Edward Carpenter on the vaster self (via Hanz Bolen, H.W., M.)

CarpenterMerrill
Edward Carpenter (August 29, 1844 – June 28, 1929) on the left with his life partner George Miller on the right, was an English socialist poet, philosopher, anthologist, and early LGBT activist. A poet and writer, he was a close friend of Rabindranath Tagore, and a friend of Walt Whitman. Wikipedia

“Of all the hard facts of science, I know of none more solid and fundamental than the fact that if you inhibit thought (and persevere) you come at length to a region of consciousness below or behind thoughts…. and a realization of an altogether vaster self than that to which we are accustomed. And since the ordinary consciousness, with which we are concerned in ordinary life is before all things founded on the little local self, and is in fact self-consciousness in the little, local sense and the ordinary world, it follows that to pass out of that is to die to the ordinary self and the ordinary world.

“It is to die in the ordinary sense, but in another sense, it is to wake up and find that the ‘I’ , one’s real, most intimate self pervades the universe and all other beings…..  So great, so splendid is this experience, that it may be said that all minor questions and doubts fall away in face of it; and certain it is that in thousands and thousands of cases the fact of its having come even once to a man has completely revolutionized his subsequent life and outlook on the world.”

–Edwin Carpenter from his book The Drama of Love and Death

Gurdjieff on payment

Gurdjieff

“You shall not come forth until you have paid the utmost farthing.”

–George Ivanovich Gurdjieff, also commonly referred to as G. I. Gurdjieff (January 13, 1866 – October 29, 1949), was an influential early 20th century Russian mystic, philosopher, spiritual teacher, and composer of Armenian and Greek descent.Wikipedia

Muhammad Ali on where the fight is won

MuhammadAli

“The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses – behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.”

–Muhammad Ali (January 17, 1942 – June 3, 2016)  was an American professional boxer, generally considered among the greatest heavyweights in the history of the sport. Wikipedia

 

A.Word.A.Day with Anu Garg: condign

condign

PRONUNCIATION:
(kuhn-DYN)
MEANING:
adjective: Well-deserved, appropriate.
ETYMOLOGY:
From Middle English condigne, from Anglo French, from Latin condignus, from com- (completely) + dignus (worthy). Ultimately from Indo-European root dek- (to take, accept), which is the ancestor of other words such as dignity, discipline, doctor, decorate, docile, and deign. Earliest documented use: 1413.

On Allen Ginsberg’s 90th birthday (by Gwyllm Llwydd)

AllenGinsberg
(Allen Ginsberg – Gwyllm 2004)
Today would of been Allen Ginsberg’s 90th Birthday. I was blessed with meeting him (and Tim Leary) on a hot summer’s afternoon and having a long conversation when I was a young lad turning 16 in 1967. Their kindness and patience with me has stuck forever.
I am grateful for all of his works, and deeds, this poem, written short weeks before I ever met him ever stays with me.
Happy Birthday Allen!
–Gwyllm Llwydd
Wales Visitation – Allen Ginsberg
White fog lifting & falling on mountain-brow
Trees moving in rivers of wind
The clouds arise
as on a wave, gigantic eddy lifting mist
above teeming ferns exquisitely swayed
along a green crag
glimpsed thru mullioned glass in valley raine—
Bardic, O Self, Visitacione, tell naught
but what seen by one man in a vale in Albion,
of the folk, whose physical sciences end in Ecology,
the wisdom of earthly relations,
of mouths & eyes interknit ten centuries visible
orchards of mind language manifest human,
of the satanic thistle that raises its horned symmetry
flowering above sister grass-daisies’ pink tiny
bloomlets angelic as lightbulbs—
Remember 160 miles from London’s symmetrical thorned tower
& network of TV pictures flashing bearded your Self
the lambs on the tree-nooked hillside this day bleating
heard in Blake’s old ear, & the silent thought of Wordsworth in eld Stillness
clouds passing through skeleton arches of Tintern Abbey—
Bard Nameless as the Vast, babble to Vastness!
All the Valley quivered, one extended motion, wind
undulating on mossy hills
a giant wash that sank white fog delicately down red runnels
on the mountainside
whose leaf-branch tendrils moved asway
in granitic undertow down—
and lifted the floating Nebulous upward, and lifted the arms of the trees
and lifted the grasses an instant in balance
and lifted the lambs to hold still
and lifted the green of the hill, in one solemn wave
A solid mass of Heaven, mist-infused, ebbs thru the vale,
a wavelet of Immensity, lapping gigantic through Llanthony Valley,
the length of all England, valley upon valley under Heaven’s ocean
tonned with cloud-hang,
—Heaven balanced on a grassblade.
Roar of the mountain wind slow, sigh of the body,
One Being on the mountainside stirring gently
Exquisite scales trembling everywhere in balance,
one motion thru the cloudy sky-floor shifting on the million feet of daisies,
one Majesty the motion that stirred wet grass quivering
to the farthest tendril of white fog poured down
through shivering flowers on the mountain’s head—
No imperfection in the budded mountain,
Valleys breathe, heaven and earth move together,
daisies push inches of yellow air, vegetables tremble,
grass shimmers green
sheep speckle the mountainside, revolving their jaws with empty eyes,
horses dance in the warm rain,
tree-lined canals network live farmland,
blueberries fringe stone walls on hawthorn’d hills,
pheasants croak on meadows haired with fern—
Out, out on the hillside, into the ocean sound, into delicate gusts of wet air,
Fall on the ground, O great Wetness, O Mother, No harm on your body!
Stare close, no imperfection in the grass,
each flower Buddha-eye, repeating the story,
myriad-formed—
Kneel before the foxglove raising green buds, mauve bells dropped
doubled down the stem trembling antennae,
& look in the eyes of the branded lambs that stare
breathing stockstill under dripping hawthorn—
I lay down mixing my beard with the wet hair of the mountainside,
smelling the brown vagina-moist ground, harmless,
tasting the violet thistle-hair, sweetness—
One being so balanced, so vast, that its softest breath
moves every floweret in the stillness on the valley floor,
trembles lamb-hair hung gossamer rain-beaded in the grass,
lifts trees on their roots, birds in the great draught
hiding their strength in the rain, bearing same weight,
Groan thru breast and neck, a great Oh! to earth heart
Calling our Presence together
The great secret is no secret
Senses fit the winds,
Visible is visible,
rain-mist curtains wave through the bearded vale,
gray atoms wet the wind’s kabbala
Crosslegged on a rock in dusk rain,
rubber booted in soft grass, mind moveless,
breath trembles in white daisies by the roadside,
Heaven breath and my own symmetric
Airs wavering thru antlered green fern
drawn in my navel, same breath as breathes thru Capel-Y-Ffn,
Sounds of Aleph and Aum
through forests of gristle,
my skull and Lord Hereford’s Knob equal,
All Albion one.
What did I notice? Particulars! The
vision of the great One is myriad—
smoke curls upward from ashtray,
house fire burned low,
The night, still wet & moody black heaven
starless
upward in motion with wet wind.
~~~~~
Bless you Allen for all the beauty.
G
Ginsbergvideo

Two quotes on money

JohnDensmore
“Money is like fertilizer.  It helps things grow.  When hoarded, it stinks.”
–John Densmore, drummer for the Doors

RevIke
“Never use the word ‘spend’ when it comes to money.  Spending doesn’t come back. ‘Circulating’ does. So let’s go circulate!”
–Reverend Ike (June 1, 1935 – July 28, 2009)