Yesterday: The silence of infinite space.
Today: The space of infinite silence.
Tomorrow: ?
by Indra Okat
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Russell / 11/11
It is very singular how little men seem to realise that they are not caught in the grip of a mechanism from which there is no escape, but that the treadmill is one upon which they remain merely because they have not noticed that it fails to take them to a higher level. I am thinking, of course, of men in higher walks of business, men who already have a good income and could, if they chose, live on what they have. To do so would seem to them shameful, like deserting from the army in the face of the enemy, though if you ask them what public cause they are serving by their work, they will be at a loss to reply as soon as they have run through the platitudes to be found in the advertisements of the strenuous life.
Consider the life of such a man. He has, we may suppose, a charming house, a charming wife, and charming children. He wakes up early in the morning while they are still asleep and hurries off to his office. There it is his duty to display the qualities of a great executive; he cultivates a firm jaw, a decisive manner of speech, and an air of sagacious reserve calculated to impress everybody except the office boy. He dictates letters, converses with various important persons on the phone, studies the market, and presently has lunch with some person with whom he is conducting or hoping to conduct a deal. The same sort of thing goes on all afternoon. He arrives home, tired, just in time to dress for dinner. At dinner he and a number of other tired men have to pretend to enjoy the company of ladies who have no occasion to feel tired yet. How many hours it may take the poor man to escape it is impossible to foresee. At last he sleeps, and for a few hours the tension is released.
The working life of this man has the psychology of a hundred-yards race, but as the race upon which he is engaged is one whose only goal is the grave, the concentration, which is appropriate enough for a hundred yards, becomes in the end somewhat excessive. What does he know of his wife? When he leaves her in the morning, she is asleep. Throughout the evening he and she are engaged in social duties which prevent intimate conversation. He has probably no men friends who are important to him, although he has a number with whom he affects a geniality that he wishes he felt. Of springtime and harvest he knows only as they affect the market; foreign countries he has probably seen, but with eyes of utter boredom. Books seem to him futile, and music highbrow. Year by year he grows more lonely; his attention grows more concentrated and his life outside business more desiccated.
Excerpt from Bertrand Russell's "The Conquest of Happiness"
Consider the life of such a man. He has, we may suppose, a charming house, a charming wife, and charming children. He wakes up early in the morning while they are still asleep and hurries off to his office. There it is his duty to display the qualities of a great executive; he cultivates a firm jaw, a decisive manner of speech, and an air of sagacious reserve calculated to impress everybody except the office boy. He dictates letters, converses with various important persons on the phone, studies the market, and presently has lunch with some person with whom he is conducting or hoping to conduct a deal. The same sort of thing goes on all afternoon. He arrives home, tired, just in time to dress for dinner. At dinner he and a number of other tired men have to pretend to enjoy the company of ladies who have no occasion to feel tired yet. How many hours it may take the poor man to escape it is impossible to foresee. At last he sleeps, and for a few hours the tension is released.
The working life of this man has the psychology of a hundred-yards race, but as the race upon which he is engaged is one whose only goal is the grave, the concentration, which is appropriate enough for a hundred yards, becomes in the end somewhat excessive. What does he know of his wife? When he leaves her in the morning, she is asleep. Throughout the evening he and she are engaged in social duties which prevent intimate conversation. He has probably no men friends who are important to him, although he has a number with whom he affects a geniality that he wishes he felt. Of springtime and harvest he knows only as they affect the market; foreign countries he has probably seen, but with eyes of utter boredom. Books seem to him futile, and music highbrow. Year by year he grows more lonely; his attention grows more concentrated and his life outside business more desiccated.
Excerpt from Bertrand Russell's "The Conquest of Happiness"
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Gabriel-ities
So Dr. Libinski left today. A wonderful 4 days with him, his thoughts, his ideas and his (the strangest till date) sense of humour. We had wonderful exchanges on life, humanity, creativity, utopian societies, violins, flutes, 21-gear bicycles, dot dot dot. I took his room (and all its positive energy) to begin a more disciplined way of being. One thing he said really made me think. A very very frail poor boy came to us asking for money and he said that most people dont deserve the bodies they have because of the way they abuse it with drugs, alcohol, cigarettes. Its time to wake up. A simple thing to say, yes, but a valid one. One for thought. Not only thought, action too. Act. Or die. There's no other way forward.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Survivors of the mind / Heartlatitudes
The geography of the mind separates itself phsyically from the latitudes of the heart. An awakening of the mind is the only (visceral) path for the real self, the potentiality of self in the oneness of mind and heart, in full colour.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
A Tendency
To own, to want, to think, to perform, to achieve, to kill, to talk...
Tendencies so disconnected, so disembodied
from the landscape of your heart.
Tendencies so disconnected, so disembodied
from the landscape of your heart.
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