Seeing with new ears

“I cannot solve the problem of life by losing myself in the problem of art”.
—Tina Modotti (1896-1942)

“Okay, now I’m gonna roll tape, and you can do it with feeling.”

Okay, seriously, this is one of the single best new pieces of instrumental music I’ve listened to in months (it’s actually been up on youtube for a year and a half!).

I put it on continuous loop with silence breaks of various random lengths, and played it on-&-off all day, and I found that it made an equally beguiling and energetically enhancing sound-track for virtually all the day’s activities: showering, asanas (though I never play music when doing yoga, per original purpose & profound effectiveness of Vedic yoga, not all that calisthenic modern American studio-style “yoga” with non-Vedic soundtrack “music” all those lovely x-cardio workout gym queens love to slather everyone’s ears with; but today I thought, why not? Let’s see what this totally whack sax-&-drum piece goes well with, today, for me)….

And with morning & evening meditation sessions & a few other silent or slower/quieter breaks aside,—I found it was great for showering; asanas; sweeping the floor; sorting laundry; boiling/steeping tea, boiling/steaming rice & chopping, stirring curried veg, drinking tea & eating rice & veg; washing dishes; driving to studio/office; sketching and painting; answering typical concerned-but-repetitive student email questions; dancing a little in total privacy; taking a walk around the lake…. Ordinarily, I strictly follow the wisdom of not dividing the attention by playing music when doing anything but listening to music, but today I made a fun exception.

Le seul véritable voyage….ce ne serait pas d’aller vers de nouveaux paysages, mais d’avoir d’autres yeux…
[The only true voyage… would be not to go to new landscapes, but to have
other eyes.]
—Marcel Proust (1871-1922)
‘La Prisonnière’ (published 1923),
À la recherche du temps perdu vol 5 ch 2

One’s destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things.
—Henry Miller (1891-1980)
Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch (1957)

“The famous line is from Proust’s seven-volume work, À la recherche du temps perdu (Remembrance of Things Past -or- In Search of Lost Time). The quotation is from volume 5—’La Prisonnière’, “The Prisoner”—originally published in French, in 1923.

In chapter 2 of “The Prisoner,” the narrator is commenting at length on art, rather than travel. Listening for the first time to a new work by a composer he knows, he finds himself transported not to a physical location, but to a wonderful “strange land” of the composer’s own making. “Each artist,” he decides, “seems thus to be the native of an unknown country, which he himself has forgotten. . . .” These artists include composers and painters he knows. He continues:

“This lost country composers do not actually remember, but each of them remains all his life somehow attuned to it; he is wild with joy when he is singing the airs of his native land, betrays it at times in his thirst for fame, but then, in seeking fame, turns his back upon it, and it is only when he despises it that he finds it when he utters, whatever the subject with which he is dealing, that peculiar strain the monotony of which—for whatever its subject it remains identical in itself—proves the permanence of the elements that compose his soul. But is it not the fact then that from those elements, all the real residuum which we are obliged to keep to ourselves, which cannot be transmitted in talk, even by friend to friend, by master to disciple, by lover to mistress, that ineffable something which makes a difference in quality between what each of us has felt and what he is obliged to leave behind at the threshold of the phrases in which he can communicate with his fellows only by limiting himself to external points common to us all and of no interest, art, the art…makes the man himself apparent, rendering externally visible in the colours of the spectrum that intimate composition of those worlds which we call individual persons and which, without the aid of art, we should never know?

“A pair of wings, a different mode of breathing, which would enable us to travel through infinite space, would in no way help us, for if we visited Mars or Venus while keeping the same senses, they would clothe in the same aspect as the things of Earth everything that we should be capable of seeing.

“The only true voyage of discovery, the only bath in the fountain of Eternal Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to behold the universe through the eyes of another, of a hundred others, to behold the hundred universes that each of them beholds, that each of them is; and this we do, with great artists; with artists like these we really fly from star to star.”

~ ~ ~

Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.                                         —Jesus Christ

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite.    
—William Blake (1757-1827) English mystic poet and artist

An individual can only perceive others, can only perceive the world, can only assess the value of reality, according to the quality and expansiveness, the comprehensive inclusiveness, of his own consciousness. We see the world only according to the quality of what we ourselves are, our own experience of being, our own state of consciousness.                                                                                                          —His Holiness Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (c1917-2008)

As a man is, So he Sees.                                                                                                                    —William Blake (1757-1827)

Reality is structured in consciousness; and reality is different in different states of consciousness.                                                                                                        —His Holiness Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (c1917-2008)

 

a mala of favorite things

A mala of Some Favourite Things

mala — Sanskrit: garland, usually means a rosary or chaplet of beads for counting repetition (japa) of mantra / prayers.  Traditionally strung in rounds of 108 beads with one extra “silent witness” bead, also known as guru bead. Repetitions are counting in rounds of 100, but the other eight are extra to cover for any mistakes or lapse of one-pointedness. The 109th bead is not counted.

In this case, just 109 persons, places, things that happen to be among my favourites. Not necessarily my most favourite in all cases & categories! But definitely among my favourites….

Who & what are some of your favourites?

some Coastal/Western towns

1 Port Townsend
2 Stinson Beach
3 SLO
4 Cambria
5 Leucadia
6 Sedona
7 Flagstaff
8 Santa Fe
9 Taos
10 Boulder

some top sattvic foods (organic, fresh only)

11 ayurvedic buttermilk
12 oranges
13 amalak fruits
14 almonds (blanched)
15 honey (raw)
16 ghee
17 most grains
18 mung bean dhal
19 most fruits
20 most vegetables

some fave novels

21 Lost Horizon
22 The Grand Sophy
22 The Dharma Bums
24 Siddhartha
25 The Little Prince
26 Das Glasperlenspiel (The Glass Bead Game)
27 Journey to the East
28 Ḥayy ibn Yaqẓān
29 The Research Magnificent
30 Christopher and Columbus

some fave movies

31 Prime
32 The Holiday
33 The Holly and the Ivy
34 Enchanted April
35 Page Eight
36 About a Boy
37 High Fidelity
38 Lost Horizon
39 Heat and Dust
40 The Scarlet Pimpernel (1934)

some fave fruits

41 strawberry
42 black cherry
43 peach
44 blackberry
45 orange
46 pear
47 mango
48 guava
49 cassava melon
50 mangosteen

Some fave painters

51 Paul Klee
52 William Blake
53 John Marin
54 Marc Chagall
55 Robert Natkin
56 Henri Matisse
57 JMW Turner
58 Georgia O’Keeffe
59 Joan Mitchell
60 Henri Rousseau

Some fav cuisines – (lacto) veggie organic fresh version only!

61 Indian
62 Thai
63 Chinese
64 Japanese
65 Greek/Mediterranean
66 Italian
67 Mexican
68 Balinese
69 Californian
70 Southwestern (New Mexican)

some fave Indian towns

71 Uttar Kashi
72 Rishikesh
73 Manali
74 Puri
75 Goa
76 Dharmshala/Mcleodganj
77 Kovalam
78 Darjeeling
79 Kalimpong
80 Kasar Devi

some fave 20th century women (celebs)

81 Alexandra David-Neel (1868-1969)
82 Vanessa Bell (1879-1961)
83 Anna Akhmatova (1889-1966)
84 Tina Modotti (1896-1942)
85 Dorothy Day (1897-1980)
86 Peace Pilgrim (1908-1981)
87 Muriel Rukyser (1913-1980)
88 Audrey Hepburn (1929-1993)
89 Tare Lhamo (1938-2003)
90 Petra Kelly (1947-1992)

some fave hats

91 balmoral (kilmarnock, tam-o’shanter)
92 artist beret
93 Tibetan (faux!) fox / Russian ushanka
94 tricorn
95 cowboy
96 lifeguard straw
97 slouch
98 asian conical (“coolie”)
99 turban
100 Sami čiehgahpir /  Andean chullo etc)

Some fave mala beads

101 quartz crystal
102 red coral
103 pearl
104 banded agate
105 conch
106 amber
107 turquoise
108 rudraksha

Guru

109 His Holiness Maharishi Mahesh Yogi (c1917-2008)

Cloud Patch

As in the sky all clouds disappear into sky itself:
Wherever they go, they go nowhere,
wherever they are, they are nowhere.
This is the same for thoughts in the mind:
When mind looks at mind,
the waves of conceptual thought disappear.

— Machig Labdron (1055-1149)
Tibetan yogini, woman lama (Buddhist teacher)

How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.

― Henry David Thoreau (1816 – 1861)

The greatest stories are lived, not told.

— magazine ad, 2016

My life has been the poem I would have writ
But I could not both live and utter it.

― Henry David Thoreau (1816 – 1861)

If you’re looking to find the key to the Universe,
I have some bad news and some good news.
The bad news: there is no key to the Universe.
The good news: it has been left unlocked.

— Swami Beyondananda (Steve Bhaerman b.c1945)

There is a way. No one will reveal the secret.
You must enter the door yourself. But there is no door.
In the end, there is not even a way.

— Dongsan of Haeinsa, 1936
Korean Seon (Zen) Master

Between every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life.

— John Muir (1838-1914)

When the devotional soul lifts itself upward by continual meditation and prayer, an unusual light suddenly appears and snatches away the amazed mind. And so, in order that he may become a contemplative, and with his heart’s eye now cleansed, he is caught up to the sight of heavenly things, a door is opened in heaven (not corporeally but spiritually) and from it descend mellifluous gifts, and secrets are thrown open.

—Saint Richard Rolle (1290-1349) English mystic poet and monk
Hermit of Hampole, commenting on Bible verse: Revelation 4:1:
“I looked, and behold, a door was opened in heaven.”

If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite.

—William Blake (1757-1827) English mystic poet and artist

Unscrew the locks from the doors!
Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!

—Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
“Song of Myself,” Leaves of Grass

Strip off the blinders, unload the saddlebags!

— Hsueh-Tou Ch’ung-Hsien (980-1052)
Chinese Ch’an (Zen) master

This world is but a canvas for our imagination.

― Henry David Thoreau (1816 – 1861)

The little horse ambles clop-clop
across the summer moor —
I find myself in a picture.

—Matsuo Basho (1644 – 1694)

Basho’s disciple Sampu painted a picture of Basho nodding along on his little horse, completely absorbed – subjective and objective fallen away, the inside world enlarged to fill the summer moor; the summer moor filling the inside world.

—Robert Aitken Roshi (1917-2010)

Dr King, Brother Thầy, Fr Tom…

Dr Martin Luther King, Jr.
(January 15, 1929-April 4, 1968) Dr King would be 87 today.
Dr King nominated Thích Nhất Hạnh for the Nobel Peace Prize.
Thích Nhất Hạnh
(born October 11, 1926) Brother Thầy is 89, recovering from a stroke in November 2014.

Ven. Thich Nhất Hạnh (“Brother Thầy”) is a Vietnamese Zen master, Buddhist monk, teacher, author, poet, peace activist, and global spiritual leader, revered around the world for his powerful teachings and bestselling writings on mindfulness and peace. He is the man Dr. King called “An Apostle of peace and nonviolence.” His key teaching is that, through mindfulness, we can learn to live happily in the present moment—the only way to truly develop peace, both in one’s self and in the world. He lives in Plum Village in the Dordogne region in the south of France, traveling internationally to give retreats and talks.

Brother Thầy influenced Dr King to extend his work for civil rights to include taking a strong public stand for world peace and in protest of the US war against the people of Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos. As a Nobel Peace Laureate, Dr King was eligible to nominate his candidate for the Prize. He nominated Thích Nhất Hạnh, but in publicly announcing his nomination, King went against unofficial Nobel protocal to keep the nominations private and was thereafter officially criticized by the Committee.

Although the Nobel committee declined to award the prize that year, they did later give it to Henry Kissinger, one of the world’s most notorious, nefarious and ruthless war-mongers and genocidists of the twentieth century. Kissinger is currently wanted for war crimes by various international courts.

At the time of his assassination in April 1968, Dr King was scheduled to travel to the Catholic Trappist monastery at Gethsemane Kentucky to enjoy a retreat with his friend Father Thomas Merton (1915-1968), the famous priest, monk, author, and peace activist living in a hermitage there. King and Merton were mutual friends with Thích Nhất Hạnh who had visited Gethsemane some years before.

Merton died in December 1968 in Bangkok, Thailand. He had earlier publicly declared his willingness to join with other US peace activists in relocating to Hanoi, capital of North Vietnam, as “hostages of peace” in an effort to end the war and the US saturation bombings of the city’s civilian population. Many believe that Merton’s strong criticism of the US war effort, his close solidarity and mutual friendships with King, Thích Nhất Hạnh, the Berrigan brothers, and other peace and freedom activists and his offer to be a “peace hostage” in Hanoi, led to his sudden death, as a likely target of a CIA assassination hit. Merton would be 101 this month.

A multi-zillionaire many times over, Henry Kissinger (born 1923) has been consistently adulated as the dean of senior statesmen by successive US presidential administrations and has been appointed as both an official and and at times unofficial adviser not only by US presidents but by Indonesian and other corrupt regimes as well. By never leaving the US in recent years and with the aid of 24/7 protection by government-provided armed bodyguards, Kissinger continues to live in relative security, conspicuous luxury, and official “honor” while avoiding arrest and trial for war-crimes by international courts. Kissinger is now 92.

Although I spent some time working with the civil rights movement in my youth, and met some of its famous leaders, I never met Dr King.
My late wife and I personally received teachings from Brother Thầy, and along with Brother Thầy were once able to share a week of receiving daily initiations and teachings from His Holiness the Dalai Lama.
I visited Tom Merton twice in Kentucky and was able to see him again when he twice visited out west prior to leaving for Asia where he met with the HH the Dalai Lama and HH Chatral Rinpoche, among others.
I have never met Kissinger, but I would like to attend his trial for crimes against humanity.


Image result for thich nhat hanh and Martin luther king

Image result for thich nhat hanh and thomas merton

More Winter Light!

15 January 2016   –   a pome a day…

Osip’s 125th birthday…

 

This
This is what I most want
unpursued, alone
to reach beyond the light
that I am furthest from.

And for you to shine there—
no other happiness—
and learn, from starlight,
what its fire might suggest.

A star burns as a star,
light becomes light,
because our murmuring
strengthens us, and warms the night.

And I want to say to you
my little one, whispering,
I can only lift you towards the light
by means of this babbling.

—Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
(January 15, 1891 Warsaw—December 27, 1938 Siberian gulag)

Image result for osip mandelstam

My Hovel
The world before my eyes is wan and wasted, just like me.
The earth is decrepit, the sky stormy, all the grass withered.
No spring breeze even at this late date,
Just winter clouds swallowing up my tiny reed hut.

—Ikkyu (1394-1481)
Ikkyu Sōjun, eccentric, iconoclastic Japanese Zen master and poet

Untitled poem by an anonymous Irish monk, 9th century

Is acher in gaíth in-nocht
Fu-fúasna fairggæ findfholt
Ní ágor réimm mora minn
Dond láechraid lainn ua Lothlind

It is bitter, the wind, tonight.
Tossing the ocean’s hair white.
I fear not the coursing of the sea
But fierce warriors from Lothlind

—in the margins of the St. Gall Grammar by Priscian, c845
tr.Victoria Lord

[Lothlind: Lochlann, Norway, “land of fjords”]

http://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/en/list/one/csg/0904

 

Family ancestral saints feast day:

St. Ceolwulf of Northumbria (c695-764), generation 43 uncle
King of Northumbria, England, and patron of St. Bede. He resigned in 738 and became a monk at Lindisfame. St. Bede dedicated his Ecclesiastical History to “the most gracious King Ceolwulf.”
http://www.britannia.com/bios/saxkings/ceolwulf.html

St. Emebert (-710) generation 45 uncle
bishop of Cambrai, Flanders. Son of Duke Witger of Lotharingia and Saint Amalberga of Maubeuge. His sisters include Saints Ermelinde, Gudula, Pharaildis and the martyred hermit nun St Reineldis, beheaded during an invasion by Huns.

MY NOTES:

Three poems. One martyred poet. Two ancestral saints. One unknown scholar-monk. One rasty Zen poet-monk.

The Old Irish (Gaelic) quatrain above was penned c845 by an anonymous Irish monk in the margins of a classical grammar textbook. Norse Viking raiders were ravishing the often isolated island and coastal communities of monks and nuns in Ireland, Scotland, England, the north coast of France, and elsewhere in the Christianized parts of northern Europe. In the Viking attacks, many of the contemplatives would be slaughtered, most survivors, male and female, were raped, shackled, and carted off to be sold as slaves. The fiercer the storm, the more tossed the sea, the less likely an attack by Vikings from Norway, that particular night….A common prayer: “Lord, save us from the Norsemen!”

Today, among other such-like atrocities, it is the patients and staff of hospitals operated by Doctors without Borders that are being attacked and destroyed by US drone-missile strikes, from drones remotely operated by young game-fan recruits sitting at video console screens in desert facilities in California.

http://www.democracynow.org/2015/11/9/rejecting_us_claims_msf_details_horrific

http://www.democracynow.org/2015/11/20/numbing_horrible_former_drone_operator_brandon

And it is the residents of Paris, and the staff and residents of community developmental disability service facilities in California, that are being attacked by marauding bands of insane terrorists. And it is so many other people today in so many other places and situations being killed by military, police, terrorists, and criminals. The increasingly frequent and violent storms and other horrible weather disasters brought on by human greed and our insane devastation of the climate and the planet also are killing many hundreds of people this winter of 2015-2016.

On this stormy winter night, relatively safe and relatively dry and warm here in my urban desert hovel, I watch and listen to the world news reports on my computer, and also “re-discover” a 1,200 year old four-line graffito poem/book-margin note. An Old Irish  quatrain for this cold new year… (And by “re-discover” I mean only to myself—I had first come upon the poem, long well-known to scholars, many years ago.)

My ancestral uncle Ceolwulf, as a young king was once kidnapped by usurpers and imprisoned in a monastery while rival kinsmen took over his throne. After he escaped and his kingdom was restored, he arrested and exiled the nation’s bishop for complicity in the coup. Years later, Ceolwulf abdicated his throne and retired for the last quarter century of his life to the island monastery of Lindisfarne which he had extensively endowed during his reign. There he lived and died peacefully, but less than thirty years later the monastery was ravaged by Vikings.

http://www.ultimatehistoryproject.com/lindisfarne.html

One of my ancestral uncle St Emebert’s sisters, a nun, was martyred when a band of invading Huns attacked her convent; she was decapitated.

Osip Mandelstam and his wife were harassed, imprisoned and exiled by Stalin’s regime, and in the end the poet was imprisoned again and died at a gulag transit camp. A few days before his death he had managed to get a note out to his wife asking for warm clothes.

Ikkyu, was the illegitimate son of the Japanese emperor and one of his court-servants. Orphaned and sent to a monastery as a young child, he eventually became a zen master and abbot noted for his poetry, painting and calligraphy, his harsh criticism of political and religious institutions and all forms of hypocrisy, violence, and injustice. He was also notorious for his open frequenting of brothels, and his public poetic and musical celebration of sex and romance as valid and effective paths to enlightenment. Late in life he became the abbot of the nation’s most important Zen training monastery and also met a young blind musician with whom he lived openly in a passionately romantic partnership. Their love, and her beauty and kindness, became the subject of many of his later poems.

8 January 2016

Image result for snow peaks

8 January  –  a pome a day…

Too Soon The Cold Wind

Too soon the cold wind
wrapping valleys, swallowing ridgelines
putting out lamps in stone huts.

Too soon the fingers numb
thoughts split and hammered
into a chilly corner of the room.

But when I awake
dig out from the chill
I find the spirit aflame.

A sapphire peak
struggles up out of the dream

a thousand seams of garnet
wrapping its base, frost sifting
through sunbeams

the world silent —
the eave bell striking
on its own.

— John Brandi (b 1943)
The World, the World
White Pine Press, Buffalo, 2013

~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~

First Writing of the New Year

Beneath the sky of my homeland,
Yellow mai blossoms blooming,
Announcing the joyous news to millions of friends.
Here beneath the sky of this foreign land,
Covered with snow and floating mist,
Glowing ember of wood fire.
Bright candlelight and fragrant tea
Also warms my heart.

1992
— Thich Giac Thanh (1947-2001)
Scattered Memories
Parallax Press, Berkeley, 2013

 

~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~

 

8 January

some saintly ancestors of mine whose feast is celebrated today:

Sainte Adèle of France (1009-1079), generation 31 grandmother
(Adela, Adela the Holy, Adela of Messines, Adélaïde, Adelheid, Aelis, Alix)

Ste. Gudula (Goedele, Goule, Gudila, Gudule, Ergoule, -712), generation 45 aunt.

St. Athelm (-926), generation 37 uncle

white clouds

7 January  –  a pome a day…

Driving for Home

Horsetail clouds brushing the shoulders
of pines more resemble egret feathers
spitcurled by wind.
So much is misnamed—
take the brown thrasher, that brash
thief with song like water on fire
that builds its nest in the desert smiles
of teddy bear cholla.
Swainson’s Hawk
sounds too butlerish for this heavy-taloned
philosopher of the plains, often mistaken
for a child hunched on a hungry fence post
watching for mice under the massive swivel
of sunflower heads.
What have I misnamed
today in my rush from car to class to office to
car, what essentials are missing? Poetry
grinned at me with her cracked teeth, held
out a slim hand but I didn’t have time
to offer lunch or ask her name.
Only now clouds claim me, the blades
of egret feathers waving frail
lacy question marks across
my windshield above the swarm of cars
driving for home.

— Pamela Uschuk (b1948)
Wild in the Plaza of Memory
WingsPress, San Antonio, Texas, 2012

 

The Colors of a Fallen Flower

One time entering life
Crying crying, laughing laughing,
Suddenly, seeing the colors of a fallen flower.
The traveling steps touched the eternal land.
This mountain, that river,
The soul of the white clouds
Became light and immense.

1984
The poem “The Colors of a Fallen Flower” was my first poem written in English. It was written for my first Dharma talk about Zen in an American monastery.

— Thich Giac Thanh (1947-2001
Scattered Memories
Parallax Press, Berkeley, 2013

~ ~ ~     ~ ~ ~

7 January Feast-day for Family ancestor saints:

St Kentigerna (Caentigerna, Quentigerna) of Loch Lomond (-734), generation 43 aunt

St Aldric (Aldericus, Aldricus, Audry, Elric) of Le Mans (800-857), generation 39 uncle

St Reinold (Rainold, Reynold) of Cologne (-960), generation 36 uncle

^ ^ ^   ^ ^ ^

 

Nudius tertius decimus.

Laughing turtle, which symbolizes peace and stability

6 January,  the Twelfth Day of Christmas

6 January 2016  –  a pome a day…

Washing Doorknobs

The glass doorknobs turn no differently.
But every December
I polish them with vinegar water and cotton.

Another year ends.
This one, I ate Kyoto pickles
and touched, in Xi’an, a stone turtle’s face,
cold as stone, as turtle.

I could not read the fortune carved into its shell
or hear what it had raised its head
to listen for, such a long time.

Around it, the madness of empires continued,
an unbitted horse that runs for a thousand miles
between grazing.

Around us, the madness of empires continues.

How happy we are,
how unhappy we are, doesn’t matter.
The stone turtle listens. The famished horse runs.

Washing doorknobs, one year enters another.

— Jane Hirshfield (b 1953)
Come, Thief
Alfred A. Knopf, NY, 2013

~~~
Shout

The brush worn down, ink dry,
Paper remains blank,
Is there space for my poem?
My shout reaches the sky,
Rivers, mountains remain calm.

1993
The shout described in this poem is a happy shout. It happens when someone suddenly realizes that the happiness of life is still there and the freedom of spiritual life is still there.

— Thích Giác Thanh (1947-2001)
Scattered Memories
Parallax Press, Berkeley, 2013

^^^   ^^^

6 January – Feast Day of my saintly ancestors:

Saint Diman (Dimas, Dima) of Connor (-658), generation 46 uncle
Saint Edeyrn (6th c), generation 47 uncle
Saint Eigrad (c490-c570), generation 49 uncle
Saint Hywyn (Ewen, Owen) (-c560) generation 49 uncle
Saint Merinus (Mirren of Benchor) (c565-c620) generation 47 uncle
Saint Warinus of Poitiers (Warin, Guerin, Gerinus, Varinus) (-677) generation 44 grandfather

Vedic fasting day:

Saphla Ekadashi

^^^   ^^^ 

Today, I stayed home and did a little housecleaning, a little laundry, worked on my syllabi for Spring courses, watched a little TYT, Democracy Now! handled some correspond-dance, read, walked in the rain.  And what did you do today, dear reader?

~ ~ ~

Feast of the Epiphany (Western Christianity), also known as the Theophany. Also Three Kings Day, or Day of the Magi. A day when Christianity celebrates astrology! — The Magi, three wise men, or kings, from the East: Magi was the word the Greeks had given long before to Persian holy men and sages–probably Zoroastrian priests. The word magic comes from the religion & spiritual sciences of the magi, for whom astrology was a central feature. The time and place of the birth of an Avatar, a Divine Incarnation, was predicted by observing astrological patterns. There are many parallels between aspects of Vedic literature and Zoroastrian literature, in which Zoroaster is referred to as an ereshi, a Vedic rishi….

 ^^^   ^^^ ^^^