tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-108756982024-03-07T06:41:23.467-08:00Urgh! A Media Waroceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.comBlogger655125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-32627877663798728022024-03-07T06:40:00.003-08:002024-03-07T06:40:37.118-08:00Kahlil Gibran on Silence, Solitude, and the Courage to Know Yourself
There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone.
The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape.
And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand.
And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.
In the bosom of such as oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-59216447165486071092023-06-07T22:26:00.001-07:002023-06-07T22:27:36.835-07:00Translated by Borges himself, Bloy writes
[St. Paul’s famous cryptic statement Videmus nunc per speculum in aenigmate] would be a skylight through which one might submerge himself in the true Abyss, which is the soul of man. The terrifying immensity of the firmament’s abyss is an illusion, an external reflection of our own abysses, perceived “in a mirror.” We should invert our eyes and practice a sublime astronomy in the infinitude of oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-57870873152902670802022-10-31T14:19:00.006-07:002022-10-31T14:19:41.082-07:00On Children by Khalil Gibran
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said
"Speak to us of children"
Your children are not your children
They are the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself
They come through you but not from you
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you
You may give them your love but not your thoughts
For they have their own thoughts
You may house their bodies but not their oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-17424109004095030572021-11-24T12:53:00.008-08:002021-11-24T12:56:53.132-08:00The Geometry Of Grief“The distance between here and there is the answer to the wrong question.”
... is also the way to view and live through grief — an exercise in continual dilation of perspective, so that life can be seen from more and more angles besides the acuteness of loss, noticing more and more of what is there, what remains and what grows in the wake of the lost; an exercise in remembering, again and oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-62491486517067650892021-09-26T17:42:00.003-07:002021-09-26T17:42:30.030-07:00How to be anxious by David Egan
Kierkegaard, Sartre and Heidegger all think we have a strong motive to flee anxiety when it strikes us. Our freedom entails a heavy burden of individual responsibility, which is daunting. Much easier, then, to act as if the big questions of how to live and how to make sense of things were already settled.
by (https://psyche.co/guides/how-to-be-anxious-like-kierkegaard-sartre-and-heidegger) oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-8608355471924587692021-06-21T14:14:00.000-07:002021-06-21T14:14:00.233-07:00Kierkegaard on our greatest source of unhappiness — and its antidote
The unhappy person is one who has his ideal, the content of his life, the fullness of his consciousness, the essence of his being, in some manner outside of himself. The unhappy man is always absent from himself, never present to himself. But one can be absent, obviously, either in the past or in the future. This adequately circumscribes the entire territory of the unhappy consciousness.
by (oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-6170056443660061822021-04-07T22:31:00.004-07:002021-04-07T22:35:55.205-07:00Hannah Arendt on Love
Fearlessness is what love seeks... Such fearlessness exists only in the complete calm that can no longer be shaken by events expected of the future…
by (https://www.brainpickings.org/2019/02/25/love-and-saint-augustine-hannah-arendt/) Illustration by Maurice Sendak from I’ll Be You and You Be Me by Ruth Krauss.
Also https://aeon.co/videos/oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-90838433926861284282021-04-07T22:25:00.003-07:002021-04-07T22:25:48.958-07:00Alan Watts on Freedom
The meaning of freedom can never be grasped by the divided mind. If I feel separate from my experience, and from the world, freedom will seem to be the extent to which I can push the world around, and fate the extent to which the world pushes me around. But to the whole mind there is no contrast of “I” and the world. There is just one process acting, and it does everything that happens. It oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-15540723933610516982021-02-16T10:35:00.002-08:002021-02-16T10:35:59.161-08:00The Spell of the Sensuous by David Abram
Magic… in its perhaps most primordial sense, is the experience of existing in a world made up of multiple intelligences, the intuition that every form one perceives — from the swallow swooping overhead to the fly on a blade of grass, and indeed the blade of grass itself — is an experiencing form, an entity with its own predilections and sensations, albeit sensations that are very different fromoceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-78572061876613999552021-02-09T10:35:00.001-08:002021-02-09T10:52:43.498-08:00
Song: “Blue Moon” by Snowblink
Your browser does not support the audio element.
Mad Girl’s Love Song
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-90276838289390334242021-02-05T11:25:00.002-08:002021-02-09T09:58:23.347-08:00Simone Weil on Attention and Grace
We have to try to cure our faults by attention and not by will.
The will only controls a few movements of a few muscles, and these movements are associated with the idea of the change of position of nearby objects. I can will to put my hand flat on the table. If inner purity, inspiration or truth of thought were necessarily associated with attitudes of this kind, they might be the object of oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-57199471899430356802021-01-06T21:04:00.004-08:002021-01-06T21:08:08.152-08:00Kierkegaard on Boredom
In a section of his 1843 masterwork Either/Or: A Fragment of Life, which also gave us Kierkegaard on our greatest source of unhappiness, the Danish philosopher defines boredom as a sense of emptiness and examines it not as an absence of stimulation but as an absence of meaning — an idea that also explains why it’s possible, today more than ever, to be overstimulated but existentially bored.
byoceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-88116148339769394432021-01-02T15:16:00.008-08:002021-01-02T15:23:12.126-08:00Too-ticky’s Guide to Life from Tove Jansson
Too-ticky offers comforting solidarity in Moomintroll’s lament that he doesn’t understand the snow: I don’t either… You believe it’s cold, but if you build yourself a snowhouse it’s warm. You think it’s white, but at times it looks pink, and another time it’s blue. It can be softer than anything, and then again harder than stone. Nothing is certain.
by (https://www.brainpickings.org/2014/09/oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-78746487313647489482020-12-31T15:52:00.005-08:002020-12-31T15:55:01.685-08:00Cold Solace by Anna Belle Kaufman
Leave something of sweetness and substance in the mouth of the world.
by (https://www.brainpickings.org/2020/02/03/emily-levine-cold-solace-anna-belle-kaufman/)oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-13532440052224109442020-11-16T14:08:00.005-08:002020-11-16T14:10:55.479-08:00Life with purpose
The crucial point of all this is that agency – like consciousness, and indeed life itself – isn’t just something you can perceive by squinting at the fine details. Nor is it some second-order effect, with particles behaving ‘as if’ they’re agents, perhaps even conscious agents, when enough of them get together. Agents are genuine causes in their own right, and don’t deserve to be relegated to oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-4621064762467557322020-11-07T19:34:00.008-08:002020-11-07T19:47:31.667-08:00Albert Camus - The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt
Despair, like the absurd, has opinions and desires about everything in general and nothing in particular. Silence expresses this attitude very well. But from the moment that the rebel finds his voice — even though he says nothing but “no” — he begins to desire and to judge… Not every value entails rebellion, but every act of rebellion tacitly invokes a value… Awareness, no matter how confused oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-53731330071026836632020-11-07T19:06:00.004-08:002020-11-07T19:06:34.085-08:00oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-46592194300239217012020-11-07T19:03:00.001-08:002020-11-07T19:03:23.879-08:00oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-77201959853106997762020-11-07T18:59:00.002-08:002020-11-07T19:04:20.457-08:00oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-21262445578483483862020-11-07T18:41:00.004-08:002020-11-07T19:05:08.636-08:00oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-86552854814382047992020-03-02T12:06:00.002-08:002020-03-02T12:06:37.173-08:00Jane Kenyon
Tell the whole truth. Don’t be lazy, don’t be afraid. Close the critic out when you are drafting something new. Take chances in the interest of clarity of emotion... Be a good steward of your gifts. Protect your time. Feed your inner life. Avoid too much noise. Read good books, have good sentences in your ears. Be by yourself as often as you can. Walk. Take the phone off the hook. Work regular oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-10340065262824428962020-03-02T11:59:00.000-08:002020-03-02T12:00:34.896-08:00Until the End of Time: Physicist Brian Greene on the Poetry of Existence
We emerge from laws that, as far as we can tell, are timeless, and yet we exist for the briefest moment of time. We are guided by laws that operate without concern for destination, and yet we constantly ask ourselves where we are headed. We are shaped by laws that seem not to require an underlying rationale, and yet we persistently seek meaning and purpose.
Brian Greene / BrainPickings
Art by oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-49141750155979201932020-02-03T10:23:00.001-08:002020-02-03T10:23:10.265-08:00
Radiating from the pages is also the welcome disorientation of time travel, deconditioning our habit of mistaking today’s culturally constructed commonplaces for ahistorical givens: Blackwell’s bright-red tomato blazes the reminder that this plant — so common today as to be commonplace the world over — was then an exotic native of the New World, known in the Old World as love-apple.
by https://oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-45166558552998850372020-01-20T21:53:00.001-08:002020-01-20T22:00:04.495-08:00
Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me. Your presence fills my eyes with your love. It humbles my heart, for you are everywhere.
I watched the Shape Of Water over Christmas and although it was visually pleasing I did not find it that interesting. Except for the poem at the end.
Hemenway’s translation appears on page 41 of her book The Book of Everything: Journey of the oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10875698.post-40419473877313564222019-11-27T22:51:00.000-08:002019-11-27T22:51:01.936-08:00On Silence
You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.
by (https://www.brainpickings.org/2019/11/21/oceanwhalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532715334812623531noreply@blogger.com0