Saturday, December 30, 2017

our 3D cellular matrix

 
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If we look at the basics of a perception we have sensory inputs, an information processor and the screen for the output.

Unlike a computer that has a monitor or tv by which to output the final rendered product of information processing, life has done something far more extraordinary.

We don’t have a computer screen inside of our head. Instead, the mind simulates the screen, as all the regions of the brain required to process sensory information are distributed within a 3D cellular matrix.


—Ian Wilson
Immersion Into the Human Experience



.
Mike Walker
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spirit of a place






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Different places on the face of the earth have different vital effluence, a different vibration of chemical exhalation, a different polarity with the stars; call it what you like.

But the spirit of a place is a great reality.


—D. H. Lawrence

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Tuesday, December 26, 2017

among the multitudes







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I am who I am.
A coincidence no less unthinkable
than any other.
I could have different
ancestors, after all.
I could have fluttered
from another nest
or crawled bescaled
from another tree.

Nature's wardrobe
holds a fair
supply of costumes:
Spider, seagull, fieldmouse.
each fits perfectly right off
and is dutifully worn
into shreds.

I didn't get a choice either,
but I can't complain.
I could have been someone
much less separate.
someone from an anthill, shoal, or buzzing swarm,
an inch of landscape ruffled by the wind.

Someone much less fortunate,
bred for my fur
or Christmas dinner,
something swimming under a square of glass.

A tree rooted to the ground
as the fire draws near.

A grass blade trampled by a stampede
of incomprehensible events.

A shady type whose darkness
dazzled some.
What if I'd prompted only fear,
Loathing,
or pity?

If I'd been born
in the wrong tribe
with all roads closed before me?

Fate has been kind
to me thus far.

I might never have been given
the memory of happy moments

My yen for comparison
might have been taken away.

I might have been myself minus amazement,
that is,
someone completely different.


–Wislawa Szymborska




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Saturday, December 23, 2017

beauti(ful





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You suppose that you are the lock on the door
But you are the key that opens it

It’s too bad that you want to be someone else

You don’t see your own face, your own beauty
Yet, no face is more beautiful than yours.


—Rumi


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Friday, December 22, 2017

Flatland: A Romance in Many Dimension –Edwin Abbott Abbott ,1884





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In this classic masterwork of perspective, Abbott examines the science of multiple spatial dimensions while satirizing the absurdity of truth by consensus and extending a subtle invitation to consider how what we take as our givens limits our grasp of reality, presenting us with a false view of the world warped by our way of looking at it.

The story is narrated by a protagonist named A. Square, a native of Flatland — a world whose geometric denizens only live and see in two dimensions. But the square has a transformative experience that renders him “the sole possessor of the truths of Space.” On the eve of a new year, he has a hallucinatory vision of journeying to a faraway place called Lineland, populated by “lustrous points” who see him not as a shape but merely as a scattering of points along a line. Frustrated, he tries to demonstrate his squareness to their king by moving from left to right. The king, ignorant of directions, fails to perceive the motion and clings to his view of the square as points on a line.

But then the square himself is visited by a creature from another world — a sphere from the three-dimensional Spaceland. The very notion of three dimensions is at first utterly unimaginable to our hero — he sees the visitor merely as a circle. And yet when the sphere floats up and down, thus contracting and expanding the radius of the perceived circle based on its distance from our grounded observer, the square begins to suspect that he, like the inhabitants of Lineland, might be congenitally blind to the existence of another dimension.

When he returns to Flatland and tries to awaken his compatriots to the revelatory existence of a third dimension, he is met only with obtuse denial and declared mad. Decrees are passed to make illegal any suggestion of a third dimension and all who make such claims are to be imprisoned or executed.

The square himself is eventually thrown in jail, where he spends seven years and composes Flatland as a cautionary memoir he hopes will inspire posterity to see beyond the limit of two dimensions.


–Maria Popova




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full article at
brainpickings

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the principal element of creation





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Most people believe the mind to be a mirror, more or less accurately reflecting the world outside them, not realizing on the contrary that the mind is itself the principal element of creation. 

—Rabindranath Tagore



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Friday, December 15, 2017

before the names






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I dream of the silence
the day before Adam came
to name the animals,
The gold skins newly dropped
from God's bright fingers, still
implicit with the light.
A day like this, perhaps:
a winter whiteness
haunting the creation,

as we are sometimes
haunted by the space
we fill, or by the forms

we might have known
before the names,
beyond the gloss of things.

–John Burnside



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Thursday, December 14, 2017

note to self






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Heaven and Earth are impartial;
they treat all of creation as straw dogs.
The Master doesn't take sides;
she treats everyone like a straw dog.

The space between Heaven and Earth is like a bellows;
it is empty, yet has not lost its power.
The more it is used, the more it produces;
the more you talk of it, the less you comprehend.

It is better not to speak of things you do not understand.


–Lao Tzu
from the Tao Te Ching
J. H. McDonald translation


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Saturday, December 9, 2017

Friday, December 8, 2017

Yo Yo Ma - Bach Six Cello Suites - BBC Proms 2015






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(interview just past the end of the first hour)
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ah






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Out of every one hundred men, ten shouldn’t even be there, eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back.

—Heraclitus
Fragments

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subcognition
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December Night





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The cold slope is standing in darkness
But the south of the trees is dry to the touch
The heavy limbs climb into the moonlight bearing feathers
I came to watch these

White plants older at night
The oldest
Come first to the ruins
And I hear magpies kept awake by the moon

The water flows through its
Own fingers without end
Tonight once more
I find a single prayer and it is not for men


—W. S. Merwin


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Saturday, December 2, 2017

question





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How shall I hold on to my soul, so that
it does not touch yours? How shall I gently
lift it up over you on to other things?
I would so very much like to tuck it away
among long lost objects in the dark,
in some quiet, unknown place, somewhere
which remains motionless when your depths resound.

And yet everything which touches us, you and me,
takes us together like a single bow,
drawing out from two strings but one voice.

On which instrument are we strung?
And which violinist holds us in his hand?
O sweetest of songs.


–Rainer Maria Rilke
O sweetest of songs


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Tuesday, November 28, 2017

the price of admission





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You have not danced so badly, my dear,
Trying to hold hands with the Beautiful One.
You have waltzed with great style,
My sweet, crushed angel,
To have ever neared God's heart at all.
Our Partner is notoriously difficult to follow,
And even His best musicians are not always easy To hear.
So what if the music has stopped for a while.
So what
If the price of admission to the Divine
Is out of reach tonight.
So what, my dear,
If you do not have the ante to gamble for
Real Love.


The mind and the body are famous
For holding the heart ransom,


But Hafiz knows the Beloved's eternal habits.
Have patience,
For He will not be able to resist your longing For Long.


You have not danced so badly, my dear,
Trying to kiss the Beautiful One.


You have actually waltzed with tremendous style,
O my sweet, O my sweet crushed angel.



–Hafiz



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your work is deeper





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Be with those who help your being.
Don't sit with indifferent people, whose breath
comes cold out of their mouths.

Not these visible forms, your work is deeper.
A chunk of dirt thrown in the air breaks to pieces.
If you don't try to fly,
and so break yourself apart,
you will be broken open by death,
when it's too late for all you could become.

Leaves get yellow. The tree puts out fresh roots
and makes them green.
Why are you so content with a love that turns you yellow?


—Rumi
Ode 2865
Coleman Barks version



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birth(right





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Your love should never be offered to the
mouth of a stranger,

Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.

–Hafiz

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Sunday, November 26, 2017

wb, let me count the ways




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"My writing, when it hasn't been in defense of precious things, has been a giving of thanks for precious things."


💗





this much is true






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You know quite well, deep within you,
that there is only a single magic,

a single power, a single salvation...
and that is called loving.


—Herman Hesse

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Imagine better than the best you know. —Neville Goddard






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If it looks like wisdom but is unkind, it’s not wisdom.
If it feels like love but is not wise, it’s not love.

–Lama Surya Das


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Saturday, November 25, 2017

beloveds






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For small creatures such as we,
the vastness is bearable only through love.

–Carl Sagan



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Wednesday, November 15, 2017

know thyself





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For as those who claim to know nothing about ultimate reality are called agnostic (literally, “not-knowing”), the person who does claim to know such things is called gnostic (“knowing”). But gnosis is not primarily rational knowledge. The Greek language distinguishes between scientific or reflective knowledge (“He knows mathematics”) and knowing through observation or experience (“He knows me”), which is gnosis. As the gnostics use the term, we could translate it as “insight,” for gnosis involves an intuitive process of knowing oneself. And to know oneself, they claimed, is to know human nature and human destiny.

–Elaine Pagels
The Gnostic Gospels


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Sunday, November 12, 2017

truly





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There is no alternative for you but to accept the world as unreal, if you are seeking the Truth and the Truth alone.


—Ramana Maharshi


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Saturday, November 11, 2017

needful things





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...  a man can know nothing by himself, save after a natural manner, which is only that which he attains by means of the senses. For this cause he must have the phantasms and the forms of objects present in themselves and in their likenesses; otherwise it cannot be, for, as philosophers say: Ab objecto et potentia paritur notitia. That is: From the object that is present and from the faculty, knowledge is born in the soul.
Wherefore, if one should speak to a man of things which he has never been able to understand, and whose likeness he has never seen, he would have no more illumination from them whatever than if naught had been said of them to him.


–John of the Cross
(1542 - 1591)




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yes





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In the very essence of poetry there is something indecent: / a thing is brought forth which we didn’t know we had in us, / so we blink our eyes, as if a tiger had sprung out / and stood in the light, lashing his tail.

–Czeslaw Milosz
Ars Poetica

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how to make poems






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In your light I learn how to love.
In your beauty, how to make poems.

You dance inside my chest,
where no one sees you,

but sometimes I do,
and that sight becomes this art.


–Rumi


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Thursday, November 9, 2017

thirteen

 



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The tiny particles which form the vast universe are not tiny at all.
Neither is the vast universe vast.
These are notions of the mind, which is like a knife,
always chipping away at the Tao,
trying to render it graspable and manageable.
But that which is beyond form is ungraspable, and
that which is beyond knowing is unmanageable.
There is, however, this consolation:
She who lets go of the knife will find the Tao at her
fingertips.

–Lao Tzu
Hua Hu Ching

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Saturday, November 4, 2017

attractive to the eye, soothing to the smell






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supposing i dreamed this)





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supposing i dreamed this)
only imagine,when day has thrilled
you are a house around which
i am a wind-

your walls will not reckon how
strangely my life is curved
since the best he can do
is to peer through windows,unobserved

-listen,for(out of all
things)dream is noone’s fool;
if this wind who i am prowls
carefully around this house of you

love being such,or such,
the normal corners of your heart
will never guess how much
my wonderful jealousy is dark

if light should flower:
or laughing sparkle from
the shut house(around and around
which a poor wind will roam


–E. E. Cummings



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Two Tanka











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From outside my house,
only the faint distant sound
of gentle breezes
wandering through bamboo leaves
in the long evening silence.

Late evening finally
comes: I unlatch the door
and quietly
await the one
who greets me in my dreams.


–Otomo No Yakamochi


. 
images - Nordin Seruyan,
central Borneo