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Vermont Views Magazine

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Features,

Articles

&

Columns


Vermont Diary

Has Bean Has Travelled


Meanderings

Apache foggy morning

Charles Monette


Love In Action

Spiritual Smorgasbord for Soul Sisters

Elizabeth Hill


Finnish Fandango

BUT (YOU SAY) IT'S ONLY A BOOK !

Anneli Karniala


Write Walk

Where’s the Gravy?

Susan Cruickshank


Vermont Diary

Twelve Good Men


World & US Energy News

Just one day in the energy life of the planet

September 2018

George Harvey


Selected Letters

Why I chose to look ugly, and the reasoning behind it.

Susan Polgar


SCREENplay

The Wife

Lawrence Klepp


FOODISH

Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Dates and Balsamic Vinegar

Feature Article


Finnish Fandango

Got Milk? --

Not this kind, you don't!

Anneli Karniala


The First Glass

Typewriter days

Vincent Panella


Meanderings

Beyond the bees

Charles Monette


Old Lady Blog

Focused Light from a Different Star


Part 1 Self Portrait Frida Kahlo 1940

Creation of the Birds


Part 2 Remedios Varo 1958


Part 3 Join, Elizabeth Murray, 1980


Part 4 IXI by Susan Rothenberg 1977


Part 5 The Artist’s Wife in the Garden at Skagen 1893


Part 6 Gathering Paradise, Sandy Skoglund, 1991,

color Cibachrome photograph


Part 7 The Savage Sparkler, Alice Aycock, 1981, steel, sheet metal, heating coils, florescent lights, motors and fans

Toni Ortner


Water’s Edge

A Touch is All it Takes

Nicola Metcalf


Write Walk

Ladies I Need Your Help

Susan Cruickshank


Gallery One

#1 Sennen

#2 Surfing at Portreath

#3 Air Mail?

#4 Tall Ship at the Brixham Pirate Fest

#5 You can’t have a pirate ship without pirates

Anne Lenten, Ed.


Love In Action

Rainbow Connections

Elizabeth Hill


Vermont Diary

Woodier


Urban Naturalist

Blink little fire-beetle, flash and glimmer

Lloyd Graf


yore

Gardner Motor Cars

Feature Article


Monkey’s Cloak

You Can’t Do That

Charles Monette


Selected Letters

How To Evaporate Hate?

Black Panther meets Klansman

Offie Wortham and Curtiss Reed Jr.


in between

Losing the Garden

Julia Ferarri


Write Walk EXTRA

Rabid Fan & Conversion

Susan Cruickshank


Finnish Fandango

Crossing The Finnish Line

Anneli Karniala


Meanderings

The Blazing Sun

Charles Monette


Love In Action

To Have a Piece of Cake

Elizabeth Hill


Write Walk

Is that You Aunt Helen?

Susan Cruickshank


An A-musing Life

Letting if flow

Nanci Bern


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Lessons We Must Learn

Jeri Rose


Monkey’s Cloak

hell to swelter

Charles Monette


The First Glass

Sleeping With Herodotus

Vincent Panella


Water’s Edge

Maine morning

Nicola Metcalf


Selected Letters

How Can an Educated Person be Poor in Our Affluent Society?

Anonymous


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

“Thus, I was of the opinion...”

Jeri Rose


Open Mind

Affirmative Action should be based on Need not Race!

Offie Wortham


Love In Action

Mother and Child

Elizabeth Hill


SCREENplay

Ten Minute Plays

Lawrence Klepp


Meanderings

Understory vines

Charles Monette


An A-musing Life

Of hippos and their snacks

Nanci Bern


Write Walk

I See You

Susan Cruickshank


Love In Action

Fifty Years of Gratitude in One Beautiful Weekend

Elizabeth Hill


Vermont Diary

Don’t free Tibet, yet


Monkey’s Cloak

to Mother Teresa

András Adorján


Selected Letters

Compassion is volunteering to feed the hungry

Jane Southworth


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Perfect

Jeri Rose


in between

Searching For All the Moments We Put on Hold

Julia Ferarri


Open Mind

So what is Donald Trump

Offie Wortham


Write Walk

Fake News & Side-Seams

Susan Cruickshank


Write On!

In Light of Pee

Nicola Metcalf


Love In Action

May Hem at 510

Elizabeth Hill


Old Lady Blog

Horoscope & Water Wars

Toni Ortner


Meanderings

Here comes the sun

Charles Monette


Monkey’s Cloak

I set myself afire

Charles Monette


Write Walk

barking soliloquies

Susan Cruickshank


SCREENplay

Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool

Lawrence Klepp


Love In Action

Blooming through the gloaming

Elizabeth Hill


Monkey’s Cloak

Ode to a Goddess

Charles Monette


Open Mind

Black Man/Black Panther

Offie Wortham


Meanderings

Peaceful

Charles Monette


Love In Action

Shawabty and Snowdrops

Elizabeth Hill


SCREENplay

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Lawrence Klepp


Monkey’s Cloak

I’ll stay here till I get here

Charles Monette


Old Lady Blog

Writer and Agent

Toni Ortner


Vermont Diary

The American Way


Guest Column

Covered Bridge Cathedral

Susan Cruickshank


SCREENplay

The Darkest Hour

Lawrence Klepp


Love In Action

Not So Plain Jane

Elizabeth Hill


An A-musing Life

The Resolution Revolution

Nanci Bern


Write Walk

The Man on Newfane Hill

Susan Cruickshank


Guest Article

LETTERS FROM CUBA — 15

Some sentences from Cuba

Mac Gander


Guest Article

LETTERS FROM CUBA — 13

What’s time to a shoat?

Shanta Lee Gander


Open Mind

“Social Relationships”

Offie Wortham


Monkey’s Cloak

Untitled

Phil Innes


Vermont Diary

Like a Dan Shore Report


Love In Action

My Weekend with Lenny

Elizabeth Hill


The First Glass

This Poet Walks Into A Bar...

Vincent Panella


SCREENplay

Lady Bird

Lawrence Klepp


Monkey’s Cloak

Whither the storm?

Todd Vincent Crosby


Urban Naturalist

“...spanning 6 1/2 to 7 feet”

Lloyd Graf


Vermont Diary

Women,

you can’t get there from here


Selected Letters

Who do fools fall in love — Letter from a friend

Offie Wortham


Open Mind

Multiculturalism is the opposite of Integration

Offie Wortham


Love In Action

The Fruitcake Caper

Elizabeth Hill


in between

OUR EXPECTATIONS

Julia Ferarri


An A-musing Life

Cut To The Core

Nanci Bern


Monkey’s Cloak

75 at tea

Todd Vincent Crosby


SCREENplay

Wonderstruck

Lawrence Klepp


Monkey’s Cloak

All souls’ elegy

Charles Monette


Love In Action

Little Miss Buster

Elizabeth Hill


Old Lady Blog

Gapstow Bridge

Toni Ortner


Urban Naturalist

A Slow Day at Hogle Sanctuary is Salvaged by a Furry Visitor's Aquatic Star Turn

Lloyd Graf


Monkey’s Cloak

You cancelled your vacation

Charles Monette


Love In Action

Thay

Elizabeth Hill


Meanderings

Light footprints

Charles Monette


An A-musing Life

A Remembrance of Yom Kippur Angels and the Dancing Rabbi

Nanci Bern


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Bread and Circuses 

Jeri Rose


The First Glass

DEMOLITION

Vincent Panella


Urban Naturalist

Nighthawks

Lloyd Graf


SCREENplay

Wind River

Lawrence Klepp


Old Lady Blog

A Cross By The Sea

Toni Ortner


Love In Action

A Man Named Shin

Elizabeth Hill


Guest Article

Highland Fling

A series of articles, part 3

Tyndrum

Alan Rayner


Meanderings

Full Circle Meander

Charles Monette


Selected Letters

A Rational Solution to our Dilemma in Afghanistan.

Offie Wortham


An A-musing Life

Charlottesville

The Heart of the Serpent

Nanci Bern


Monkey’s Cloak

Malvern Hill

Charles Monette


SCREENplay

Dunkirk

Lawrence Klepp


Open Mind

So Who Came

To Your Funeral?

Offie Wortham


Monkey’s Cloak

Cicero’s Hands

Mike Murray


Open Mind

2030 — a short story

Offie Wortham


Love In Action

How To Fold A Presby Cap

Elizabeth Hill


Meanderings

A July summer’s midday morn

Charles Monette


in between

Reflection

Julia Ferarri


An A-musing Life

The Art of Flight

Nanci Bern


Vermont Diary

For The Birds


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Jumping Through Time

in My Life

Jeri Rose


Love In Action

Baby Buddha

Elizabeth Hill


Open Mind

A Transcultural Awareness Experience

Offie Wortham


Old Lady Blog

A Blackbird with Snow Covered Red Hills 1946

for Georgia O’Keefe

Toni Ortner


Monkey’s Cloak

overflowingly so

Charles Monette


The First Glass

John Dante’s Inferno,

A Playboy’s Life -

by Anthony Valerio

Vincent Panella


Love In Action

From the Hands

of Our Fathers

Elizabeth Hill


SCREENplay

Their Finest

Lawrence Klepp


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Rights and privileges 

Jeri Rose


Open Mind

Does Lifestyle Matter more than Race?

Offie Wortham


Love In Action

Robin in the rain

Elizabeth Hill


The First Glass

Luck

Vincent Panella


Vermont Diary

Change of Season


Selected Letters

Immigrants in Vermont

Philip B. Scott, Governor


Old Lady Blog

The language I speak

is a language of grief

Toni Ortner


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Tarnished Gold

Jeri Rose


Monkey’s Cloak

Other voices

Charles Monette


SCREENplay

Elle

Lawrence Klepp


An A-musing Life

The Great Exodus-Salamanders and Passover Crossings

Nanci Bern


An A-musing Life

One Sip at a Time

Nanci Bern


Love In Action

This Land

Elizabeth Hill


Vermont Diary

The British Aren’t Coming — Alas


Open Mind

But The Goalposts Keep Moving!

Offie Wortham


Meanderings

‘Beware the ides of March’

Charles Monette


Write On!

Grey Tower

Phil Innes


The First Glass

Writing like a Painter

Vincent Panella


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Racism vs Sexism

Jeri Rose


Monkey’s Cloak

Ice floes slow

Charles Monette


Urban Naturalist

The Sanctuary in Late Winter:

a Long-Deferred Visit to Hogle Offers Rewards and Raises Concerns

— part 2 —

Lloyd Graf


Love In Action

Mein Yertle

Elizabeth Hill


SCREENplay

Lion

Lawrence Klepp


Urban Naturalist

The Sanctuary in Late Winter:

a Long-Deferred Visit to Hogle Offers Rewards and Raises Concerns

— part 1 —

Lloyd Graf


Meanderings

White as Snow

Charles Monette


Love In Action

People Power in Pink

Elizabeth Hill


Open Mind

Populism

Offie Wortham


Meanderings

White Buffalo in the Sky

Charles Monette


Monkey’s Cloak

Venus Smiled

Charles Monette


An A-musing Life

A resolute spirit

Nanci Bern


The First Glass

For the Birds

Vincent Panella


Love In Action

New Year’s Reflections on

“Charlotte’s Web”

Elizabeth Hill


Vermont Diary

Spiritual Theft in the

Year of the Monkey


SCREENplay

Manchester by the Sea

Lawrence Klepp


Meanderings

White Mountain

Charles Monette


The First Glass

San Diego, Ocean Beach – November 17, 2016

Vincent Panella


SCREENplay

Allied

Lawrence Klepp


Monkey’s Cloak

Oh, Holidays

Nanci Bern


Old Lady Blog

Gone/ All Gone

Toni Ortner


An A-musing Life

Mushroom Soup with John

Nanci Bern


in between

FEAR

Julia Ferarri


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Racism vs Sexism

Jeri Rose


Meanderings

Last leaves leaving

Charles Monette


Love In Action

Braveheart

Elizabeth Hill


Urban Naturalist

Hogle in Fall:

a Subdued Sanctuary Hunkers Down for Winter

Lloyd Graf


Vermont Diary

Quality of Life


An A-musing Life

11/12 and Counting

Nanci Bern


World & US Energy News

Nov 15 Just one day in the energy life of the planet

George Harvey


Meanderings

As if

Charles Monette


Open Mind

What Will Become Of The Trump Faithful?

Offie Wortham


Monkey’s Cloak

Clouds

Charles Monette


Write On!

Castle Dor


Vermont Diary

Words or Deeds


SCREENplay

Sully

Lawrence Klepp


Love In Action

Living in the Twilight Zone

Elizabeth Hill


100 Years Ago

Births

in 1916


Chess

Susan Polgar:

Little Known Feminist Icon

Alicia Colon


Natural Inclusivity

What is ‘Natural’ Science?

Alan Rayner


Meanderings

Evil frog monsters

Charles Monette


SCREENplay

The Girl on the Train

Lawrence Klepp


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Who Sleeps Daily in S.C.?

&

S.C. City Council

Jeri Rose


Monkey’s Cloak

Why just now

Charles Monette


in between

After a Fire Puja

Julia Ferarri


Vermont Diary

Out of the closet


Old Lady Blog

LESBOS, GREECE

Toni Ortner


The First Glass

Journal Entry –

October 3, 2016

Vincent Panella


Meanderings

Another way up

Black Mountain

Charles Monette


SCREENplay

The Light Between Oceans

Lawrence Klepp


Love In Action

Déjà Vu at Asteroid Chasm

Elizabeth Hill


SCREENplay

Café Society

Lawrence Klepp


An A-musing Life

A Snow Bunny in Summer

Nanci Bern


Meanderings

The mountain was soft

Charles Monette


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

Malaise

Jeri Rose


Meanderings

Black Mountain

Charles Monette


Vermont Diary

Out of time


The First Glass

Who Art In : Moment : Youth

Vincent Panella


Urban Naturalist

THE HOGLE PANORAMA

Lloyd Graf


Love In Action

The Pony Man

Elizabeth Hill


Vermont Diary

Lots of words to it


Monkey’s Cloak

Beyond the pale

Charles Monette


Monkey’s Cloak

North York Moods

A series of observations and poems by Alan Rayner, part 7

‘Bridestones’


Love In Action

“The Missionary of Water”

Dr. Masaru Emoto

Elizabeth Hill


Selected Letters

Marbles

Offie Wortham


Old Lady Blog

from a forthcoming work...

Toni Ortner


in between

A QUIET RAIN FALLS

Julia Ferarri


Open Mind

The power of “Instant” News in producing stress and anxiety

Offie Wortham


An A-musing Life

Frost in the Summer

Nanci Bern


Vermont Diary

Birthday boy


Love In Action

Neptune and Jupiter

Elizabeth Hill


Monkey’s Cloak

North York Moods

A series of poems

by Alan Rayner, part 5

Howard’s Castle


Open Mind

Malcolm and Ali

Offie Wortham


Vermont Diary

SHOCK of the Present


Open Mind

Can we bite the bullet until after November?

Offie Wortham


Monkey’s Cloak

SHAVUOT

Nanci Bern


Monkey’s Cloak

five directions, five fingers, five roots

Charles Monette


Vermont Diary

US Politics for Forns from Yurp [part deux]


Monkey’s Cloak

UP NORTH

Phil Innes


Write On!

Women of the Mounds

Charles Monette


Open Mind

Colleges where your child can earn a Degree for Free

Offie Wortham


Love In Action

SEND IN THE CLOWNS

Elizabeth Hill


Vermont Diary

Ticks and Tourism


World & US Energy News

Just one day’s news

in early May

George Harvey


Old Lady Blog

Lights out or the weather of the apocalypse

Toni Ortner


Write On!

Daniel Berrigan

Charles Monette


Vermont Diary

Over the Mountain


Love In Action

The First Lady of the World

Elizabeth Hill


Monkey’s Cloak

May I

Charles Monette


Vermont Diary

Is the experiment with republics now over?


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

“How Drumpf wins”

Jeri Rose


Vermont Diary

WEIRD WYOMING — A LETTER TO ENGLAND


Vermont Diary

QUINTISH


Love In Action

THE DANCING FOOLS

Elizabeth Hill


Vermont Diary

PC, Euphemisms, including death and toilets


Urban Naturalist

AMPHIBIANS AND OTHER CRITTERS COPE WITH EQUINOCTAL CONFUSION

Lloyd Graf


Selected Letters

Tennessee Tensions

Rob Mitchell


Vermont Diary

Couple pointers

for President Trump


Old Lady Blog

Call from a Scientologist friend

Toni Ortner


Archetypal Hippie Speaks

The Hinge of Perception

Jeri Rose


Monkey’s Cloak

Bird of transcendence

Matti Salminen


Vermont Diary

FLIGHT PATH OPTIONS


Monkey’s Cloak

Tibetan dream song

Charles Monette


in between

One hundred and twenty six years

Julia Ferarri


CURIOUS TOPICS

Gull Summit — Prime Minister concerned over Hitchcockian behavior


View From A Bridge

Golgonooza

Brian D. Cohen


Love In Action

SUMMER, 1947

Elizabeth Hill




Vermont Views Magazine


A unique community supported cultural magazine exploring Quality of Life and Spirit of Place in our bio-region, with extraordinary photographs, 22 regular columnists plus feature articles, galleries & essays, new articles and photos every day. 100s more articles in the Archive.






Contact the magazine HERE


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PHOTO OF THE DAY


Down on the farm

by Connetta Jean

Photo by Phil Innes


“I don’t like Poetry”

Said the husband to the wife..

“I’ve no time for such things

I live a Farmers life”

But the wife said “dear husband”

“you live a poets poem’

do you not reap the harvest

of seeds by which you’ve sown?

I’ve seen you bow your head in thanks

when God answered prayers for rain

i’ve seen your eyes shine with pride

with every baby calf you name”

” I guess poetrys okay” he said

as he kissed that farmers wife

and silently he thanked the Lord

she saw poetry in their life….





PASSAGES


Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Text selections by Vermont Views


A state of war only serves as an excuse for domestic tyranny.


[Caption: Solzhenitsyn in Vermont, where he lived while in the West.]


Hastiness and superficiality are the psychic diseases of the 20th century, and more than anywhere else this disease is reflected in the press.


Violence can only be concealed by a lie, and the lie can only be maintained by violence.


The battleline between good and evil runs through the heart of every man.


Own only what you can always carry with you: know languages, know countries, know people. Let your memory be your travel bag.


Literature that is not the breath of contemporary society, that dares not transmit the pains and fears of that society, that does not warn in time against threatening moral and social dangers — such literature does not deserve the name of literature; it is only a façade. Such literature loses the confidence of its own people, and its published works are used as wastepaper instead of being read.


In our country the lie has become not just a moral category but a pillar of the State.


For us in Russia, communism is a dead dog, while, for many people in the West, it is still a living lion.


Read more PASSAGES >>>


Recent Passages By: Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Joan Didion, Pablo Casals, Geoffrey Chaucer, Muddy Waters, Aretha Franklin, Dorothy Maclean, Pauline Kael, John McCain, Renata Adler, Marshall McLuhan, V. S. Naipaul, Candice Bergen, Kingsley Amis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Jiddu Krishnamurti, Annie Besant, Nasreddin, Lionel Trilling, Peter Dinklage Read their work here




NOT QUITE THE THING

Sponsored by Delectable Mountain Cloth



Caption It!

MM Kizi


Series 26 images




SHORTS


About 75%

Vermont Views


STATISTIC: The just-released 2017 civics survey conducted by the Annenberg Public Policy Center at the University of Pennsylvania found, among other things:


More than a third of American adults (37 percent) can’t name any of the rights guaranteed under the First Amendment.

Only a quarter of American adults (26 percent) can name all three branches of government.


More than half of American adults (53 percent) incorrectly think it is accurate to say that immigrants who are here illegally do not have any rights under the U.S. Constitution.


STATISTIC: Last year’s survey by the Annenberg center found:


Nearly 4 in 10 (39 percent) incorrectly said the Constitution gives the president the power to declare war. Just more than half (54 percent) knew the Constitution gives Congress the power to declare war.


A vast majority (83 percent) correctly said the Constitution gives Congress the power to raise taxes.


A majority (77 percent) know the Constitution says that Congress cannot establish an official religion — though almost 1 in 10 agreed with the statement that the Constitution says, “Congress can outlaw atheism because the United States is one country under God.”


Read More shorts




VERMONT DIARY


Has Bean Has Travelled

Editorial


I am copying all Vermont Views Columnists, plus friends of the magazine, and issuing a challenge and invitation on behalf of the FOODISH column to write up your own favorite winter season dish — plus an anecdote of why you chose it.


Likely we will have a big Scandinavian contribution this year from friends of friends of family, and I wonder if we could all follow a format and tail your recipe with some anecdote, however long, of why you like this dish? Here is a sample entry for format reasons plus my own anecdote:—


Notes (Prep time plus cook time.)

Prep

Cook

Plating notes


Anecdote

As a young man I found myself in a delightful old farmhouse in Sussex, England, one summer, one which had bagged figs in the tree in the garden, and over which there were contrails such as there were in WWII — and  which had a Rayburn stove, and for transport I had a pre WWI sit up and beg type one gear black bicycle, with which I could sport around, visit Blake's house nearby, also the Roman town of Chichester, and the castle town of Arundel.


This was my first experience of cooking for myself and for another, a titled older lady who I was 'keeping an eye on.'


Now and again visitors would appear — Lady Goodwood in her Bentley, with attendants, driver, et ca, a lady who owned substantial chunks of Africa at the time, to whom I served tea and to her question of 'who I was' I said 'Innes' which I think she took as being Viscount Innes, such as are responses this way in England, and which was received equitably without demurrer. 


Then came the wife of the Bishop of Puerto Rico — himself was at a conference in Canterbury, and she, bored, came to visit. To visit and incidentally to assess my cooking skills, including baked beans which I had made some from a can, which is the buried subject of this thread. 


She went off to town and bought all sorts of things, including beans which she cooked on the stove top for best part of the day, before immersing them into a large oven pan, and adding things I hardly know the names of, but including sweet peppers, chilies, considerable amounts of mustard, fresh tomatoes, bacon, 'exotic' herbs' and as I say, other things unknown to me by shape, name or previous contact thereof. This all went into the oven of the AGGA the next day to then emerge 6 hours later to the reprise, "those are baked beans."


And they were extraordinary, and probably sparked my interest in cooking things which didn't come in cans or from factories.


<extract> Read More Vermont Diary >>>




MEANDERINGS


Apache foggy morning

Charles Monette


Early autumn, October 9th, a ‘patchy fog’ stilled the woods as I entered the trailhead.  Weather describers had labeled their forecast ‘Patchy Fog’ Monday night till mid-morning Tuesday.  But it wasn’t ‘patchy’!  A uniform, levelheaded expanse was hovering in the forest.  More, the remnants of a drizzling mist earlier that morning.  The trees, the leaves, the rocks, everything was enveloped in a miasma of moist air. 


My Apache fog was slowly lifting as I sauntered off into the damp quiet of an Indian summer day.  Almost one 3rd through October days, this Fall’s foliage had just begun.  Dampened yellow and dead brown leaves lay intermingled on the trail creating a poor man’s yellow brick road.  The yellow glowed brightly over brown.  Sopping wet throughout.


Small trees were drooping wet, hanging over ever so slightly, with raindrops weighting each pale green leaf.  Ferns aside the trail offered a mix of green and gold frond that had begun to decolor.  Deep verdant and vibrant moss clung firmly, embedded on dead logs.


                                   Musing Math, calculating

   I realized a 1.5 C future must = net-zero greenhouse gas emissions

  but what about runaway feedbanks of die-back tropical rainforests?

                 what of the release of methane rich permafrost?

                               in the midst of the catastrophic

             avoidance requires radical change and climate justice

                                           Are you ready?


Looking up, I spied some wet white bark uncoiling in a glen of birch trees.  Birds were singing, but wildlife must’ve been sleeping in.


<extract> Read more of this and other articles by Charles Monette >>>




LOVE IN ACTION


Spiritual Smorgasbord for Soul Sisters

Elizabeth Hill


Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

~ Matsuo Basho


I arrived more than three hours later than scheduled that Thursday evening, after the flight from Toronto to London Ontario was cancelled due to an air traffic control issue.


Amidst some chaos at the re-booking counter, I was told the next available flight would be the following day. The only same-day transport to my friend Nancy’s place was to catch two separate train rides that would take me to Central London.


A young Polish woman named Maggie asked me if we could go together, as we would need to hurry to make it to the first train, and our instructions from the airline person were rather vague. We power-walked almost the full length of the terminal, zoomed across moving walkways—our wheeled luggage in tow—then pretty much jogged up escalators to get to the first train. It was packed, we were pooped, but we both got seats.


I’m telling this because, the whole time Maggie and I were kickin’ up dust, I felt certain (to borrow a phrase from Findhorn’s founder, Eileen Caddy) “All is very, very well.” In fact, the travel delay allowed my friend Nancy to complete her workday, plus Maggie and I not only got a great workout, we also became instant friends, exchanging contact information so we can stay in touch.


Nancy picked me up at the train station, and then we headed to a restaurant she had recommended. Before exiting the car, we took a moment to express gratitude for this weekend we had planned together, and also to invite the energy of The Transformation Game to be with us throughout the weekend.


Nancy and I first met while living at Findhorn in Scotland. It was from there that The Transformation Game was created. Over time, it has become a treasured globally recognized tool for fostering personal and group growth, awakening insights, and assisting with decision-making. Produced in numerous languages, it is available at the following link: https://www.innerlinks.com/


While eating dinner, a fly kept circling around us both.


Extract Read More Elizabeth Hill >>>




Finnish Fandango


BUT (YOU SAY) IT'S ONLY A BOOK !

Anneli Karniala


   Some selected quotes by Joan Didion are presented in the "Passages" section of this magazine. And speaking of her, I understand she's very perceptive about many things. However, I had such a weird experience with one of her books, that I cringe from referred reference to her! And I'll tell you why, before you even say, "Oh, don't bother"!


   My father lived here with me for over four years before he died. I took care of him, food, transport, doctor visits, cleaning, plus I worked my nursing job. The year after he died, which brought us to 2007, I got a package in the mail. It was Joan Didion's book, "The Year of Magical Thinking", along with an envelope and card from a guy I'll call Q., who lived somewhere out West, at least at that time, as I recall.


    We had both been in the same class in Elementary School here in 5th and 6th grade, also in Junior High (7th and 8th grade). After that, he and his family moved away. So I had never seen him or had contact with him since 8th grade, some 40+ years earlier, and I really only knew him as a schoolboy for a few years.

  

   This Q. was a smart kid, yes. A "Mr. Perfectly Dressed", always in an ironed white shirt and pressed trousers --- unlike what other boys wore to school in 1957-60.  I didn't like his grin, and I just did not like him at all...So I thought, what the hell was he up to, sending me something, popping out of history from elementary and junior high school like that.  And where did he have my street address from. (Of course, I have since discovered that one can find all manner of addresses on the Internet!)


   I read his short note which was very fishy indeed -- he professed to be researching his family's gravesites after his mother had at that time recently died, and "came across" the obituary of my father the year before. He says "it occurred to" him to send me the book...because it had helped HIM to recognize some of the same experiences that Joan Didion wrote about in the book.


   Unbelievable .... This Q. knew absolutely squat about me, my life, my father, my grieving at the time, etc. And whether or not this book would be meaningful to me. And did I even want to see if I had some of the same experiences as the author and him? How could he possibly know that answer. In fact, I had no need to read about other's grief during my own; it gave me no solace whatsoever.


Extract Read more Anneli Karniala



WRITE WALK


Where’s the Gravy?

Susan Cruickshank


The biblical narrative, ‘Tower of Babel,’ speaks of a time when ‘the whole earth had one language and used the same words.’* It was after Noah and the great flood, when enough time had passed that pride once again had run amok, and frail egos puffed with self-importance. It was out of this hubris that the idea to build a tower to the sky and play God was brewed and work began in earnest. It is a cautionary tale of human arrogance and God’s reckoning. 

 

For in a moment, God relinquished the gifting of complete understanding of the other by scrambling language and making it impossible to communicate.

 

Babel. [Illus. from Psychology Today]

 

I’ve wondered in recent years, when I misunderstand someone’s words completely, or they have misunderstood me with mine, whether an updated form of Babel is now plaguing our world. A 2.0 version, more insidious in nature and therefore more difficult to detect. Where language’s visual symbols––words spoken or on the page––remain unchanged, lulling us into a false confidence that we are understanding what is being said, as well as being understood. The reality, however, is that there is often a great chasm between us of confused meaning.

 

The salience of this theory gelled for me recently through the unremarkable subject of dog food location. This trivial matter led to a complete communication breakdown. But because the concern was innocuous, emotions remained level, which made the real issue easier to notice: the same word didn’t mean the same thing to me as it did to somebody else.

 

I had landed in the outdoorsy town of Peterborough, Ontario, the Brattleboro of the

North, to dog-sit two senior Golden Retrievers for five weeks.


<Extract> Read More Susan Cruickshank >>>




WORLD & US ENERGY NEWS


September 2018

George Harvey


Science and Technology:

¶ “Flood frequency of world’s largest river has increased fivefold, study finds” • Flooding on the Amazon River has increased fivefold over the last two or three decades, a new study has found. Analysis of more than 100 years of river level records from the Amazon showed that both floods and droughts had become more frequent. [The Independent]


World:

¶ “SIMEC Atlantis Unveils World’s Largest Tidal Turbine” • Tidal turbine maker SIMEC Atlantis Energy unveiled designs for what may be the world’s largest single-rotor tidal turbine, the 2-MW AR2000. SIMEC Atlantis’s 1.5-MW turbines are used at the world’s largest tidal stream away, the 6-MW MeyGen array off the north of Scotland. [CleanTechnica]


¶ Nearly 400 investors, with assets worth $32 trillion, announced The Investor Agenda, a first-of-its-kind global agenda aimed to accelerate and scale-up actions critical to meeting the goals of the Paris Agreement. [CleanTechnica]


¶ “Electric For All Campaign From Volkswagen – 10 Million EVs Based On MEB Platform” • Volkswagen officially launched its “Electric For All” campaign this week with the official introduction of its MEB platform. The platform is where the powertrain, suspension, brakes, and other vital components all come together. [CleanTechnica]


Illustrated:— VW MEB platform


¶ “Renewables reach 37-year high” • Strong hydro and wind generation saw 85% of the New Zealand’s electricity produced from renewables in the June quarter, government data shows. The country has a target to achieve 90% renewable power by 2025. The Labour-led coalition has suggested going to 100% 2035. [Newsroom]


US:

¶ “Boise City Aims At 100% Renewable By 2030 For Municipal Operations” • The City of Boise has joined a growing list of cities across the country that have committed to transitioning to 100% renewable energy sources. The Boise city facilities are already fueled by a combination of renewable and non-renewable sources. [Boise State Public Radio]


¶ “Renewable energy proposition draws millions of dollars in campaign spending” • Arizona Prop 127 is an initiative to amend the state constitution to require power utilities to get more of their electricity from renewable resources. Both supporters and opponents are currently engaged in a fierce and expensive media battle. [Tucson Local Media]

¶ “Jacksonville utility company wants federal regulators to intervene on Plant Vogtle dispute” • Jacksonville Electric Authority asked federal energy regulators to intervene in its dispute with a Georgia electric agency over an agreement requiring Jacksonville’s ratepayers to help build two nuclear reactors in Georgia. [Savannah Morning News]


<extract> Read More World & US Energy News




SELECTED LETTERS


Susan Polgar


Editorial note: The writer of this letter is Susan Polgar who became the Women’s World Chess Champion, pictured with Mikhail Tal, another chess world champion


Here are the reasonings behind it, something I never talked about.


When I was a young chess player, I consciously tried to look as plain and unattractive as possible. Most people never knew why. I never really talked about it. There were 2 main reasons:


1) It is because I was tired of being sexually harassed and hit on constantly by male chess players.


I was often the only girl in all-men chess tournaments (In fact, FIDE severely punished me by taking away my world #1 ranking for choosing to play only against men at that time. I was the only woman in chess history to be punished for wanting to play and beat male chess players). And the behavior of some of these male chess players was absolutely appalling. It sometimes became dangerous.


I wanted to prove myself on the board. I could not care less what people think about how I looked. I was NOT there to "pick up" men. I was always very thankful that my parents (especially my Mother) were always with me at tournaments to try to protect me. It is better today but still bad at times.


2) We were so poor that we had no money for fancy clothes.

Now, I can just be me. So no, most men cannot understand what many girls/women have to endure in chess, especially back then. Sexism and discrimination in chess still exist today, just not as much. This is why I wrote this


“WHY IS THERE A NEED FOR SOME ALL-GIRLS' OR WOMEN’S CHESS TOURNAMENTS?” This is probably one of the top 5 questions I have most often been asked:—


Many girls/women need to be able to set their feet in chess before they can fly. I took this problem head on for decades, and suffered so many severe consequences, so that girls and women of this and future generations can have an open path to bigger heights if they choose to. I am still being blacklisted by many today for exposing the real and serious problems in the sport I love and devoted my entire life to.


Knowing what I had to go through, and the price I had to pay, I would still do it again. It is a fight worth taking on for countless girls and women out there around the world.


Read more letters to Vermont Views >>>




SCREENplay


The Wife

Lawrence Klepp


The Nobel Prize for Literature must be considered a kind of practical joke, played by the usually humorless Swedes on a gullible literary world that eagerly and mistakenly covets it. Among the writers who did not win it: Tolstoy, Ibsen, Twain, Conrad, Wells, Henry James, Proust, Joyce, Dreiser, Lawrence, Cather, Wharton, Woolf, Frost, Stevens, Auden, Nabokov, Borges. Among those who did: Sully Prudhomme, Henryk Sienkiewicz, Wladyslaw Raymont, J.V. Jensen, Frans Sillanpää, and a few dozen other people you’ve never heard of. Deserving writers do sometimes get it, but if prizes were given for prizes, the Nobel Prize for Literature would win the Nobel Prize for Unforced Errors.


In The Wife, a superb movie with an unforgettable performance by Glenn Close, and the first English-language film by the Swedish director Bjorn Runge, the joke becomes transcendent irony. The famous American novelist who wins the prize didn’t really write any of his novels. On his own, he couldn’t even have gotten them published. His wife secretly did all the real writing.


I’m not committing a spoiler by telling you this, because the early hints of it solidify into certainty before the movie is half over. What makes the movie suspenseful is the ticking time bomb of the wife’s stifled ambitions, injured dignity, and cumulative resentment, registered at first only in facial expressions that barely break the surface of her reserved, placid demeanor. It is a very well-written movie, with a strong screenplay by Jane Anderson based on a novel of the same title by Meg Wolitzer, but Close carries it home with a performance that should get her the Oscar that she should already have won (the Nobels aren’t the only dubious awards).


The movie starts in the middle of the night, at a big house in Connecticut, where Joe Castleman (Jonathan Pryce), a bearded, aging, volatile American novelist, can’t sleep because he’s been nominated for the Nobel and the call would have to come on this night. If he doesn’t get it, he says to his wife, Joan, to hell with it—they’ll just hide out in a cabin in Maine to avoid the consolation calls.


<extract> Read More SCREENplay




FOODISH


Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Dates and Balsamic Vinegar

Real food from scratch


Notes

10 minutes prep time plus about 30 mins cook time. Try this basic recipe then innovate with added honey, for example.


Ingredients

Brussels Sprouts

Dates

Garlic cloves

Balsamic vinegar

Olive Oil


Prep

Reduce a cup of balsamic vinegar over medium low heat to about half a cup. Vinegar should begin to be syrupy. Refrigerate if you are cooking ahead.


By all means start by turning on the oven to 350 and start the balsamic reduction.


At the same time trim and cut in half the sprouts, toss in a bowl with half a cup of olive oil.


Smash a few cloves of garlic into splinters, sauté, add to sprouts


Cut a handful of dates into slivers. Or figs. Or dried plums...


Cook

You won’t need to coat the baking tray, roast brussels and garlic for about 30 mins at 350, or for crispy, start at 400 for 10 minutes, and then cook 30 mins at 350.


Combine cooked sprouts, garlic, dates and as much of the balsamic as you like, serve hot or cold.


Read more FOODISH




THE FIRST GLASS


Typewriter Days

Vincent Panella


Once long ago I needed a job. A friend had just quit as a reporter for a large Midwest newspaper and he suggested I take his place. I'd never worked as a news reporter, but I'd taken a J-School course and had recently written a piece about racing pigeons and their uncanny ability to return home from great distances at high speeds.


This friend put in a word to the managing editor and gave him my pigeon story. I soon found myself in the man's office. He'd been a combat photographer in the Second World War and the newspaper, with a circulation of fifty-thousand, was noted for the quality of its photographs. As I took a seat the editor was standing over a light table examining negatives with a magnifying glass. After ignoring me for a few minutes he moved to his desk. He was dressed in a carefully mismatched shirt and tie. His scowl was perpetual, and he held up my pigeon article without saying whether he liked it.


 "I'll give you a chance and put you on Police Beat. If you can't do the job you're out the door."


 Fair enough.


The next morning I followed the police reporter on his rounds. His name was Jim, last name unimportant, and he started with calls to the hospital for condition reports on patients who'd been in the news. Then we got into his car and drove, first to the Fire Station for anything of interest, then to the County Sheriff's office, and finally the police station. Here the dispatcher handed over a thick ream of carbon copies, one for each complaint received in the last twenty-four hours. Jim quickly leafed through the carbons and made notes on potential stories. We then met with the publicity officer and Jim asked about each incident he'd selected.


We returned to the newsroom with four stories. These were typewriter days, and Jim said to the city editor, "Four stories, eight takes," a 'take' being a single page of triple-spaced type. This information was immediately conveyed to the composing room downstairs so they could allow for the appropriate space in the Police Beat column. Noon deadline was ten minutes away.


<extract>  Read More >>>




OLD LADY BLOG


The Savage Sparkler, Alice Aycock, 1981, steel, sheet metal, heating coils, florescent lights, motors and fans

Toni Ortner


From a forthcoming title: Focused Light from a Different Star —  In response to women artists of the last two centuries and the work they produced.


What kind of machine is this?


We recognize the parts: sheet metal   heating coils    motors   fans.

Florescent strings of lights flash on and off.

There are no switches.

The turbine is huge but does not turn.

There are no signs.

Brown and green look bland.

This is not a geometry we understand.


We see what appears to be a wire ladder leading in but no bench on which to sit.

No buttons or levers.

Senses reel inside ring after ring of glinting steel.

Trapped in a metal labyrinth without a thread

an increasing sense of dead     of dread.


Read More Toni Ortner >>>




WATER’S EDGE


A Touch is All it Takes

Nicola Metcalf


As I sit on the deck writing, with a comforting cup of tea in front of me, the clutching feeling in my chest begins to soften. My daughter’s departure for college has finally happened. It has been another childbirth, one with a long, long labor. During senior year, we lived through the college application process and attended final concerts, events and productions. All of it culminated in a joyous high school graduation.  Throughout, we arm-wrestled over who got to use the car and what time she would be home. Summer came and was filled with babysitting jobs, hosting a delightful French exchange student, and many fun, short trips around New England. Difficult conversations about our relationship and my recent divorce from her father challenged us. I swung from wanting her to leave right away, to dreading the inevitable. Finally, the days of packing and preparations to leave were upon us. Now I am home, exhausted after the 11 hour road trip to Oberlin.


My daughter has left. My heart is bereft…feeling like a cleaving of some part of my soul. I wonder how anyone ever manages to lose a child who has died. This clearly is not that. But loss is what I feel most intensely the first 48 hours after returning home. It surrounds and saturates me as I walk through the house like an open wound with no place to go, sobbing, “My baby’s gone, my baby’s gone!”


“My baby” is a strongly independent soul, who at 18 months began choosing her own clothes to wear in the morning. While learning to climb the stairs, Fiona would say, “Thelf!  Thelf!” meaning “Self?  Self!” I’m doing it on my own. When learning to count, she started off, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. “What happened to 5?” we would ask.  “I don’t do it that way,” she answered. Interesting to note that she did become a top math student. Just a few weeks ago, I tried to help apply sunscreen to her back. She refused, saying, “I need to be self-sufficient”. I have called Fiona my “just add water and mix” child, as it was easy to raise a do-it-yourselfer, especially one with her easy, cheerful joy and natural confidence. 


During our journey as we talked about the impending separation, I explained to her one way I have felt our bond. When she was an infant I would go out for a walk in the neighborhood and feel an energetic umbilical cord stretching around the block the entire mile.


<extract> Read more Nicola Metcalf >>>




GALLERY ONE


A photographic essay on Devon and Cornwall

Anne Lenten, Ed.


A series of photographs about ‘another place’ collected by the remarkable photographer Anne Lenten — Notes by Phil Innes


#6 Mining conditions haven’t changed much in 100 years




See more photos in this article Gallery One >>>






URBAN NATURALIST


Blink little fire-beetle, flash and glimmer

Lloyd Graf


A future story will deal with profound advances in basic understanding of genetics, metazoan development and other fundamental life processes, as well as strides in medical diagnosis and treatment made possible by use of light signals from purified firefly Luciferase and Luciferin as “reporters” to track the activities of key genes in cells, tissues and even in living creatures in vivo. For now I'll close by expanding on a deliciously gruesome saga of firefly deception and rapacity with which the majority of you are likely familiar: a grisly morsel of Firefly biology that has evoked the richly deserved term “femme fatale”. Read on, and I will dish up what the late, great Paul Harvey might have called: “The REST of the Photuris-Photinus story”.


It has been known for over 60 years that courting fireflies employ patterned exchanges of flashes to recruit partners for mating. Lust-driven males deliver a set number of flashes in a timed sequences, to which the appropriate receptive female responds with a single flash after a precise lag time. Then the 2 flies (generally) rush together, pitch woo, et voila, propagation of species! In the early 1960's James Lloyd, a grad student of the great Cornell entomologist Thomas Eisner' worked out and reported in 1964 a tale of perverted trans-genus firefly lust, deception and rapacity that has captured the public imagination through ensuing decades.


The relatively large females of firefly genus Photuris, Lloyd discovered, sometimes break from nighttime mating dances with Photuris males to enjoy a crispy high protein snack in the form of an unsuspecting (and relatively wimpy) male of a distinct genus, Photinus. The Photuris female uses cruel deception for the purpose. She recognizes a Photinus male's mating flash pattern and sends him a single flash response with the precise timing of a receptive Photinus female. The Photinus suitor then blunders into the sphere of the Photuris “femme fatale” (Lloyd's spot-on descriptor), who immediately gobbles him up with great gusto {nocturnal romantic doings being calorie-intensive ). There's also a reverse twist to this basic trickery: Photuris males sometimes mimic a Photinus male flash pattern in order to simulate an interspecific victim (more enticing than the boring Photuris he is in reality). The Phoinus male thus gains preferred access to his heart's desire, who presumably says “ Aww, whatever, as long as you're here anyway .....”


Part 2 of 3 — Extract Read More Lloyd Graf



YORE


Gardner Motor Cars

Featured Article


Gardner was an automobile maker based in St. Louis, Missouri between 1920 and 1931.


Without a dollar in his pocket, Russell E. Gardner left his home state of Tennessee for St. Louis in 1879. Three-and-a-half decades later he was a multi-millionaire. Gardner had made it big in St. Louis by manufacturing Banner buggies before the turn of the century, and unlike many wagon builders, was well aware of what the automobile age meant to his business. He got started by building new Chevrolet bodies and alongside, his company was building wagons. By 1915 this had led to the complete assembly of Chevrolets in St. Louis and Russell Gardner controlled all Chevrolet trade west of the Mississippi River.


Gardner sold his Chevrolet business to General Motors after his three sons entered the Navy during World War I. After the war, his sons decided to build their own automobiles. The Gardner Motor Company was established with Russell E. Gardner, Sr. as chairman of the board, Russell E. Gardner, Jr. as president, and Fred Gardner as vice-president. Their previous experience had been in the assembling of cars, so it was not surprising that the Gardner was assembled from bought-in parts. Lycoming engines were used throughout the years of production. A four-cylinder model with a 112-inch (2,800 mm) wheelbase and medium price was introduced in late 1919 as a 1920 model.


Sales in 1921 were 3800 cars, which increased in 1922 to 9000. In early 1924 Cannon Ball Baker established a new mid-winter transcontinental record from New York to Los Angeles in 4 days, 17 hours, and 8 minutes in a Gardner. They started to prepare to expand the product line and distributorship network. The plant's capacity was 40,000 cars annually, and by 1925 these included both sixes and eights. The fours were dropped in 1925, with both sixes and eights being produced in 1926 and 1927.


For 1927 and 1929 the eights were the only engines used. The interior of the Series 90 cars had many high-quality materials, such as silver-finished hardware, silk window curtains, walnut wood pieces and mohair upholstery (Series 75 and 80 did not have walnut in the interior.) All cars had a gas gauge and temp. gauge standard. During the summer of 1929, Gardner announced two "very important" automobile contracts. The first was with Sears, Roebuck and Company, who wanted Gardner to develop a new car to be sold by mail order. The other was with New Era Motors, to manufacture the front-wheel-drive Ruxton. With the stock market crash in late 1929, both deals were off.


<extract>  Read more yore




MONKEY’S CLOAK


You Can’t Do That

Charles Monette


infowars spout conspiracy

new broad brands of bigotry

go on ban me, I’ll sell survival gear

to help you live next year in fear

but baby, you can’t do that


free speech baby, I’m selling potent testosterone

take it to the dance, you’ll need a chaperon

heh be careful, be wary of ‘ploying your snuff

okay joker, my base be buying some more stuff

a timeworn populist tactic, rant & rave, soothe the static, create havoc


<extract> Read more Monkey’s Cloak




IN BETWEEN


Losing the Garden

Julia Ferrari


The brakes on my 18 year old car started making noise, reminding me that my car needs repair. Like a car, our bodies get older and need care. Things stop working as efficiently, and then eventually they can stop working altogether. Like our cars, our delicate, precious bodies are vehicles for experiencing this life; through them we are given the opportunity to be here, with our feet on the planet, here in our proverbial garden. Yet the garden, ultimately, is of our own making, and we learn through the struggle of all our work—inner work and outer work –what to do next. We attempt to find out who we are, we face who we are not, we take leaps of faith even in fear, and step forward … or not. 


Will we lose all we have, all we love? someday, yes we shall. …though we hope, not too soon.


I’ve been reviewing excerpts of John Milton’s “Paradise Lost.” There, through his poetry, the metaphor of our time here in the garden has been touching my thoughts. We taste the beauty of life through the privilege of being here, and the ultimate knowledge of our demise. Our bodies are not eternal, but perhaps the efforts we make, the trials we endure, the paths we take, (meaning the choices we make) will be.


It can be daunting to lose things—people, relationships, family—then to have to face new things,—new challenges, new beginnings. Here we are, developed human beings, with life seeming in control, ambling along, then all of a sudden, we’re not in control. Everything that seemed easy becomes new and (at times) difficult. We’re starting over again, this time with the perspective of our recent life tucked firmly under our arm, hoping that all can continue as it was. It may not, it likely will not. But new things grow to replace what has left. From the perspective of loss, I can speak to the occasions of my not easily embracing change…. when they cut down the willow across the street, my heart sank.  No longer could I look out at its lively, swaying ribbons of boughs moving on the slightest breeze. Song birds nested there in that tree which according to legend, embodied Kwan Yin’s compassionate tears. A poet I knew loved that tree, and now both are gone. Then I started to see that everything changes, just like the seasons in moving shades of céladon, chartreuse, olivander, citron, and harlequin, covering the hillsides in green, bearing fruit or leaf, then just as suddenly, in a season—gone, roots hibernating under ground till the cycle begins again.


[Image: Samuel Palmer ‘Holton’]


Extract Read more Julia Ferrari




AN A-MUSING LIFE


Letting It Flow

Nanci Bern


I have let my garden go this year. It is growing in wild abandon, ignoring my well placed circles and lines of plantings from years before. It is scoffing at my incessant weeding habits of the past. It has plummeted into extravagant plumes of plants that I had no idea lingered below just waiting to erupt. They sidled up to my perennials with a come hither sway to their leaves, and the party was on.


There is a feeling in this place now that is like an electrical charge. It is scented with the red hot of unexpressed passion. What a panorama for my grounding practice.


Grounding, to me, means to become present to where you are, and to expand toward what is beyond at the same moment. A metaphorical and energetic for some, myself included, cord comes from the very core of the earth and swoons with delight at the fragrance of the loamy touch of where we stand.


It winds through my feet, then my center and out the top of my head, where by now, in lilting strokes of anticipation, this waving ribbon will connect me to the great cosmic dance where it will twirl with the deftness of the accomplished hoofer of the universal ballroom experience. That sentence was as long as the string itself. Ah, solid ground, how you waltz me about. What could be better?


Oh, really big ocean boat, how you unearth me and spin me with your watery sentience. I am upon the deep, wet sea of the great unconscious. I sense Jung lurking about in the briny mist. My rock tethered interior is now unmoored and afloat on the waves. My feet become part of the waters of constant movement. I feel like I can sink into its depths instead of my usual travels through the solidness of earth. It rises to meet me, but this aqueous shindig is dancing me right into the walls, that for some reason keep moving.


My center of gravity has shifted. It needs to be as fluid as the waves that are tussling us about, ever so gently. Continued...


Read more Nanci Bern




ARCHETYPAL HIPPIE SPEAKS


Lessons We Must Learn

Jeri Rose


When I was in the cloud forest of Costa Rica, I experienced personally that the weather was near perfect. The trees were tall and spread their branches forming a roof above which was a continuous layer of clouds. If I got a bit cool, all I had to do was go where one of the giant trees had fallen breaking the continuity of the canopy, and as a result of that one tree being gone, the hole in the canopy produced a hole in the clouds above...the sun came through. I would sit on the trunk of the fallen tree and warm up and once warmed by that extremely hot sun, I would return to be under the canopy where the clouds also existed above and be comfortable again. That experience taught me so much about the inter-dependency of trees, sky and weather.


Read more Jeri Rose >>>




OPEN MIND


So what is Donald Trump

Offie Wortham


Your meeting with President Trump

Try to imagine that you are at a very high-class social gathering with your companion and you get into a conversation with Donald Trump. He will most likely be uninterested in events in either of your lives. He will tell you about his recent accomplishments, and plans for future adventures. If you are a male, he might lean over and whisper in your ear about how he would “like to grab the pussy” of that beautiful woman across the room. He might also brag about some of his many extra-marital affairs and how one of his mistresses, Marla Maples, was “The best sex I ever had.” If you are not shocked enough to excuse yourself from his presence, he will continue the one-sided conversation for perhaps another half hour.


He might talk about the success of his reality TV program, The Apprentice. Reviews now say that the ‘reality’ in Trump’s reality TV wasn’t real. “In every episode he acted out dramas of control over submissive contestants seeking his favor, wilting at his denial of it and fawning at his approval. Under Trump, winning was the road to serfdom. The subtext was pathos, not only on the part of the supplicants but also in the boss’s trademark phrase, ‘You’re fired.’ No matter how many people Trump rejected, he couldn’t force his own acceptance.”


According to the highly respected psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton, and hundreds of other mental health professionals, “President Trump exhibits malignant narcissism, a sociopathy, paranoia, a delusional detachment from reality, and more. He has delusional levels of grandiosity, impulsivity, and the compulsions of mental impairment. He has a detachment from reality”, and of “a hypomanic temperament” (restless, impatient, easily bored, supremely confident, impulsive, and risk-taking with a minuscule attention span). He is also an extreme present hedonist who lives in the moment “without much thought of any consequences of his actions or of the future” and says “whatever it will take to pump up his ego and to assuage his inherent low self-esteem, without any thought for past reality.” It doesn’t take a psychiatrist to notice that our president is mentally compromised, with his furious tirades, conspiracy fantasies, and aversion to facts and attraction to violence.


<extract>    Read More Offie Wortham >>>



WRITE ON !


In Light of Pee

Nicola Metcalf


As a Quaker, we talk a lot about seeking “the light”, usually from within.  That can be within oneself or another person. When I went to India, my noticed my perception of light changing.  What I became aware of (in addition to dark poverty, dirt and garbage) was the light without.  When landing in Dubai en route to Chennai (not India but getting close) the lights sparkled with more brilliance than other airports I have visited.  I sat in the Matrimandir Temple in Auroville with its single beam of sunlight penetrating the space as a reminder to concentrate.   Warm inviting sunshine embraced me while swimming in the Bay of Bengal.  I delighted in the eye catching colors of saried women riding scooters sidesaddle.   We ogled necklaces layered thick in glittering gold in an upscale jewelry store.  The indian love of bright reflective things was in the atmosphere all around me.  One day stands out in this experience in particular.


It had been a long day of sightseeing in Tiravunamalai, southern India.  We had risen at 4:30 am to circumambulate 8 miles around the base of Aranuchala Mountain, visiting 8 small temples along the way.


Read More Nicola Metcalf >>>




GUEST ARTCLE


LETTERS FROM CUBA #15

Some sentences from Cuba

Mac Gander

It is dawn in La Habana and I am listening to Bob Marley’s “Rebel Music” as my wife Shanta sleeps in the next room and I mark the end of our third week here. One week to go. Travel is exhausting. There is no moment in which one does not wish to be awake.


I am thinking of the opening trope in Denis Johnson’s “Fiskadoro,” where he invokes Marley as one of the three great gods still left in the Florida Keys after a nuclear holocaust, a book that ends with a war-ship returning to those shores after a 90-year quarantine, from Cuba, a grey ship that is taller than the sky.





GUEST ARTICLE


LETTERS FROM CUBA #12

What lies beneath: Our stories our ghosts

Shanta Lee Gander

Who came first?  Europa or Europe?  With some research, I could get an answer, but the story of a girl who keeps dreaming about two continents fighting over her and who meets her fate and immortality with a God turned beautiful bull is an old one






SPECIAL FEATURE


A Dance with Hermes

Ken Masters

‘Into this hallowed room (I remember a gratifying visiting Professor of Logic, who, whilst debunking “Eastern Philosophy”, and cutting short his fourteen pages of definitions of “consciousness”, waved his arms in the air, inviting in the energy to energise the very expression of his de-bunking – which intangibility I can not possibly recognise, classify, or exonerate) came one Lindsay Clarke, propagating one irritatingly intangible “(A Dance With) Hermes”, full of vital “presence”, whom I hoped I had seen off aeons ago.






NOW, HERE, THIS!


Halley’s Debris

Vermont Views


Debris from Halley’s Comet to spark Orionid meteor shower this weekend, Oct 19 to 21ß


Cloud-free conditions will allow much of the United States to see this weekend’s Orionid meteor shower, the first major shower of the fall.








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