Podunk: a small, unimportant, and isolated town
¨ Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary
As any Podunker will tell you, there's no such thing as a small, unimportant town. The spread of cell phones, Palm Pilots and the Internet could soon mean there will be no such thing as an isolated town, either, a development many of us find disheartening. In such an age, we're sure to treasure the many things that make a place unique - the euchre games at the Grange, the way natives say "crick" instead of "creek," the strawberry-rhubarb pie at the local diner. Podunk might even see a resurgence - as a cultural preserve where the wired man retreats to experience an America that was. Podunk is generally believed to be an Indian name, possibly meaning "lowland," and communities called Podunk do tend toward swampiness. Another theory, also associated with water, says the word mimics the sound of a mill wheel going "po-dunk," "po-dunk," "po-dunk." Over the years, city media folk have made the mistake of declaring Podunk a fictional place, only to be corrected by the masses from Podunk. There are real, if unmapped, communities across America: · Podunk, CT, in New Haven County· Podunk, MI, in Barry County· Another Podunk, MI, in Gladwin County· Podunk, VT, in Windham County· Podunk, NY, in Tompkins County Several proud Massachusetts residents have written about a Podunk, MA, which they insist is the original. It's not that we don't believe them, it's just that the U.S. Geological Survey doesn't include a Podunk, MA, in its databases. (All of the communities are geocoded, with latitude and longitude supplied by the USGS. Here's a nationwide Podunk search on the USGS Web site. Try it and you will find a Podunk Cemetery in MA.) Other manifestations of Podunk have have been relegated to history books. Podunk, WI, an abandoned hamlet in Sauk County, was once a place where farmers hauled potatoes to the trains of the North Western Railroad. The Podunk name also graces a bluegrass festival in East Hartford, CT and a rock band from Port Arthur, TX. Podunk, NY, a crossroads too small to be called a hamlet, is just a few miles away from Ithaca. (Many would have liked to locate in Podunk proper, but office space in Podunk is an oxymoron.) In the 19th century, this was a commercial center in the midst of farm country. Local enterprises made butter churns, tubs, barrels, carriages and bricks. Those days were livelier. In the 1880s, a vigilante group wearing white caps and masks tied the town highway superintendent to a tree and thrashed him for beating his wife. In 1888, a one-armed woman was murdered by a thief who set her house afire. Today, a traveler who ventures off the main road toward Bolter Creek will find a cross-country ski center, a collision shop, a few houses and a smattering of for-sale signs. The place sags a little, but it has character. And a darned good name.
¨ Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary
As any Podunker will tell you, there's no such thing as a small, unimportant town. The spread of cell phones, Palm Pilots and the Internet could soon mean there will be no such thing as an isolated town, either, a development many of us find disheartening. In such an age, we're sure to treasure the many things that make a place unique - the euchre games at the Grange, the way natives say "crick" instead of "creek," the strawberry-rhubarb pie at the local diner. Podunk might even see a resurgence - as a cultural preserve where the wired man retreats to experience an America that was. Podunk is generally believed to be an Indian name, possibly meaning "lowland," and communities called Podunk do tend toward swampiness. Another theory, also associated with water, says the word mimics the sound of a mill wheel going "po-dunk," "po-dunk," "po-dunk." Over the years, city media folk have made the mistake of declaring Podunk a fictional place, only to be corrected by the masses from Podunk. There are real, if unmapped, communities across America: · Podunk, CT, in New Haven County· Podunk, MI, in Barry County· Another Podunk, MI, in Gladwin County· Podunk, VT, in Windham County· Podunk, NY, in Tompkins County Several proud Massachusetts residents have written about a Podunk, MA, which they insist is the original. It's not that we don't believe them, it's just that the U.S. Geological Survey doesn't include a Podunk, MA, in its databases. (All of the communities are geocoded, with latitude and longitude supplied by the USGS. Here's a nationwide Podunk search on the USGS Web site. Try it and you will find a Podunk Cemetery in MA.) Other manifestations of Podunk have have been relegated to history books. Podunk, WI, an abandoned hamlet in Sauk County, was once a place where farmers hauled potatoes to the trains of the North Western Railroad. The Podunk name also graces a bluegrass festival in East Hartford, CT and a rock band from Port Arthur, TX. Podunk, NY, a crossroads too small to be called a hamlet, is just a few miles away from Ithaca. (Many would have liked to locate in Podunk proper, but office space in Podunk is an oxymoron.) In the 19th century, this was a commercial center in the midst of farm country. Local enterprises made butter churns, tubs, barrels, carriages and bricks. Those days were livelier. In the 1880s, a vigilante group wearing white caps and masks tied the town highway superintendent to a tree and thrashed him for beating his wife. In 1888, a one-armed woman was murdered by a thief who set her house afire. Today, a traveler who ventures off the main road toward Bolter Creek will find a cross-country ski center, a collision shop, a few houses and a smattering of for-sale signs. The place sags a little, but it has character. And a darned good name.
hans-wolfgang - am Montag, 1. August 2005, 00:10
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Contemplate on these laws of Murphy:
First: If anything can go wrong, it will.
Second: Nothing is ever as simple as it seems.
Third: Everything takes longer than you expect.
Fourth: Left to themselves all things go from bad to worse.
Fifth: Nature always sides with the hidden flaw.
Sixth: Mother Nature is a bitch.
Seventh: It is impossible to make anything foolproof because fools are so ingenious.
Eighth: If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
Ninth: If you can keep your head when, all around you, others are losing theirs, you just don't understand the situation.
And the tenth: For every human problem, there is a neat, simple solution -- and it is always wrong.
Pessimism simply means looking at life negatively, always searching for the flaw, for the loophole, for something negative, and accumulating all those negativities. And when you look at the dark side, always, of course, there are two nights and only one small day sandwiched between the two nights -- dark dark nights.
Optimism ends into pessimism. Every pessimist has been an optimist once -- he is an ex-optimist. He hoped too much and because those hopes were not fulfilled he has become sour, angry, enraged. Now he cannot see the flowers and the stars. He can't see anything beautiful; he goes on looking for the ugly. And when you look for the ugly you will find it on every step. Whatsoever you look for you are bound to find it, remember, because life consists of both -- positivity and negativity -- in the same quantity. Life cannot exist without the other; the other pole is a must.
It is just like electricity. Electricity cannot exist only with one polarity, positive or negative; it has to have both the poles together. It is possible only through the tension that is created between the negative and the positive.
But there is a third kind of person -- I call that person man of tao -- who looks at life in its totality, who is neither a pessimist nor an optimist, who simply accepts life as it is; who accepts the night, who accepts the day, who accepts the rose and the thorn, because he understands that life is out of necessity dual, dialectical. And in his awareness grows a synthesis between the polar opposites. The synthesis never grows on the outside, as Karl Marx says.
First: If anything can go wrong, it will.
Second: Nothing is ever as simple as it seems.
Third: Everything takes longer than you expect.
Fourth: Left to themselves all things go from bad to worse.
Fifth: Nature always sides with the hidden flaw.
Sixth: Mother Nature is a bitch.
Seventh: It is impossible to make anything foolproof because fools are so ingenious.
Eighth: If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.
Ninth: If you can keep your head when, all around you, others are losing theirs, you just don't understand the situation.
And the tenth: For every human problem, there is a neat, simple solution -- and it is always wrong.
Pessimism simply means looking at life negatively, always searching for the flaw, for the loophole, for something negative, and accumulating all those negativities. And when you look at the dark side, always, of course, there are two nights and only one small day sandwiched between the two nights -- dark dark nights.
Optimism ends into pessimism. Every pessimist has been an optimist once -- he is an ex-optimist. He hoped too much and because those hopes were not fulfilled he has become sour, angry, enraged. Now he cannot see the flowers and the stars. He can't see anything beautiful; he goes on looking for the ugly. And when you look for the ugly you will find it on every step. Whatsoever you look for you are bound to find it, remember, because life consists of both -- positivity and negativity -- in the same quantity. Life cannot exist without the other; the other pole is a must.
It is just like electricity. Electricity cannot exist only with one polarity, positive or negative; it has to have both the poles together. It is possible only through the tension that is created between the negative and the positive.
But there is a third kind of person -- I call that person man of tao -- who looks at life in its totality, who is neither a pessimist nor an optimist, who simply accepts life as it is; who accepts the night, who accepts the day, who accepts the rose and the thorn, because he understands that life is out of necessity dual, dialectical. And in his awareness grows a synthesis between the polar opposites. The synthesis never grows on the outside, as Karl Marx says.
hans-wolfgang - am Sonntag, 31. Juli 2005, 19:37
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It is such a beautiful circus, and changing continuously. New flowers, new seasons go on coming. It is always new. And it is always new, if one never compares anything. Yesterday is gone. Don't bring it back to compare with today. Tomorrow has not come. Who cares? It is always new, fresh. People get tired because they go on comparing. Comparison means: you have lived this thing many times, you have seen this rose flower many times; so slowly, slowly you become blind to it, you start taking it for granted. Take nothing for granted, so every moment you are ready for any surprise.
The poor man is fast asleep; otherwise he cannot tolerate his poverty. He needs deep sleep. He needs some opium given by the politicians, by the priests. His sleep is not just ordinary sleep, it is narcotic. The rich man needs no consolation from anybody. The rich man is not worried about heaven and hell. He knows he can purchase everything -- the priest, his God, his heaven, his hell -- everything can be purchased. He is not in the same situation as the poor man, he can be easily awakened. Between the poor man and me there is a great distance.
Only an ordinary man can become so certain, so clear. The extraordinary man is so much burdened with his ego, with his knowledgeability, with his schizophrenic mind, with all kinds of arguments.
There was Immanuel Kant, one of the most important philosophers of the West. A woman fell in love with him. He said, "I will have to think about it."
Now, you don't think about love -- either yes or no -- but Immanuel Kant is a big philosopher. He thought about it for three years and he managed to find all the arguments for marriage and against marriage. The trouble was, they were equal. After three years he went to the woman's house, knocked on the door. He had gone to say, "Forgive me, I cannot decide. The arguments are equal, fifty-fifty." But the woman was not there....She had already married and had three children.
And then there was Gurdjieff. He was an immensely remarkable man. In fact nobody else has been so remarkable in this century. But he was an ordinary man. He never claimed that he was a prophet. He lived just like an ordinary man, but he was most remarkable. His insight and clarity are just inconceivable.
There is no question of any superiority. It is just with whom your heart starts beating. It is just a question of liking, loving. Somebody may like Mozart and somebody may not like. Somebody may like Vincent van Gogh and somebody will think him crazy, mad.
The poor man is fast asleep; otherwise he cannot tolerate his poverty. He needs deep sleep. He needs some opium given by the politicians, by the priests. His sleep is not just ordinary sleep, it is narcotic. The rich man needs no consolation from anybody. The rich man is not worried about heaven and hell. He knows he can purchase everything -- the priest, his God, his heaven, his hell -- everything can be purchased. He is not in the same situation as the poor man, he can be easily awakened. Between the poor man and me there is a great distance.
Only an ordinary man can become so certain, so clear. The extraordinary man is so much burdened with his ego, with his knowledgeability, with his schizophrenic mind, with all kinds of arguments.
There was Immanuel Kant, one of the most important philosophers of the West. A woman fell in love with him. He said, "I will have to think about it."
Now, you don't think about love -- either yes or no -- but Immanuel Kant is a big philosopher. He thought about it for three years and he managed to find all the arguments for marriage and against marriage. The trouble was, they were equal. After three years he went to the woman's house, knocked on the door. He had gone to say, "Forgive me, I cannot decide. The arguments are equal, fifty-fifty." But the woman was not there....She had already married and had three children.
And then there was Gurdjieff. He was an immensely remarkable man. In fact nobody else has been so remarkable in this century. But he was an ordinary man. He never claimed that he was a prophet. He lived just like an ordinary man, but he was most remarkable. His insight and clarity are just inconceivable.
There is no question of any superiority. It is just with whom your heart starts beating. It is just a question of liking, loving. Somebody may like Mozart and somebody may not like. Somebody may like Vincent van Gogh and somebody will think him crazy, mad.
hans-wolfgang - am Montag, 25. Juli 2005, 16:12
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Everyone has seen holograms in charm bracelets, on credit cards, in science fairs, and on the cover of NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC. A hologram can be understood as a moire pattern made with light waves. The hologram was inconceivable outside of a small cabal of theoretical physicists who plotted the mathematics since the beginning of this century, and a hologram couldn't be produced until the laser was invented to provide the necessary coherent waves. Many soakers must have made the discovery since bathing became intentional: Without any parade of mathematics, they discovered the hologram while soaking in their tub, with their big toe protruding above the surface of the steamy water. Ordinary light can be represented by splashing water in a bathtub until the surface is covered with random waves. In contrast, a slow drip from the faucet into a tub full of still water covers the surface with a regular, parallel wave pattern, illustrating the coherent light waves in a laser beam. Now, if you set a firm object in the tub so that it breaks the surface of the water, the regular waves will reflect from the surface of the object, and the reflected waves intersect the regular waves at an angle determined by the angle of reflection. Soon the entire surface of the water is covered with a pattern of regular waves perfusing with reflected waves. The remarkable feature of this pattern is that the angles of intersection are about the same over the entire surface; remember Euclid's theorem that a straight line intersects all parallel lines at the same angle. In other words, every part of the surface of the water contains the same information; you have created a hologram in your bathtub. If it were possible to reverse the flow of the reflected waves, they would return to their points of reflection to reconstruct the cross section of the object. The coherent light of a laser beam functions as a moire screen. Waves reflected from an object function as a second moire screen to generate an interference pattern, like you can see in your tub demonstration. A sheet of microfine-grain photographic film placed in the laser light will record a moire pattern of swirls and whorls; no camera or lens is needed. The extremely fine lines defining wave interference function as a diffraction grating and a diffraction grating functions as a lens. When another laser beam is shone through the film, the rays are bent to meet at focal points corresponding to resolved points on the surface of the photographed object so that projection reconstructs the form of the original solid object as a ghostly image in space viewable from all sides. A real ghost is a natural hologram. Any movement while a hologram is being exposed will blur one wave into another to register nothing but an even light fog. Therefore, holograms are photographed on heavy stone tables firmly set on bedrock --- after consulting timetables for nearby railways and jetliner takeoffs, and the children are asleep. Furthermore, the photographic film must be at least as fine-grained as the moire pattern in the laser light if the image is to be resolved. Film speed varies directly with graininess, so holographic microfilm is the slowest emulsion since Daguerre clamped his portrait sitters in a vise. The growing interest in holography is likely to stimulate Great Yellow Father to improve the speed of fine-grain film, while inventors will figure out ways to simulate holography by more practical techniques formaking television images in-the-round; the solution to cheap holograms seems to be in computer graphics.
hans-wolfgang - am Freitag, 22. Juli 2005, 01:12
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NEITHER ISNESS NOR NO-ISNESS, NEITHER EMPTINESS NOR FULLNESS,
SO UNFATHOMABLE, BEYOND THE SENSES.
WITHIN THE CROWN OF THE HEAD A CHILD SPEAKS,
HOW SHALL HE BE NAMED?
LAUGHING, PLAYING, THE KNACK OF MEDITATION,
DAY AND NIGHT SHARING DIVINE KNOWLEDGE.
HE LAUGHS, PLAYS, KEEPS MIND UNTROUBLED
SUCH UNWAVERING ONE IS ALWAYS WITH GOD.
DAY AND NIGHT DISSOLVING MIND IN NO-MIND,
DROPPING FATHOMABLE TALKING THE UNFATHOMABLE.
DROPPING HOPE REMAINING HOPELESS:
BRAHMA THE CREATOR SAYS, "I AM YOUR SERVANT."
WHAT FLOWS DOWN, HE CHANNELS UP,
A YOGI BURNS UP HIS SEX.
HE RELEASES HIS EMBRACE, SHATTERS ILLUSION:
VISHNU THE SUSTAINER WASHES HIS FEET.
DIE, O YOGI, DIE! DIE, SWEET IS DYING.
DIE THAT DEATH GORAKH DIED AND SAW.
There are two forms of satsang. One, where the master speaks, because you still only understand speaking -- even to understand that is too much... Another moment comes -- the ultimate moment -- when there is no question of speaking, when the master sits and you are sitting near him. This moment in the ancient days was called 'upanishad -- sitting near the master'. The Upanishads were born from this sitting near. Their very name became 'upanishad -- sitting near'. The music that had been heard in the emptiness near the master has been gathered. The Upanishads were made from this. Upanishad means sitting near, upanishad means satsang. No, those who know don't say, those who say don't know. So if somebody is saying he will help you know tao, beware. You will be cheated. Only words will be given to you. The claim of one who says he has known tao will prove fatal. Tao is never known. One who knows tao becomes tao. There remains no separation between the knower and the known. There the knowing, the knower and the known do not remain divided. There, the knower dissolves into the known. There the known dissolves into the knower. That is why tao is called unfathomable. Its depth cannot be measured because the depth taker disappears. 'Seeking, seeking, O friend, Kabir has disappeared.'
NEITHER ISNESS NOR NO-ISNESS, NEITHER EMPTINESS NOR FULLNESS,
SO UNFATHOMABLE, BEYOND THE SENSES.
WITHIN THE CROWN OF THE HEAD A CHILD SPEAKS,
HOW SHALL HE BE NAMED?
And when someone is ready to endure this unfathomable, when someone finds courage to dive into it, the definition of this courage is:
DIE, O YOGI, DIE! DIE, SWEET IS DYING.
DIE THAT DEATH GORAKH DIED AND SAW.
Disappear, die: then the seeing, then the meeting. Disappear, then the search is fulfilled. In such a man a new expression arises from the brain.
WITHIN THE CROWN OF THE HEAD A CHILD SPEAKS...
In his crown, where the thousand petalled lotus blooms, in his brain, silence is born. When all thoughts are gone, when the ego disappears, when even the feeling "I am" does not remain, when there is only silence, peace, emptiness -- this is called samadhi. Then samadhi comes to fruition! Then you become awakened. But there is no current of thoughts flowing in the mind. The trail of thoughts becomes silent, becomes quiet, no traveller moves there -- mind without thought, mind without object of thought. You are just a pure mirror, now no shadow is made, no reflection is made. In this state your inner lotus blooms. Then silence is created in your brain. There is nothing there to fill it. You exist only as a hollow sacred emptiness.
SO UNFATHOMABLE, BEYOND THE SENSES.
WITHIN THE CROWN OF THE HEAD A CHILD SPEAKS,
HOW SHALL HE BE NAMED?
LAUGHING, PLAYING, THE KNACK OF MEDITATION,
DAY AND NIGHT SHARING DIVINE KNOWLEDGE.
HE LAUGHS, PLAYS, KEEPS MIND UNTROUBLED
SUCH UNWAVERING ONE IS ALWAYS WITH GOD.
DAY AND NIGHT DISSOLVING MIND IN NO-MIND,
DROPPING FATHOMABLE TALKING THE UNFATHOMABLE.
DROPPING HOPE REMAINING HOPELESS:
BRAHMA THE CREATOR SAYS, "I AM YOUR SERVANT."
WHAT FLOWS DOWN, HE CHANNELS UP,
A YOGI BURNS UP HIS SEX.
HE RELEASES HIS EMBRACE, SHATTERS ILLUSION:
VISHNU THE SUSTAINER WASHES HIS FEET.
DIE, O YOGI, DIE! DIE, SWEET IS DYING.
DIE THAT DEATH GORAKH DIED AND SAW.
There are two forms of satsang. One, where the master speaks, because you still only understand speaking -- even to understand that is too much... Another moment comes -- the ultimate moment -- when there is no question of speaking, when the master sits and you are sitting near him. This moment in the ancient days was called 'upanishad -- sitting near the master'. The Upanishads were born from this sitting near. Their very name became 'upanishad -- sitting near'. The music that had been heard in the emptiness near the master has been gathered. The Upanishads were made from this. Upanishad means sitting near, upanishad means satsang. No, those who know don't say, those who say don't know. So if somebody is saying he will help you know tao, beware. You will be cheated. Only words will be given to you. The claim of one who says he has known tao will prove fatal. Tao is never known. One who knows tao becomes tao. There remains no separation between the knower and the known. There the knowing, the knower and the known do not remain divided. There, the knower dissolves into the known. There the known dissolves into the knower. That is why tao is called unfathomable. Its depth cannot be measured because the depth taker disappears. 'Seeking, seeking, O friend, Kabir has disappeared.'
NEITHER ISNESS NOR NO-ISNESS, NEITHER EMPTINESS NOR FULLNESS,
SO UNFATHOMABLE, BEYOND THE SENSES.
WITHIN THE CROWN OF THE HEAD A CHILD SPEAKS,
HOW SHALL HE BE NAMED?
And when someone is ready to endure this unfathomable, when someone finds courage to dive into it, the definition of this courage is:
DIE, O YOGI, DIE! DIE, SWEET IS DYING.
DIE THAT DEATH GORAKH DIED AND SAW.
Disappear, die: then the seeing, then the meeting. Disappear, then the search is fulfilled. In such a man a new expression arises from the brain.
WITHIN THE CROWN OF THE HEAD A CHILD SPEAKS...
In his crown, where the thousand petalled lotus blooms, in his brain, silence is born. When all thoughts are gone, when the ego disappears, when even the feeling "I am" does not remain, when there is only silence, peace, emptiness -- this is called samadhi. Then samadhi comes to fruition! Then you become awakened. But there is no current of thoughts flowing in the mind. The trail of thoughts becomes silent, becomes quiet, no traveller moves there -- mind without thought, mind without object of thought. You are just a pure mirror, now no shadow is made, no reflection is made. In this state your inner lotus blooms. Then silence is created in your brain. There is nothing there to fill it. You exist only as a hollow sacred emptiness.
hans-wolfgang - am Dienstag, 19. Juli 2005, 19:33
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