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b. 1947, Atlantic City, NJ:: Born and raised on a small island, my parents were 2nd generation Russian Jews. Strongest influences came from Grandparents on Mom's side. Grandma was an artist, who's house was a delight for us kids. The basement was a clay studio and storage area full of costumes and treasures. When we stayed with her we skipped school to work with her in the studio. Grandpa Izzie was a wild adventurer who ran away from his wealthy father at 14 to play trumpet in the circus. Sunday mornings were spent listening to his bizzare life stories. Our island suburb was relatively safe when I was growing up. The kids in our neighborhood ran free, in a herd. In the summer we split our time between the ocean and the bay which where only four blocks apart. When I was about three, I remember my brother Steve taking me over to the boardwalk where we watched the gypsy kids pan handle tourists. Before the day was over, Steve had ripped our shirts and we held hands as we begged for coins. I taught myself how to weave blankets, love working with my hands and entered art school which led to exploration and initiation into experiences of the mystical order. In '72 I found the Farm, married, had two daughters, divorced, remarried, decided to leave the Farm, bought an Amish buggy and traveled the deep south for two years. The next ten years were spent raising kids in Ohio. The mundane reality of that situation blew the second marriage apart just as the kids were leaving for college. Time spent in meditation provided brief respites from the grief of loss. I joined a Zen group. Then in January 1997 I visited with friends in Tennessee. I was exposed to the energy of Turtle Hill, realized there was a serious practice going on and moved here about nine months later. |
BOOKS READ IN 1999 |