Dinesh's photos

HWW -- Best wishes

I love the dark hours of my being. My mind deepens into them. There I can find, as in old letters, the days of my life, already lived, and held like a legend, and understood. Then the knowing comes: I can open to another life that's wide and timeless. So I am sometimes like a tree rustling over a gravesite and making real the dream of the one its living roots embrace: a dream once lost among sorrows and songs. "I love the dark hours" ~ Ranier Maria Rilke

All crying, 'We will go with you, O Wind!' The foliage follow him, leaf and stem; But a sleep oppresses them as they go, And they end by bidding them as they go, And they end by bidding him stay with them. Since ever they flung abroad in spring The leaves had promised themselves this flight, Who now would fain seek sheltering wall, Or thicket, or hollow place for the night. And now they answer his summoning blast With an ever vaguer and vaguer stir, Or at utmost a little reluctant whirl That drops them no further than where they were. I only hope that when I am free As they are free to go in quest Of the knowledge beyond the bounds of life It may not seem better to me to rest "Misgivings" ~ Robert Frost

When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. "Peace of Wild things" ~ Wendell Berry

Some deem I'm gentle, some I'm kind: It may be so,--I cannot say. I know I have a simple mind And see things in a simple way; And like a child I love to play. I love to toy with pretty words And syllable them into rhyme; To make them sing like sunny birds In happy droves with silver chime, In dulcet groves in summer time. I pray, with hair more white than grey, And second childhood coming on, That yet with wonderment I may See life as in its lucent dawn, And be by beauty so beguiled I'll sing as sings a child. "Second Childhood" ~ Robert W.Service

Make a habit of two things: to help; or at least to do no harm. ~ Hippocrates ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Like Thales, Hippocrates sought natural explanations for natural phenomena. Basing his opinions on empirical knowledge, not on religion or magic, he taught that natural means could be employed to fight disease. In his treatise ‘On airs, Water, and Places,’ he noted the influence of climate and environment on health. Hippocrates and his followers put forth a theory that was to prevail in medical circles until the eighteenth century. The human body, they declared, contains four humors, or fluids, blood, phlegm, black bile and yellow bile. In a health body the four humors are in perfect balance; too much or too little of any particular humors causes illness. . . Page 94

A poem should be palpable and mute As a globed fruit: Dumb As old medallions to the thumb; Silent as a sleeve-work stone Of casement ledges where the moss has grown - A poem should be wordless As the flight of birds. A poem should be motionless in time As the moon climbs; Leaving, as the moon releases Twig by twig the night-entangled trees - Leaving as the moon behind the winter leaves, Memory by memory the mind. A poem should be equal to Not true. For all the history of grief As empty doorway and a maple leaf; For love The learning grasses and two lights above the sea - A poem should not mean, But be. "Ars Poetica" ~ Archibald Mac Leish

My fiftieth year had come and gone. I sat, a solitary man, In a crowded London shop, An open book and empty cup On the marble table top. While on the shop and street I gazed My body of a sudden blazed; And twenty minutes more or less It seemed, so great my happiness, That I was blessed and could bless. ~ Yeats

Throughout reflection about events that may occur anywhere, to anyone, at any time – risks obscuring the fact that brains are continuously making predictions about the immediate, local, personal future of their owners without their owners’ awareness. Rather than saying that such brains are predicting, let’s say they are ‘nexting’ Yours is nexting right now. For example, at this moment you may be consciously thinking about the sentence you just read, or about the key ring in your pocket that is jammed uncomfortably against your thigh, or about whether the War of 1812 really deserves its own overture. Whatever you are thinking, your thoughts are surely about something other than the word with which this sentence will end. But even as you hear these very words echoing in your very head, and think whatever thoughts they inspire, your brain is using the word it is reading right now and the words it read just before to make a reasonable guess about the identity of the word it will read next, which is what allows you to read so fluently. Any brain that has been raised on a steady diet of film noir and cheap detective novels fully expects the word ‘night’ to follow the phrase ‘It was dark and stormy,’ and thus when it does encounter the word ‘night’, it is especially well prepared to digest it. As long as your brain’s guess about the next word turns out to be right, you cruise along happily, left to right, left to right, turning back squiggles into ideas, scenes, characters, and concepts, blissfully unaware that your nexting brain is predicting the future of the sentence at a fantastic rate. It is only when your brain predicts badly that you suddenly feel avocado. That is, surprised. See? Now consider the meaning of that brief moment of surprise. Surprise is an emotion we feel when we encounter the unexpected …… Page 6

www.answers.com/mackinac bridge