Sunday, December 26, 2010

Lampions Vb What Gravity Is

To take up again or wrap up the same topic:
Lampions Vb What Gravity Is

But even I have to take care not to confuse some things- rather neglect some paths of ideas asserting others like it is the God's truth of things.

BTW I tried to write a little but rested a lot over the holidays, I am getting too used to typing so easily on a computer. I did not have many negative thoughts nor much in informative or disturbed dreams. I did think about some people- especially with the strange ideas of TSK and present time. And the darn Its a Wonderful Life movie almost made me cry again! And my neighbor comes back from work across the way and goes out of her way to keep her window wide and change, pretend she does not see me, walks around a bit in the full monte and then pulls the shades. I suppose she was touched by my candles shining into the darkness when someone looks my way- Hey, I am here and good morning to you! She tends to do that on holidays! I sometimes wonder why this sort of thing affects us- perhaps the drive to future and family. I have a hard time with linear time but I am not sure TSK makes sense either, if from a Buddhist or quantum like perspective or not.

But here is a quote (perhaps for facebook at the end and beginning of the old and new year. It was important also as I was planing to use the theme as part of the story I was writing (window open so the smoke would not offend my roommate) called the Flower Gardner before I was so cuddly interrupted:

"What alternative to such patterns do we have? We can hardly abandon the present or the past. In one case we would never have been born; in the other we would already have died. Nor can we cling tightly to the present of our own present identity, proclaiming our independence of the past and our indifference to the future. Between future unborn and pass passed away, the transition does not stay. A present that does not take from the past will remain a ghost; a present that cannot enter the future will prove to be a corpse. Even if we could somehow attain such a present, we would lack all knowledge, all vitality, even all being." Tarthang Tulku (ibid pg 89)

on facebook:
L. Edgar Otto
‎"A present that does not take from the past will remain a ghost; a present that cannot enter the future will prove to be a corpse. Even if we could somehow attain such a present, we would lack all knowledge, all vitality, even all being." Tarthang Tulku

"Today is Yesterday's Tomorrow" and "It is Always Morning somewhere in the World"
sundial, Morehead Planetarium Chapel Hill, NC

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Of course I had other thoughts too, not so many- oddly enough on this idea of placebo and ritual and so one, and Love and its rituals... time and family... somehow comes together in the quietness alone (roommate with parents today and I opted to take some time alone but did not have the energy to shop or write in the cold.) Trying not to think too a lot of effort. I hope my randomly written notes capture the further questions and meaning of the ideas of how to address the phenomenon of gravity. (Ulla, h bar? Let us be very careful on our terms least we all be confused with how we use them. I think there may be something I do not know or know wrong in the way you use that term- like reading superimposed in TSK, an obvious commentary on the influence of quantum mechanics. I imagine reading this lampion and no one understanding it at all- maybe only if we are born near and in the same cultural past)

Not that long ago new scientist said evidence showed placebos had no effect at all. Then again there were rats who were given the red or blue pills , a control and one with cyanide. The next lot of them watching who was given the blue pills and died all died when they were given blue pills which were also placebos. The question of love and time thus somehow intimately tied up with our ideas of faith and knowledge, rather belief TSK time space knowledge- of which this is a rehash in part of the same old questions of dualism and so on. I make the distinction between the spirit and the mind- the mind may not be a sound basis to show scientific placebo effects of that mysterious thing we recognize as love.

But why the concern with metaphysics as a way to heal the human heart that is hurting? I mean why assert passion and teach worry for souls or lack of them? Do we need some idea of a body (mind) on which to house the mind (spirit)? Or given sufficient independence of will, could we not imagine the pill we take as well? New Scientist had an article that we eat less if we imagine eating some fine food first- food for thought and soul.

I had a double impacted pain of two teeth once and the medicine (aspirin, Excedrin and so on that only worked to a point). I had to wait a day, the weekend for the appointment. I discovered in the intense pain that I could slip a few seconds out of time (not sure looking back if it was into the future or past, maybe neither or both somehow- anyway the literature is not clear on that either). Let us say slip the mental part of me a bit- now, I can take very much physical pain but two teeth proved too much and the pain is only stopped to some conscious threshold by meds as we get used to it- can only see how intense it was in retrospect or with codeine.
But it took some physical energy sometimes to the point of dizziness and almost passing out- for if the guard was down at all the pain came back from out of time and hit my head like a hammer. This happened a few times until finally I fell into a sleep on the couch and in the morning the thought helped that it would soon be over. On the other hand, the moral or spiritual or mental concept of pain is hard for me to feel for it is way outside our concepts of time. I finally understood it when in the rapture and y2k my computers failed and my youngest kids vanished awhile into the unknown. Hey, I tried to keep in contact with family- their branch was not so sentimental- at least I tried to save family photos. Time has gone on for so long for me who knows who is around or who so changed they do not care- So while it is not painful, I note that some of us did not communicate at least in this instant world of communication and location- in the same city, and in the same spirit of literal brotherhood. It is not my fault nor do I blame them- unless it is because I have always had a hard time trying to understand or mold my world into linear time. Time is only of the essence when some want to tie you up into time- threaten to put you into some sort of jail as if you were not there already.

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I thought of a doodle, not sure it has much to do with time- the hand with a red point and red line on it- you see, it is said (passion being pain and love) that Christ had to be nailed to the cross by his wrists, not palms- that would not hold. But the common thought is that some bleed from their palms to imitate what they thought was the situation with Christ. The hand, facing you and chiral, the flag on the back is reversed with no red areas as that part of living or vital time unseen in its faith and human weeping. The hand as primitive as the new branch of human species leading to the Melanesians and others in our mixed family tree. All this geometry in the vital spacious present perhaps only there!

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Anyway, I may add some of the Flower Gardner story here later today. I still am not ready to translate my three pages here formally, still a little tires, nor go about it in a ritual and formal way- being careful not to impose my views on anyone.

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Science Daily has these relevant articles: the last two on issues of time- guess this is common thought (ghosts of future and past and all and solstice):

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You Were No Angel (The Flower Gardner) 12-24-10

Snow fall in a day reached the record of a score of decades to come before that much would come again.

Rip walked through the narrowing path of shoveled snows on the cleared sidewalk by the house were he worked as the flower gardener, spring to fall, layed off in winter he was on his way to visit friends, spin tales, talk politics at the neighborhood salon.

The side streets were not cleared. The county ran out of its budget for kerosene to melt the snow with a wall of fire and gasoline for the tractors and horseless carriages, even some of them stuck in their snow clearing duties.

A shaweld and gray haired lady came thru the narrowing streets with her walker of snow ski and passing him on the sidewalk said "What a beautiful day!" Rip replied to her knowing she was the mother of his boss in the big house and her's was a mission of Christmas cookies for him, "and it is even more beautiful with the memory of all the flowers on the porch and garden here."

Eugene sat by Rip at the Thanksgiving Diner and everyone asked how Rip felt. He had fallen down from the old ladder while building a tree house for Eugene and Bungle. He did not want to go to the old folks home and Sleepy said not to worry, to move in with us.

How odd that some delay things until after the holidays- as if the ritual of it all keeps the pneumonia at bay, so the family said finding out a small broken twig in the ground where he fell had punctured his lung.

Rip looked at Eugene and asked him why, after showing him how to do it, he did not water the tomato plants he planted in the back yard just before the trees by the little ditch. "I do not know, I did not think about it. Everyone was so worried about you and I felt so guilty we insisting you build the tree house. We were so sorry."

Near the corner of the house Georgia had planted some radishes and Eugene helped harvest them with her just before the end of fall. It was sacred ground to him because of the shawled old lady. When spring came he forbid his brother and sister to pick any of the wild flowers that sprung up there. Of course they picked all of them and when Sleepy came out to see what the argument was about Bungle told him. Sleepy gave Eugene a whop on the rear and said, "you really should learn to share some things with your brother."

Time is like footprints in the snow, Eugene has thought many times he should have told them the why of things and how sorrow he was for his selfishness- Sleepy, in his example seemed so right. So it was that Eugene wanted to be alone on the holiday, think about things a bit, the future perhaps more than the past. The way things were he had lost contact with so many of his family for so long that he was afraid of what he would find- and he felt it was not his fault- he was the sentimental one trying to keep memories alive. But like the memories they were alive only in the unreachable past as all things that are ghosts. Holding the thoughts alone as if to speak of them as real and yet they could not become alive in some future reunion again was to hold the past as a lifeless corpse- and what point was it then if for all our sentiment and care such future is past?

All things fade, are weighed down by all the memories superimposed on our fleeting frames and places where we live a thousand times and days. All things can shift into being forgotten and as they say dust returns to dust again. Eugene began to not make sense of it all, although from his world nothing was ever lost or faded for his core of faith and reality remained a fixed beacon strong and he was not ashamed of earlier and newly returned fads and styles of life's truths.

No one really knew the meaning of things, the reality one way or the other beneath the shallow surface of occupying a place, that paradox of a place of one's own that is a trap- but what else is there that we remain real? It was better than lost under a bridge under the meaningless traffic from place to place, Little Red thru the forests on the way to grandma's house. All the hungry wolves in this Its a Wonderful Life. Yet when the state in the end has to make a choice as to how to deal with civilization and rules to live by it too has to ask the lone individual what is in the end his state of mind. Behavior and words cannot really convey the situation. Lies are great placebos. Faith in our doctors is protected as much as for the healing properties of faith in itself.

Perhaps we never make that transition, and empty present, between adult and childhood- not when that part is missing from the continuity of a family- but even for the timeless it is hard to meet again after so many years- for it is not a vital thing to let our memories of others age in our dreams.

Eugene went into the streets and wondered if the others will find such joy in the end-times and hope they would not think of him as alone in the dark- a prisoner of gravity where the state first made him a ghost that they can make him a corpse so long before the hard objective fact. These gamblers not in control of their own health and fate, insurance a protection, a service imposed by the very ones imposing the bets on others. What is left but the few of us who feel the ever higher weight of this world's gravity until we cannot stand up, or move far, or talk and touch only to others that are close to us- until one day, we said poor planners, even that crushed out to be alone- for in the luxury of freedom we are like the mussels on the rotting piers of time where the shore meets the sea and the tide shift- we are fixed and remain so once fixed, on the now empty shells of others who came before us.

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