Contents
Discoveries
Weekly Puzzle
Spring Question
--------------------------------------
Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.
Carl Sagan
****************
Hello La Paz, Bolivia. May you grow wealthy on good crops.
*******************
I find great pleasure in discovering things, new things, new things about old things and old things I'm rediscovering. That "there is nothing new under the sun" may be true as far as the sun is concerned, but in all the parcels and possibilities of our lives there is a multitude, probably a infinite number, of "new' things, things that have always been there patiently waiting for someone to uncover them.
When I was a lad I was a good swimmer and I liked to dive down to the bottom of Long Island Sound to see what was down there. There was no scuba diving around in those days in that area, so I stayed down for as long as I could hold my breath and brought things up to the surface with me.
I love music and will listen to it for hours appreciating and learning new things about the harmonies, counterpoints and orchestrations. I am learning more all the time about how to listen behind the tones and melodies to find the truth that only music can speak.
At 21 I hitchhiked across the country, from Boston to Los Angeles. I had seen pictures, but I wanted to see for myself what the pictures tried to tell me, to hear, smell and feel the country for myself and to see things that weren't in the pictures. That two week journey was one of the most profound experiences of my life.
In my career as an actor there were always discoveries to be made about the story, the character I was playing, the intricacies of the plot and even about the art of acting. I learned new and improved ways of performing and of communicating the ideas and the realities of human life.
At one time I thought a lot about the act of communication. I took three plays by Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well, King Richard the Third and Romeo and Juliet and studied each play carefully to find some statement about human communication. I uncovered some real gems of wisdom in every scene that might be missed in the tumble and passion of performance by an audience and even by the actor himself. I wonder what happened to all those notes. Somehow they fell by the wayside in my vagabond life.
When I began to study at the Art Students League in New York, drawing and painting, I was soon learning amazing things about the human body, the bones, muscles and other organs and seeing them in their metaphorical contexts. I was learning how the body can communicate thoughts and states of mind by its positions and poses, why the muscles looked the way they did and worked the way they did and what the pencil and the paint brush were able to tell me if I listened to them.
Living for a while in New Hampshire I was an avid hiker in the White Mountain National Forest. That gave me the joy of discovering the vast and complex creations of nature and how they related to each other, the riches of rocks, trees, ferns, brooks, wild flowers and wild animals. I think walking softly among those mysteries and imbibing their character was some of the happiest moments of my life.
Now in my senior years my explorations and travels are through the great literature of the world, especially the philosophers. It is a surprising journey because it takes new/old ideas that touch every aspect of our lives from psychology to cosmology.
There are many modern philosophers who simply tread back and forth over the same field and point out the flaws in each other's foot prints. But in every age and nation true thinkers are born. I am looking forward to knowing the next one.
DB - The Vagabond
********************
No fooling around, here is this week's puzzle.
These are all legitimate movie titles in translation.
Your task, if you wish to survive, is to translate them back into their original titles by the end of next week.
Several Saints
Uprising Over The Thanksgiving Dinner
How One Murders An Imitator
Swept Away In A Breeze
The Lion Is Burning It's Feet
What The Flute Makes
The Insects' Messiah
She Married The Monster
Mr. Summerfall Winterspring
The Chimpanzees Live There
Confessing When Drenched
He Paid Very Close Attention, Unfortunately
Boiling When It's Dark
Misplaced Religious Artifact Stolen
Trees Around The Little House
Leo's Secret Message
Ultimate Spanish Dance in France
Country In A Maternity Ward
Instructions In Stone
Creepy Creatures Aloft
The Bitch Is Domesticated
1 entry so far.
Good luck
dbdacoba@aol.com
DB
*********************
SPRING QUESTION
(This is not a contest)
NASA has planned to send a two man mission on an 18 month trip to the planet Mars. It would take 6 months for the astronauts to get there and after 6 months of exploration another 6 months to return.
Should they do it and why, and if not, why not?
dbdacoba@aol.com
4 answers so far
I eagerly await your answer.
DB
******************
Showing posts with label White Mountain National Forest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label White Mountain National Forest. Show all posts
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wild Woods Wisdom
It is a kind of sacred shudder to feel the abyss of the trancendental opening up before one's feet.
Immanuel Kant
**********************
For several years my recreation was the metaphysical,.experience of hiking in the White Mountain National Forest of New Hampshire. I say it was metaphysical because I soon found the many metaphors that abounded when I was in the presence of untamed nature.
I do not remember all the many hours I spent or the countless thousands of steps I took over the roots and rocks of those trails. Those steps, like the sausage grinder of my own mental works, were there to take me to a destination, not necessarily the destination those who laid out the trail had in their own grinders.
There were meadows with foliage so overgrown it was difficult to see the long trail that went through them. There were tiring ascents through relentless forests. There were steep and dangerous cliffs where it was almost impossible to find a foot hold. There was a lake with leeches in which no one should want to swim. I do remember those places.
But there are other memories. I remember suddenly coming upon something that was strikingly beautiful. There was the Swift River with the waterfalls upstream of it. I remember an unexpected clearing on the Mount Cranmore trail in which, though surrounded with trees, nothing was growing but grass. I wondered what was underground and invisible that prevented other growth. I remember the view from the edge of the cliff atop Boulder Loop Trail and the tree growing bravely from the face of that cliff. I remember the Lake Of The Clouds on the way up Mount Washington.
I remember the summit of South Moat Mountain that was so comfortable I didn't want to leave it. And I remember the creatures,the grouse, the toad, the beaver, the wild turkey, the pheasant, the moose tracks and the eyes of the forest beings suddenly appearing in the light of my match on the other side of the brook I was about to ford at night.
Many people who visit those trails are not there for the same reason I was. Those who are out for exercise, those who come to see the magnificent autumn foliage, the mad hunters from the "flat lands" will miss most of the beauties, lessons and metaphors of the forest. But those mysteries are the reason I went out, rain or shine, from June to November whenever I could to find what Nature could teach me.
One of the first lessons I learned was that, even though many of those grand metaphors were designed and put in place many thousands or millions of years ago, Nature doesn't care whether we see them or not. It is Nature talking to itself. Nature doesn't care about our tedious committee meetings, our over crowded schools, our struggles to understand the world we live in or our vain attempts to improve it, our wars and our bickering governments, our aspirations, our foolishness, the lurking evils in the hearts and minds of the subhuman members of our race. Wild Nature doesn't' care if we try to wrap things up in nice neat bundles. Nature doesn't even care there are trails through it's world. Even though we are creations of Nature itself it rarely looks back at us to see what we're doing. If we cut down one of Natures's trees, it grows another one. That's the first great lesson. Having learned that one I was ready to learn the rest, and it was for those transcendent experiences that kept me going back to the forest.
I was being taken by the wild woods into a place where the stream of ideas, which would occasionally reveal themselves in a momentary flash of recognizable thought but were otherwise coming at me so rapidly it was impassable for my meat grinder of a mind to comprehend them. I wanted to jump in and let all the primordial wisdom wash over me, shudder me and cleans me of all confusion.
DB - The Vagabond
***************************
WINTER QUESTION
(This is not a contest)
What was the most significant event that happened in 2010?
dbdacoba@aol.com
Only 7 responses so far. Winter is almost over. What's your answer?
DB
******************************
Immanuel Kant
**********************
For several years my recreation was the metaphysical,.experience of hiking in the White Mountain National Forest of New Hampshire. I say it was metaphysical because I soon found the many metaphors that abounded when I was in the presence of untamed nature.
I do not remember all the many hours I spent or the countless thousands of steps I took over the roots and rocks of those trails. Those steps, like the sausage grinder of my own mental works, were there to take me to a destination, not necessarily the destination those who laid out the trail had in their own grinders.
There were meadows with foliage so overgrown it was difficult to see the long trail that went through them. There were tiring ascents through relentless forests. There were steep and dangerous cliffs where it was almost impossible to find a foot hold. There was a lake with leeches in which no one should want to swim. I do remember those places.
But there are other memories. I remember suddenly coming upon something that was strikingly beautiful. There was the Swift River with the waterfalls upstream of it. I remember an unexpected clearing on the Mount Cranmore trail in which, though surrounded with trees, nothing was growing but grass. I wondered what was underground and invisible that prevented other growth. I remember the view from the edge of the cliff atop Boulder Loop Trail and the tree growing bravely from the face of that cliff. I remember the Lake Of The Clouds on the way up Mount Washington.
I remember the summit of South Moat Mountain that was so comfortable I didn't want to leave it. And I remember the creatures,the grouse, the toad, the beaver, the wild turkey, the pheasant, the moose tracks and the eyes of the forest beings suddenly appearing in the light of my match on the other side of the brook I was about to ford at night.
Many people who visit those trails are not there for the same reason I was. Those who are out for exercise, those who come to see the magnificent autumn foliage, the mad hunters from the "flat lands" will miss most of the beauties, lessons and metaphors of the forest. But those mysteries are the reason I went out, rain or shine, from June to November whenever I could to find what Nature could teach me.
One of the first lessons I learned was that, even though many of those grand metaphors were designed and put in place many thousands or millions of years ago, Nature doesn't care whether we see them or not. It is Nature talking to itself. Nature doesn't care about our tedious committee meetings, our over crowded schools, our struggles to understand the world we live in or our vain attempts to improve it, our wars and our bickering governments, our aspirations, our foolishness, the lurking evils in the hearts and minds of the subhuman members of our race. Wild Nature doesn't' care if we try to wrap things up in nice neat bundles. Nature doesn't even care there are trails through it's world. Even though we are creations of Nature itself it rarely looks back at us to see what we're doing. If we cut down one of Natures's trees, it grows another one. That's the first great lesson. Having learned that one I was ready to learn the rest, and it was for those transcendent experiences that kept me going back to the forest.
I was being taken by the wild woods into a place where the stream of ideas, which would occasionally reveal themselves in a momentary flash of recognizable thought but were otherwise coming at me so rapidly it was impassable for my meat grinder of a mind to comprehend them. I wanted to jump in and let all the primordial wisdom wash over me, shudder me and cleans me of all confusion.
DB - The Vagabond
***************************
WINTER QUESTION
(This is not a contest)
What was the most significant event that happened in 2010?
dbdacoba@aol.com
Only 7 responses so far. Winter is almost over. What's your answer?
DB
******************************
Sunday, July 18, 2010
My Tree
Deliberation is the work of many men. Action of one alone.
Charles de Gaulle
****************
Even an old squirrel can climb a tree. Once in a great while a squirrel will come and visit my balcony, and often the birds, Loneliness is a small price to pay for the peace and opportunities of solitude.
I love to go walking in a forest, if there is one to walk in, In my town there is only a small forest, hardly noticeable, which is what was left after the parking lot was finished. But it's preserved by the Nature Conservancy.
Forests are great, but I am also impressed by the solitaries in nature. When I was in high school there was a field near my school that was all open meadow except for one large oak tree. It has clearly been there for centuries rewarding the friendship of birds, squirrels and who knows what other forms of life that live under it's benign, majestic presence.
My favorite trail to hike in the White Mountains of New Hampshire was the Boulder Loop Trail, so called because shortly after the start of it there was a huge boulder, a single rock the size of a house. There were trees, shrubs and stones around it, but above all it stood in its silent, kingly aloneness.
The summit of that trail is a sheer and dangerous cliff, plummeting straight down to the bottom. Growing right out of the side of that cliff is a tree. From the edge of the cliff you can see only it's outer branches. But there is a safer place to stand to view the entire tree. It has made purchase in the ground beyond the crannies of the cliff, has turned itself up to catch the bright, unobstructed sun and rain and puts out fresh leaves every year to welcome the birds who come to visit.
Having spent my life in theatre where one is surrounded by other artists at all times, I now live alone and write. Do I speak my solitary words in the vast, teaming meadow to be read only by the few who pass by? Do I stand sentinel in the dark forest observing the passing of the seasons of young and old, ignorance and wisdom, kindness and cruelty, living and dying, hope and fear, right and wrong? Do I cling, aloof but full of life, to the dangerous side of imagination and experiment, defying the codes of ordinary being?
I do all of those because I am a vagabond and because I have words. Words are powerful things. They are engendered with force even if they are not read when written or heard when spoken. As my friend Stuart wrote today "I can use language I can survive." Language is equipped with magic fingers. It's branches touch every forsaken and unknown place in the unlimited universe. A single word can change the world, but if it is not heard or read who will be prepared? Alone in the forest a poet sang and raised the dead.
Wherever I go, whatever I do and whoever I am, I am what every other creature is: singular, alone, unique.
DB - The Vagabond
*******************
WEEKEND PUZZLE
PFBCG PMM DOKVTY, PVN PD PMM DKRGY,
LUPWDKWE QBXUYGMZ KV TBBN OXRBU.
DOBRPY IGZZGUYBV
good luck
db
Charles de Gaulle
****************
Even an old squirrel can climb a tree. Once in a great while a squirrel will come and visit my balcony, and often the birds, Loneliness is a small price to pay for the peace and opportunities of solitude.
I love to go walking in a forest, if there is one to walk in, In my town there is only a small forest, hardly noticeable, which is what was left after the parking lot was finished. But it's preserved by the Nature Conservancy.
Forests are great, but I am also impressed by the solitaries in nature. When I was in high school there was a field near my school that was all open meadow except for one large oak tree. It has clearly been there for centuries rewarding the friendship of birds, squirrels and who knows what other forms of life that live under it's benign, majestic presence.
My favorite trail to hike in the White Mountains of New Hampshire was the Boulder Loop Trail, so called because shortly after the start of it there was a huge boulder, a single rock the size of a house. There were trees, shrubs and stones around it, but above all it stood in its silent, kingly aloneness.
The summit of that trail is a sheer and dangerous cliff, plummeting straight down to the bottom. Growing right out of the side of that cliff is a tree. From the edge of the cliff you can see only it's outer branches. But there is a safer place to stand to view the entire tree. It has made purchase in the ground beyond the crannies of the cliff, has turned itself up to catch the bright, unobstructed sun and rain and puts out fresh leaves every year to welcome the birds who come to visit.
Having spent my life in theatre where one is surrounded by other artists at all times, I now live alone and write. Do I speak my solitary words in the vast, teaming meadow to be read only by the few who pass by? Do I stand sentinel in the dark forest observing the passing of the seasons of young and old, ignorance and wisdom, kindness and cruelty, living and dying, hope and fear, right and wrong? Do I cling, aloof but full of life, to the dangerous side of imagination and experiment, defying the codes of ordinary being?
I do all of those because I am a vagabond and because I have words. Words are powerful things. They are engendered with force even if they are not read when written or heard when spoken. As my friend Stuart wrote today "I can use language I can survive." Language is equipped with magic fingers. It's branches touch every forsaken and unknown place in the unlimited universe. A single word can change the world, but if it is not heard or read who will be prepared? Alone in the forest a poet sang and raised the dead.
Wherever I go, whatever I do and whoever I am, I am what every other creature is: singular, alone, unique.
DB - The Vagabond
*******************
WEEKEND PUZZLE
PFBCG PMM DOKVTY, PVN PD PMM DKRGY,
LUPWDKWE QBXUYGMZ KV TBBN OXRBU.
DOBRPY IGZZGUYBV
good luck
db
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Upscale Umrage 2/28/09
Without rain there would be no life.
John Updike
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Hello dreamer.
--------------------------------------
I like the rain.
Rain: the grand metaphor for sorrow, trouble, depression, frustration and inconvenience. "Into every life a little rain must fall." "Don't rain on my parade." "Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day." And so on, and so on. We run away from it or carry an umbrella to protect ourselves from it as if it was seven angels dumping plagues on our heads.
Well I happen to like rain. If Nature wants to water her trees, then she can water my head while she's at it. I know about sorrow. Tears can help clean the slate. I know about trouble. It's what makes you knuckle down and solve things. I know about frustration. I own a computer after all. Let the rain come. It can't hurt me.
I used to go hiking in the White Mountain National Forest whenever I could. Sometimes I went out in the rain. One day I took a trail that skirted the side of a cliff. It wasn't a long trail but it was steep and difficult, and very slippery because it began to rain. I donned my rain gear, a large pullover rain coat that came to my knees, with a hood. I also had my big walking stick. As I got near the end of the trail I heard something you don't expect to ever hear way out in the woods. I heard a car door slam.
I was approaching a area of cliffs. At the far end was a road where people could drive up for the view. As the rain was letting up a car came up there. When I reached the top I stepped out from behind the trees and saw a couple standing at the edge of the far cliff, admiring the view. I didn't move because I didn't want to startle them in their precarious position. But the woman saw me grabbed the man by the arm and he looked. They both ran back to the car and drove off as fast as they could.
I don't know what they thought they saw in my long coat, with the hood, my beard and my big stick. I was Jeremiah, John The Baptist, The Old Man Of The Mountain, The Ghost Of The White Mountains, whatever. They are probably still talking about the specter they saw that rainy day,
But think, if I had stayed home that day because of the rain I would never have given them that strange experience to talk about and I wouldn't have this story to tell.
DB
-------------------
Embrace a dream today
John Updike
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Hello dreamer.
--------------------------------------
I like the rain.
Rain: the grand metaphor for sorrow, trouble, depression, frustration and inconvenience. "Into every life a little rain must fall." "Don't rain on my parade." "Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day." And so on, and so on. We run away from it or carry an umbrella to protect ourselves from it as if it was seven angels dumping plagues on our heads.
Well I happen to like rain. If Nature wants to water her trees, then she can water my head while she's at it. I know about sorrow. Tears can help clean the slate. I know about trouble. It's what makes you knuckle down and solve things. I know about frustration. I own a computer after all. Let the rain come. It can't hurt me.
I used to go hiking in the White Mountain National Forest whenever I could. Sometimes I went out in the rain. One day I took a trail that skirted the side of a cliff. It wasn't a long trail but it was steep and difficult, and very slippery because it began to rain. I donned my rain gear, a large pullover rain coat that came to my knees, with a hood. I also had my big walking stick. As I got near the end of the trail I heard something you don't expect to ever hear way out in the woods. I heard a car door slam.
I was approaching a area of cliffs. At the far end was a road where people could drive up for the view. As the rain was letting up a car came up there. When I reached the top I stepped out from behind the trees and saw a couple standing at the edge of the far cliff, admiring the view. I didn't move because I didn't want to startle them in their precarious position. But the woman saw me grabbed the man by the arm and he looked. They both ran back to the car and drove off as fast as they could.
I don't know what they thought they saw in my long coat, with the hood, my beard and my big stick. I was Jeremiah, John The Baptist, The Old Man Of The Mountain, The Ghost Of The White Mountains, whatever. They are probably still talking about the specter they saw that rainy day,
But think, if I had stayed home that day because of the rain I would never have given them that strange experience to talk about and I wouldn't have this story to tell.
DB
-------------------
Embrace a dream today
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