{"id":14244,"date":"2013-07-19T10:55:19","date_gmt":"2013-07-19T14:55:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=14244"},"modified":"2013-07-19T11:39:29","modified_gmt":"2013-07-19T15:39:29","slug":"not-so-very-empty","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2013\/07\/not-so-very-empty\/","title":{"rendered":"Not So Very Empty"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"\/\/www.youtube.com\/embed\/J3xLuZNKhlY?rel=0\" height=\"338\" width=\"600\" allowfullscreen=\"\" frameborder=\"0\"><\/iframe><\/p>\n<p class=\"smalltext\"><em>[Video: &#8220;Empty Space Is NOT Empty,&#8221; from <a title=\"Wikipedia, on Veritasium\" href=\"http:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Veritasium\">Veritasium<\/a> (Derek Muller&#8217;s &#8220;science video blog from atoms to astrophysics!&#8221;). To my knowledge there&#8217;s no plain-old Web page to point you to, but <a title=\"YouTube: Veritasium's video channel\" href=\"http:\/\/www.youtube.com\/user\/1veritasium\/\" target=\"_blank\">here&#8217;s the YouTube channel<\/a>, and <a title=\"Facebook: Veritasium\" href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/veritasium\" target=\"_blank\">here&#8217;s the Facebook page<\/a> for those of you who are all Facebooked up.]<\/em><\/p>\n<p>From <a title=\"whiskey river: 'The Moth, the Mountains, the Rivers,' by Mary Oliver\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2013\/07\/the-moth-mountains-rivers-who-can-guess.html\" target=\"_blank\"><em>whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>The Moth, the Mountains, the Rivers<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Who can guess the luna&#8217;s sadness who lives so<br \/>\nbriefly? Who can guess the impatience of stone<br \/>\nlonging to be ground down, to be part again of<br \/>\nsomething livelier? Who can imagine in what<br \/>\nheaviness the rivers remember their original<br \/>\nclarity?<\/p>\n<p>Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile<br \/>\ntime with them. And I suggest them to you also,<br \/>\nthat your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life<br \/>\nbe richer than it is, that we &#8212; so clever, and<br \/>\nambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained &#8212; are only<br \/>\none design of the moving, the vivacious many.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Mary Oliver [<a title=\"Amazon.com: 'A Thousand Mornings,' by Mary Oliver\" href=\"http:\/\/www.amazon.com\/dp\/1594204772\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: Huang-po, on the Mind-Void\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2013\/07\/many-people-are-afraid-to-empty-their.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>Many people are afraid to empty their own minds lest they plunge into the Void. <em>Ha!<\/em> What they don&#8217;t realize is that their own Mind is the Void.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Huang-po [<a title=\"Qi Dao (Mar\/Apr 2010): Huang-po, on the Mind-Void\" href=\"http:\/\/www.wishus.org\/newsletter\/QiDao_0410.pdf\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;<a title=\"whiskey river: unidentified source, on the texture of emptiness\" href=\"http:\/\/whiskeyriver.blogspot.com\/2013\/07\/when-tesshu-famous-japanese-samurai.html\" target=\"_blank\">and<\/a>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p>When Tesshu, the famous Japanese samurai master, was young and headstrong, he visited Master Dokuon and triumphantly announced to him the classic Buddhist teaching that all that exists is empty, and how there is really no you or me. The master listened to this in silence. Suddenly he snatched up his pipe and struck Tesshu&#8217;s head with it. This infuriated the young swordsman, and then Dokuon said calmly, &#8220;Emptiness is sure quick to show anger, is it not?&#8221;<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(unattributed [but see <a title=\"Google Books: 'Buddhist Phenomenology: A Philosophical Investigation of Yog?c?ra Buddhism and the Ch?eng Wei-shih Lun,' by Dan Lusthaus\" href=\"http:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=IeiwsT-XqwQC&amp;pg=PA379#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>here<\/em><\/a>, among many other sources, in more or less these words])<\/p>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Not from <em>whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Puzzle Dust<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>When the final piece is lifted and set in place,<br \/>\ncompleting the field, filling the hole<br \/>\nin a grove of trees, a jagged gap<br \/>\nin the ocean or the flat, black sky.<br \/>\nWhen the scene is whole before me:<br \/>\ntiny men, arms thin as wicks, walking<br \/>\nbriskly along a gray rain-riven street,<br \/>\nthe woman bent to her dog under an awning,<br \/>\nhis wet head held up with trust,<br \/>\none white paw in her hand, tip<br \/>\nof his tail I kept trying all day<br \/>\nto press into the starry night, ruffled<br \/>\nhem of her blown-up skirt<br \/>\nthat never fit into the distant waves<br \/>\nbreaking along the shore,<br \/>\nand the bridge, its rickrack of steel girders<br \/>\nI thought were train tracks or a fallen fence,<br \/>\nwhen it all, at last, makes sense, a vast<br \/>\nsatisfaction fills me: the mossy boulders,<br \/>\npleasing in their eternal random piles,<br \/>\nthe river eased around them, green<br \/>\nwith its fever to reach the sea,<br \/>\na ragged bunch of flowers gathered<br \/>\nfrom the hills I&#8217;ve locked together,<br \/>\nedge to edge, and placed in a glittering vase<br \/>\nbehind a window streaked with rain<br \/>\nwhich the child in his woolen cap<br \/>\nlooks into: boxes of candy wrapped<br \/>\nand displayed, desire burning<br \/>\nin his belly, precursor to the fire<br \/>\nthat could have broken his small heart<br \/>\nopen like a coal someday<br \/>\nin his future, which for him<br \/>\nis nothing but this empty box<br \/>\nlayered with a fine dust, the stuff<br \/>\nfrom which he was born and will<br \/>\ndie into, carried, weightless,<br \/>\nto summer&#8217;s open door<br \/>\nwhere I bang my hand against<br \/>\nthe cardboard, watch the particles,<br \/>\nlike chaff or ashes, vanish in wind.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Dorianne Laux [<a title=\"Writer's Almanac (2013-07-14): 'Puzzle Dust,' by Dorianne Laux\" href=\"http:\/\/writersalmanac.publicradio.org\/index.php?date=2013\/07\/14\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote><p><strong>Hollow Boom Soft Chime: The Thai Elephant Orchestra<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>A sound of far-off thunder from instruments<br \/>\nten feet away: drums, a log,<br \/>\na gong of salvage metal. Chimes<br \/>\nof little <span class=\"explannote\" title=\"northeastern region of Thailand (Wikipedia)\">Issan<\/span> bells, pipes in a row, sometimes<br \/>\na querulous harmonica.<br \/>\nInside the elephant orchestra\u2019s audience,<br \/>\nbubbles form, of shame and joy, and burst.<br \/>\nDid elephants look so sad and wise,<br \/>\na tourist thinks, her camera cold in her pocket,<br \/>\nbefore we came to say they look sad and wise?<br \/>\nDid mastodons have merry, unwrinkled faces?<br \/>\nHollow boom soft chime, stamp of a padded foot,<br \/>\ntingle of <span class=\"explannote\" title=\"xylophone (lead instrument of Thai orchestra)\">renaat<\/span>, rattle of <span class=\"explannote\" title=\"percussion instrument made of hollow bamboo sticks\">angklung<\/span>.<br \/>\nThis music pauses sometimes, but does not end.<\/p>\n<p>Prathida gently strokes the bells with a mallet.<br \/>\nPoong and his <span class=\"explannote\" title=\"elephant rider\/trainer\">mahout<\/span> regard the gong.<br \/>\nPaitoon sways before two drums,<br \/>\nbumping them, keeping time with her switching tail.<br \/>\nSales of recordings help pay for their thin enclosure<br \/>\nof trampled grass. They have never lived free.<br \/>\nBeside a dry African river<br \/>\ntheir wild brother lies, a punctured balloon,<br \/>\ntorn nerves trailing from the stumps of his tusks.<br \/>\nHollow boom soft chime, scuff of a broad foot,<br \/>\nsometimes, rarely, a blatting elephant voice.<br \/>\nThey seldom attend the instruments<br \/>\nwithout being led to them, but, once they\u2019ve begun,<br \/>\noften refuse to stop playing.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(Sarah Lindsay [<a title=\"Google Books: 'The Best American Poetry 2012,' edited by Mark Doty\" href=\"http:\/\/books.google.com\/books?id=MiD66AN10mkC&amp;pg=PA75#v=onepage&amp;q&amp;f=false\" target=\"_blank\"><em>source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n<p>&#8230;and:<\/p>\n<blockquote>[Months after his stroke, Al] sat there in his (\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0) at the little picture window, and watched (\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0) get into her car and (\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0) away. (\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0) &#8212; wait, no&#8230; <em>Bonnie<\/em>, that was it. <em>It was <\/em>Bonnie<em> who got into her car and (\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0) away<\/em>. Pleased but exhausted by the effort, he had barely enough willpower to motion with his eyes, signifying to the nurse on duty: <em>Yes. Please turn me around to face into the (\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0)ing room<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>The holes, the empty shoeboxes on the shelves in his mind &#8212; he still had that problem, but he&#8217;d gotten used to it, stopped fighting it, stopped struggling to come up with long, awkward substitute phrases: he&#8217;d learned he often didn&#8217;t need specific words or phrases, even language itself, trapped in his own head as he was. Like with (\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0) just now: he knew the shape of her face and color of her hair, the sound of her voice, even the fragrance of clover after a fresh rain. When she&#8217;d walked into the room he&#8217;d known instantly who she was, her relationship to him. All of which made up ninety-nine percent of what he cared about, of what was <em>important<\/em> about her. He didn&#8217;t really need the word &#8220;Bonnie.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>He could not tilt his head, but he could move his eyes. He looked down at the little gift box, still open, on the tray which straddled the arms of the (\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0). The nurse, misunderstanding his glance at first, made as if to remove the box. He could not stop her with a word, nor with a gesture or frown, but he stopped her nonetheless, with one of the little tricks he &#8212; together with the three nurses &#8212; had developed: he thought, hard, the single word NO, and he <em>trembled at her<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>They could not sense this trembling from across a room, but they&#8217;d learned to feel it almost humming in the air anywhere within a radius of a couple of feet from him, and they&#8217;d learned to be alert for it&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>So Al trembled at her now: NO. The nurse left the box and its contents on the tray, and left him alone in the room for a moment.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<p>(JES, <em>Seems to Fit<\/em>)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>[Video: &#8220;Empty Space Is NOT Empty,&#8221; from Veritasium (Derek Muller&#8217;s &#8220;science video blog from atoms to astrophysics!&#8221;). To my knowledge there&#8217;s no plain-old Web page to point you to, but here&#8217;s the YouTube channel, and here&#8217;s the Facebook page for those of you who are all Facebooked up.] From whiskey river: The Moth, the Mountains, [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,95,5,251,515],"tags":[595,2268,3077,3554,3555,3556],"class_list":{"0":"post-14244","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-science-medicine","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-poetry-writing_cat","11":"category-grail","12":"tag-mary-oliver","13":"tag-dorianne-laux","14":"tag-sarah-lindsay","15":"tag-veritasium","16":"tag-huang-po","17":"tag-buddhism","18":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-3HK","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14244","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14244"}],"version-history":[{"count":17,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14244\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14260,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14244\/revisions\/14260"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14244"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14244"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14244"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}