Install Theme

beingblog:

President Obama awards the 2013 National Humanities Medals and the 2013 National Medal of Arts. One of the recipients is our very own Krista Tippett, host of the national public radio program On Being.

beingblog huzzah!
nakedpastor:

CARTOON: Why you should NEVER EVER start asking questions: 
http://nakedpastor.com/2014/05/why-you-should-never-ever-start-asking-questions/

nakedpastor:

CARTOON: Why you should NEVER EVER start asking questions: 

explore-blog:

Happy birthday, beloved children’s book author Ruth Krauss  (July 25, 1901–July 10, 1993)! Celebrate with Open House for Butterflies, her final and loveliest collaboration with Maurice Sendak.

explore-blog:

Happy birthday, beloved children’s book author Ruth Krauss  (July 25, 1901–July 10, 1993)! Celebrate with Open House for Butterflies, her final and loveliest collaboration with Maurice Sendak.

(Source: explore-blog)

parabola-magazine:

"We sit on our heels on the tatami, the Japanese woman and myself, telling the stories of our lives. One can do this with a stranger. Too near, and the perspective is lost. Only the far can be near.
A sound–a knock, intimation only–had come from the inner door. And there she was in her blue yukata exactly like my own–the only wear in a Japanese inn–bowing to me, like a branch bending.
“It is permitted to practice my little English?”
I rise and become another branch. “It is permitted.”
And so we kneel before each other, the foot-square mirror at which I make my toilet reflecting each in turn.
There is no need for us to commend the cherry-blossoms–they are doing no more than their duty. Nor to chatter about the shrine at Ise.
Neither of us is a tourist. We are just two women, gone beyond time, our talk a shuttle pulling weft across warp, no beginning, no end to the pattern.
The cauldron of plenty in each of us seethes with its ferment, sweet and bitter–the world to be carried and no plaint made; love to suffer long and be kind, not vaunting, not puffed up; the seed that we carry to be threshed, freed from its crusty husk; the aching question of who we are and for what made, answered only by its echo; the need to stand before the Unknown and never ask to know; to take our leave of the world, head high, no matter how hard the parting; and, coquetry no whit abated, offer the unassuaging mould an acquiescent lip.
Arms crossed, we rock from side to side. Hushing what? Ourselves, perhaps. And again and again she murmurs a word, as a counterpoint to her movement.
“What is it that you are saying? Tell me.”
She rocks and seems to draw it closer, folding the word to her breast.
“A–Wa–Re.” She stresses the syllables, as though teaching a child.
“A–Wa–Re. It means, in our tongue, The Pity of Things.”
I look at her long and in silence. Then I rise and bow.
“Do you know that what you have said is our word ‘Aware’?”
She looks at me long and in silence. Then she, too, rises and bows. And at the door bows again.
There is nothing to say. We say nothing.”
–Pamela Travers from her article “Zen Moments,” PARABOLA Vol. XII, No. 4 (Winter 1987). Reprinted as the focus to Vol. XXI, No. 3 (Fall, 1996).
Art Credit: Katsushika Hokusai (1760–1849), “Tea house at Koishikawa. The morning after a snowfall.”

parabola-magazine:

"We sit on our heels on the tatami, the Japanese woman and myself, telling the stories of our lives. One can do this with a stranger. Too near, and the perspective is lost. Only the far can be near.

A sound–a knock, intimation only–had come from the inner door. And there she was in her blue yukata exactly like my own–the only wear in a Japanese inn–bowing to me, like a branch bending.

“It is permitted to practice my little English?”

I rise and become another branch. “It is permitted.”

And so we kneel before each other, the foot-square mirror at which I make my toilet reflecting each in turn.

There is no need for us to commend the cherry-blossoms–they are doing no more than their duty. Nor to chatter about the shrine at Ise.

Neither of us is a tourist. We are just two women, gone beyond time, our talk a shuttle pulling weft across warp, no beginning, no end to the pattern.

The cauldron of plenty in each of us seethes with its ferment, sweet and bitter–the world to be carried and no plaint made; love to suffer long and be kind, not vaunting, not puffed up; the seed that we carry to be threshed, freed from its crusty husk; the aching question of who we are and for what made, answered only by its echo; the need to stand before the Unknown and never ask to know; to take our leave of the world, head high, no matter how hard the parting; and, coquetry no whit abated, offer the unassuaging mould an acquiescent lip.

Arms crossed, we rock from side to side. Hushing what? Ourselves, perhaps. And again and again she murmurs a word, as a counterpoint to her movement.

“What is it that you are saying? Tell me.”

She rocks and seems to draw it closer, folding the word to her breast.

“A–Wa–Re.” She stresses the syllables, as though teaching a child.

“A–Wa–Re. It means, in our tongue, The Pity of Things.”

I look at her long and in silence. Then I rise and bow.

“Do you know that what you have said is our word ‘Aware’?”

She looks at me long and in silence. Then she, too, rises and bows. And at the door bows again.

There is nothing to say. We say nothing.”

–Pamela Travers from her article “Zen Moments,” PARABOLA Vol. XII, No. 4 (Winter 1987). Reprinted as the focus to Vol. XXI, No. 3 (Fall, 1996).

Art Credit: Katsushika Hokusai (1760–1849), “Tea house at Koishikawa. The morning after a snowfall.”

(via mumeditation)

The same eyes with which I see God, God sees me.

— Meister Eckhart

via beingblog

Unexpected joy. It’s a subset of a feeling that many of us prize but haven’t quite defined. Programming our live events space during On Being's first year of independence, I've been thinking a good deal about how to create space for this elevated sensation. And I'm remembering back, thinking about all the wonderful flash mobs I've watched over and over, especially this very quiet scene on the Copenhagen Metro in 2012.

The Sjællands Symfoniorkester, aka the Copenhagen Phil, created a feeling of unexpected joy for the quiet commuters of Denmark (check out the woman’s expression at the 1:05 mark in the video) by playing Griegs Peer Gynt. But, how to capture the expressions and the fidelity of the sound? That’s where the brilliance of audio technicians from Radio Klassisk:

"The Copenhagen Metro is very quiet and the recording you hear is where the train is standing still. That’s why the recording you hear is so clean and crisp — and the sound is actually surprisingly good in the Copenhagen metro. We did this deliberately because we feel that a good sound experience is vital when trying to portray the actual experience that day. Further to the main recording, when the train was standing still, the recordings from the cameras was, as far as possible, mixed into the sound."

(Source: onbeing.org)

If one dream should fall and break into a thousand pieces, never be afraid to pick one of those pieces up and begin again.

— Flavia Weedn, from this week’s remix Revealing Ramadan. (via beingblog)

Humans have always unknowingly affected all Universe by every act and thought they articulate or even consider.

R. Buckminster Fuller (via infinity-imagined)

(Source: bfi.org, via infinity-imagined)