March 7, 2014
"Wealth without work,
Pleasure without conscience, 
Knowledge without character, 
Commerce without morality,
Science without humanity,
Worship without sacrifice, 
and Politics without principle.
The seven deadly sins”
 
 

Mahatma Gandhi

"Wealth without work,

Pleasure without conscience,

Knowledge without character,

Commerce without morality,

Science without humanity,

Worship without sacrifice,

and Politics without principle.

The seven deadly sins”

 

 

Mahatma Gandhi

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Filed under: Mahatma Gandhi 
March 7, 2014
"

The sign of intelligence is that you are constantly wondering.

Idiots are always dead sure about every damn thing they are doing in their life.

"

— Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev

March 7, 2014
“The secret of the mountains is that they simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning,” they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.”

- Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

“The secret of the mountains is that they simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning,” they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.”

- Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

March 7, 2014
It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.
Henry David Thoreau

It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.


Henry David Thoreau

March 7, 2014

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Filed under: addiction 
March 7, 2014
Somerset UK Near my home

Somerset UK Near my home

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Filed under: Somerset 
March 7, 2014
"The lights are shining dimly round about,
The Path is dark, I cannot see ahead;
And so I go as one perplexed with doubt,
Nor guessing where my footsteps may be led.
The wind is high, the rain falls heavily,
The strongest heart may well admit a fear,
For there are wrecks on land as well as sea
Even though the haven may be very near.
The night is dark and strength seems failing fast
Though on my journey I but late set out.
And who can tell where the way leads at last?
Would that the lights shone clearer round about!"

AUBREY BEARDSLEY

Lines written in Uncertainty

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Filed under: AUBREY BEARDSLEY 
March 7, 2014
"When you play, like when you live, give silence the same dignity you give sound…"

— Taj Mahal,

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Filed under: taj mahal jazz music 
March 7, 2014
"We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing"

— Charles Bukowski

February 9, 2014
We’re having a few storms!

We’re having a few storms!

November 12, 2013
"

Dennis Skinner: “Half the Tories opposite are crooks”
Speaker of the House of Commons: “Please retract that statement”
Dennis Skinner:” OK. Half the Tories opposite aren’t crooks”

"

November 12, 2013
"

There is no week nor day nor hour when tyranny may not enter upon this country, if the people lose their roughness and spirit of defiance.

"

Walt Whitman

October 5, 2013

The Listeners

BY WALTER DE LA MARE


‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,   
   Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses   
   Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,   
   Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;   
   ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;   
   No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,   
   Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners   
   That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight   
   To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,   
   That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken   
   By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,   
   Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,   
   ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even   
   Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,   
   That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,   
   Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house   
   From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,   
   And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,   
   When the plunging hoofs were gone.

The Listeners

BY WALTER DE LA MARE

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,   
   Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses   
   Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,   
   Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;   
   ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;   
   No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,   
   Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners   
   That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight   
   To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,   
   That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken   
   By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,   
   Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,   
   ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even   
   Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,   
   That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,   
   Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house   
   From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,   
   And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,   
   When the plunging hoofs were gone.

October 1, 2013
"I was born naked.
My beloved parents kindly gave me a name.
When I reached twenty, I thought
“A name is a chain, I want to abandon it.”
Whoever I question
No one answers me.
When I hear the wind in the pines
I get an answer."

— Chögyam Trungpa, from Mudra 

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Filed under: poetry buddhist buddhism 
September 20, 2013
"The free expression of the hopes and aspirations of a people is the greatest and only safety in a sane society."

— Emma Goldman

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