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Thursday, December 30, 2010

peanuts

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

I hear the unblown flute, 
In the deep summer shadows, 
Of the Temple of Suma


[Basho]






Tuesday, December 7, 2010

de 8 decembrie - Rohatsu

Whatever is material shape, past, future, present, subjective or objective, gross or subtle, mean or excellent, whether it is far or near — all material shape should be seen by perfect intuitive wisdom as it really is: "This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self." Whatever is feeling, whatever is perception, whatever are habitual tendencies, whatever is consciousness, past, future, present, subjective or objective, gross or subtle, mean or excellent, whether it is far or near — all should be seen by perfect intuitive wisdom as it really is: "This is not mine, this I am not, this is not my self." 


Buddha Gautama (born 563 B.C.)



Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Monday, October 25, 2010

no sex tonight


 http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sfo/60286784.html

 NO SEX TONIGHT!


Date: 2005-02-18, 9:18AM PST


I never quite figured out why the sexual urge of men and women differ so 
much. And I never have figured out the whole Venus and Mars thing. I have 
never figured out why men think with their head and women with their heart. 


FOR EXAMPLE: One evening last week, my girlfriend and I were getting into 
bed. 


Well, the passion starts to heat up, and she eventually says "I don't feel 
like it, I just want you to hold me." 


I said "WHAT??!! What was that?!" 


So she says the words that every boyfriend on the planet dreads to hear... 
"You're just not in touch with my emotional needs as a woman enough for me 
to satisfy your physical needs as a man." She responded to my puzzled look 
by saying, "Can't you just love me for who I am and not what I do for you in 
the bedroom?" 


Realizing that nothing was going to happen that night, I went to sleep. 


The very next day I opted to take the day off of work to spend time with 
her. We went out to a nice lunch and then went shopping at a big, big 
unnamed department store. I walked around with her while she tried on 
several different very expensive outfits. She couldn't decide which one to 
take so I told her we'd just buy them all. She wanted new shoes to 
compliment her new clothes, so I said lets get a pair for each outfit. We 
went onto the jewelry department where she picked out a pair of diamond 
earrings. Let me tell you...she was so excited. She must have thought I was 
one wave short of a shipwreck. I started to think she was testing me because 
she asked for a tennis bracelet when she doesn't even know how to play 
tennis. I think I threw her for a loop when I said, "That's fine, honey." 
She was almost nearing sexual satisfaction from all of the excitement. 
Smiling with excited anticipation she finally said, "I think this is all 
dear, let's go to the cashier." 


I could hardly contain myself when I blurted out, "No honey, I don't feel 
like it." 


Her face just went completely blank as her jaw dropped with a baffled 
WHAT?" 


I then said "honey! I just want you to HOLD this stuff for a while. You're 
just not in touch with my financial needs as a man enough for me to satisfy 
your shopping needs as a woman." And just when she had this look like she 
was going to kill me, I added, "Why can't you just love me for who I am and 
not for the things I buy you?" 


Apparently I'm not having sex tonight either.


Thursday, September 30, 2010

think of the trees


"Just think of the trees:
They let the birds
Perch and fly,
With no intention
To call them
When they come
And no longing
For their return
When they fly
Away.
If people’s hearts
Could be like
Trees,
They would not be
Off the Way."

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

"poate intr-o zi..." sa fie doar un alt mode de a spune "niciodata"?





Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You’d better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short,
The music won’t last.

Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask "How are you?"
     Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores running
 
     through your head?
You’d better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.

Ever told your child, "We’ll do it tomorrow?"
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time to call and say "Hi?"
You’d better slow down.
Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won’t last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift…
Thrown away.

Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before your song is over.

pictures ...


just another myth , "Dar poate că este aşa pentru că eu sunt un sălbatic şi nu înţeleg."

The only known photograph of Chief Seattle, taken 1865




Chief Seattle (an Anglicization of Si'ahl), ((Lushootseed pronunciation: [siʔaɬ],[1] (c. 1780 - June 7, 1866), was a Dkhw’Duw’Absh (Duwamish) chief,[2] also known as SealthSeathleSeathl, or See-ahth, and a leader of the Suquamish and Duwamish Native American tribes in what is now the U.S. state of Washington. A prominent figure among his people, he pursued a path of accommodation to white settlers, forming a personal relationship with David Swinson "Doc" MaynardSeattleWashington was named after him. A widely publicized speech arguing in favor of ecological responsibility and respect of native Americans' land rights has been attributed to him; however there is controversy about what, if anything, he actually said.[1]






zilele acestea am inceput vizualizarea in serie a unor filme despre nativii din cele 2 Americi. dupa atata vreme inca mai sunt numiti "indieni", ca si cum am fi in continuare contemporanii lui Columbus. in fine detalii...


in urma cu ani buni, descopeream in reeditarea INTELIGENTEI MATERIEI a lui Dumitru C Dulcan, o scrisoare a unui nativ american catre presedintele SUA, ca raspuns la cererea acestuia de a le cumpara pamanturile [scrisoarea e preluata din Janine Fontaine “La medecine du corps energetique”]


am citit-o si recitit-o de multe ori. mesajul ramane in continuare pretios, chiar daca are parti fake


iata cum suna scrisoarea. apoi cateva randuri de pus pe ganduri preluate de pe http://everything2.com/title/Excerpts+from+a+letter+to+President+Pierce+from+Chief+Seattle

“Cum s-ar putea vinde sau cumpăra cerul ori căldura pământului?
Ideea ni se pare stranie. Dacă prospeţimea aerului şi murmurul apei nu ne aparţin, cum le putem vinde?
Pentru poporul meu nu există colţ al acestui pământ care să nu fie sacru. Un ac de pin care sclipeşte, un mal nisipos, o brumă întinsă în mijlocul pădurii întunecate, totul este sfânt în ochii şi în memoria celor din poporul meu.
Seva care urcă în arbori poartă în ea credinţa Pieilor Roşii; fiecare luminiş şi fiecare insectă sunt sacre pentru memoria şi credinţa poporului meu.
Când albii merg la ceruri şi uită locul natal, morţii noştri nu-şi uită niciodată acest pământ frumos pentru că el le este mamă. Noi facem parte din pământ şi el face parte din noi. 
Florile sunt surorile noastre, cerbii, caii, vulturii sunt fraţii noştri; crestele stâncilor, roua preeriilor, căldura din pieptul poneilor şi omul aparţin aceleiaşi familii.
Acest pământ este sacru pentru noi. Iar apa scânteietoare care se prăveleşte în râuri şi pârâiaşe nu este numai apă, ea este sângele strămoşilor noştri.
… Trebuie să-i învăţaţi pe copiii voştri că pământul nostru este sfânt, că fiecare imagine ce se reflectă în apa clară a lacurilor este ca o fantomă care vorbeşte despre întâmplări, despre amintiri ale vieţii celor din poporul meu. Murmurul apei este vocea tatălui meu.
Râurile sunt surorile noastre; ele ne astâmpără setea, ne poartă canoea şi ne hrănesc copiii. Dacă noi vă vindem pământul nostru va trebui să vă amintiţi toate acestea şi să-i învăţaţi pe copiii voştri că râurile sunt surorile noastre şi ale voastre şi de aceea trebuie să le iubiţi ca pe fraţii voştri.
Noi ştim că omul alb nu înţelege modul nostru de a vedea lucrurile. Pentru el o palmă de pământ face cât oricare alta pentru că el este un străin care vine în noapte, îşi ia de pe pământ ceea îi trebuie şi-l părăseşte. Pământul nu-i este frate, ci duşman. Îşi uită mormântul tatălui său şi îşi creşte copiii fără dragoste de pământul natal… El tratează pe mama sa, pământul,  şi pe tatăl său, cerul, ca pe lucruri care se pot cumpăra, jefui sau vinde, asemenea oilor şi perlelor colorate. Lăcomia sa va sărăci pământul şi-l va lăsa pustiu.
Eu nu ştiu nimic, modul nostru de a fi diferă de al vostru (…)
Nu există un colţ liniştit în oraşele omului alb. Nicăieri nu se aude creşterea ierbii primăvara sau bătaia aripilor de fluturi.
Dar poate că este aşa pentru că eu sunt un sălbatic şi nu înţeleg.
Zgomotul din oraşe te asurzeşte. Ce rămâne din viaţă dacă nu poţi asculta clipocitul apei şi cântecul broaştelor în noapte?
Dar poate este aşa pentru că eu sunt un sălbatic şi nu înţeleg.
Indianul preferă adierea vântului care mângâie oglinda iazului şi mireasma vântului spălat de ploaia de amiază sau parfumat de pini.
Aerul este scump omului roşu pentru că toţi împart acelaşi suflu. Animalul, arborele şi omul – toţi respiră la fel. Omul alb nu pare să perceapă aerul pe care îl respiră.
Asemenea unui muribund, el nu-i mai recunoaşte mirosul… Trebuie să ştiţi că aerul este cu mult mai preţios şi că suflul aerului este acelaşi în toate lucrurile care trăiesc. Aerul care a dat strămoşilor noştri prima lor respiraţie primeşte, de asemenea, ultima lor privire.  Şi dacă ne vindem pământul, voi trebuie să-l păstraţi curat şi sfânt pentru ca omul să poată simţi mângâierea vântului şi dulceaţa câmpului în floare.
… Dacă hotărâm să vă vindem pământ, voi pune o condiţie: omul alb trebuie să trateze animalele de pe acest pământ ca pe fraţii şi surorile sale.
Eu sunt sălbatic şi nu înţeleg alt mod de a trăi.
Am văzut miile de bizoni care putrezeau în preerie, lăsaţi acolo de omul alb care i-a ucis din goana trenului.
Eu sunt un sălbatic şi nu pricep cum acest cal de fier care fumegă poate fi mai important decât bizonii pe care noi nu-i ucidem decât pentru nevoile vieţii noastre.
Ce este omul fără animale? Dacă toate animalele ar dispărea, omul ar muri complet solitar, pentru că tot ceea ce li se întâmplă animalelor i se întâmplă imediat şi omului. 
Toate lucrurile sunt legate între ele.
Spuneţi copiilor voştri că pământul de sub picioarele lor nu este altceva decât cenuşa strămoşilor noştri… Învăţaţi-i pe copiii voştri ceea ce noi i-am învăţat pe ai noştri – pământul este mama noastră şi ceea ce i se întâmplă pământului, nouă ni se întâmplă şi se întâmplă copiilor pământului. Dacă omul batjocoreşte pământul, pe sine se batjocoreşte.
Noi o ştim de mult – nu pământul aparţine omului, ci omul pământului.
Noi o ştim bine – toate lucrurile sunt legate între ele, aşa cum sângele face legătura între membrii aceleiaşi familii.
… Nu omul a ţesut pânza pământului; el este doar un fir. Tot ceea ce el face cu pânza pământului, lui îşi face. Nici omul alb, care are un Dumnezeu, nu poate să nu împărtăşească acest destin comun.
Când ultimul om va dispărea de pe acest pământ şi când amintirea sa nu va mai fi decât umbra unei imagini care străbate preeria, râurile şi pădurile vor păstra spiritul fraţilor mei pentru că ei iubesc acest pământ ca pruncul bătăile inimii materne.
După toate, noi suntem probabil fraţi şi surori. Există ceva pe care noi îl ştim bine şi pe care omul alb îl va şti, poate, într-o zi: Dumnezeul nostru este acelaşi cu al vostru. Voi credeţi că Dumnezeu este numai al vostru, ca şi pământul nostru. Este imposibil. El este Dumnezeul omului şi are aceeaşi îndurare pentru toţi oamenii, albi sau roşii.
Cel ce-şi murdăreşte patul va pieri într-o zi sufocat de propriile sale mizerii. Dar în timp ce noi pierim, voi veţi străluci iluminaţi de forţa unui Dumnezeu care v-a condus pe acest pământ şi care, într-un scop special, v-a permis să ne dominaţi.
Acest rost este ciudat pentru noi. Noi nu înţelegem pentru ce sunt ucişi bizonii, de ce nu sunt domesticiţi caii sălbatici, de ce lucrurile cele mai ascunse ale naturii sunt înăbuşite de mirosul greu al oamenilor, de ce priveliştea frumoaselor coline este tulburată de strigătele lor.
Unde sunt desişurile ascunse? Au dispărut.
Unde este marele vultur? A dispărut şi el.
Este sfârşitul vieţii şi începutul supravieţuirii. “





 Sorry to disappoint, but the words below (and the whole fraudulent letter/speech, seemingly ubiquitous in enviornmental circles) were actually written by screenwriter Ted Perry in 1971 for the ecology-themed movie Home. While Perry figured that he (and not Seattle) would be given creditfor the speech, the producer omitted the credit in order to lend his film a greater sense of authenticity, knowingly duping the public. (This seems to be a favorite pastime of Hollywood.)
Chief Seattle (actually See-ahth, but terribly corrupted by white tongues) was certainly a fine Native American orator, and did give a very inspiring speech (in the Salish dialect) in January 1854, on the beach just north of where the Kingdome is today. There is only one first-hand account of thespeech in existence and it is known to be inaccurate. You can hunt around if you want to find copies. However, it is absolutely nothing like the speech in Home, or the words above. The Home speech mentions white men shooting buffalo from trains, when in reality, neither bison nor trains existed anywhere near Seattle's home at that time. Other inaccuracies abound, for the speech is nothing but a caricature of a 1960's environmentalist's flawed concept of Native Americans. The real speech merely thanked President Pierce for being so generous in buying his land.
I am part Native American (not much - I look like the Central European I mostly am), and I find the false speech, no matter how beautiful, to be about as ethnically accurate as a minstrel show. The red man is not to be used as a puppet for guilty white environmentalists. The American government's undeclared war on Native Americans during the 1800's is a disgusting atrocity, but it is history now; the genocide is over. So let it be taught as history and not as a fairy tale.
Here's the complete false speech from the script of Home:

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?
Every part of the Earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clear and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.
The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful Earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the Earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters, the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and the man, all belong to the same family.
So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us. The Great White Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children. So we will consider your offer to buy land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us.
This shining water that moves in streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred blood of our ancestors. If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events in the life of my people. The waters murmur is the voice of my father's father.
The rivers of our brothers they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember to teach your children that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness that you would give my brother. We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The Earth is not his brother, but his enemy and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father's graves behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the Earth from his children, and he does not care.
BIRTHRIGHT
His father's grave, and his children's birthright are forgotten. He treats his mother, the Earth, and his brother, the same, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the Earth and leave behind only a desert.
I do not know. Our ways are different from your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand.
There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring, or the rustle of an insect's wings. But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of a whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night. I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of the pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by a midday rain, or scented with the pinonpine.
PRECIOUS
The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers.
So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition - the white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers.
I am a savage and do not understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be made more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.
What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of the spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.
RESPECT
You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the Earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the Earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the Earth befalls the sons of the Earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.
This we know - the Earth does not belong to man - man belongs to the Earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.
Whatever befalls the Earth - befalls the sons of the Earth. Man did not weave the web of life - he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to theweb, he does to himself.
Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see. One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover - Our God is the same God. You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land, but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for red man and the white. The Earth is precious to Him, and to harm the Earth is to heap contempt on its creator. The whites too shall pass, perhaps sooner than all other tribes.
But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave youdominion over this land and over the red man. That destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are slaughtered, the wild horses tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires. Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the Eagle? Gone. The end of living and the beginning of survival...

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