Syonists’ Train Sough

NOTE: No one, especially people connected with The Sun Magazine, should read this without contacting the author first. This is only an unedited first draft; there are other reasons for connecting before reading, however. Certainly, the previous two posts should be read prior to glancing at this. Thanks for your kind consideration. [Sigh.] Gee, I hope readers honor my request. Special update: Registration for Into the Fire is now closed; all attendees have been selected. But they have been chosen, in my mind, for reasons they could not grasp even “if they knew”…. As per Philip Larkin’s First Sight. [Pause.] Immeasurable surprise awaits on several counts.

Syonists’ Train Sough
Dedicated to establishing Frankl’s Statue of Responsibility on the West Coast
by Ox and the sweet scion of his present family

I’m obliged to begin with Syonists.

Not the Herzl Hovevei. The Holy Land is here. Within. [Pause.] My apologies. [Pause.] For offending you. Here and elsewhere. [Pause.] Truly.

Syonists and other sensitive types who prize poetry above razor can clarity from the gutter.

I trust you’ll connect with my “best friend” Sy Safransky by November; I expect to rendezvous with him for the first time by October — on or before Danton’s* birthday — re the upcoming Into the Fire workshop… where The Sun Magazine will celebrate “personal writing” overlooking the Pacific at Big Sur’s Esalen Institute. An event which holds more potential than anyone’s imagined.

*Robinet’s Danton, not Lamartine’s. Neither Thiers’ nor Mignet’s.


Everyone at the workshop will be getting on a train which travels 1000 mph. Actually, they’re on it already. It’s just that they’ll all settle into their little compartments more comfortably. Me? I’ll be on for the ride in great part ’cause my kids will be getting on at the first and only stop. The only stop before the whole trip goes over the edge of our disembodied bridge to nowhere. There will be a chance to derail* the engine prior to hitting the cliff, and I want to be in on avoiding what seems to be inevitable at this point: The Most Major Abomination of Any Century. Conceivably, most everyone could depart at that scheduled stop; the children certainly don’t have to embark… even though they’ve invested everything to get on board. [Pause.] I’ve got a different ticket for them to ride.

*Derailing would involve casualties, but nothing comparable to the full monty — the sure bet — we’re slated for by any standard, “living through” at present.


In little corners, tackling literary challenges. Some sweet writing, some necessary. All all-engrossing for the participants, feeding their spirits, helping them to share important creations, efforts and visions. [Sigh.] But coming up short nonetheless. [Pause.] That said, I shout out a huge yay for Esalen’s making hay the way they do. And for the view.

Some don’t believe in the chasm ahead. Others figure the engineer knows what he’s doing. [Or is it a she?] And there are a handful who are counting on a handful of writers who write about such things to take the necessary action in solidarity to address… our options.

For the most part, they feel that they’re chosen people, special somehow. Different from the $2 a day variety, more deserving. Able, somehow, to — they think — dance in miniature realms whilst others go deaf. They’ve never really been forced to find out if O bailan todos o no baile nadie is true. And part of the reason for that is that they’ve been brought up to believe that each person has their own truth. They do very much honor the Great American Dictum Do your own thing. No matter what the consequences for the Commons. Collective concerns can be channeled, for them, via long distance reaching out, or by embracing obsolete forms of bringing about change which do not threaten their ground of being. [Elaboration upon request.]

Howard Zinn, who — among other many other works — wrote You Can’t Be Neutral On a Moving Train, loved my proposal for action… for stopping the choo-choo in its tracks, putting an end to our horrid momentum on the tracks of our own tears. Tearing up the railroad, the railroading, actually.


I see clearly out of the train’s window, as I glass the countryside, the world whizzing bye-bye.


It would be very easy to create and protect a holy land that counts beyond bibles. I submit that there’s a window of opportunity for doing so at the upcoming Into the Fire event. Begging us.

And I believe that it may very well be our last chance to avoid the unhealthy fires’ next ‘crimes’: Baldwin’s fire blended with a toxic twist of ravishes along biblical lines. The inexplicable, indescribable…, unforgiving of a weekend off. The full monstrous monty — the sure bet — on our horizon. [Pause.] Last op to embrace the fire inside. Something that can mean something to us all.

Viktor Frankl said, What is to give light must endure burning, yes.

I want to deal with the meaninglessness which so concerned him. In solidarity. Following a fresh paradigm.

And to do that… we must — at least a core group of us — must become Syonists. [Sigh.]


Where is good buddy Sy on all this? Could it be the weekend?


None of this means that people can’t play with words.

[Elaboration, upon request.]

Contact the author at to secure a phone number for direct contact.

brackets = The distance between two impacting shells, the first aimed beyond a target and the second aimed short of it, used to determine the range for artillery fire.

brackets on tracks = To be determined.