Andreas Feininger. noted for his dynamic black-and-white scenes of Manhattan and studies of the structure of natural objects.
Thank you, firsttimeuser.
Ode 314
Those who don’t feel this Love
pulling them like a river,
those who don’t drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take in sunset like supper,
those who don’t want to change,
let them sleep.
This Love is beyond the study of theology,
that old trickery and hypocrisy.
I you want to improve your mind that way,
sleep on.
I’ve given up on my brain.
I’ve torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.
If you’re not completely naked,
wrap your beautiful robe of words
around you,
and sleep.
~ Rumi, Ode 314 from Like This, Coleman Barks
Edward Weston, Maguey Cactus, Mexico, 1926; photograph; gelatin silver print, 7 3/8 in. x 9 5/16 in. (18.73 cm x 23.65 cm); Collection SFMOMA. Thank you, yama-bato.
“The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun.”
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby.
Nice one, nevver. Thank you.
>
recycled soul: “Going out for Cigarettes” by Billy Collins
It’s a story as famous as the three little pigs:
one evening a man says he is going out for cigarettes,
closes the door behind him and is never heard from again,
not one phone call, not even a postcard from Rio.
For all anyone knows, he walks straight into the distance
like a line from Euclid’s notebooks and vanishes
with the smoke he blows into the soft humid air,
smoke that forms a screen, smoke to calm the bees within.
He has his fresh pack, an overcoat with big pockets.
What else does he need as he walks beyond city limits,
past the hedges, porch lights and empty cars of the suburbs
and into a realm no larger than his own hat size?
Alone, he is a solo for piano that never comes to an end,
a small plane that keeps flying away from the earth.
He is the last line of a poem that continues off the page
and down to a river to drag there in the cool flow,
questioning the still pools with its silver hook.
Let us say this is the place where the man who goes out
for cigarettes finally comes to rest: on a riverbank
above the long, inquisitive wriggling of that line,
sitting content in the quiet picnic of consciousness,
nothing on his mind as he lights up another one,
nothing but the arc of the stone bridge he notices
downstream, and its upturned reflection in the water.
—Billy Collins
Thank you, recycledsoul.
Sri Arnivan
“It is necessary, first of all, to set in order the things outside ourselves, for only when the mind is somewhat freed from outer disturbances can it go within But in establishing order in our external circumstances, we must not depend on others. Instead of trying to change the actions of others, we must try rather to change our own reaction to them. In all our contacts and relations with the world, we must strive to maintain equality of mind.”
***
“The true meaning of purifying your feeling is to become as empty as the sky. To possess the All, it is first necessary to be empty, to be void. And in that void, your deep-rooted impressions…will naturally arise in form. To give up everything in order to gain everything this is the key to all practice of Yoga.”
—Sri Arnivan: Inner Yoga: Selected Writings of Sri Arnivan. Morning Light Press, 2007.
“My ambition is not very great. It is to live a life rich in impressions, luminous to the end; to leave behind a few books embodying my lifelong search for Truth, and a few souls who have caught fire. My aim? Simply to inspire people and give them the most complete freedom to live their own life. No glamour, no fame, no institution—nothing. To live simply and die luminously.”
Sri Arnivan: Inner Yoga: Selected Writings of Sri Arnivan. Morning Light Press, 2007. Photo: Wikipedia, User: Ushaiza
From parabola-magazine.
Amory wandered slowly up the avenue and thought of the night as inevitably his— the pageantry and carnival of rich dusk and dim streets…it seemed that he had closed the book of fading harmonies at last and stepped into the sensuous vibrant walks of life. Everywhere these countless lights, this promise of a night of streets and singing— he moved in a half-dream through the crowd as if expecting to meet Rosalind hurrying toward him with eager feet from every corner… .How the unforgettable faces of dusk would blend to her, the myriad footsteps, a thousand overtures, would blend to her footsteps; and there would be more drunkenness than wine in the softness of her eyes on his. Even his dreams now were faint violins drifting like summer sounds upon the summer air.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise (Oh man, that cat could write. Thank you, liquidnight)
Jason Langer, Figure No. 87. Thank you, billyjane. See here as well & more @ liquidnight.
