At 11:46 PM 12/31/2007, you wrote:
>"Action is thy duty, reward not thy concern." (Bhagavad Gita) > > > > Date: Mon, 31 Dec 2007 02:52:39 -0500 > > To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > > From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > > Subject: Re: [MD] Mind-body practice > > > > At 12:20 AM 12/31/2007, you wrote: > > > >>Hello everyone > >> > >>> Date: Sun, 30 Dec 2007 02:53:33 -0500 > >>> To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > >>> From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > >>> Subject: Re: [MD] Mind-body practice > >>> > >>> At 01:46 AM 12/30/2007, you wrote: > >>> > >>>>Hello everyone > >>>> > >>>> > >>>>> Date: Wed, 26 Dec 2007 15:02:53 -0500 > >>>>> To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > >>>>> From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > >>>>> Subject: Re: [MD] Mind-body practice > >>>>> > >>>>> At 01:58 PM 12/26/2007, you wrote: > >>>>> > >>>>>>Hello everyone > >>>>>> > >>>>>> > >>>>>>> Date: Wed, 26 Dec 2007 02:29:31 -0500 > >>>>>>> To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > >>>>>>> From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] > >>>>>>> Subject: Re: [MD] Mind-body practice > >>>>>>> > >>>>>>> At 06:36 AM 12/25/2007, Krimel wrote: > >>>>>>> > >>>>>>> > >>>>>>>>[Krimel] > >>>>>>>>I engage in a daily practice of reading, listening, study, > meditation, > >>>>>>>>discussion and writing on concepts that make-up the associationistic > >>>>>>>>patterns of my thoughts. I probe these patterns for error and > >>>> look for new > >>>>>>>>concepts and new ways to incorporate new concepts into this > >>>>>> network of ideas > >>>>>>>>and associations. > >>>>>>>> > >>>>>>>>I rejoice in the mystical sensations of new ideas shaking the > >> network and > >>>>>>>>creating Gestalt shifts in my perception. I am rewarded when > >> new thoughts > >>>>>>>>and associations occur to me and when new fractal patterns > >>>> emerge from the > >>>>>>>>effort. I observe the illusions of the moment in light of the > >>>> illusions of > >>>>>>>>the past and wait in awe for the shifting illusions of the future. > >>>>>>>> > >>>>>>>>I expand my consciousness (whatever that is) by bringing in > >> new ideas and > >>>>>>>>testing old ones. I reflect on film, art, music and new > >>>> narrative concepts > >>>>>>>>that employ fiction to augment facets in the structure of > my thoughts. > >>>>>>>> > >>>>>>>>I seek harmony in the thoughts of others and marvel at the > >>>> infinite variety > >>>>>>>>of perception and processing available to the human spirit. > >>>>>>> > >>>>>>> > >>>>>>> Greetings, > >>>>>>> > >>>>>>> I've been thinking about what Krimel wrote here. I like to play this > >>>>>>> game. I thought this description really quite beautiful. It can't > >>>>>>> be taken seriously though, it is play, it is Lila. But this game > >>>>>>> also seems contrary to all the literature on the Tao, Buddhism, > >>>>>>> etc. Maybe I'm missing something, but that seems silly. How can > >>>>>>> anything be excluded? > >>>>>>> > >>>>>>> Anybody have any thoughts? > >>>>>> > >>>>>>Hi Marsha > >>>>>> > >>>>>>I agree it's intellectually appealing to learn new ideas and to fill > >>>>>>our days chasing empty concepts. I think the MOQ says that that > >>>>>>takes us away from Dynamic Quality, however. It doesn't bring us > >>>>>>closer. Perhaps that is what the literature on the Tao and Buddhism > >>>>>>is telling you. > >>>>>> > >>>>>>Thanks, > >>>>>> > >>>>>>Dan > >>>>> > >>>>> > >>>>> Dan, > >>>>> > >>>>> Perhaps if this is what one did all day long, every day. Or if one > >>>>> mistook their thoughts and ideas for the truth. > >>>>>But what if you think like Tim Robbins, "I believe in nothing, > >>>> everything is sacred, > >>>>> I believe in everything, nothing is sacred." Then isn't thinking, > >>>>> with nonattachment, the same as a cloud, or tree, or flowing > >>>>> river? > >>>>>This is a serious question. It's hard for me to believe > >>>>> that this particular aspect of nature should be negated. Isn't it > >>>>> attachment that causes suffering and illusion? > >>>> > >>>>Hi Marsha > >>>> > >>>>I've heard it said that ignorance of the nature of all living beings > >>>>as well as the nature of inanimate things gives rise to suffering. > >>>>This ignorance is the notion that all exists in and of itself, > >>>>separate and apart from all else. Is that what you mean by attachment? > >>>> > >>>>Thank you, > >>>> > >>>>Dan > >>> > >>> Greetings, > >>> > >>> No, that's not exactly what I mean, but that would also seem to cause > >>> suffering. I was considering more the transitory nature of > >>> experience. More like trying to capture a river using a bucket. Or > >>> capturing a cloud in a jar. Or capturing rain using a bottle. Or > >>> thinking memory has captured experience. > >>> > >>> Interesting that the painting I'm working with is needing a broken > >>> arrow and a bottle of rain. Trying to imagine what kind of bottle > >>> this man would use to bring rain has got me baffled. A Budweiser > >>> bottle just doesn't seem right. > >> > >>The Rain Jar > >> > >>I once knew a man in Arkansas who was building a cordwood house on > >>top of a mountain on an old foundation, which was all that remained > >>of a prior dwelling. The home was located deep in the woods in a > >>pretty little valley reached by driving several miles down old dirt > >>logging trails. The locals called it Hippie Hollow as there were > >>quite a number of families living there who were practicing > >>alternative lifestyles. Now-a-days such goings-on might be tolerated > >>but this was back in the middle '70's so the experiment was doomed > >>from the start. We of course didn't understand that at the time... > >>it is only in retrospect that I understand it now. > >> > >>Since I didn't have any pressing engagements in those days I found > >>was able to spend the summer there helping to build the cordwood > >>house. Now I had heretofore never built a cordwood house nor in fact > >>had I ever heard of such a creation. But the man assured me once > >>complete the house would last a thousand years or more. It struck me > >>at that time that such an acclomplishment had real value and so > >>without hope of recompense I spent several months laboring away deep > >>in an Arkansas forest building a dwelling that would last a thousand > >>years. We spend the days cutting cordwood and the nights reading ZMM > >>by the campfire and discussing Quality. > >> > >>I might have neglected until now to mention that the man of whom I > >>speak didn't have two nickels to rub together. Since the local > >>well-driller charged several thousand dollars to drill a well this > >>man instead gathered a large clump of red Arkansas creek clay (the > >>same red clay we used to fashion mortar for the cordwood house) and > >>shaped it into a large jar in which to store rain water. He called > >>the vessel his rain jar. Once he had shaped the rain jar the man > >>built a kiln out of fallen branches in which to bake his creation. > >>Everyone told him it wouldn't work but he did it anyway. And it > >>worked. I am unsure whether it was dumb luck or sheer genius but I > >>suspect the former. > >> > >>The rain jar was big and red and when it was ready it would hold > >>hundrds of gallons of water. The rain jar even had a red clay cover > >>to keep the water fresh and pure. However it was completed before > >>the cordwood house was done and so there was no roof to act as a > >>collector. So the jar just sat there in the woods waiting for the > >>day when it would fullfill it's intented use. But one day the > >>sheriff showed up and arrested the man who was building the cordwood > >>house for growing wacky tobaccy on a southern slope just down the > >>way. It wasn't long after that mysterious fires began to plague > >>Hippie Hollow and one by one the families started packing up and leaving. > >> > >>Since it was clear to me by that time that the cordwood house would > >>never be completed I packed up my meager belongings and moved on > >>down the road myself. Many years later I found myself in the same > >>area of Arkansas and out of curiosity I drove down to Hippie Hollow > >>to see the old stomping grounds. The old dirt logging trail was now > >>a paved road leading to an exclusive subdivision. Driving past the > >>expensive homes I happened to spot a familar sight in one of back > >>yards. The half-finished cordwood house was covered with steel > >>siding and the large red clay rain jar still stood there unused amid > >>the trees. I didn't like looking at it. It made me sad somehow. So I > >>drove away and never went back. > >> > > > > The Witness Tree > > > > Although the full moon is not present, it's affects are present. In > > the background are two snow-capped mountains in the shape of > > breasts. The night sky is a bit turbulent. In the foreground is a > > man sitting at the base of a tree whose bare branches reach into the > > night. This man is naked and waiting. He is staring into the night, > > oblivious to what is above him. In the crux of the tree is a glass > > container filled with water. It is in the shape of a half-moon, and > > lit the color of the moon. From the side of this container peers a > > woman. She is looking in his direction. She seems to sense his > > presence, but it is not apparent that she sees him. > > > >A Butterfly Picnic > >Clumps of small white butterflies with black eyeballs on their wings >dance in spiraling circles along the creek. A woman is watching the >butterflies play but she isn't seeing them. She sits on a green and >white plaid blanket. Along side her a loaf of bread and a bottle of >wine poke up out of a brown woven basket. Sunshine tingles over her >naked body. A breeze rustles the cattails growing in shallow water >beside the creek bank and tickles the grass growing around her >blanket. A long unused train trestle runs over the rippling water >just a short distance away. Mottled-gray stones at its base are >crumbling. A man sits on the trestle on a ledge near the top close >by a metal ladder driven into the weathered stone blocks. The woman >takes the bread and breaks it, reveling in finding the soft >underneath through the crisp crust. She pours the wine. Raising the >glass to her lips she looks up to see the man watching her. She >starts but quickly remembers that he has always been there. Sh > e watches the butterflies play but she isn't seeing them. Greetings Dan I hate to intrude on your creativity. Is it possible that the woman already knows she is woman, and the watching man, and the butterflies? Marsha Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org.uk/pipermail/moq_discuss_archive/
