Silence and Words

Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It’s awful. So all things limp together for the only possible. In the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. I forgive nobody. Nothing to do but stretch out comfortably on the rack, in the blissful knowledge you are nobody for eternity. All I say cancels out, I’ll have said nothing. Words are all we have. Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness. To restore silence is the role.


And when words are pinned down they fold their wings and die. Finally, and most emphatically, words, like ourselves, in order to live at their ease, need privacy. Undoubtedly they like us to think, and they like us to feel, before we use them; but they also like us to pause; to become unconscious. Our unconsciousness is their privacy; our darkness is their light. . . . That pause was made, that veil of darkness was dropped, to tempt words to come together in one of those swift marriages which are perfect images and create everlasting beauty. But no — nothing of that sort is going to happen to-night. The little wretches are out of temper; disobliging; disobedient; dumb. What is it that they are muttering? “Time’s up! Silence!”

                                                     The Collected Essays of Virginia Woolf

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Everything is Music

Where Everything Is Music

Don’t worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn’t matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the world’s harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!

They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we can’t see.

Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.


translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne


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Topology of Hope

Those consequences in a Mobius strip world where everything folds back into our own lives are not just “out there” but “in here” in our own souls, where the corrosive acid of self-deceit challenges the American belief that we are good or better or different.

Richard Thieme,

I was the Victim of the KGB

Common Dreams News Center


We need to open our minds to a multiverse of messy possibilities in this world, or remain enthralled and embittered in our 2 dimensional delusional loops created by those who think being in control of burning ship is better than trying figure out how to put out the fire.

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What We Are Dealing With in this Land of Delusion.

We are dealing, then, with an absurdity that is not a quirk or an accident, but is fundamental to our character as people. The split between what we think and what we do is profound.

— Wendell Berry, The Unsettling of America: Culture & Agriculture


“Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.”

Known as Hanlon’s Razer

Attributed to Robert J. Hanlon


…from the standpoint of the incompleteness of reality, we can even make a step further and claim that, at the very bottom, there is all the room we want, since there is nothing else there, just the void.

—Slavoj Zizek,  Less Than Nothing


And yet . . .

“I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself the king of infinite space”

William Shakespeare “Hamlet”

Is it just the very nature of humans to live in denial until reality, randomly and without malice, punches us in the nose?

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Early Autumn in a Summer Garden II

This gallery contains 13 photos.

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Early Autumn in a Summer Garden


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A Little Wicked Funk



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