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From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n The range of what we think and do (Daniel Goleman, quoting R.D. Laing [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n …and<\/a>:<\/p>\n You know, all mystics — Catholic, Christian, non-Christian, no matter what their theology, no matter what their religion — are unanimous on one thing: that all is well, all is well. Though everything is a mess, all is well. Strange paradox, to be sure. But, tragically, most people never get to see that all is well because they are asleep. They are having a nightmare.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n (Anthony de Mello [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n The Director continued his demonstration with electric lights today.<\/p>\n “Up to now,” he said, “we have been dealing with objects in the form of points<\/em> of light. Now I am going to show you a circle of attention<\/em>. It will consist of a whole section, large or small in dimension, and will include a series of independent points of objects. The eye may pass from one to another of these points, but it must not go beyond the indicated limit of the circle of attention.”<\/p>\n First there was complete darkness. A moment later a large lamp was lighted on the table near which I was seated. The shade of the lamp threw the circle of rays down on my head and hands, and made a bright light on the centre of the table, where there was a number of small things. These shone and reflected all sorts of different colours. The rest of the stage and the hall were swallowed up in darkness.<\/p>\n “The lighted space on the table,” said the Director, “illustrates a Small Circle of Attention. You yourself, or rather your head and hands, on which the light falls, are the centre of the circle.”<\/p>\n The effect on me was like magic. All the little knick-knacks on the table drew my attention without any forcing or any instruction on my part. In a circle of light, in the midst of darkness, you have the sensation of being entirely alone. I felt even more at home in this circle of light than in my own room.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n (Konstantin Stanislavski, An Actor Prepares<\/em> [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n …and:<\/p>\n Notice What This Poem Is Not Doing<\/strong><\/p>\n The light along the hills in the morning Notice what this poem is not doing.<\/p>\n A house, a house, a barn, the old Notice what this poem is not doing.<\/p>\n Every person gone has taken a stone Notice what this poem is not doing.<\/p>\n The sun, the earth, the sky, all wait. Notice what this poem has not done.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n (William Stafford)<\/p>\n In 1950, singer Patti Page had a huge hit with a song called “Tennessee Waltz<\/a>.” How huge? According to Wikipedia’s article on Patti Page<\/a>, this was “the last song to sell one million copies of sheet music.” It’s also one of the few songs covered<\/a> by Leonard Cohen, who couldn’t resist adding lyrics of his own. (You can listen to it — a “wonderfully croaky dirge,” as Rolling Stone<\/em> has said<\/a> — behind this YouTube video<\/a>.) Finally, “Tennessee Waltz” is (at least as far as I know, i.e.<\/em>, not very far) the only song which is about itself. Something to think about, hmm?<\/p>\n Rather than Patti Page’s version, I’ll post here a sweet instrumental-only interpretation, from an album called Smoky Mountain Hits<\/em> (1990). The performers are a group of talented Nashville sidemen — in alphabetical order:<\/p>\n I doubt that all those instruments are at work in this particular selection; that’s just how the artists are credited on the album itself. Lyrics to the Patti Page version appear, as usual, below the little audio-player thingum.<\/p>\n
\nis limited by what we fail to notice.
\nAnd because we fail to notice
\nthat<\/em> we fail to notice
\nthere is little we can do
\nto change
\nuntil we notice
\nhow failing to notice
\nshapes our thoughts and deeds<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\ncomes down slowly, naming the trees
\nwhite, then coasting the ground for stones to nominate.<\/p>\n
\nquarry, where the river shrugs–
\nhow much of this place is yours?<\/p>\n
\nto hold, and catch the sun. The carving
\nsays, “Not here, but called away.”<\/p>\n
\nThe crowns and redbirds talk. The light
\nalong the hills has come, has found you.<\/p>\n\n