tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69463551523922949732024-03-17T23:02:05.988-04:00Rusty RingReflections of an Old-Timey HermitRobinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.comBlogger1225125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-14484079501873901772024-03-14T15:48:00.003-04:002024-03-17T19:25:28.495-04:00Street Level Zen: Diversity<div class="no-white-border"><a href="https://www.rawpixel.com/image/7661151/image-art-vintage-public-domain" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5WCC3bA1O2Y9P90gMZAFynbSvjZV49WIOqi9y6OCQuFpBA009JirUpgUtyXrr0bxo8i3kwJBDJkTTz82UAaQHg0VEnrPDSqXf1AELCrH75Hkp4yZ-dd4NRLS_5YplAA4Bej0CCIXEHL956v4iqdI-gj_Ge5nbMA1j7CT2SIx2mvpTmNzJYtV_e9YK/s700/image-from-rawpixel-id-7661151-jpeg.jpeg" width="100" /></a>
<br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
"What makes you different makes you valuable."
<br><br>
<a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2023/11/good-podcast-we-regret-to-inform-you.html" target="_blank">Terry O'Reilly</a>
<br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
<i> (Painting of Japanese long-tailed rooster courtesy of Shibata Zeshin and Rawpixel.com.)</i> </span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-69827289989489443332024-03-13T02:17:00.002-04:002024-03-13T02:17:46.083-04:00WW: Big fudo rings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2axmlta-_05ev5RmgYYJ-EP09cp8t3XsK2CmISZh2I09RlHiccy4XoemQjFmeNRTSy4HknG7DRuoqPUBeSNM4PFz87r1p4LpJge4pmYTS__w-DBWmr0M2FonhLqcIcw0m3IzR6xqtE3nC948n3TB0pEkKblyrp2oucxwk29pcRV9CH9ixoYseTRuB/s751/fudoringcollection1bg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="567" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2axmlta-_05ev5RmgYYJ-EP09cp8t3XsK2CmISZh2I09RlHiccy4XoemQjFmeNRTSy4HknG7DRuoqPUBeSNM4PFz87r1p4LpJge4pmYTS__w-DBWmr0M2FonhLqcIcw0m3IzR6xqtE3nC948n3TB0pEkKblyrp2oucxwk29pcRV9CH9ixoYseTRuB/s700/fudoringcollection1bg.jpg" width="380" /></a>
<br /><br><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
<i>(Here are a few of the largest rings I've <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2012/02/hermitcraft-lord-of-rings.html " target="_blank">collected</a> for <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2011/12/hermitcraft-fudos-part-1.html" target="_blank">making</a> <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/search/label/fudo" target="_blank">fudos</a>. [Among those not yet <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2011/03/tuesday-night-kyosaku.html" target="_blank">deployed</a>, of course.] Most of the <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2015/02/ww-karma-ring.html " target="_blank">malleable washers</a> came off the beach, wrenched from the wreckage of docks and shoreworks cast up by storms over the years. Their condition betrays particular power. Note as well a rare wooden ring.)</i>
<br /><br />
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-19425265436567731952024-03-07T18:11:00.006-05:002024-03-08T00:37:48.737-05:00Chemistry<div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chemistry_Experiment_3D.JPG" title="TeWeBs, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons"><img alt="Chemistry Experiment 3D" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/63/Chemistry_Experiment_3D.JPG/512px-Chemistry_Experiment_3D.JPG" width="496" /></a><br /><br>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
Here's a brief rumination from an anonymous blogger about a topic I've raised here before:<br /><br />
<a href="https://przxqgl.hybridelephant.com/2017/04/21/depression-4/" target="_blank">https://przxqgl.hybridelephant.com/2017/04/21/depression-4/</a><br /><br />
Reading this, I'm reminded that my own depression never "just happens". It's a response to targeted violence from others around me, and common among those who take refuge in a spiritual path. Because when we pill depression away, we green-light further abuse, typically on grounds that our society profits in some way from the consequences.<br /><br />
I'm on <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2011/11/good-book-zen-path-through-depression.html" target="_blank">record</a> as endorsing the treatment of depression with meds. I also endorse plaster casts for broken arms, but I don't pretend broken arms are the result of an innate cerebral dysfunction; even less that the occasional need for a cast indicates disability.<br /><br />
Yet the medicalisation of depression implies both. When I question this, I often hear that depression patients are a kind of evolutionary beta release; we're just not bundled with the latest DNA upgrade that allows us to function productively in a society whose survival relies on toughness and insensitivity.<br /><br />
This in spite of the fact that it's the animalistic members of the human family who are by definition the atavists.<br /><br />
Thus my various intellectual reactions to objections that the nation will fall unless citizens are permitted to abuse one another, none of which are, "Oh, I see – carry on, then."<br /><br />
So check out the post linked above. My brother's two paragraphs are short and to the point. At minimum, they prove I'm not the only one who's noted a touch of self-service in our culture's take on this matter.<br /><br /><br>
<i>(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)</i></span></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-64776333616777566242024-03-06T02:20:00.007-05:002024-03-06T12:46:14.877-05:00WW: Magic beads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19TYIrL0LikObXoZesiSeddeBfo9w_PWi5T04Vya3bUQLXclQw7PCAPkCFg-nY_DmrkmVkNwokurpMc7ocBdOK_jSLFG8ZNJN6wwoM1Ce7tkdoEjQ5rd6S9bHVnk9cnwMkoy7vmM9b_B3LpcMxPdz2hd-Kx-ATCDqSvHr82flxphTikkziv7VNuwC/s750/chinesebeadsbg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19TYIrL0LikObXoZesiSeddeBfo9w_PWi5T04Vya3bUQLXclQw7PCAPkCFg-nY_DmrkmVkNwokurpMc7ocBdOK_jSLFG8ZNJN6wwoM1Ce7tkdoEjQ5rd6S9bHVnk9cnwMkoy7vmM9b_B3LpcMxPdz2hd-Kx-ATCDqSvHr82flxphTikkziv7VNuwC/s700/chinesebeadsbg.jpg" width="380" /></a>
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
<i>(Last Christmas I got a tiny cellophane envelope containing half a teaspoon of hard, opaque, plastic-looking multicoloured beads, about the size of pinheads. Amidst a certain amount of Chinese text, the only English was two brief directions.<br /><br />
Make that "English", because the best I could decipher was:<br /><br />
1. Pour water on these.<br />
2. Don't eat what happens.<br /><br />
Not a word about what these things were, or what the water was going to make them do.<br /><br />
So I poured water over them, and next morning found this.<br /><br />
Apparently all they do is sit there being miraculous.<br /><br />
Which is sufficient.)</i>
<br /><br />
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-41939993249881091922024-02-29T17:30:00.009-05:002024-03-01T20:32:15.878-05:00Good Video: A Disquistion On The Nature Of Idiocy<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="278" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KkKEjuhXCPo?si=Rz4V-GbTr6IbVNIv" title="YouTube video player" width="498"></iframe><div><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
"Whenever I'm about to do something, I think, 'Would an idiot do that?', and if they would, I do not do that thing."<br /><br />
This is the opening statement in the above-embedded excerpt from a Northwestern commencement address by Illinois governor JB Pritzer. It caught my ear because it reminded me of my own rule of thumb: <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2017/04/an-education.html" target="_blank">Nothing stupid is Buddhist</a>. Listening further, I found similar agreement with several more of the governor's insights. Take this one:<br /><br />
"The best way to spot an idiot: look for the person who is cruel."<br /><br />
Been relying on this one since <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2016/11/tough-love.html" target="_blank">childhood</a>. Beware: it's not just for those you dislike. For example, though I long binned ideology as the only thing dumber than dogma, I live mostly on the left. And these days, I'm surrounded by fellow travellers who believe focussed cruelty is an effective retort to racism, classism, homophobia, sexism, religious bigotry, sexual predation, a catch-all crime called "insensitivity", and literally any other arrogance conceivable by monkeys. And so they ramp about, rightwinging anybody they can spin into a target.<br><br>
Which is why I'm uneasy in their company. Because without you're an idiot, you know that sooner or later, by that standard, we all <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2019/01/lynchs-law.html" target="_blank">hang</a>.<br /><br />
The governor does have a somewhat outdated view of our evolution, however. As I recently <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2024/02/the-trilobite-koan.html" target="_blank">explained</a>, far from securing our survival, we had to skim our ancestors' reptilian instincts off the gene pool to avoid them scrubbing us. But Pritzer is exact when he points out that empathy and compassion are evolved states. They are in fact seminal to our extraordinary run on this planet.<br /><br />
So the cruelty so fashionable to this era can't be forgiven as innate. The vicious make a conscious human choice.<br /><br />
No natural selection there. Just a mountain of karma.<br><br>
Anyhow, I won't spoil the rest of the video for you. It's an excellent – one might say, prophetic – 3 minutes, that quite stands on its own.<br /><br />
Be sure to note Governor Pritzer's closing declaration. That we've so long allowed cultural authorities to teach us and our children the opposite reflects poorly on our own selective fitness.<br /><br />
I respectfully propose that reversing this trend is the essence of engaged Zen.</span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-59543380258115263252024-02-28T02:12:00.003-05:002024-02-28T02:19:27.956-05:00WW: Rose hips<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs57fkmyQzfFtrhe7S8pjcZ369WA5j5RgOuCGIzps-djuTGU6mZL57V_t_aHs05K2dkYqFgirD66EFQmQqf7lseQg81NTvBAVSvbPSya5c8-8FAANS7VmeJxR4v1PTyVJnBqCHi-aiB_WRKRYe22BN_d9m513N6SqgACrkAfe0iPOF7NwPxo3K-bFR/s756/rosehips2024-02-02bg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="576" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs57fkmyQzfFtrhe7S8pjcZ369WA5j5RgOuCGIzps-djuTGU6mZL57V_t_aHs05K2dkYqFgirD66EFQmQqf7lseQg81NTvBAVSvbPSya5c8-8FAANS7VmeJxR4v1PTyVJnBqCHi-aiB_WRKRYe22BN_d9m513N6SqgACrkAfe0iPOF7NwPxo3K-bFR/s700/rosehips2024-02-02bg.jpg" width="380" /></a>
<br /><br>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
<i>(Even in midwinter on the North Pacific Coast.)</i>
<br /><br>
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-64823749728702641972024-02-22T12:08:00.001-05:002024-02-22T12:08:24.234-05:00 Hermit Sutra<div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/woman-facing-waterfall-doing-yoga-Vz9A8luADG4" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="507" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_Ew33HwfFqMpDIEUcphD_dedfKIU1AnBR1Zp5bQcpPTOsHk7G0k98GVmgRh7xeK7Q725Ls3mjwnIiDTCNToUSrr6Pqu4CJl9nWMKaWcH1Jy3pjK1bfo3U8k_XyxGrg3jHLV-9lj91upSvZG5fC9y-GJxT8YAKVMvDc2MWO8MVFs-_tF-DOYfj9l5/s700/stormseeker-Vz9A8luADG4-unsplash.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;"><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
Eschew temples.<br />
Abandon theology.<br />
Ignore priests.<br />
Walk the path.<br />
Don't waste time.<br /><br />
<br /><i>(Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com and a <a href="https://unsplash.com/@sseeker" target="_blank">generous photographer</a>.)</i></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-68083081887080186212024-02-21T01:31:00.000-05:002024-02-21T01:31:27.766-05:00WW: T-Bone in the jungle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezaUEuGXdenfyqtJEfOdFLhH6YIOk2hhExdWEOV36EUi56GlYo2RYHUgiNO34kctjbU9Rza10Lg7pp8iNWExfgZiK6tepHK9u0EyNGwx61xZG4lj-qkBFENM5JOxEZWsqgN23Rs4hrbUW1u6nWXw_8Gqk9VCRZUjdvCsfvonyEns-a-9gN6yUBpoe/s748/t-boneatwardcreek1bg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="499" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezaUEuGXdenfyqtJEfOdFLhH6YIOk2hhExdWEOV36EUi56GlYo2RYHUgiNO34kctjbU9Rza10Lg7pp8iNWExfgZiK6tepHK9u0EyNGwx61xZG4lj-qkBFENM5JOxEZWsqgN23Rs4hrbUW1u6nWXw_8Gqk9VCRZUjdvCsfvonyEns-a-9gN6yUBpoe/s700/t-boneatwardcreek1bg.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(My nephew, currently 28, photographed at 16 in the forest where I sat <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2011/09/100-days-on-mountain.html" target="_blank">ango</a>.)</i>
<br /><br />
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</div></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-77281577877781953152024-02-15T19:01:00.005-05:002024-02-16T01:29:43.535-05:00Sarsarpkin<div class="no-white-border"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Forde_Lake_Sinlahekin_Valley_Area_-_panoramio.jpg" title="zak11527, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons"><img alt="Forde Lake Sinlahekin Valley Area - panoramio" height="300" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/4e/Forde_Lake_Sinlahekin_Valley_Area_-_panoramio.jpg/512px-Forde_Lake_Sinlahekin_Valley_Area_-_panoramio.jpg" width="497" /></a><br><br>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;"><i>(This passage, drawn from my manuscript </i>Rough Around the Edges: A Journey Through Washington's Borderlands<i>, refers to the Sinlahekin Valley, a region of northeastern Washington that's one of my favourite places on Earth.)</i>
<br /><br />
The ghosts of the Sinlahekin don't live in town. Wade into a blue-skied draw, far from roads and barbed wire, where wormwood and dry grass ripple in the mind, and there, in the earth's own cleavage, wait. They will come.<br /><br />
By the late 1800s, every indigenous civilisation in the Oregon Country was lost or losing. The Haida were decimated, the Modoc deported, the Palouse ground to dust between soldier and Shoshoni. Smohalla died of grief; his dream, of Homily and Moses. Leschi, great statesman of the Nisqually, the settlers studiously strangled, following due process of law.<br /><br />
In this time Sarsarpkin withdrew his tiny Sinkaietsk band to the upper Sinlahekin. Congress had once reserved the entire American Okanogan to the First Nations, but the whites had never respected this. When gold was discovered, even the pretence of treaty was dropped. In the idiom of the day, the reserve was "opened to the public", leaving Sarsarpkin with an ultimatum: abandon his home and join the nations already herded onto the Colville reserve, or accept what we, in our own idiom, call "privatisation". Sinkaietsk land would be "allotted" – parcelled out – to individuals, who would be empowered to sell it to strangers if they wished. This, the old man knew, would only defer his people's dispossession of, and expulsion from, the Sinlahekin.<br /><br />
Sarsarpkin had fought the occupiers in the canyons, and he had fought them in Congress. He had never won. And so he lived the remainder of his days on a Sinlahekin allotment, still the moral, if not political, leader of his people. He attended Mass, maintained relations with Colville and Canadian nations, and by all accounts practiced neighbourly acceptance of the usurpers. None of which convictions suffered from his equally well-documented addiction to alcohol.<br /><br />
Neither could they overcome it. In November 1887, Sarsarpkin's older son Peter, also drunk, pushed his father over a cliff and killed him. The following spring, younger son Jack bashed in Peter's skull in like circumstances. The other Sinkaietsk families fell to similar pressures, kicking their allotments one by one into foreign hands. The scant survivors straggled into Nespelem, their very name shattered like busted sod.<br /><br />
Sarsarpkin was buried, along with his widow and his children, on a low rise outside Loomis. Years later the town erected a high marble cross on the site, but even that eventually disappeared. This day, a wire enclosure and two headstones were the only clue that a nation slept there beneath the scrub and <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2012/08/ww-jumping-cactus.html" target="_blank">jumping cactus</a>.<br /><br />
But Sarsarpkin's heart still spoke, in words those who stood beside his grave could hear. In the end, he'd had a single choice: die somewhere else, or die here.
<br /><br /><i>(Adapted from </i><a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2012/03/works-in-progress.html" target="_blank">Rough Around the Edges: A Journey Through Washington's Borderlands</a><i>, copyright RK Henderson. Photo of the Sinlahekin Valley courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)</i></span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-12600991943510321192024-02-14T00:53:00.002-05:002024-02-14T19:02:00.852-05:00WW: Bread and kvass<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsjHG6GJFvy68FYdkFTTkWoJ5JURvyX6IMiPS5DbDgzlTGjhAJYxzcNVfa0kItfShs6IbOfExsvTQt096GJZMEPr2oCIxe4km83h7KfWy1PJ6RJIbHTE9di6rscZkmDOSoHQBbMQYdd1lavbV1BRgWohpTo3hePhbl2OxmmrOY3yru8qv-8xra2AJO/s819/kvasandbread1bg.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="747" data-original-width="819" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsjHG6GJFvy68FYdkFTTkWoJ5JURvyX6IMiPS5DbDgzlTGjhAJYxzcNVfa0kItfShs6IbOfExsvTQt096GJZMEPr2oCIxe4km83h7KfWy1PJ6RJIbHTE9di6rscZkmDOSoHQBbMQYdd1lavbV1BRgWohpTo3hePhbl2OxmmrOY3yru8qv-8xra2AJO/s700/kvasandbread1bg.jpg" width="483" /></a></div>
<br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>(Both sourdough recipes.)</i>
<br /><br />
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</div></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-53384722017759099352024-02-08T17:32:00.001-05:002024-02-13T13:59:42.170-05:00Religion Kyôsaku<div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/man-walking-on-road-at-daytime-956I1peiMi4" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="747" data-original-width="1121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbUchH5aVuvIv3lqw-8ncyQFOntJmG_O8E5oApX2rN5wLl8e5T-bEE6_BGteY14Milh2a0jeqib2bcL9Qc5xFw2xUsUeiOnaJQtlzUjl3k59h0-GmWzQolUD8tseFqEhkP-7W4rWMw_jMXpp2F6sM33oFSECi5sA6sZIqeqte0eG4U7FWpjsg9BgG/s700/jordan-mcqueen-956I1peiMi4-unsplash.jpeg" width="496" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
"Don't try to use what you learn from Buddhism to be a Buddhist; use it to be a better whatever-you-already-are."<br /><br />
His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama
<br><br><br>
<i>(Photo courtesy of <a href="https://unsplash.com/@jordanfmcqueen" target="_blank">Jordan McQueen</a> and Unsplash.com.)</i>
</span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-2486161831565048472024-02-07T01:59:00.000-05:002024-02-07T01:59:03.815-05:00WW: Tundra swans<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7QU7PbZd48nDOKi1pPUAQxvsbuO38ZrXNEPYGrY9w0FCO-BcwIgtfCCWa-abzbO7zfBTn0TBbEeRT5uED9RcwOP58tBHY9bHRXiM2zIcEpMvwbo7ba5jvPOPDJfqMU1WrRBTMERRHqENBd5m8Cn9i6joi0osm-uh0gfGOGuE7yOhqbUBlzlG9acqI/s750/tundraswans2024_02_01_6bg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7QU7PbZd48nDOKi1pPUAQxvsbuO38ZrXNEPYGrY9w0FCO-BcwIgtfCCWa-abzbO7zfBTn0TBbEeRT5uED9RcwOP58tBHY9bHRXiM2zIcEpMvwbo7ba5jvPOPDJfqMU1WrRBTMERRHqENBd5m8Cn9i6joi0osm-uh0gfGOGuE7yOhqbUBlzlG9acqI/s700/tundraswans2024_02_01_6bg.jpg" width="350" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
<br /><i>(Cygnus columbianus.)</i>
<br /><br />
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-35378294551037617702024-02-01T19:56:00.008-05:002024-02-05T03:32:11.925-05:00The Trilobite Koan<div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WLA_hmns_Trilobite_Ceratarges_sp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="648" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTHpi_z7-q_b0zloYYzYsA8X-Y-_oHov3FHX0S9whXLsNysAIgn_zCmUhKJl5ojcvMm8KHZml1jjpx6EXU_zoCJ5f6Wzlbt9vvOWqqebo9cMd7rb03IORfieh840VDGxQFcEWgRmBfY9nnj2X4takBwzdPZoN5YFhQgBPaQ5QB510LYJ8Ibu9994y/s320/WLA_hmns_Trilobite_Ceratarges_sp.jpeg" width="315" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
Let's clear up a pernicious gaffe.<br /><br>
The fundamental tenet of Darwinian theory is not that the strongest survive.<br /><br />
That's been arrogant-prick propaganda from day one.<br /><br />
Rather, the fundamental tenet of Darwin's hypothesis is that the <i>fittest</i> survive.<br /><br />
Among humans, fitness boils down to one thing: living in a group that prioritises coöperation. Members of that group not possessing this instinct weaken the unit's ability to meet survival challenges; something our species only does collectively.<br /><br />
If obsolete members gain too much influence, whether through numbers or other means, and so draw below parity the group's ability to overcome environmental obstacles, your band collapses, leaving you to fend for yourself. In our species, that usually means dying without (further) offspring.<br /><br />
If, on the other hand, you're lucky and/or sufficiently evolved, you might earn membership in a new group. Thus the trend among human cultures has been to privilege coöperating individuals over those who compete. (In-house, at any rate.)<br /><br />
Spooling forward, we find humanity overall becoming less churlish by comparison with ancestor species; more drawn to novel others whose very difference suggests obtainable value, and less given to reflexive fear and attack.<br /><br />
(Note that these generalisations, like all evolutionary principles, apply only to <i>the species as a whole</i>. They don't apply to individuals – or, in the case of humans, individual cultures – and take no account of the infinite temporary tidal patterns within the gene pool.)<br /><br />
When the bulk of our community becomes unable to apply the essential human survival tool of sociability in amounts sufficient to clear the next hurdle, our species will lie down with the trilobite and never been seen again.<br /><br />
In view of this scientific fact, I propose a question:<br /><br />
In what ways must our Zen practice – each one – change to meet this existential imperative?<br /><br><br><br>
<i>(Photo courtesy of the Houston Museum of Natural Science, Wikimedia Commons, and a generous photographer.) </i></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-77213795527510497702024-01-25T17:21:00.000-05:002024-01-25T17:21:13.987-05:00Street Level Zen: Nihilism<div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEhnQleZlg9oekfB7WlDuEF0HhTLCSa7UmsrbXJ5OCEBV_GIKmSiYSAgL-n4NlvgF_Fh3ti-eY-m1lFOd0qTD21dLBcWtWl3_2ci-lMsRYRolqySh0W2PXNhksywJNFhYYiJXDpKFnPgLqsO88F02zAbT-WJVDQ0avAv5V4igIrDTpG6KMz3oWtYSr/s1125/pexels-photo-11256830.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEhnQleZlg9oekfB7WlDuEF0HhTLCSa7UmsrbXJ5OCEBV_GIKmSiYSAgL-n4NlvgF_Fh3ti-eY-m1lFOd0qTD21dLBcWtWl3_2ci-lMsRYRolqySh0W2PXNhksywJNFhYYiJXDpKFnPgLqsO88F02zAbT-WJVDQ0avAv5V4igIrDTpG6KMz3oWtYSr/s700/pexels-photo-11256830.jpeg" width="498" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
"He's a nihilist."<br><br>
"That must be exhausting."<br><br>
– The Big Lebowski
<br><br><br>
<i>(Photo courtesy of <a href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/brown-wooden-signage-on-green-grass-field-under-blue-sky-and-white-clouds-11256830/" target="_blank">Pexels.com</a> and a <a href="https://www.pexels.com/@imustbedead/" target="_blank">generous photographer</a>.)</i></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-35808473815984040072024-01-24T00:00:00.001-05:002024-01-24T00:00:00.133-05:00WW: Bachelor cake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEire8KPkIP8LstoVDY0AY0QoxAJ248WFJ4mtdUMFHqqTvCxrnM5wC4sOsH50LFw8kWjoeJUr224KXoAYRp1Ekd3cRzmNtEPk7UgtV3UNA9zNN5P_rIFMsiveWhfom4XsEceXsSAr681ojTbB4y0B6azU0iJgw_kapFvI62ie1CxNcT5VnGNkPx35ubo/s752/bachelorcake.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEire8KPkIP8LstoVDY0AY0QoxAJ248WFJ4mtdUMFHqqTvCxrnM5wC4sOsH50LFw8kWjoeJUr224KXoAYRp1Ekd3cRzmNtEPk7UgtV3UNA9zNN5P_rIFMsiveWhfom4XsEceXsSAr681ojTbB4y0B6azU0iJgw_kapFvI62ie1CxNcT5VnGNkPx35ubo/s700/bachelorcake.JPG" width="482" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>(Last of a traditional Scottish bachelor cake that I baked for Christmas. First time in 30 years. Still just as good.)</i>
<br /><br />
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</div></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-84236492591809309352024-01-18T17:57:00.002-05:002024-01-18T17:59:11.719-05:00Secret of My Success<div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rosa_%27George_Burns%27_JBM_1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Nadiatalent, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons"><img alt="Rosa 'George Burns' JBM 1" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/ec/Rosa_%27George_Burns%27_JBM_1.jpg/512px-Rosa_%27George_Burns%27_JBM_1.jpg" width="497" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
"The secret of writing about Zen practice is sincerity, and if you can fake that, you've got it made."<br /><br />
My riff on a quotation from <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2013/12/street-level-zen-resolution.html" target="_blank">George Burns</a>. Or Jean Giraudoux, or <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2012/07/street-level-zen-karma.html" target="_blank">Groucho Marx</a>, or any of several other posited sources. It's likely an old saw from Yiddish theatre or similar Jewish art form. Not only are many proposed authors [none of whom claimed to invent it] Jewish, but the quip itself has the distinct <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2021/05/hermit-robe-chant.html" target="_blank">salt</a> of <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2022/08/zen-judaism.html" target="_blank">Hebrew insight</a>.<br /><br /><br />
<i>(Photo of a 'George Burns' variety rose courtesy of Nadia Talent and Wikimedia Commons.)
</i></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-29802127548099522452024-01-11T18:59:00.007-05:002024-01-14T19:09:18.066-05:00One-Legged Meditation<div class="separator"><div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Nagasaki_One_Legged_Torii_C1946.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Fg2, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons"><img alt="Nagasaki One Legged Torii C1946" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/ed/Nagasaki_One_Legged_Torii_C1946.jpg/256px-Nagasaki_One_Legged_Torii_C1946.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
Though this seems at first glance avant-garde sculpture, in real life it's the famous one-legged torii of Nagasaki.<br /><br />
You can fill in its backstory yourself.<br /><br />
This Shinto devotional object was just another spirit gate, like thousands of others in Japan, until retrofitted for the Atomic Age by the US Air Force. The survivors took its still standing, despite the instant destruction of their entire city and the amputation of over half the monument, as an icon of hope. While rebuilding their home, they carefully preserved this gate, unmoved and unrestored, in front of the shrine that no longer existed behind it. (Though it soon would again.)<br /><br />
Today both are close-pressed by modern urban development, quite unlike the quiet neighbourhood in which they started, though neither has travelled so much as a yard since the day they were built.<br /><br />
And though all of this is as Shinto as it comes, I can't help but find commanding Zen significance in it, too.<br /><br />
To me, that war-veteran torii's silhouette – gates being a foundational metaphor for us, too – speaks to the nature of enlightenment practice. You practice where you are, how you are. If you lose a leg, you practice on the other.<br /><br />
And if an atomic bomb annihilates everything you know, you practice in the <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2011/04/importance-of-possible.html " target="_blank">remains</a>. <br /><br />
Nothing to do with machismo; it's just that you have no alternative.<div class="no-white-border"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sanno_torii_and_camphor_trees.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-left: 0em;" title="unknown US government photographer, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons"><img alt="Sanno torii and camphor trees" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/56/Sanno_torii_and_camphor_trees.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><br />
I'm particularly touched by the <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2023/09/hermit-nation.html" target="_blank">Little Apocalypse</a> – the tidal wave of concrete that drowned shrine and spirit gate in a matter of decades. Because while I struggle to imagine their Great Apocalypse – it's just more horror than my mind can honestly grasp – I've lived, and continue to live, the little one over and over.<br /><br />
Thus the sight of that silent, single-minded symbol of trust and true nature, standing up to its chin in a mindless race to oblivion, has special relevance for me. In that sense, notwithstanding religious distinctions or the brutality it's survived, we're comrade monks.<br /><br />
It's simply the most succinct expression of Things As They Are that I have found.<br /><br />
Today humanity is flirting with holocaust at least as hot as WWII. Given the geo-engineering challenges we choose to ignore; our growing embrace of political ideologies long proven suicidal; and the diplomatic tools we beta'd at Nagasaki, this could reasonably be the end.<br /><br />
It's difficult for me as a historian, a Zenner, and a decent guy, to remain <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2020/03/no-state-of-emergency.html" target="_blank">in harness</a> in the midst of our extinction.<br /><br />
So, what to do?<br /><br />
Well…<br /><br />
Sit down.<br /><br />
I'll also be keeping a photo of the one-legged torii of Nagasaki somewhere in the house, where I can see it.<br /><br />
<div class="no-white-border"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sanno-jinja-afterbomb.jpg" style="clear: left; float: center; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="English: Hayashi Shigeo日本語: 林重男, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons"><img alt="Sanno-jinja-afterbomb" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/ed/Sanno-jinja-afterbomb.jpg/512px-Sanno-jinja-afterbomb.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>(All photos courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. Contemporary view also courtesy of Frank Gualtieri. View of torii after blast from bottom of stairs also courtesy of U.S. Strategic Bombing Survey, 1945; Committee for Research of Photographs and Materials of the Atomic Bombing; Nagasaki Foundation for Promotion of Peace; and the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum. Torii's eye view of the devastated city also courtesy of </i>林重男<i> [Hayashi Shigeo].)</i></div></div></span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-47778623301833454302024-01-10T01:47:00.000-05:002024-01-10T01:47:44.820-05:00WW: Radio fixation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfW5cSDc94h8Fc0FfOsZOFDn9QkNnXRWzVzmid-u4YwKm1g6RAYCiAlIIJtLFPD3wRHxohMkDdslR1QPDismq4140zO2AymdhyEvrRjRCoS-8EAM0aELS0K0ao0ALiVCqsMWkXVv_26jP1QUyg90u37Q13_fr4XMhuBxd58zEGmKFSKEQcBEjHK9JW/s807/OHRchezLidia2023_06_01bg.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="807" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfW5cSDc94h8Fc0FfOsZOFDn9QkNnXRWzVzmid-u4YwKm1g6RAYCiAlIIJtLFPD3wRHxohMkDdslR1QPDismq4140zO2AymdhyEvrRjRCoS-8EAM0aELS0K0ao0ALiVCqsMWkXVv_26jP1QUyg90u37Q13_fr4XMhuBxd58zEGmKFSKEQcBEjHK9JW/s700/OHRchezLidia2023_06_01bg.jpg" width="485" /></a>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;"><i>(Radio operators are weird about their equipment. We love to look at it. I take photos every time I set up in a new place. This time it's on the second floor of a friend's house, to a longwire antenna running through the sliding door behind it to a tree at the edge of the property. All of which is fascinating, I'm sure.)</i>
<br /><br />
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-73423883588137350892024-01-04T19:39:00.004-05:002024-01-04T20:02:46.895-05:00Fudo City<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="278" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LBVRbkB-16Y?si=M1abP7G3y_x89noM&start=101" title="YouTube video player" width="498"></iframe><br><br>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
This is Nicola White, my favourite mudlark. (Yes, I have a favourite mudlark. I also have other mudlarks, who, while not my favourite mudlark, are also brilliant. If you don't have a favourite mudlark, what are you even doing?)<br /><br />
Ordinarily I unspool a mudlark video here and there for a bit of exotic foreign beachcombing. Because the seaweed is always greener on the far side of the planet. And let me tell you, us New Worlders are missing out; what Nicola finds in the Thames – midtown London, mind you – is better than anything I'll <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2016/11/ww-grand-prize.html" target="_blank">find</a> in the North Pacific, ever.<br /><br />
But that's just the inescapable luck of the draw. Consider, for example, that I'd rather not dig <a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2017/06/ww-limit-of-mussels.html" target="_blank">clams</a> there. Some things you got, some things you ain't. (<a href="https://rustyring.blogspot.com/2017/08/everything-doesnt-happen-for-reason.html" target="_blank">Second Noble Truth</a>, with a <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2020/08/the-eight-worldly-dharmas.html" target="_blank">worldly-dharma</a> chaser.)<br /><br />
But this one drove me mad. I'm talking physical pain. Because this time, my girl Nicola outed me as a bad monk, a self-righteous Buddhist, and a very strange man. <br><br>
It starts about 1:40 – the video opens at that mark when you click on it – where, if you look carefully at the mud... you'll see a washer. <br><br>
An old, rusty, well-abused washer.<br /><br />
The sort that makes a first-class <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2011/12/hermitcraft-fudos-part-1.html" target="_blank">fudo</a>.<br /><br />
And boy, does that trigger my greed! You can see it right there. It's within reach. The camera places you right behind the hand. "It's right there! Just right! No, don't pan away!"<br /><br />
But that happens a lot in mudlarking videos. What is less common, happens next.<br /><br />
Another one. Just as good and just as near.<br /><br />
Then another. And another.<br /><br />
I counted at least half a dozen before Nicola wandered on, for a total of about a minute and a half of torment. And God knows how many other rings lie just out of frame.<br /><br />
Needless to say, she walks right past all of them. Because she's after, like, actual stuff. Interesting stuff. Thought-provoking stuff she can use in her artwork. (That's what Nicola is: an artist.)<br /><br />
So she doesn't need a <a href="http://rustyring.blogspot.com/2015/06/graduation-meditation.html" target="_blank">pack</a> of rusty washers.<br /><br />
She's probably got enough of those to hold the duration.<br /><br />
But if you're a fudo maker, that dreggy hardware shines, if only metaphorically, right off the gloomy muck. (Looking remarkably like ours, come to that. Amazing how similar the UK is to the North Coast.)<br /><br />
I'm telling you, that's powerful iron. Those guys contain enough disdain for suffering, each one, to make Mara incontinent for days.*<br /><br />
And I could reach out and take them, if my arms were 5,000 miles longer.<br /><br />
You're killing me here, Nicola.<br /><br />
<i>*MaraisnotrealpleasedonotascribesufferingoreviltoasupernaturalbeingcalledMaraMaraisjustallegoryfordelusionformoreinformationpleasesitzazen.</i></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-84229317849353051952024-01-03T01:47:00.003-05:002024-01-03T01:47:59.094-05:00WW: Sunset over the North Pacific<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjTHBTpZQZrU0fEgpOUHVFxEGDUIwlo-Ev_QCjfFS0kdOUr9IUO34bVnFFOe921rLBN1YRYZlHIzavZnNPWy56MeROdDW4mJ5kC0MWLsZro_svJdf6B_MtSszbVeUtWAJE5ymWYTaNCh3VhXEpGDIFEPRDktnrrgK_tWgpsXS01saXkW2wFKtI7rq/s1115/sunset20090922_0833bg.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="1115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjTHBTpZQZrU0fEgpOUHVFxEGDUIwlo-Ev_QCjfFS0kdOUr9IUO34bVnFFOe921rLBN1YRYZlHIzavZnNPWy56MeROdDW4mJ5kC0MWLsZro_svJdf6B_MtSszbVeUtWAJE5ymWYTaNCh3VhXEpGDIFEPRDktnrrgK_tWgpsXS01saXkW2wFKtI7rq/s700/sunset20090922_0833bg.jpg" width="483" /></a>
<br /><br /><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-34956643986309650272023-12-28T16:03:00.009-05:002024-01-01T16:38:44.867-05:00Good Song: Ici-bas<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="278" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lYyqwoQdTQI?si=6dtQnfX05X3XPzLU" title="YouTube video player" width="498"></iframe><br><br>
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
New Year's is upon us again, and as usual I'm in a reflective mood. This time I've got the Cowboys Fringants' <i>Ici-bas </i>running through my head. Les Cowboys have an unusual gift for couching poetry in vernacular speech, and it only gains in power what it loses in polish. Since the group lost its lead singer to prostate cancer just last month, this song has been much in my thoughts.<br /><br />
The video itself is a significant, Cowboys-worthy bonus; like another, unwritten verse, pumping context into words that might otherwise read more grimly than intended. Note all the visual metaphors for growing up and growing old, and also the classic backstreet scenes from some Québécois town, all of which have an uncanny knack for being distinct and the same at the same time. This one – whoever it is – makes me homesick for my own.<br /><br />
And finally, of course, that heart-pulling winter: much more than a simple season, it's a kind of family member in Québec; a relationship hard to grasp beyond the Ottawa. None of which is hurt by an additional call-out to my enduring love of taking long walks through it, both in town and nearer home.<br /><br />
« Ici-bas » literally means the here-below, an expression that exists in English as well, but is much more current in French. It implies the fishbowl nature of the human lot -- its claustrophobic smallness, the impossibility of escaping it with our lives. And also the unity of our experience, whether we choose to accept that or not.<br /><br />
All of which made translating even the title tough. At last I went with <i>Down Here</i>, with its implied awareness of the great not-Earth, and the modesty of our little neighbourhood and our existence in it.<br /><br />
Follows the usual heartbreak of reclothing sublime images in clunky foreign syntax. Does « trafic » refer to backroom intrigue, or is it just traffic? Because it's both in French, and the writer almost certainly meant both. And what of « faucher » (to scythe), mostly used in these industrial times to describe what Death does. Strike down, we might say, but that would leave a richer metaphor by the roadside. Nothing English gets us there as completely and concisely; you just have to take your best shot and move on.<br /><br />
Any road, I suggest you first listen to the song while reading the lyrics and ignoring the video, to savour the full impact of the message. Then run through the video again, watching it this time.<br /><br />
Either way, it's a touching meditation on The Great Matter.<br /><br />
Best of luck in 2024, and may we remember and honour each other, here-below.<br><br>
<i>(Note: an English translation follows the French lyrics.)</i>
<br /><br />
<br /><u>
Ici-bas</u><br>
paroles et musique: Jean-François Pauzé<br /><br />
Malgré nos vies qui s’emballent dans une époque folle<br />
Où un rien nous détourne du simple instant présent<br />
Alors que tout s’envole<br />
Avec le temps<br />
Malgré la mort, celle qui frappe et qui nous fait pleurer<br />
Ou bien celle qui un jour, tôt ou tard, nous fauchera<br />
Je m’accroche les pieds<br />
Ici-bas<br />
<br />
Malgré l’amour celui qui nous fait vivre d’espoir<br />
Qui parfois fait si mal quand on reste sur le seuil<br />
D’une trop courte histoire<br />
Sans qu’on le veuille<br />
Malgré la haine qui souvent nous retombe sur le nez<br />
Et les caves qui s’abreuvent de ce triste crachat<br />
Je m’accroche les pieds<br />
Ici-bas<br />
Ici-bas<br />
<br />
Tant que mes yeux s’ouvriront<br />
Je cherch’rai dans l’horizon<br />
La brèche qui s’ouvre sur mes décombres<br />
La lueur dans les jours plus sombres<br />
Tant que mes pieds marcheront<br />
J’avancerai comme un con<br />
Avec l’espoir dans chaque pas<br />
Et ce jusqu’à mon dernier souffle<br />
Ici-bas<br />
<br />
Malgré les merdes, les revers, les choses qui nous échappent<br />
Les p’tits, les grands tourments, les erreurs de parcours<br />
Et tout c’qui nous rattrape<br />
Dans le détour<br />
Malgré l’ennui, le trafic, les rêves inachevés<br />
La routine, le cynisme, l’hiver qui finit pas<br />
Je m’accroche les pieds<br />
Ici-bas<br />
Ici-bas<br />
<br />
Tant que mes yeux s’ouvriront<br />
Je cherch’rai dans l’horizon<br />
La brèche qui s’ouvre sur mes décombres<br />
La lueur dans les jours plus sombres<br />
Tant que mes pieds marcheront<br />
J’avancerai comme un con<br />
Avec l’espoir dans chaque pas<br />
Et ce jusqu’à mon dernier souffle<br />
Ici-bas<br /><br /><br />
<u>Down Here</u><br />
words and music by Jean-François Pauzé<br /><br />
In spite of the way our lives spin out of control in this daft epoch<br />
Where an anything can pull us out of the moment we're in<br />
While it all flies away<br />
Over time<br />
In spite of the deaths that strike and leave us crying<br />
Or the one that one day, sooner or later, will cut us down<br />
I will plant my feet<br />
Down here<br />
<br />
In spite of the love that allows us to live in hope<br />
But sometimes hurts so bad we remain stuck on the edge<br />
Of a story cut too short<br />
Like it or not<br />
In spite of the hate so often blown back in our face<br />
And the caverns storing up all that wretched spit<br />
I will plant my feet<br />
Down here<br />
Down here<br />
<br />
So long as my eyes still open<br />
I will search the horizon<br />
For the chink that will shine on my ruins<br />
A light in my darkest days<br />
So long as my feet will still walk<br />
I'll forge ahead like an idiot<br />
Hope in every step<br />
Right to my last breath<br />
Down here<br /><br />
In spite of the hassles, the setbacks, the ones that got away<br />
The small wounds and the great, the wrong turns<br />
And all that trips us up<br />
In the detour<br />
In spite of the boredom, the traffic, the unfulfilled dreams<br />
The routine, the cynicism, the endless winters<br />
I will plant my feet<br />
Down here<br />
Down here<br /><br />
So long as my eyes still open<br />
I will search the horizon<br />
For the chink that will shine on my ruins<br />
A light in my darkest days<br />
So long as my feet will still walk<br />
I'll forge ahead like an idiot<br />
Hope in every step<br />
Right to my last breath<br />
Down here<br /></div></span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-45775973924399035072023-12-27T02:46:00.003-05:002023-12-27T02:50:25.021-05:00WW: Camouflaged nap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dYzb7Xix5jpphYE1QsNwhCUxlehH7u7MRqp3nZ_8KRrJSbHS5MwQzvQtaxoMtSdZxpZ7PWYB78uu7RXA_saLcHI0clM0NgqvA3Cc_FlYPB0tKCvyhqRS8_PIclORB2_W6i7siezMGSsvcOxaGmCxswYExhgHtGwkwxNw8YkY2FdkT2CEj2Bkuulu/s748/curryinbasket1bg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="561" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dYzb7Xix5jpphYE1QsNwhCUxlehH7u7MRqp3nZ_8KRrJSbHS5MwQzvQtaxoMtSdZxpZ7PWYB78uu7RXA_saLcHI0clM0NgqvA3Cc_FlYPB0tKCvyhqRS8_PIclORB2_W6i7siezMGSsvcOxaGmCxswYExhgHtGwkwxNw8YkY2FdkT2CEj2Bkuulu/s700/curryinbasket1bg.jpg" width="400" /></a>
<br /><br /><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</i></a>.</div></span></div>
Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-82665186477625957182023-12-21T16:59:00.002-05:002023-12-21T19:29:11.200-05:00Merry Christmas 2023<div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKgGyJfCrGpZXUjOv74Kzbnb56y07MMf_1CnpErX-KfkPFPW3CFt8vk7Q2kBFv08h58Incwc3Vw8-qsgE60J7u3TNB8YnUM66ToRktvuTHsxqgnnYk5YFEvAi19HmFzZeHAxIqbG84lgPK0y_5tw9tMm-Gm4OzBU_jpA5KtBTid_NxIBSwboWeWnw9/s748/image-from-rawpixel-id-262062-jpeg-bg.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="251" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKgGyJfCrGpZXUjOv74Kzbnb56y07MMf_1CnpErX-KfkPFPW3CFt8vk7Q2kBFv08h58Incwc3Vw8-qsgE60J7u3TNB8YnUM66ToRktvuTHsxqgnnYk5YFEvAi19HmFzZeHAxIqbG84lgPK0y_5tw9tMm-Gm4OzBU_jpA5KtBTid_NxIBSwboWeWnw9/s700/image-from-rawpixel-id-262062-jpeg-bg.jpg" width="107" /></a>
<br /><br /><br />
<span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
On this Christmas of 2023, all of us here at Rusty Ring wish our readers the best and kindest of seasons.<br /><br />
Right in darkness there is light.<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<i>(Painting by Ohara Koson. Image file courtesy of Rawpixel.com.)</i></span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-55617157322903075672023-12-20T02:13:00.002-05:002023-12-20T13:29:31.171-05:00WW: Jelly mushrooms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_3kP3NxW4C0Flgy-r4plzja-1WNXMQy_BSADOXOhBhBn4d_vec8Ro85R64LAN2gWyo4HqvB1G7sYT3a8e6CSLwiLBTwX7TzT8tY38XyJDwpfM31KTkgtmoVUwXQ3hqQPRYqlC1T4h-Jx7KtxpIr0RB862UiaTLXaGQJqynzMX_ThvrpJzG50FE4Sc/s754/Dacrymyces%20chrysospermus-4bg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="565" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_3kP3NxW4C0Flgy-r4plzja-1WNXMQy_BSADOXOhBhBn4d_vec8Ro85R64LAN2gWyo4HqvB1G7sYT3a8e6CSLwiLBTwX7TzT8tY38XyJDwpfM31KTkgtmoVUwXQ3hqQPRYqlC1T4h-Jx7KtxpIr0RB862UiaTLXaGQJqynzMX_ThvrpJzG50FE4Sc/s700/Dacrymyces%20chrysospermus-4bg.jpg" width="350" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;"><i>(This is</i> Dacrymyces chrysospermus,<i> the orange jelly mushroom. It grows on deadwood in moist forests – two things we have aplenty here on the North Pacific. It's also a winter harvest, making this fungus doubly useful, since it's eminently edible when sautéed in butter. )</i><br><br>
Appearing also on <a href="https://myworldthrumycameralens.blogspot.com/">My Corner of the World</a>.</span></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6946355152392294973.post-9160886316712716942023-12-14T17:47:00.006-05:002023-12-14T17:50:38.363-05:00Poem: The Sound Of The Colour<div class="no-white-border">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipz8ATCakP6ix1IZyCVCAoSPZnfIi-3cW0SS8t7fs5slYRsa5WAgftMwbPHFon0Ma2HQlTxKY2M2ncF81VRsLQIK-fH0dRk5riKaZo_VtZfAk1yzvajjuNwpFl6GgHONLXauRLv0l9uZLE4k3ALyd-9vvpdNeNO7sOd_zbEMGWst_lTY4VnCG7UTcv/s747/bufflehead2bg.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="747" data-original-width="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipz8ATCakP6ix1IZyCVCAoSPZnfIi-3cW0SS8t7fs5slYRsa5WAgftMwbPHFon0Ma2HQlTxKY2M2ncF81VRsLQIK-fH0dRk5riKaZo_VtZfAk1yzvajjuNwpFl6GgHONLXauRLv0l9uZLE4k3ALyd-9vvpdNeNO7sOd_zbEMGWst_lTY4VnCG7UTcv/s700/bufflehead2bg.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;">
Winter solitude—<br />
In a world of one colour<br />
The sound of wind.<br /><br />
Bashō</span>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08522501894058291952noreply@blogger.com0