{"id":18065,"date":"2016-05-20T09:48:53","date_gmt":"2016-05-20T13:48:53","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=18065"},"modified":"2016-05-20T09:48:53","modified_gmt":"2016-05-20T13:48:53","slug":"forever-beginning","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2016\/05\/forever-beginning\/","title":{"rendered":"Forever Beginning"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"'\u00c2mes<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “<\/em>\u00c2mes entrelac\u00e9s par la lumi\u00e8re,” by user Viewminder on Flickr.com<\/a>. (Used here under a Creative Commons license.) Translation, per Google Translate: <\/em>Souls intertwined by light.]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

I wish that I could put up yesterday’s evening sky for all posterity, could preserve a night of love, the sound of a mountain stream, a realization as it sets my mind afire, a dance, a day of harmony, ten thousand glorious days of clouds that will instead vanish and never be seen again, line them up in jars where they might be admired in the interim and tasted again as needed.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Rebecca Solnit [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a> (italicized portion*):<\/p>\n

We like to think that we are finely evolved creatures, in suit-and-tie or pantyhose-and-chemise, who live many millennia and mental detours away from the cave, but that\u2019s not something our bodies are convinced of. We may have the luxury of being at the top of the food chain, but our adrenaline still rushes when we encounter real or imaginary predators. We even restage that primal fright by going to monster movies. We still stake out or mark our territories, though sometimes now it is with the sound of radios. We still jockey for position and power. We still create works of art to enhance our senses and add even more sensations to the brimming world, so that we can utterly luxuriate in the spectacles of life. We still ache fiercely with love, lust, loyalty, and passion. And we still perceive the world, in all its gushing beauty and terror, right on our pulses. There is no other way.\u00a0 To begin to understand the gorgeous fever that is consciousness, we must try to understand the senses — how they evolved, how they can be extended, what their limits are, to which ones we have attached taboos, and what they can teach us about the ravishing world we have the privilege to inhabit.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Diane Ackerman [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Begin<\/strong><\/p>\n

Begin again to the summoning birds
\nto the sight of the light at the window,
\nbegin to the roar of morning traffic
\nall along Pembroke Road.
\nEvery beginning is a promise
\nborn in light and dying in dark
\ndetermination and exaltation of springtime
\nflowering the way to work.
\nBegin to the pageant of queuing girls
\nthe arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal
\nbridges linking the past and future
\nold friends passing though with us still.
\nBegin to the loneliness that cannot end
\nsince it perhaps is what makes us begin,
\nbegin to wonder at unknown faces
\nat crying birds in the sudden rain
\nat branches stark in the willing sunlight
\nat seagulls foraging for bread
\nat couples sharing a sunny secret
\nalone together while making good.
\nThough we live in a world that dreams of ending
\nthat always seems about to give in
\nsomething that will not acknowledge conclusion
\ninsists that we forever begin.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Brendan Kennelly [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Ali and coauthor Saurya Das at the University of Lethbridge in Alberta, Canada, have shown in a paper published in Physics Letters B<\/em> that the Big Bang singularity can be resolved by their new model in which the universe has no beginning and no end.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Lisa Zyga [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Blessings<\/strong><\/p>\n

occur.
\nSome days I find myself
\nputting my foot in
\nthe same stream twice;
\nleading a horse to water
\nand making him drink.
\nI have a clue.
\nI can see the forest
\nfor the trees.<\/p>\n

All around me people
\nare making silk purses
\nout of sows’ ears,
\ngetting blood from turnips,
\nbuilding Rome in a day.
\nThere\u2019s a business
\nlike show business.
\nThere’s something new
\nunder the sun.<\/p>\n

Some days misery
\nno longer loves company;
\nit puts itself out of its.
\nThere’s rest for the weary.
\nThere’s turning back.
\nThere are guarantees.
\nI can be serious.
\nI can mean that.
\nYou can quite
\nput your finger on it.<\/p>\n

Some days I know
\nI am long for this world.
\nI can go home again.
\nAnd when I go
\nI can
\ntake it with me.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Ronald Wallace [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

I saw to the south a man walking. He was breaking ground in perfect silence. He wore a harness and pulled a plow. His feet trod his figure’s blue shadow, and the plow cut a long blue shadow in the field. He turned back as if to check the furrow, or as if he heard a call. Again I saw another man on the plain to the north. This man walked slowly with a spade, and turned the green ground under. Then before me in the near distance I saw the earth itself walking, the earth walking dark and aerated as it always does in every season, peeling the light back: The earth was plowing the men under, and the space, and the plow. No one sees us go under. No one sees generations churn, or civilizations. The green fields grow up forgetting.<\/p>\n

Ours is a planet sown in beings. Our generations overlap like shingles. We don’t fall in rows like hay, but we gall. Once we get here, we spend forever on the globe, most of it tucked under. While we breathe, we open time like a path in the grass. We open time as a boat’s stem slits the crest of the present.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Annie Dillard [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

__________________<\/p>\n

* This seems to be the second time this passage has appeared at whiskey river<\/em> and, for sure, here at RAMH<\/em><\/a>. Given such a sentiment expressed in such a way, I (for one) sure do not mind repeating myself.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “\u00c2mes entrelac\u00e9s par la lumi\u00e8re,” by user Viewminder on Flickr.com. (Used here under a Creative Commons license.) Translation, per Google Translate: Souls intertwined by light.] From whiskey river: I wish that I could put up yesterday’s evening sky for all posterity, could preserve a night of love, the sound of a mountain stream, a […]<\/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":"Rebecca Solnit, Brendan Kennelly, Annie Dillard, et al.: 'Forever Beginning'","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,95,250,5,36,251,4159],"tags":[295,1019,1438,2813,3884,4309,4310],"class_list":{"0":"post-18065","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-art","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-reading","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-essays","14":"tag-annie-dillard","15":"tag-time","16":"tag-diane-ackerman","17":"tag-the-universe","18":"tag-rebecca-solnit","19":"tag-brendan-kennelly","20":"tag-ronald-wallace","21":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4Hn","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18065","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=18065"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18065\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18072,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18065\/revisions\/18072"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18065"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18065"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18065"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}