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Monthly Archives: October 2013

Listen

ivonprefontaine:

This is central to a couple papers I am working on while I take my break from actively blogging this week. Silence is the space where things happen for us.

Originally posted on Life Is Color:

 

Silence is rich. It is dark and viscous and it flows on waves of nothingness.  Silence begs to be filled and filled it must be. It is lonely and demanding and chill to the touch but it tastes smooth like the breeze. Silence is an opulent black pearl and one of the rarest gems on Earth.

There is a simple profoundness that can be found in the absence of sound. The emptiness that silence provides often gives rise to thought–the deep kind. The sort that give birth to leaps of logic and flights of the imagination. Silence is the canvas on which beautiful art can be created. It sits and waits patiently.

Silence isn’t in a hurry. It doesn’t need to explain itself or impress anyone or anything. It just is. It is the essence of cool. 

I love silence. I crave it even. It is sorely needed in this…

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What day is it?

ivonprefontaine:

I am back online I think. It has been a hectic few days getting home and catching up in various ways with everyone here. It feels like hump day and a little humour is in order. I love these ads by Geico.

Originally posted on sachemspeaks:

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Shepherd

I have a three-week break and will head home for a couple of weeks on Monday, so will be offline for a couple of days. It is a longer sabbath than normal, but it will be a long day on Monday. The wanderer is going from thought country and will find his way home as William Stafford suggested in this poem. We are each shepherded home in some fashion, at some time.

According to the silence, winter has arrived—

a special kind of winter. I, its inventor,

watch it freeze in calendars and stare

out of clocks. I do not feel its cold.

Across a certain farm evening crows go flying,

intervals of the sky that I have seen before,

the bearing of a river. I advance, a wanderer

out of thought country, that serious quiet place,

Till according to the silence all the light is gone

and according to the dark all wanderers are home.

Life means

ivonprefontaine:

This is a little in the day, but here is a wonderful poem about the need to create hope and divine spirits with our children.

Originally posted on advocatemmmohan aksharaalu:

Slum children at the Food for Life School in V...

Let us

seed hopes 

in the minds of children to fly like birds

Let us

kindle divine spirits

in the hearts of children to glow the world like sun

Life means to love and to live in every moment of time

                                                             ……………………………advocatemmmohan

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Emily Dickinson

This post reminded me of cumulative effect within nature. When we look at the waterfall. we do not see the drops which make it up. When we look at the drops, we do not yet see the waterfall.

Today, like eve…

ivonprefontaine:

What a beautiful sentiment by Rumi.

Originally posted on Radiating Blossom ~ Flowers & Words:

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

~ Rumi

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I Go Among Trees

I begin with an apology to followers. The email feed of those who I follow has not worked the last two days. This is the second this has happened in the last couple of months. I am not sure what has caused the malfunction at the junction, but I will look into it this weekend after my classes wrap up for the week.

Wendell Berry wrote this poem about taking time and waiting for the right time to do the work. It has been busy and I will have time with a three-week break from classes to sit among the trees hopefully literally and figuratively

I go among the trees and sit still

All my stirring becomes quiet

around me like circles on water.

My tasks lie in their places

Where I left them, asleep like cattle…

Then what is afraid of me comes

and lives a while in my sight.

What it fears in me leaves me,

and the fear of me leaves it.

It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.

I live for a while in its sight.

What I fear in it leaves it,

And the fear of it leaves me.

It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,

mute in my consternations,

I hear my song at last,

and I sing it. As we sing,

the day turns, the trees move.

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