"When I watch the throngs that move and linger about the streets of a very populous town, and notice no other expression in their faces than one of hunted stupor, I can never help commenting to myself upon the misery of their condition. For them all, art exists only that they may be still more wretched, torpid, insensible, or even more flurried and covetous. For incorrect feeling governs and drills them unremittingly, and does not even give them time to become aware of their misery. Should they wish to speak, convention whispers their cue to them, and this makes them forget what they originally intended to say; should they desire to understand one another, their comprehension is maimed as though by a spell: they declare that to be their joy which in reality is but their doom, and they proceed to collaborate in wilfully bringing about their own damnation. Thus they have become transformed into perfectly and absolutely different creatures, and reduced to the state of abject slaves of incorrect feeling" unfettered freedom {not a denial of the value of structure: as long as such furthers autonomy and self-sufficieny}, creativity {expression/ reinterpretation-redefinition of being/ rendering of such}, solitude-symbiosis-homeostasis. subtleties, nourishment, walking, reading..imagination, love, growth/ self-overcoming, wonder, awe. living nude among icy peaks- juggling coals"Our thoughts are the epochs of our life; all else is but as a journal of the winds that blew while we were here…" "Let me glide forth in moonlight's mystery, But never, while I live this changeful life, This past and future with all wonders rife, Never, bright flame, may be denied to me Thy dear, life-imaging, close sympathy. What but my hopes shot upward e'er so bright? What but my fortunes sunk so low in night?Why art thou banished from our hearth and hall, Thou who art welcomed and beloved by all? Was thy existence then too fanciful For our life's common light, who are so dull? Did thy bright gleam mysterious converse hold With our congenial souls? secrets too bold? Well, we are safe and strong, for now we sit Beside a hearth where no dim shadows flit, Where nothing cheers nor saddens, but a fire Warms feet and hands—nor does to more aspire; By whose compact, utilitarian heap The present may sit down and go to sleep, Nor fear the ghosts who from the dim past walked, And with us by the unequal light of the old wood-fire talked."secular humanism
nudists, inquisitors, loving curious and passionate creators, and those who can withhold judgment... "They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow; They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from expense; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die, But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds." {Shakespeare: Sonnet XCIV}-- and no, not a "hero" who i wish to meet- simply and life-affirming and brilliant man
Brahman’s breath
The thinker or artist whose better self has fled into his works feels an almost malicious joy when he sees his body and spirit slowly broken into and destroyed by time; it is as if he were in a corner, watching a thief at work on his safe, all the while knowing that it is empty and that all his treasures have been rescued.
umbilical cord/ cranial needle/ ravaging indoctrination
better left as rings. Recycled books. totting 8pt double page print outs.
useless