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TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS by John Lennon 



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

GO DEEPER 


"Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool
or you go out in the ocean."
—Christopher Reeve

"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."
—David Lynch

"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?"
—Joni Mitchell

THE MYSTERIOUS 



"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."
—Albert Einstein

THE DISSOCIATIVE AMNESIAC 



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.

THE SECOND COMING ~William Butler Yeats 



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?


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