Two Einsteins are on a beach, one is scribbling formulas,
the other is playing violin-
the paradoxes of science and art,
reason and intuition,
numbers and notes,
measurement and judgment,
physics and mysticism,
time and death.
Would it be too far-fetched to invoke
the Einstein universe,
a cosmos neither measurable
nor infinite, but curving back upon itself,
curving back and becoming itself again-
a universe once self-contained
yet endless in variety, like the eight notes of a scale?
and the beach, like Einstein,
less a symbol than a kind of effigy-
suggesting finally not a world of paradox
but of the meeting of polarities.
-author unknown, Einstein on the Beach
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Archive Photos #30 and 31
So these are from a couple years ago, but you really can't beat a pumpkin with a third eye (it's a pumpkin inside of a pumpkin), and candy sushi! Look at the details! See that rainbow roll made out of Airheads? And the nerds for Salmon Eggs! I hope this catches. Edible arts and crafts is a whole new field...
I'm heading to Boulder tomorrow to meet up with my cousin Lance and go see the String Cheese Guitarist's new post SCI bluegrass band and I can't wait. I'm sporting the Super Heady Organic Giving Tree costume again and I've got lots of heady leaves to spread around. Photos sure to come. Happy Halloween everybody!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
J. Krishnamurti - The Attentive Mind
Have you ever paid any attention to the ringing of the temple bells? Now, what do you listen to? To the notes, or to the silence between the notes? If there were no silence, would there be notes? And if you listened to the silence, would not the notes be more penetrating, of a different quality? But you see, we rarely pay real attention to anything; and I think it is important to find out what it means to pay attention. When your teacher is explaining a problem in mathematics, or when you are reading history, or when a friend is talking, telling you a story, or when you are near the river and hear the lapping of the water on the bank, you generally pay very little attention; and if we could find out what it means to pay attention, perhaps learning then would have quite a different significance and become much easier.
When your teacher tells you to pay attention in class, what does he mean? He means that you must not look out of the window, that you must withdraw your attention from everything else and concentrate wholly on what you are supposed to be studying. Or, when you are absorbed in a novel, your whole mind is so concentrated on it that for the moment you have lost interest in everything else. That is another form of attention. So, in the ordinary sense, paying attention is a narrowing-down process, is it not?
Now, I think there is a different kind of attention altogether. The attention which is generally advocated, practiced or indulged in is a narrowing-down of the mind to a point, which is a process of exclusion. When you make an effort to pay attention, you are really resisting something – the desire to look out of the window, to see who is coming in, and so on. Part of your energy has already gone in resistance. You build a wall around your mind to make it concentrate completely on a particular thing, and you call this the disciplining of the mind to pay attention. You try to exclude from the mind every thought but the one on which you want to be wholly concentrated. That is what most people mean by paying attention. But I think there is a different kind of attention, a state of mind which is not exclusive, which does not shut anything out; and because there is no resistance, the mind is capable of much greater attention. But attention without resistance does not mean the attention of absorption.
The kind of attention which I would like to discuss is entirely different from what we usually mean by attention, and it has immense possibilities because it is not exclusive. When you concentrate on a subject, on a talk, on a conversation, consciously or unconsciously you build a wall of resistance against the intrusion of other thoughts, and your mind is not wholly there; it is only partially there, however much attention you pay, because part of your mind is resisting any intrusion, any deviation or distraction.
Let us begin the other way round. Do you know what distraction is? You want to pay attention to what you are reading, but your mind is distracted by some noise outside and you look out of the window. When you want to concentrate on something and your mind wanders off, the wandering off is called distraction; then part of your mind resists the so-called distraction and there is a waste of energy in that resistance. Whereas, if you are aware of every moment of the mind from moment to moment then there is no such thing as distraction at any time and the energy of the mind is not wasted in resisting something. So it is important to find out what attention really is.
If you listen to both the sound of the bell and to the silence between its strokes, the whole of that listening is attention. Similarly, when someone is speaking, attention is the giving of your mind not only to the words but also to the silence between the words. If you experiment with this you will find that your mind can pay complete attention without distraction and without resistance. When you discipline your mind saying, “I must not look out the window, I must not watch those people coming in, I must pay attention even though I want to do something else,” it creates a division which is very destructive because it decapitates the energy of the mind. But if you listen comprehensively so that there is no division and therefore no form of resistance then you will find that the mind can pay complete attention to anything without effort. Do you see it? Am I making myself clear?
Try what I am saying, and you will see how quickly your mind can learn. You can hear a song or a sound and let the mind be so completely full of it that there is not the effort of learning. After all, if you know how to listen to what your teacher is telling you about some historical fact, if you can listen without any resistance because your mind has space and silence and is therefore not distracted, you will be aware not only of the historical fact but also of the prejudice with which he may be translating it, and of your own inward response.
I will tell you something. You know what space is. There is space in this room. The distance between here and your hostel, between the bridge and your home, between this bank of the river and the other- all that is space. Now, is there also space in your mind? Or is it so crowded that there is no space at all? If your mind has space, then in that space there is silence- and from that silence everything else comes, for then you can listen, you can pay attention without resistance. That is why it is very important to have space in the mind. If the mind is not overcrowded, not ceaselessly occupied, then it can listen to that dog barking, to the sound of a train crossing the distant bridge, and also be fully aware of what is being said by a person talking here. Then the mind is a living thing, it is not dead.
When your teacher tells you to pay attention in class, what does he mean? He means that you must not look out of the window, that you must withdraw your attention from everything else and concentrate wholly on what you are supposed to be studying. Or, when you are absorbed in a novel, your whole mind is so concentrated on it that for the moment you have lost interest in everything else. That is another form of attention. So, in the ordinary sense, paying attention is a narrowing-down process, is it not?
Now, I think there is a different kind of attention altogether. The attention which is generally advocated, practiced or indulged in is a narrowing-down of the mind to a point, which is a process of exclusion. When you make an effort to pay attention, you are really resisting something – the desire to look out of the window, to see who is coming in, and so on. Part of your energy has already gone in resistance. You build a wall around your mind to make it concentrate completely on a particular thing, and you call this the disciplining of the mind to pay attention. You try to exclude from the mind every thought but the one on which you want to be wholly concentrated. That is what most people mean by paying attention. But I think there is a different kind of attention, a state of mind which is not exclusive, which does not shut anything out; and because there is no resistance, the mind is capable of much greater attention. But attention without resistance does not mean the attention of absorption.
The kind of attention which I would like to discuss is entirely different from what we usually mean by attention, and it has immense possibilities because it is not exclusive. When you concentrate on a subject, on a talk, on a conversation, consciously or unconsciously you build a wall of resistance against the intrusion of other thoughts, and your mind is not wholly there; it is only partially there, however much attention you pay, because part of your mind is resisting any intrusion, any deviation or distraction.
Let us begin the other way round. Do you know what distraction is? You want to pay attention to what you are reading, but your mind is distracted by some noise outside and you look out of the window. When you want to concentrate on something and your mind wanders off, the wandering off is called distraction; then part of your mind resists the so-called distraction and there is a waste of energy in that resistance. Whereas, if you are aware of every moment of the mind from moment to moment then there is no such thing as distraction at any time and the energy of the mind is not wasted in resisting something. So it is important to find out what attention really is.
If you listen to both the sound of the bell and to the silence between its strokes, the whole of that listening is attention. Similarly, when someone is speaking, attention is the giving of your mind not only to the words but also to the silence between the words. If you experiment with this you will find that your mind can pay complete attention without distraction and without resistance. When you discipline your mind saying, “I must not look out the window, I must not watch those people coming in, I must pay attention even though I want to do something else,” it creates a division which is very destructive because it decapitates the energy of the mind. But if you listen comprehensively so that there is no division and therefore no form of resistance then you will find that the mind can pay complete attention to anything without effort. Do you see it? Am I making myself clear?
Try what I am saying, and you will see how quickly your mind can learn. You can hear a song or a sound and let the mind be so completely full of it that there is not the effort of learning. After all, if you know how to listen to what your teacher is telling you about some historical fact, if you can listen without any resistance because your mind has space and silence and is therefore not distracted, you will be aware not only of the historical fact but also of the prejudice with which he may be translating it, and of your own inward response.
I will tell you something. You know what space is. There is space in this room. The distance between here and your hostel, between the bridge and your home, between this bank of the river and the other- all that is space. Now, is there also space in your mind? Or is it so crowded that there is no space at all? If your mind has space, then in that space there is silence- and from that silence everything else comes, for then you can listen, you can pay attention without resistance. That is why it is very important to have space in the mind. If the mind is not overcrowded, not ceaselessly occupied, then it can listen to that dog barking, to the sound of a train crossing the distant bridge, and also be fully aware of what is being said by a person talking here. Then the mind is a living thing, it is not dead.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
the Vertex
From Paulo Coehlo’s “The Witch of Portobello” pg. 49
On Sunday afternoon, while we were walking in the park, I asked her to pay attention to everything she was seeing and hearing: the leaves moving in the breeze, the waves on the lake, the birds signing, the dogs barking, the shouts of children as they ran back and forth, as if obeying some strange logic incomprehensible to grown-ups.
“Everything moves, and everything moves to a rhythm. And everything that moves to a rhythm creates a sound. At this moment, the same thing is happening here and everywhere else in the world. Our ancestors noticed the same thing when they tried to escape from the cold into caves: things moved and made noise. The first human beings may have been frightened at first, but that fear was soon replaced by a sense of awe: they understood that this was the way in which some Superior Being was communicating with them. In hope of reciprocating that communication, they started imitating the sounds and movements all around them- and thus dance and music were born. A few days ago, you told me that dance puts you in touch with something stronger than yourself.”
“Yes, when I dance I’m a free woman, or, rather, a free spirit who can travel through the universe, contemplate the present, divine the future, and be transformed into pure energy. And that gives me enormous pleasure, a joy that always goes far beyond everything I’ve experienced or will ever experience in my lifetime. There was a time when I was determined to become a saint, praising God through music and movement, but that path is closed to me forever now.”
“Which path do you mean?”
She made her son more comfortable in his stroller. I saw that she didn’t want to answer that question and so I asked again: when mouths close, it’s because there’s something important to be said.
Without a flicker of emotion, as if she’d always had to endure in silence the things life imposed on her, she told me about what happened at the church, when the priest- possibly her only friend- had refused her communion. She also told me about the curse she had uttered then, and that she had left the Catholic Church forever.
“A saint is someone who lives his or her life with dignity,” I explained. “All we have to do is understand that we’re all here for a reason and to commit ourselves to that. Then we can laugh at our sufferings, large and small, and walk fearlessly, aware that each step has meaning. We can let ourselves be guided by the light emanating from the Vertex.”
“What do you mean by the Vertex? In mathematics, it’s the topmost angle of a triangle.”
“In life too it’s the culminating point, the goal of all those who, like everyone else, make mistakes, but who, even in their darkest moments, never lose sight of the light emanating from their hearts. That’s what we’re trying to do in our group. The Vertex is hidden inside us, and we can reach it if we accept it and recognize its light.”
“I explained that I’d come up with the name “The Search for the Vertex” for the dance she’d watched on previous nights, performed by people of all ages (at the time there were ten of us, aged between nineteen and sixty-five). Athena asked where I’d found out about it.
I told her that, immediately following World War II, some of my family had managed to escape from the Communist regime that was taking over Poland, and decided to move to England. They’d been advised to bring with them art objects and antiquarian books, which, they were told, were highly valued in this part of the world.
Paintings and sculptures were quickly sold, but the books remained, gathering dust. My mother was keen for me to read and speak Polish, and the books formed part of my education. One day, inside a nineteenth-century edition of Thomas Malthus, I found two pages of notes written by my grandfather, who had died in a concentration camp. I started reading, assuming it would be something to do with an inheritance or else a passionate letter intended for a secret lover, because it was said that he’d fallen in love with someone in Russia.
There was, in fact, some truth to this. The pages contained a description of his journey to Siberia during the Communist revolution. There, in the remote village of Diedev, he fell in love with an actress. According to my grandfather, the actress was part of a sect that believed they had found the remedy for all ills through a particular kind of dance, because the dance brought the dancer into contact with the light from the Vertex.
They feared that the tradition would disappear; the inhabitants of the village were soon to be transported to another place. Both the actress and her friends begged him to write down what they had learned. He did but clearly didn’t think it was of much importance, because he left his notes inside a book, and there they remained until the day I found them.
Athena broke in:
“But dance isn’t something you write about, you have to do it.”
“Exactly. All the note says is this: Dance to the point of exhaustion, as if you were a mountaineer climbing a hill, a sacred mountain. Dance until you are so out of breath that your organism is forced to obtain oxygen in some other way, and it is that, in the end, that will cause you to lose your identity and your relationship with space and time. Dance only to the sound of percussion; repeat the process every day; know that, at a certain moment, your eyes will, quite naturally, close and you will begin to see a light that comes from within, a light that answers your questions and develops your hidden powers.”
“Have you developed some special power?”
Instead of replying I suggested that she join our group, since her son seemed perfectly at ease in the room with the dancers, even when the noise of the cymbals and the other percussion instruments was at its loudest. The following day, at the usual time, she was there for the start of the session. I introduced her to my friends, explaining that she was my upstairs neighbor. No one said anything about their lives or asked what she did. When the moment came, I turned on the music, and we began to dance.
She started dancing with her child in her arms, but he soon fell asleep, and she put him down on the sofa. Before I closed my eyes and went into trance, I saw that she had understood exactly what I meant by the path of the Vertex.
On Sunday afternoon, while we were walking in the park, I asked her to pay attention to everything she was seeing and hearing: the leaves moving in the breeze, the waves on the lake, the birds signing, the dogs barking, the shouts of children as they ran back and forth, as if obeying some strange logic incomprehensible to grown-ups.
“Everything moves, and everything moves to a rhythm. And everything that moves to a rhythm creates a sound. At this moment, the same thing is happening here and everywhere else in the world. Our ancestors noticed the same thing when they tried to escape from the cold into caves: things moved and made noise. The first human beings may have been frightened at first, but that fear was soon replaced by a sense of awe: they understood that this was the way in which some Superior Being was communicating with them. In hope of reciprocating that communication, they started imitating the sounds and movements all around them- and thus dance and music were born. A few days ago, you told me that dance puts you in touch with something stronger than yourself.”
“Yes, when I dance I’m a free woman, or, rather, a free spirit who can travel through the universe, contemplate the present, divine the future, and be transformed into pure energy. And that gives me enormous pleasure, a joy that always goes far beyond everything I’ve experienced or will ever experience in my lifetime. There was a time when I was determined to become a saint, praising God through music and movement, but that path is closed to me forever now.”
“Which path do you mean?”
She made her son more comfortable in his stroller. I saw that she didn’t want to answer that question and so I asked again: when mouths close, it’s because there’s something important to be said.
Without a flicker of emotion, as if she’d always had to endure in silence the things life imposed on her, she told me about what happened at the church, when the priest- possibly her only friend- had refused her communion. She also told me about the curse she had uttered then, and that she had left the Catholic Church forever.
“A saint is someone who lives his or her life with dignity,” I explained. “All we have to do is understand that we’re all here for a reason and to commit ourselves to that. Then we can laugh at our sufferings, large and small, and walk fearlessly, aware that each step has meaning. We can let ourselves be guided by the light emanating from the Vertex.”
“What do you mean by the Vertex? In mathematics, it’s the topmost angle of a triangle.”
“In life too it’s the culminating point, the goal of all those who, like everyone else, make mistakes, but who, even in their darkest moments, never lose sight of the light emanating from their hearts. That’s what we’re trying to do in our group. The Vertex is hidden inside us, and we can reach it if we accept it and recognize its light.”
“I explained that I’d come up with the name “The Search for the Vertex” for the dance she’d watched on previous nights, performed by people of all ages (at the time there were ten of us, aged between nineteen and sixty-five). Athena asked where I’d found out about it.
I told her that, immediately following World War II, some of my family had managed to escape from the Communist regime that was taking over Poland, and decided to move to England. They’d been advised to bring with them art objects and antiquarian books, which, they were told, were highly valued in this part of the world.
Paintings and sculptures were quickly sold, but the books remained, gathering dust. My mother was keen for me to read and speak Polish, and the books formed part of my education. One day, inside a nineteenth-century edition of Thomas Malthus, I found two pages of notes written by my grandfather, who had died in a concentration camp. I started reading, assuming it would be something to do with an inheritance or else a passionate letter intended for a secret lover, because it was said that he’d fallen in love with someone in Russia.
There was, in fact, some truth to this. The pages contained a description of his journey to Siberia during the Communist revolution. There, in the remote village of Diedev, he fell in love with an actress. According to my grandfather, the actress was part of a sect that believed they had found the remedy for all ills through a particular kind of dance, because the dance brought the dancer into contact with the light from the Vertex.
They feared that the tradition would disappear; the inhabitants of the village were soon to be transported to another place. Both the actress and her friends begged him to write down what they had learned. He did but clearly didn’t think it was of much importance, because he left his notes inside a book, and there they remained until the day I found them.
Athena broke in:
“But dance isn’t something you write about, you have to do it.”
“Exactly. All the note says is this: Dance to the point of exhaustion, as if you were a mountaineer climbing a hill, a sacred mountain. Dance until you are so out of breath that your organism is forced to obtain oxygen in some other way, and it is that, in the end, that will cause you to lose your identity and your relationship with space and time. Dance only to the sound of percussion; repeat the process every day; know that, at a certain moment, your eyes will, quite naturally, close and you will begin to see a light that comes from within, a light that answers your questions and develops your hidden powers.”
“Have you developed some special power?”
Instead of replying I suggested that she join our group, since her son seemed perfectly at ease in the room with the dancers, even when the noise of the cymbals and the other percussion instruments was at its loudest. The following day, at the usual time, she was there for the start of the session. I introduced her to my friends, explaining that she was my upstairs neighbor. No one said anything about their lives or asked what she did. When the moment came, I turned on the music, and we began to dance.
She started dancing with her child in her arms, but he soon fell asleep, and she put him down on the sofa. Before I closed my eyes and went into trance, I saw that she had understood exactly what I meant by the path of the Vertex.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
The River - Garth Brooks
You know a dream is like a river
Ever changin' as it flows
And a dreamer's just a vessel
That must follow where it goes
Trying to learn from what's behind you
And never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores...and
I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Too many times we stand aside
And let the waters slip away
'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow
Has now become today
So don't you sit upon the shoreline
And say you're satisfied
Choose to chance the rapids
And dare to dance the tide...yes
I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
There's bound to be rough waters
And I know I'll take some falls
But with the good Lord as my captain
I can make it through them all...yes
I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Yes, I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
'Til the river runs dry
+Ever changin' as it flows
And a dreamer's just a vessel
That must follow where it goes
Trying to learn from what's behind you
And never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores...and
I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Too many times we stand aside
And let the waters slip away
'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow
Has now become today
So don't you sit upon the shoreline
And say you're satisfied
Choose to chance the rapids
And dare to dance the tide...yes
I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
There's bound to be rough waters
And I know I'll take some falls
But with the good Lord as my captain
I can make it through them all...yes
I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Yes, I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
'Til the river runs dry
It's just no fun taking pictures by myself, but I will soon I promise. This here is the picture of the Rockies as I approached from the East. How about that?
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
no aspen photos yet, "Discovery on the go!"
I'm here and it's beautiful, but no pictures yet. So here's some entertainment.
This is the very morning I discovered and awoke to the metaphysical properties of self discovery afforded by arts and crafts. "This is my fleet," and the rest is history...
If you look closely at the different ships you can notice an evolution in building styles within the course of the experience. From the tin-foil sails on straws to the paper sails taped to the chopsticks stuck in the half-potatoe that's taped to the main deck- you can really see the fantastical phenomena of life figuring out life! Discovery on the go! That's what it's all about!
Discovery on the go!
(do you see that t-shirt image too?
Let's go back to college!
It was 73 degrees and sunny on Saturday in Boulder, and 22 degrees and snowing on Sunday. The winter has greeted me in the Rockies...
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Vabeeotchay
So I was driving thorugh Oklahoma yesterday, listening to a Keller Williams show, and he played a song I'd heard before but never really put together what it was about. It's called "Vabeeotchay". Great little song about freakin gout someplace great or something, great song. Then I heard him say, "Virginia Beach" which when you write it looks like "Va Beach" which when you say it could should like "Vabeeotchay" and then I remembered Keller Williams is from Virginia and the song's about Virginia Beach, which reminded me to post a link to the photos from my cousin's wedding which was in Vabeeotchay two weekends ago. So here is the link to lots of great photos, and here are the lyrics to the Keller Williams song...
Photos Here
Photos Here
Vabeeotchay
by Keller Williams
walking in my running shoes
arms flailing on a winter beach
the calmness of the off season
dog is freaking out of reach
unleashed insanity
with ears all a flappin'
disregard for the uptight runner
with tongues and lips all a smackin'
I like this place
But I have to Leave
It's much better than reality
pretend the movie Rollerball
as I blade top speed down the boardwalk
zinging by all the blue hair
as I skate the races in my thoughts
hopping cracks and dodging sand drifts
with only a timely precision
my mind is clear as a race car driver
I cannot afford a poor decision
wet suit, booties, glove and a hood
a chill bites into me just watching
freezing water as it should
no fear just balls
then no stopping
dropping in on a big chilly wall
spectators with the metal detectors
pedaling a low ride cruiser
with a rear view mirror and a red reflector
I like this place
But I have to Leave
It's much better than reality
Virginia Beach, yep
Virginia Beach
Vabeeotchay
by Keller Williams
walking in my running shoes
arms flailing on a winter beach
the calmness of the off season
dog is freaking out of reach
unleashed insanity
with ears all a flappin'
disregard for the uptight runner
with tongues and lips all a smackin'
I like this place
But I have to Leave
It's much better than reality
pretend the movie Rollerball
as I blade top speed down the boardwalk
zinging by all the blue hair
as I skate the races in my thoughts
hopping cracks and dodging sand drifts
with only a timely precision
my mind is clear as a race car driver
I cannot afford a poor decision
wet suit, booties, glove and a hood
a chill bites into me just watching
freezing water as it should
no fear just balls
then no stopping
dropping in on a big chilly wall
spectators with the metal detectors
pedaling a low ride cruiser
with a rear view mirror and a red reflector
I like this place
But I have to Leave
It's much better than reality
Virginia Beach, yep
Virginia Beach
Vabeeotchay
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
a noble truth, a joy sublime
Peace on Earth
Railroad Earth
Went to the valley at harvest time
Gathered the grain and shared the wine
A noble truth, a joy sublime
Peace will shine with the morning
Railroad Earth
Went to the valley at harvest time
Gathered the grain and shared the wine
A noble truth, a joy sublime
Peace will shine with the morning
Peace
Peace on earth
Peace
Peace on earth
Peace
Peace on Earth
Peace will shine with the morning
Went from the valley into the woods
I listened to the soul and I understood
“Everything for the common good”
and peace will shine with the morning
Peace
Peace on earth
Peace
Peace on earth
Peace
Peace on Earth
Peace will shine with the morning
Heart mind as one
A circle growing
A universe
In you and me
In returning to
This golden moment
We sing with the heavens in Harmony
Heart mind as one
A river flowing
Love can conquer suffering
Let’s find the place
Where light is showing
And swim the water ever flowing
Peace
Peace on earth
Peace
Peace on earth
Peace
Peace on Earth
Peace will shine with the morning
Inside stillness activity
In the roots of the giving tree
Follow the branches and you will see
That peace will shine with the morning
I went to the valley at harvest time
Gathered the grain and shared the wine
A noble truth, a joy sublime!
Peace will shine with the morning
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
at the mid south fair
(The Blindfolded Ice Cream Feeding Contest)
Cottonmouth
String Cheese Incident
There's a snake hole dug in the Mississippi mud
Black snake swimming in the water.
This is the story that the cottonmouth told,
Told to the cotton picker's daughter.
There's a snake flows down through the middle of the land
Black snake made of water.
Then the snake skin peels and the new moon wheels,
A'dancin' with the daughters.
Down in New Orleans, stompin' down
Up in Memphis hanging 'round
Cottonmouth don't make no sound
Cottonmouth don't fool around.
Chopping cotton in the sun
Women's work is never done (oh no)
Sunday dresses, dusty shoes,
Ladies sing the gospel blues.
With their singin' shoutin' prayin'
Cryin' "Glory Hallelujah"
Life's too short for fear of dying,
When the river's high.
Down in New Orleans, stompin' down. . .
Time stands still in cotton patches,
Flannel shirts and old blue jeans.
Red winged blackbirds standing sentry
On the banks of New Orleans.
Across the dry fields, Old Man River
Rustles through the cotton rows.
Levee's broke and the water's rising
That snake just goes and goes.
Rich man, poor man, it don't matter,
When your time has come.
This old river's bound for glory
In the setting sun.
Crickets singing, bullfrogs shouting
"Glory Hallelujah!"
Young man seeds the old man's harvest,
Master's house has come undone.
String Cheese Incident
There's a snake hole dug in the Mississippi mud
Black snake swimming in the water.
This is the story that the cottonmouth told,
Told to the cotton picker's daughter.
There's a snake flows down through the middle of the land
Black snake made of water.
Then the snake skin peels and the new moon wheels,
A'dancin' with the daughters.
Down in New Orleans, stompin' down
Up in Memphis hanging 'round
Cottonmouth don't make no sound
Cottonmouth don't fool around.
Chopping cotton in the sun
Women's work is never done (oh no)
Sunday dresses, dusty shoes,
Ladies sing the gospel blues.
With their singin' shoutin' prayin'
Cryin' "Glory Hallelujah"
Life's too short for fear of dying,
When the river's high.
Down in New Orleans, stompin' down. . .
Time stands still in cotton patches,
Flannel shirts and old blue jeans.
Red winged blackbirds standing sentry
On the banks of New Orleans.
Across the dry fields, Old Man River
Rustles through the cotton rows.
Levee's broke and the water's rising
That snake just goes and goes.
Rich man, poor man, it don't matter,
When your time has come.
This old river's bound for glory
In the setting sun.
Crickets singing, bullfrogs shouting
"Glory Hallelujah!"
Young man seeds the old man's harvest,
Master's house has come undone.
Monday, October 01, 2007
a teacher's final lecture
thanks to bo for passing this on to me. watch this video if you've ever known someone affected by cancer. ha...
click here
click here
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