This one comes from a lecture given by Alan Watts on the nature of consciousness:
There was a young man who said, "Damn,
For it certainly seems that I am,
A creature who moves
In determinate grooves.
I'm not even a bus I'm a tram."
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Sunsets and subtitles. What matters?
The most important part of this video is the subtitle. Pay very close attention to it. Oh, and this music doesn't really play everywhere I walk. Sometimes it is the Chemical Brothers. And sometimes it is The Hanson Brothers. So don't be alarmed. But seriously, what is matter?
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Story Time
The old man and the frog
The boat eased into the water quietly and the old man lifted his heavy boots over the aging wood, carefully avoiding his tackle box and rod. He tossed his faded orange life jacket onto the bowed plank that served as his seat and plopped himself into place.
The sky was gray and the damp morning air seemed to wrap around his big ears and dance off the back of his neck as he slowly paddled toward the center of the lake.
The perfect circles created by the quick movements of the water bugs as they skated across the dark green surface, brought a gentle smile between his weathered cheeks.
“What are those bugs called again?” He asked himself. His answer widened his smile, “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Was the truthful reply.
Hours passed as he sat with a slight hunch over his rod, hands crossed, eyes slits, sounds flowing through him. Suddenly he felt a soft tug on his line. He peered over the edge of the boat and cocked his head to the right in befuddled amusement at what appeared before him. A small frog was gripping the line with one of its forelegs and staring up at the man with wide eyes.
“What are your doing little guy?” The old man said rhetorically.
“I have a deal to make with you.” Replied the frog.
The old man’s head cocked dramatically from the right over to the left, like a dog trying to interpret a sound.
“Yes, I am a talking frog.” Croaked the talking frog. “And I have been in this pond for many years waiting for the right moment to confront a human and offer the following proposal.”
The man continued to listen with amazement.
The frog went on, “If you pick me up, row me to the edge of the lake and then kiss me on the lips, I will turn into a beautiful woman and happily become your fair bride.”
The old man leaned over with his arm extended, gently scooped up the frog and placed her on the plank of wood across from where he sat, just a few inches from his knees. He didn’t say a word, but simply paddled with a lightness he hadn’t felt in quite some time toward the shore. All the while he stared in wonder at the small green being in front of him.
When they reached the edge of the lake, the old man quickly landed the small fishing boat and then bent down and picked up the frog. He held her delicately in his wrinkled hands and gazed once more at this extraordinary creature.
“You are a talking frog.” The old man stated with a note of whimsy.
“I most certainly am.” Replied the frog, a slight grin seemingly appearing at the edges of her wide mouth.
With that the old man pulled open the chest pocket of his flannel jacket and dropped the frog inside. He then proceeded to pick up his tackle box and rod and began wandering back along the path toward the road.
“A muffled voice called out from his pocket. “What are you doing?” Cried the frog. “You must kiss me on the lips so that I may turn into your fair bride!”
The man continued walking with a boyish bounce in his step. “At my age,” He stated slowly, “a talking frog seems like way more fun.”
And so it goes.
The boat eased into the water quietly and the old man lifted his heavy boots over the aging wood, carefully avoiding his tackle box and rod. He tossed his faded orange life jacket onto the bowed plank that served as his seat and plopped himself into place.
The sky was gray and the damp morning air seemed to wrap around his big ears and dance off the back of his neck as he slowly paddled toward the center of the lake.
The perfect circles created by the quick movements of the water bugs as they skated across the dark green surface, brought a gentle smile between his weathered cheeks.
“What are those bugs called again?” He asked himself. His answer widened his smile, “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Was the truthful reply.
Hours passed as he sat with a slight hunch over his rod, hands crossed, eyes slits, sounds flowing through him. Suddenly he felt a soft tug on his line. He peered over the edge of the boat and cocked his head to the right in befuddled amusement at what appeared before him. A small frog was gripping the line with one of its forelegs and staring up at the man with wide eyes.
“What are your doing little guy?” The old man said rhetorically.
“I have a deal to make with you.” Replied the frog.
The old man’s head cocked dramatically from the right over to the left, like a dog trying to interpret a sound.
“Yes, I am a talking frog.” Croaked the talking frog. “And I have been in this pond for many years waiting for the right moment to confront a human and offer the following proposal.”
The man continued to listen with amazement.
The frog went on, “If you pick me up, row me to the edge of the lake and then kiss me on the lips, I will turn into a beautiful woman and happily become your fair bride.”
The old man leaned over with his arm extended, gently scooped up the frog and placed her on the plank of wood across from where he sat, just a few inches from his knees. He didn’t say a word, but simply paddled with a lightness he hadn’t felt in quite some time toward the shore. All the while he stared in wonder at the small green being in front of him.
When they reached the edge of the lake, the old man quickly landed the small fishing boat and then bent down and picked up the frog. He held her delicately in his wrinkled hands and gazed once more at this extraordinary creature.
“You are a talking frog.” The old man stated with a note of whimsy.
“I most certainly am.” Replied the frog, a slight grin seemingly appearing at the edges of her wide mouth.
With that the old man pulled open the chest pocket of his flannel jacket and dropped the frog inside. He then proceeded to pick up his tackle box and rod and began wandering back along the path toward the road.
“A muffled voice called out from his pocket. “What are you doing?” Cried the frog. “You must kiss me on the lips so that I may turn into your fair bride!”
The man continued walking with a boyish bounce in his step. “At my age,” He stated slowly, “a talking frog seems like way more fun.”
And so it goes.
I think I am going to breathe today.
We breathe in, and we breathe out. And so does a river, and so does an ocean, and so does an earth, and so does a sun, and so does a universe. Knot knowing leads to wonder and wonder leads to amusement and amusement leads to many, many smiles. . .
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Limerick Time
There was a young lady named Bright
Whose speed was much faster than light;
She departed one day
in a relative way
and returned on the previous night.
Whose speed was much faster than light;
She departed one day
in a relative way
and returned on the previous night.
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