All things
He hesitated, then with that level, impersonal voice we reserve
for confiding something intimate, he said that to finish the poem he
could not get along without the house because down in the cellar there
was an Aleph. He explained that an Aleph is one of the points in space
that contains all other points.
“It’s in the cellar under the dining room,” he went on, so overcome
by his worries now that he forgot to be pompous.
…
“The Aleph?” I repeated.
“Yes, the only place on earth where all places are – seen from every
angle, each standing clear, without any confusion or blending.”
— Jorge Luis Borges (from the story
The
Aleph, tr Norman Thomas Di Giovanni in collaboration with the
author.)
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1 July 2011

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Worth the trouble...
We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are
conscious of our treasures.
— Thornton Wilder
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2 July 2011

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Sometimes an anomaly is only an anomaly
Einstein said the most surprising thing about the
world is that it is regular and amenable to generalization. Why do kids
love repetition. They’ll play the same game over and over, listen to the
same CD track hundreds of times, watch the same movie until it drives
the parents to distraction? Perhaps they are absorbing Einstein’s
message, trying to figure out the limits of the rules of induction – how
can they know when the same action will produce the same result?
Perhaps as adults we have over-generalized this
message. Certainly science has made great strides, based on
cataloguing and understanding that which is repeatable under laboratory
conditions. But that doesn’t mean that all anomalies are
mistakes. It’s logically possible that there are phenomena that
are not repeatable: do the same experiment twice, and you are apt to get
different results. In quantum mechanics this is accepted as true
axiomatically. In biology, it is true because no two biological
systems are identical. But what of the one-of-a-kind events that
we hear about but don’t believe because they’re just too strange? Maybe biology
holds surprises we have yet to acknowledge.
—Josh Mitteldorf
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3 July 2011

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The Esquimos have no word for war
Trying to explain it to them
Leaves one feeling ridiculous and obscene
Their houses, like white bowls,
Sit on a prairie of ancient snowfalls
Caught beyond thaw or the swift changes
Of night and day.
They listen politely, and stride away
With spears and sleds and barking dogs
To hunt for food. The women wait
Chewing on skins or singing songs,
Knowing that they have hours to spend,
That the luck of the hunter is often late.
Later, by fires and boiling bones
In steaming kettles, they welcome me,
Far kin, pale brother,
To share what they have in a hungry time
In a difficult land. While I talk on
Of the southern kingdoms, cannon, armies,
Shifting alliances, airplanes, power,
They chew their bones, and smile at one another.
—Mary Oliver
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4 July 2011

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Gratitude dance
This is the story of a small boat, and the people on it, who ventured
out into the water with snorkel, mask and small knives to cut a whale free
from the gill net in which it had become ensnared and unable to swim.
It points up how much the whale was able to understand – to remain
still when he was in pain, and any small movement could have capsized the small boat. The whale’s
deliberation in protecting and then thanking his liberators
becomes clear at the end, when the whale moves off a safe distance and then
performs a spectacular dance, celebrating his freedom and thanking his
benefactors.
Video
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5 July 2011

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Productive procrastination
Anyone can do any amount of work, provided it isn't the work he is
supposed to be doing at that moment.
—
Robert Benchley
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6 July 2011

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Mahler
Today is the birthday of Gustav Mahler (1860). So much of his
music is brooding pensive. My
challenge is to find an example of Mahler that’s lively and fun.
This is the
ending of his Symphony #7, the last part of the Finale. There
are several different styles even in this 8 minutes, but romping,
stomping and jubilant predominate. In the video, Leonard Bernstein
is having a great time, and pulls us right along.
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7 July 2011

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No clear reason
I dreamt last night
the fright was over, that
the dust came, and then water,
and women and men, together
again, and all was quiet
in the dim moon’s light.
A paean of such patience—
laughing, laughing at me,
and the days extend over
the earth’s great cover,
grass, trees, and flower-
ing season, for no clear reason.
—
Robert Creeley (1926-2005)
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8 July 2011

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Surprises in cosmology
The galaxy at the right is rotating clockwise. We know this
from an understanding of the spiral structure and its relationship to
orbital motions.
If the universe itself is not rotating, then you’d expect to see an
equal number of clockwise and counter-clockwise galaxies, wherever you
looked in the sky.
For more than 90 years (since Einstein gave us the basis for
understanding the large-scale dynamics of the universe), everyone has
just assumed that the universe isn’t rotating. All the
standard theories, including the Big Bang and many more, are based on
the assumption that the universe is not rotating.
Has anyone ever looked?
Not until this year.
Michael Longo of
UMich Astonomy Dept examined a large number of galaxies in the northern
hemisphere and found that 53% of them are rotating clockwise. In
the southern hemisphere, 53% are rotating counter-clockwise.
To me, the remarkable thing about this study is how simple it is.
It required a few hundred hours of undergraduate labor, looking at
pictures of galaxies and coding them R or L. It could have been
done 50 years ago.
Current versions of the Big Bang theory are already stressed by the
need to include ‘Dark Matter’ and ‘Dark Energy’ — mysterious substances
unknown to man except in the context of cosmology — in order to
reconcile the amount of helium in the universe and the speed of
expansion. If this new observation pans out, the Big Bang will be
a candidate for open heart surgery.
PhysOrg article
Original research article in Physics Letters
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9 July 2011

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Fear of death is not about death. It’s about
fear.
— Josh Mitteldorf
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10 July 2011

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Listen to
Trinita Sinfonica of
Yasushi Akutagawa, born this day in 1925.
(Takuo Yuasa conducts the New Zealand Symphony
Orchestra)
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11 July 2011

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Deber del Poeta
A quien no escucha el mar en este viernes
por la mañana, quien adentro de algo,
casa, oficina, fábrica or mujer,
o calle o mina o seco calabozo:
a éste yo acudo y sin hablar ni ver
leego y abro la puerta del encierro
y un sin fin se oye vago en la insistencia,
un largo trueno roto se encadena
al peso del planeta y de la espuma,
surgen los ríos roncos del océano,
vibra veloz en su rosal la estrella
y el mar palpita, muere y continúa.
Así por el destino conducido
debo sin tregua oír y conservar
el lamento marino en mi conciencia,
debo sentir el golpe de agua dura
y recogerlo en una taza eterna
para que donde esté el encarcelado,
donde sufra el castigo del otoño
yo esté presente con una ola errante,
yo circule a través de las ventanas
y al oírme levante la mirada
diciendo: cómo me acercaré al océano?
Y yo transmitiré de la ola,
un quebranto de espuma y arenales,
un susurro de sal que se retira,
el grito gris del ave de la costa.
Y así, por mí, la libertad y el mar
responderán al corazón oscuro.
— Pablo Neruda, born this day in 1904
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The Poet’s Obligation
To whoever is not listening to the sea
this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up
in house or office, factory or woman
or street or mine or harsh prison cell:
to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,
I arrive and open the door of his prison,
and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,
a great fragment of thunder sets in motion
the rumble of the planet and the foam,
the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,
the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,
and the sea is beating, dying and continuing.
So, drawn on by my destiny,
I ceaselessly must listen to and keep
the sea’s lamenting in my awareness,
I must feel the crash of the hard water
and gather it up in a perpetual cup
so that, wherever those in prison may be,
wherever they suffer the autumn’s castigation,
I may be there with an errant wave,
I may move, passing through windows,
and hearing me, eyes will glance upward
saying, “How can I reach the sea?“”’
And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,
the starry echoes of the wave,
a breaking up of foam and of quicksand,
a rustling of salt withdrawing,
the grey cry of sea-birds on the coast.
So, through me, freedom and the sea
will make their answer to the shuttered heart.
— tr Alastair
Reid
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12 July 2011

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3D Printing
There are several companies that offer competing technologies for
replicating a 3D object in plastic, at a cost of a few dollars, within a
few hours for the whole process. Accuracy is less than the width
of a human hair. Moving parts and color are options.
Youtube video
Wikipedia article
C-Ideas corporate
site
Fortus corporate site
Quickparts corporate site
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13 July 2011

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Bastille
It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair,
we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going
direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way— in short, the
period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest
authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the
superlative degree of comparison only.
— Charles
Dickens
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14 July 2011

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Understanding fear
When a deer in the meadow notices you approaching, it instantly stops
grazing and looks at you motionlessly. The white tail, used to
signal danger to other deer, twitches slightly now and then, ready to
flash at any time. If you come too close or move too abruptly, up
goes the tail like a torch and the animal bounds gracefully into the
woods for cover. For us humans no presence of genuine physical
dnager is needed for the whole body to be flooded by waves of anxiety.
All it takes is one scary thought, one fearful memory, one threatening
image to trigger physical light or fight or freeze reactions.
Imagining we are alone and isolated, abandoned, causes immediate pain
and sorrow. Deer most likely don’t ruminate about being separate
creatures – it spares them a lifetime of mental grief!
— Toni Packer, from Being Bodies - Buddhist women on the paradox
of embodiment.
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15 July 2011

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Free
From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines. Going where I
list, my own master, total and absolute. Listening to others, and considering well
what they say. Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating. Gently but with
undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.
—Walt Whitman
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16 July 2011

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To look on our world from a vantage of humility, mystery, and
wonder
Remember how smug were the intellectuals of the European
Enlightenment. They were proud to have discovered a rational
framework for dispelling superstition and agreeing on scientific truth.
But these people knew nothing of atoms or galaxies or evolution, let
alone quantum mechanics. They could not have conceived the changes
in our circumstances that would be wrought by jet travel or television
or email, and their faith in Christianity appears to us naive.
Think how impoverished their world view appears to us from a
twenty-first century vantage.
It is likely that during the next two centuries, our fundamental
understanding of the world will be re-conceived at least as radically as
in the past two.
Imagine ourselves from a crow’s nest in the twenty-third century.
When we allow a sense of wonder and humility to wash over our
perceptions, we may be closer to Truth than when we look out from a
vantage atop the impressive understandings amassed since the dawn of
science.
— Josh Mitteldorf
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17 July 2011

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Feng shui for the ear
Practitioners of feng shui seek to create physical
environments that are conducive to peace and harmony and flourishing
creativity. Raymond Murray Schafer suggested more than 30 years
ago that it would be worthwhile to pay as much attention to our sonic
environment. The World
Soundscape Project has been a lifelong engagement for Schafer.
He also composes
music.
R. Murray Schafer, beloved Canadian composer and philosopher of
aesthetics is 78 years old today.
‘Still the noise in the mind: that is the first task - then
everything else will follow in time.’
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18 July 2011

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Language is not unique to humans
We have known for a few years that dolphins, and probably whales as
well have individual names. Specifically, these are unique sound
utterances, chosen by the parents, with which the individual animal
identifies himself to others. Now we learn that parrots, too, are
given names by their parents that they use through a lifetime.
Evolutionary game theorists tell us that if individual animals can
positively identify one another, a whole range of cooperative
enterprises can evolve that are probably impossible if they remain
anonymous. With anonymity, cheating is just too tempting.
Learning to recognize other individuals by their appearance or their
voice has big evolutionary rewards.
Complexity of human speech may or may not be unique. Wouldn’t
we love to know what dolphins say to each other?
Wired Science article
Journal article
Vertical
transmission of learned signatures in a wild parrot
by Karl Berg, et. al. Proc. R. Soc. B. July 13, 2011.
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19 July 2011

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A time to dance
Some set out to explore
earth’s limit, and little they recked if
Never their feet came near it
outgrowing the need for glory:
Some aimed at a small objective
but the fierce updraught of their spirit
Forced them to the stars.
Are honoured in public who built
The dam that tamed a river;
or holding the salient for hours
Against odds, cut off and killed,
are remembered by one survivor
All these. But most for those
whom accident made great,
As a radiant chance encounter
of cloud and sunlight grows
Immortal on the heart:
whose gift was the sudden bounty
Of a passing moment, enriches
the fulfilled eye for ever.
Their spirits float serene
above time’s roughest reaches.
But their seed is in us and over
our lives they are evergreen.
— Cecil Day Lewis
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20 July 2011

Janaka Stagnaro
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Insist on yourself; never imitate. Your own gift you can present
every moment with the cumulative force of a whole life’s cultivation;
but of the adopted talent of another you have only an extemporaneous
half possession.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
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21 July 2011

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Exultation
Who among us hasn’t had this experience? A moment of clarity, a
transcendent vision, the sudden realization that life is an unexpected,
stupefying wonder, and that everything requisite for bliss is already
available to us. - Ed
BEHOLD, I walked abroad at early morning,
The fields of June were bathed in dew and lustre,
The hills were clad with light as with a garment.
The inexpressible auroral freshness,
The grave, immutable, aerial heavens,
The transient clouds above the quiet landscape,
The heavy odor of the passionate lilacs,
That hedged the road with sober-colored clusters,
All these o’ermastered me with subtle power,
And made my rural walk a royal progress,
Peopled my solitude with airy spirits,
Who hovered over me with joyous singing.
‘Behold!’ they sang, ‘the glory of the morning.
Through every vein does not the summer tingle,
With vague desire and flush of expectation?
‘To think how fair is life! set round with grandeur;
The eloquent sea beneath the voiceless heavens,
The shifting shows of every bounteous season;
‘Rich skies, fantastic clouds, and herby meadows,
Gray rivers, prairies spread with regal flowers,
Grasses and grains and herds of browsing cattle:
‘Great cities filled with breathing men and women,
Of whom the basest have their aspirations,
High impulses of courage or affection.
‘And on this brave earth still those finer spirits,
Heroic Valor, admirable Friendship,
And Love itself, a very god among you.
‘All these for thee, and thou evoked from nothing,
Born from blank darkness to this blaze of beauty,
Where is thy faith, and where are thy thanksgivings?’
The world is his who can behold it rightly,
Who hears the harmonies of unseen angels
Above the senseless outcry of the hour.
— Emma Lazarus, born this day in 1849
Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
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22 July 2011

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A message from the emperor
The emperor—it is said—sent to you, the one apart, the wretched subject,
the tiny shadow that fled far, far from the imperial sun, precisely to
you he sent a message from his deathbed. He bade the messenger kneel by
his bed, and whispered the message in his ear. So greatly did he cherish
it that he had him repeat it into his ear. With a nod of his head he
confirmed the accuracy of the messenger’s words. And before the entire
spectatorship of his death—all obstructing walls have been torn down and
the great figures of the empire stand in a ring upon the broad, soaring
exterior stairways—before all these he dispatched the messenger. The
messenger set out at once; a strong, an indefatigable man; thrusting
forward now this arm, now the other, he cleared a path though the crowd;
every time he meets resistance he points to his breast, which bears the
sign of the sun; and he moves forward easily, like no other. But the
crowds are so vast; their dwellings know no bounds. If open country
stretched before him, how he would fly, and indeed you might soon hear
the magnificent knocking of his fists on your door. But instead, how
uselessly he toils; he is still forcing his way through the chambers of
the innermost palace; never will he overcome them; and were he to
succeed at this, nothing would be gained: he would have to fight his way
down the steps; and were he to succeed at this, nothing would be gained:
he would have to cross the courtyard and, after the courtyard, the
second enclosing outer palace, and again stairways and courtyards, and
again a palace, and so on through thousands of years; and if he were to
burst out at last through the outermost gate—but it can never, never
happen—before him still lies the royal capital, the middle of the world,
piled high in its sediment. Nobody reaches through here, least of all
with a message from one who is dead. –You, however, sit at your window
and dream of the message when evening comes.
— Kafka, in a new translation by Mark Harman
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23 July 2011

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Affirmation
Suggest to your subconscious the changes that you consciously seek.
Affirmations can be repeated aloud with the encouragement of a friend;
or they can be repeated during meditation, as a mantra; or they can be
written out longhand, over and over, with or without verbal
reinforcement.
A good affirmation will contradict your conditioned, pessimistic
beliefs. As you say or write it, you will feel silly, and think
the opposite. Notice that that is happening, without letting it
get in your way.
You can create affirmations for yourself, but it is best to get help
from a friend whose hang-ups are quite different from your own.
Devising your own affirmation, it might come out,
My leg is healing quickly.
while a friend who is completely outside your mode of thought might suggest instead:
I am dancing, light and free!
Affirmations about the outside world may seem a bit more mystical, or
even superstitious. The truth is that the line between inside and out is
not so clearly defined, and affirmations about outside circumstances —
even political events — are well worth a try.
Think big. Think broadly. Go beyond what will ‘solve
your problem’ to what will provide lasting satisfaction and deep
fulfillment
Perhaps not
I will win the lottery.
but rather
I am engaged and effective. People everywhere appreciate my contribution.
Don’t be careful to limit yourself to realistic goals, but stretch
your imagination instead.
People everywhere are realizing their shared
vision, finding their common destiny in peace and cooperation.
— Josh Mitteldorf
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24 July 2011

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Fundamental benignity
The mysterious manner in which this growing sense of unity commingles
with a sense of utter goodness is worth noting. It arises by no effort
of mine; rather does it come to me out of I know not where. Harmony
appears gradually and flows through my whole being like music. An
infinite tenderness takes possession of me, smoothing away the harsh
cynicism which a reiterated experience of human ingratitude and human
treachery has driven deeply into my temperament. I feel the fundamental
benignity of Nature despite the apparent manifestation of ferocity. Like
the sounds of every instrument in an orchestra that is in tune, all
things and all people seem to drop into the sweet relationship that
subsists within the Great Mother’s own heart.
— Paul Brunton (Hermit
in the Himalayas: The Journal of a Lonely Exile)
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25 July 2011

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Details, details...
What if all that mattered in a life, all that stuck in the mind or
pulled at the heart, were the well-defined events and decisions: where
to live, what to do for a living, when to get married, whether to go to
war? What would we miss? Almost everything that makes a life worth
living. We want not just actions and consequences, victories and
defeats, but dragonflies and paperclips, daydreams and counterfactual
syllogisms. And perhaps poetry—that verbal art form without obvious
consequence, whose shapes are not the shapes of events and plots—best
suits those apparently negligible phenomena: if it cannot preserve them,
it can at least show how we care.
— Stephen Burt, reviewing
Alan Peterson’s poetry in
Boston Review
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26 July 2011

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Mindfulness meditatio+n
Among the meditative practices I’ve explored, Vipassana seems the one
that is most easily seen as a principled way of exploring the structure
of one’s experience and the one most easily separated from a religious
or soteriological context...
The general principle in Vipassana is to train one’s attention through
focus on a particular object and, once this is well-trained, to use it
to observe the unfolding of experience. It’s effectively a systematic
way of noticing experience. The breath is typically the chosen focus. As
far as I can tell, this choice is semi-arbitrary but has a number of
advantages. Apart from the comforting stamp of tradition, the breath is
both ever-present but also changes with emotional and mental state,
giving a good starting ground both for training concentration and for
training mindfulness of the multiple aspects of one’s state.
— from an article by Richidev Chaudhuri
Read more at
3QuarksDaily
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27 July 2011

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Moonrise
I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk
of the morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to
the candle,
Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless,
Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, of dark Maenefa the
mountain;
A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, entangled him, not
quite utterly.
This was the prized, the desirable sight, unsought, presented so easily,
Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, eyelid and eyelid of slumber.
— Gerard Manley Hopkins, born this day in 1844
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28 July 2011

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“Pray as though everything depended on God.
Work as though everything
depended on you.”
— Saint Augustine
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29 July 2011

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The art of whimsy meets the art of recycling
Leo Sewell grew up near a dump. He has played with junk now for fifty
years and has developed his own assemblage technique. His works are
collected by corporations, museums and individuals throughout the world.
Leo continues to cull the refuse of Philadelphia out of which he
fashions pieces of all sizes, from a lifesize housecat to a 40 foot
installation.
His sculptures are composed of recognizable objects of plastic, metal
and wood. These objects are chosen for their color, shape, texture,
durability and patina; then they are assembled using nails, bolts, and
screws. The outdoor sculptures are constructed of stainless steel,
brass, or aluminum found objects which are welded together.
— web
site of artist Leo Sewell
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30 July 2011

|
Was die mode streng geteilt
Every day we navigate dozens of commercial interactions, ritualized
negotiations with strangers that enable us to buy a quart of milk or
turn left at a crowded intersection. More complicated is the tact
required at work: avoiding the wrath of a vindictive boss or the
subversion of a jealous colleague. We’ve learned well the rules of
engagement, and we survive reliably, even when we grumble.
What happens when we get home and we long to reach out and touch
someone? The rules that keep us from strangling each other in
utilitarian interactions have become a habit, and they tend to insulate
us from the deeper interactions that nourish our
souls. Social relationships float comfortably on the surface.
We need help breaking through a formality that has become all too
comfortable, and we
need encouragement to trust and to drop our façades of courteous but
shallow expression.
Inviting intimacy without exposing those around you to discomfort is an art.
Inevitably, there will be times when you frighten people inadvertently.
Experiment. Keep laughing. Find ways to be vulnerable yourself without imposing on your
invitee. Be aware of signals from people around you, however awkward, that suggest they may be open to a deeper level of connection.
— Josh Mitteldorf
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31 July 2011

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