Viewing: Mystery - View All Posts
Turn off your mind relax and float down stream
It is not dying, it is not dying
Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void,
It is shining, it is shining.
Yet you may see the meaning of within
It is being, it is being
Love is all and love is everyone
It is knowing, it is knowing
And ignorance and hate mourn the dead
It is believing, it is believing
But listen to the colour of your dreams
It is not leaving, it is not leaving
So play the game "Existence" to the end
Of the beginning, of the beginning
"Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool
or you go out in the ocean."
"Ideas are like fish. If you want to catch little fish, you can stay in the shallow water. But if you want to catch the big fish, you've got to go deeper. Down deep the fish are more powerful and more pure. They're huge and abstract. And they're very beautiful."
"Why is it that Americans need to hear their happiness major and their tragedy minor, and as jazzy as they can handle is a seventh chord? Are they not experiencing complex emotions?"
Today I received an email from Dick Kruithof in the Netherlands,
who also has a blog called DIMA'S BLOG. Check it out!
Dick lives in Wognum, 50 kilometers north of Amsterdam,
near the town Hoorn where the AFIB performed at Jazz Affairs.
Even in a country that you know by heart
it’s hard to go the same way twice.
The life of the going changes.
The chances change and make a new way.
Any tree or stone or bird
can be the bud of a new direction. The
natural correction is to make intent
of accident. To get back before dark
is the art of going.
"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed."
The Conduit communes with the metaphysical realm, channeling spiritual energy. He serves as a ritual messenger, our intermediary to the divine and liaison with the muses. Is he a metaphor or a functionary? Is he symbol or vessel?
Sit and be still
until in the time
of no rain you hear
beneath the dry wind's
commotion in the trees
the sound of flowing
water among the rocks,
a stream unheard before,
and you are where
breathing is prayer.
The Dissociative Amnesiac responds to stress by wandering, losing herself in the crowd and traveling to destinations unknown. Her fugue state may last hours or years. She may even establish an entirely new identity. Yet upon recovery, when her previous memories and identity return, the dissociative self is forgotten. All activity during the fugue episode, including the original stressor that precipitated it, is a blank.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?