Please join me in my journey to the strange and mysterious.
Friday, December 28, 2018
Thursday, December 27, 2018
Monday, December 24, 2018
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
Monday, December 10, 2018
Sunday, December 09, 2018
Friday, December 07, 2018
Monday, December 03, 2018
Making God Necessary, by Deepak Chopra
https://parabola.org/2018/10/27/making-god-necessary-by-deepak-chopra/?fbclid=IwAR1DiSQADn_0KjXNS4tn-1fxo7U1XzahmdWCjSyW74BrcG6yUTtLwgDCZAg
Making God Necessary, by Deepak Chopra
Why God is a verb, not a noun
The practice of medicine, which I began after moving from India to the United States in 1971, is an odd opening to God. But finding out what’s wrong with a patient comes close to being a spiritual investigation, improbable as this may sound. Unless someone is wheeled into the emergency room with a broken leg or a gunshot wound—both were common occurrences in the New Jersey hospital that was my first exposure to American medicine—the doctor begins by asking, “What’s wrong?” The patient then gives a subjective account of his aches, pains, and specific discomfort. This account is likely to be filtered through distortions such as high anxiety, distrust of medicine, or in my case back then, skepticism that a young M.D. from India really knew anything. (“Can I see a real doctor?” was written on the faces of many patients in an era when the Vietnam War had created a doctor shortage, leading to an influx of foreign-born and foreign-trained physicians.)
Although we all visit the doctor routinely to find out what’s wrong with us, certain situations depend almost entirely upon subject-reporting. Pain is the most obvious example. There is no objective measure for pain, no reliable scale like the level of liver enzymes or hormones in the blood. “It hurts” is the only standard, and the patient’s description of how much it hurts and where cannot be refuted. Depression and anxiety are also heavily dependent on subject-reporting. Even though brain scans are beginning to offer a hint at objective measurement, the general conclusion seems to be that every depressed patient is a unique case.
Diagnosis, then, implies a subtle struggle between what the patient report and what the physician concludes to be true. The unspoken object of this contest, from the doctor’s viewpoint, is to reduce subjectivity as much as possible so that medical science can get at the facts and nothing but the facts. It is absolutely necessary for subjectivity not to rule the practice of medicine, while on the other hand pure objectivity is a chimera.
https://parabola.org/2018/10/27/making-god-necessary-by-deepak-chopra/?fbclid=IwAR1DiSQADn_0KjXNS4tn-1fxo7U1XzahmdWCjSyW74BrcG6yUTtLwgDCZAgcontinue the story here
Sunday, December 02, 2018
She has come Home
https://www.elephantjournal.com/2018/11/she-always-knew-this-day-would-come/?fbclid=IwAR1n4FLKV9Zx_q4WJwVOr7KV3lpnFw9X-2Mfz1IcrxnwR_lgq42BMaFYZ3g
She has come Home. {Poem}
‘Cause this day has come, not out of nowhere. It’s come because she’s worked hard for it, diving deep, facing all the darkness she needed to face for many years.
It comes in speaking up and standing her ground when it is so hard to do just that.
It comes in feeling deeply and knowing that is important.
It comes in trusting who she is meant to be.
Like a storm, it all grows in power and collects at sea as she does this raw, difficult work—as she chooses not to turn away from herself. As she keeps on keepin’ on, through the anger, the heartbreak, the sorrow, the fear—through it all.
And now, the sweet rewards of that courage drip down her chin, like a rich, exotic fruit.
Finally, she knows she can be.
Be here.
Be real.
Be tender.
Be sexy.
Be weird.
Be badass—not by stretching herself thin or doing too much or being everything to everyone—
But by being herself.
And that makes all the difference.
~
She has come Home. {Poem}
She always knew this day would come.
The day when she would embody herself completely.
The day when all the things other people thought of her and the cute, convenient little things they wanted her to be would blow away like brittle, red leaves in the crisp fall air—taking with them the old wounds.
And it’s not just death. It’s not just the wild breath of release.
It’s the space for something so much more.
Because she is fire.
The kind of fire that’s like water—sensitive, soft, empathic, and powerful exactly because of those things.
And her waters can bubble, they can gush and churn and heat up—they can shock and make sh*t happen.
But now—
Now, it’s all in the way she roots, closer to the ground.
No more hiding. No more quieting. No more muting that voice inside her that just knows.
She glistens now, the way wildflowers do in the tender first light of the morning, right before the sun explodes into the sky. She listens now, to the truth that resides within.
She always knew this day would come.
The day when all the noisy definitions given to her by society—and all the scripted, hollow crap that women are supposed to be—would peel away.
She is left raw, naked, exposed—and an exquisite quiet, a deep tenderness permeates from the atmosphere, like the first flakes of falling snow.
It feels scary, yes. Maybe even stark or strange.
But there is wholeness.
Integration.
Power.
The delicious understanding that she doesn’t have to be anything in particular.
She can be herself—oh, yes—and that is enough.
It is vast, sweet, wild, beautiful, and strong. It is resilient. It is messy and complicated. And it is not the story read aloud to her about what she should be. It is not even written in the lines relayed to her about what an empowered woman looks like.
No.
She gets to write this book. She gets to pen the definitions that feel just right.
Because she is fire. The kind of fire that risks it all to be authentic, rather than a flimsy sliver of herself.
And it’s not just about rising—it’s about the thing she always avoided—
Rooting.
Now, it’s all about being her body—daring to fully inhabit the delightful flesh of her legs, breasts, arms, and the bowl of her pelvis. Oh, yes! Her skin rejoices.
She has come home.
A deep, resounding song echoes in her belly, the vibration spreading through the lusciousness of her entire body.
She sends her roots deep, deep into the molten, muddy center of the earth. And it feels so good.
And this day—it has a sparkle, a glisten mostly seen in the salty tears at the corners of her eyes. But more than anything, it is real.
Home. Really home. It was time.
It is not just the fluff made up in fairy tales.‘Cause this day has come, not out of nowhere. It’s come because she’s worked hard for it, diving deep, facing all the darkness she needed to face for many years.
It comes in speaking up and standing her ground when it is so hard to do just that.
It comes in feeling deeply and knowing that is important.
It comes in trusting who she is meant to be.
Like a storm, it all grows in power and collects at sea as she does this raw, difficult work—as she chooses not to turn away from herself. As she keeps on keepin’ on, through the anger, the heartbreak, the sorrow, the fear—through it all.
And now, the sweet rewards of that courage drip down her chin, like a rich, exotic fruit.
Finally, she knows she can be.
Be here.
Be real.
Be tender.
Be sexy.
Be weird.
Be badass—not by stretching herself thin or doing too much or being everything to everyone—
But by being herself.
And that makes all the difference.
~
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Farmer's deliemma save bees or save themselves
https://whowhatwhy.org/2018/11/28/farmers-dilemma-save-bees-or-save-themselves/s
Saving the bee — an indispensable pollinator for many crops — is one of the most pressing challenges facing agriculture today. Yet farmers are being paid government subsidies to plant crops in ways that are harmful to bees.
Many US farmers have to decide whether they want to reverse the decline of bee populations through sustainable practices, or risk devastating their own livelihoods — and the future of some major food crops — through the pursuit of short-term profits.
Behind this ongoing crisis in agriculture looms the specter of climate change.
Saturday, December 01, 2018
Friday, November 30, 2018
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Dream a little dream of me - Mamas & Papas with lyrics - (AlMan-Glavx)
Dream a little dream of me - Mamas & Papas with lyrics - (AlMan-Glavx)
The Chinese Pyramids and the pole star
https://www.eurekalert.org/pub_releases/2018-11/pdm-tp112818.php
Politecnico di Milano
the Terracotta Warriors Image
Politecnico di Milano
the Terracotta Warriors Image
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Sarah Harvey, I love your writing… I can usually tell it’s your work before I finish reading the piece. Your words are beautiful and real and are felt in the heart. Much love to you, sister.
Love, Sarah