Pareidolia

[Image: “Different perspective,” by Carlos ZGZ; found on Flickr, and of course used here under a Creative Commons license (thank you!).]

From whiskey river:

We must assume our existence as broadly as we in any way can; everything, even the unheard-of, must be possible in it. That is at the bottom the only courage that is demanded of us: to have courage for the most strange, the most singular and the most inexplicable that we may encounter. That mankind has in this sense been cowardly has done life endless harm; the experiences that are called “visions,” the whole so called “spirit-world,” death, all those things that are so closely akin to us, have by daily paring been so crowded out of life that the senses with which we could have grasped them are atrophied….

For it is not inertia alone that is responsible for human relationships repeating themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and unrenewed; it is shyness before any sort of new, unforeseeable experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope. But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes nothing, not even the most enigmatical, will live the relation to another as something alive and will himself draw exhaustively from his own existence.

(Rainer Maria Rilke [source])

…and (from whiskey river’s commonplace book):

The Buddha described what we call “self” as a collection of aggregates—elements of mind and body—that function interdependently, creating the appearance of a woman or a man. We then identify with that image or appearance, taking it to be “I” or “mine,” imagining it to have some inherent self-existence. For example we get up in the morning, look in the mirror, recognize the reflection, and think, “Yes, that’s me again.” We then add all kinds of concepts to this sense of self: I’m a woman or a man, I’m a certain age, I’m a happy or unhappy person—the list goes on and on.

When we examine our experience, though, we see that there is not some core being to whom experience refers; rather it is simply “empty phenomena rolling on.” It is “empty” in the sense that there is no one behind the arising and changing phenomena to whom they happen. A rainbow is a good example of this. We go out after a rainstorm and feel that moment of delight if a rainbow appears in the sky. Mostly, we simply enjoy the sight without investigating the real nature of what is happening. But when we look more deeply, it becomes clear that there is no “thing” called “rainbow” apart from the particular conditions of air and moisture and light.

Each one of us is like that rainbow—an appearance, a magical display, arising out of our various elements of mind and body.

(Joseph Goldstein [source])

…and:

235

Here’s a message for the faithful
what is it that you cherish
to find the Way to see your nature
your nature is naturally so
what Heaven bestows is perfect
looking for proof leads you astray
leaving the trunk to search among the twigs
all you get is stupid

(Han Shan [source])

Not from whiskey river (and not from its commonplace book):

My teachers’ radiance reconciled me to being human and gave me a pole star, a goal to work toward, even if that goal usually twinkles in the distance. It is their luminous goodness—the memory of it, the knowledge of it—that helps me breathe through everyday suffering as well as through the news, chaos, boundless greed, complicit ignorance, and misguided dogmas of the day.

Yes, the Arctic is warming, the seas are rising, and our voracious species continues to blithely destroy everything of value that stands in its path. But a powerful light can illuminate a cave that had always been dark, and there are beacons of pure goodness whose luster can sustain us and give us the strength to carry on. They are masters and friends, the vehement activist and the quiet good neighbor, tree planters and animal rescuers, Mexican mayors and Chinese journalists. They are “Nous sommes Charlie” and an African Methodist Episcopal church in Charleston that refuses to hate. 

May myriad beacons of goodness overpower the dark shadows of [the new year], and may their resplendence inspire us to acknowledge and make good use of this precious human life. May we remember to light the way for others while there’s still time. Shine on!

(Pamela Gayle White [source])

Here and There

What will I miss when I’m gone?
The squeak of the wheelbarrow’s wheel,
Grace note that strikes with every slow
Revolution, and then the hushed, rusty
Answer in triplets from the invisible
Bird in the lackluster maples.

Branches, weeds, last autumn’s leavings
Raked from the moss-eaten pads, beds,
Borders, still untrimmed hedges.
Also the silent pale blue bells
Of my half dozen borage, ringed,
Self-seeded from the woods.

Daylilies my mother liked to set
Roadside in June. Pale Greek anemones
She never traveled far enough
To find wild, as I did once or twice, but
Maybe I’ll bring her some, if over there
Windflowers blow beside a cloudy sea.

(Emily Grosholz [source])

…and:

What Kind of Times Are These

There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled
this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it’s necessary
to talk about trees.

(Adrienne Rich [source])

__________

About the post title: “pareidolia” is a term for the human tendency to find patterns in the world where no (or different) patterns exist: human faces in Martian topography, for example. I guess trompe l’oeil art plays to this tendency in a particular way; it draws from us a sense some reality (generally a three-dimensional one) merely by superimposing on a different (generally two-dimensional) reality, like a brick wall, a photorealistic image. The photo at the top of this post employs a simple trick: the camera is oriented horizontally, on the same angle as the mail truck, which makes these houses — built vertically on a steeply inclined street — lean waaaay over.