Halo? can you believe it? Is it only the sun that shines once for the mind, only the flash of existence, than none ever was? Nothing beyond what we have—what you had—that so pitiful—yet Triumph, to have been here, and changed, like a tree, broken, or flower—fed to the ground—but mad, with its petals, colored, thinking Great Universe, shaken, cut in the head, leaf stript, hid in an egg crate hospital, cloth wrapped, sore—freaked in the moon brain, Naughtless. No flower like that flower, which knew itself in the garden, and fought the knife—lost Cut down by an idiot Snowman’s icy—even in the Spring—strange ghost thought—some Death—Sharp icicle in his hand—crowned with old roses—a dog for his eyes—cock of a sweatshop—heart of electric irons. All the accumulations of life, that wear us out—clocks, bodies, consciousness, shoes, breasts—begotten sons—your Communism—‘Paranoia’ into hospitals. You once kicked Elanor in the leg, she died of heart failure later. You of stroke. Asleep? within a year, the two of you, sisters in death. Is Elanor happy? Max grieves alive in an office on Lower Broadway, lone large mustache over midnight Accountings, not sure. l His life passes—as he sees—and what does he doubt now? Still dream of making money, or that might have made money, hired nurse, had children, found even your Immortality, Naomi? I’ll see him soon. Now I’ve got to cut through—to talk to you—as I didn’t when you had a mouth. Forever. And we’re bound for that, Forever—like Emily Dickinson’s horses—headed to the End. They know the way—These Steeds—run faster than we think—it’s our own life they cross—and take with them. Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed—Ass and face done with murder. In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under pine, almed in Earth, balmed in Lone, Jehovah, accept. Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless, Father in death. Tho I am not there for this Prophecy, I am unmarried, I’m hymnless, I’m Heavenless, headless in blisshood I would still adore Thee, Heaven, after Death, only One blessed in Nothingness, not light or darkness, Dayless Eternity— Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some of my Time, now given to Nothing—to praise Thee—But Death This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping—page beyond Psalm—Last change of mine and Naomi—to God’s perfect Darkness—Death, stay thy phantoms! | ||
|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8 Gay Wisdom for Daily Living from White Crane Institute "With the increasing commodification of gay news, views, and culture by powerful corporate interests, having a strong independent voice in our community is all the more important. White Crane is one of the last brave standouts in this bland new world... a triumph over the looming mediocrity of the mainstream Gay world." - Mark Thompson Exploring Gay Wisdom & Culture since 1989! |8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8 |
Via Ram Dass - Love Serve Remember Foundation \\\ Words of Wisdom - June 3, 2026 🍒
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Via Daily Dharma: Examine Protecting the Natural World
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Tuesday, June 2, 2026
Via Daily Dharma: Examine Your Motivations
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Monday, June 1, 2026
Via Daily Dharma: Conditions for Awakening
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Via White Crane Institute \\\ 1994 - File under “You Can’t Make This Shit Up”: On this date the United States Pentagon receives a proposal from the Air Force requesting funds to build a "GAY BOMB" that would turn enemy troops Gay.
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| This Day in Gay History | |||
June 01 | |||
 1994 - File under “You Can’t Make This Shit Up”: On this date the United States Pentagon receives a proposal from the Air Force requesting funds to build a "GAY BOMB" that would turn enemy troops Gay. The proposal would not come to light until 2007 when the Sunshine Project would discover it through a Freedom of Information Act disclosure. As part of a military effort to develop non-lethal weapons, the proposal suggested, "One distasteful but completely non-lethal example would be strong aphrodisiacs, especially if the chemical also caused homosexual behavior." The documents show the Air Force lab asked for $7.5 million to develop such a chemical weapon. In both of the documents, the possibility was canvassed that a strong aphrodisiac could be dropped on enemy troops, ideally one which would also cause "homosexual behavior." The documents described the aphrodisiac weapon as "distasteful but completely non-lethal". The "New Discoveries Needed" section of one of the documents implicitly acknowledges that no such chemicals are actually known. The reports also include many other off-beat ideas, such as spraying enemy troops with bee pheromones and then hiding numerous beehives in the combat area, and a chemical weapon that would give the enemy bad breath. The Wright Laboratory, which had made the proposal, won the 2007 Ig-Nobel Peace Prize for "instigating research & development on a chemical weapon—the so-called 'Gay bomb' / 'poof bomb' —that will make enemy soldiers become sexually irresistible to each other." However, Air Force personnel contacted were not willing to attend the award ceremony at Harvard University's Sanders Theater to accept the award in person. | ||
|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8 Gay Wisdom for Daily Living from White Crane Institute "With the increasing commodification of gay news, views, and culture by powerful corporate interests, having a strong independent voice in our community is all the more important. White Crane is one of the last brave standouts in this bland new world... a triumph over the looming mediocrity of the mainstream Gay world." - Mark Thompson Exploring Gay Wisdom & Culture since 1989! |8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8 |
Sunday, May 31, 2026
VIa White Crane Institute \\\ Excerpt from Leaves of Grass
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| This Day in Gay History | |||
May 31 | |||
Today's Gay Wisdom  2018 - TODAYS GAY WISDOM Excerpt from Leaves of Grass "Recorders ages hence, Leaves of Grass, 1891 " When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd "I hear it was charged against me that I sought to destroy institutions, | ||
|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8 Gay Wisdom for Daily Living from White Crane Institute "With the increasing commodification of gay news, views, and culture by powerful corporate interests, having a strong independent voice in our community is all the more important. White Crane is one of the last brave standouts in this bland new world... a triumph over the looming mediocrity of the mainstream Gay world." - Mark Thompson Exploring Gay Wisdom & Culture since 1989! |8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8|O|8 |