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jgill
Boulder climber
Colorado
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Oct 19, 2014 - 06:13pm PT
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Dr. F's thread may be gone, but this one remains. I don't see why JL said he intends to start a "reality" thread. The poetic Weege seems to have begun one.
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Tvash
climber
Seattle
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Oct 19, 2014 - 07:44pm PT
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I'm looking for the realist reality thread I can find.
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BLUEBLOCR
Social climber
joshua tree
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Oct 19, 2014 - 08:06pm PT
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The poetic Weege seems to have begun one.
Yea! The, "Reality is just an illusion brought on by the shortage of beer" thread?
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Spider Savage
Mountain climber
The shaggy fringe of Los Angeles
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Oct 20, 2014 - 07:33am PT
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The mind is the baggage.
The being is the author of reality.
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jgill
Boulder climber
Colorado
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Oct 20, 2014 - 04:29pm PT
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^^^^^^ Or maybe the other way around!
;>)
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MikeL
Social climber
Seattle, WA
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Oct 20, 2014 - 08:55pm PT
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At times there is a lull in this thread. People’s posts just mill about aimlessly, trying to find ,and then play, a riff off of another person’s quip.
Reminds me a bit of jazz improvisation. A rhythm needs to be established, along with a couple of catchy movements to establish direction and lyric. But no one person can do it alone. It needs another to interact with to create an entrainment. Many things must come together—but no one can say what those things are exactly or how to establish them.
What seems to accomplish this, at least in jazz according to many, is that the unconscious needs an open conduit to get out and express itself. But the discursive mind usually gets in the way—unless there is no intention and nothing serious meant by it (play). So many things look like this to me. Climbing, writing, teaching, working, riding, among others.
Want to write something creative? Focus only on the physical activity, do it carefully, slowly, with great care. Form script letters deliberately, slowly with paper and pen; or type while only focusing on fingers hitting the keys--any set of keys. Words will emerge without knowing where they came from.
A person’s head just gets in the way most of the time. Almost completely unnecessary.
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MH2
climber
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Oct 20, 2014 - 09:07pm PT
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It's stranger than that, MikeL.
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jgill
Boulder climber
Colorado
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Oct 20, 2014 - 09:10pm PT
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I played jazz trumpet duets with another kid in the 8th grade.
We were good.
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MikeL
Social climber
Seattle, WA
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Oct 21, 2014 - 10:42am PT
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You’re probably right, MH2. (My take is just a theory.)
Duets and triplets and beyond are interesting to untangle and participate in. In one of my classes, to teach students something about how working and creating with others occurs, I have one person mark out a single beat repeatedly with a pencil or pen. Then I have a second person join in and making repeated beats for what makes sense to them. Complexity arises. Then I have a third join in, and we all listen to the complex beat that the three have made.
With some questions from me, the students who created the beats report that there were small changes and shifts among each other as they listened to spaces that needed opening and closing. It’s like riding a bicycle: a rider is never perfectly balanced. There are non-stop subtle shifts left and right when riding, among this beat and another beat to find balance and the flow when marking time.
A simple focus on one’s own beat cannot work. A person must work with the universe and others. It’s one heck of a dance. There is nothing final, definitive, or dogmatic in anything. All “problems” seem to arise from efforts to control, define, and categorize. Reality (whatever it is) seems to be just the opposite of that: intrinsically untenable, constant improvisation, wildly dynamic with changing constraints. (Of course, that’s just me.)
Exposing these points to business students doesn’t always get me very far.
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jgill
Boulder climber
Colorado
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Oct 22, 2014 - 01:23pm PT
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A few nights ago as I was falling asleep - in the hypnagogic state - I had my first experience of an auditory hallucination. A loud, flat metallic voice told me "DRINK WATER!" I awoke, startled. Was that a message from the gods of the Matrix? In fact, I should drink more water.
Upon reflection, I suspect this is the sort of things schizophrenics deal with in normal wake mode. Also, it made me think of Julian Jaynes' bicameral mind theory: that the ancient Greeks and others were unaware of their own consciousness and received auditory "instructions" from their gods (another part of the brain).
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cintune
climber
The Utility Muffin Research Kitchen
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Oct 22, 2014 - 04:55pm PT
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Those kinds of pre-sleep hallucinations are great entertainment, for as long as you can keep a tiny observer-node going to appreciate the weird things that pop up. Random sights and sounds, some quite vivid, with no rational or even symbolic connection whatsoever. Also a sure sign that sleep is right around the corner, which can be a relief if you know you have to get up early the next morning.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Oct 22, 2014 - 07:07pm PT
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Something that was said up post made me think about the beats the mad free form poets from the fifties and how the formative experience in a couple of the men's lives was a hiking trip.
That Kerouac describe as a climb. It was a climb to them but as a climber it was and read like a steep hike. The perception thus is of course in the eye of the reader based on that persons
own background and experience.
It has been twenty years since I last read "On The Road".
That seems sort of sad and amazing at the same time. The book was some sort of validating
tome that I would reach for over and over again.
If a girl left me I would reach for the book that I do not have a copy of at this moment. The staccato sound of the writing style some how gave an over active mind something to follow and a calming effect took hold.
As I think back on that younger mind it seems that it was not the same. Back then my lack of true passionate experience defined as the conflicting feelings of extremes; emotional lows and highs made, "On The Road" and its description of living with passion for every adventure seem vital and important.
I will have to see if as a feeling generating book, a story of more or less directionless slackers, young men with no point or aims and in such a different, world holds any of it's former allure.
Today's world and my place in it and perspective gained from living highs and lows; a passionate life that often seems to overwhelm. Makes the ideas that were already old hat in the seventies when I read it, seems less validating today.
As long as I had a direction to head in and was in line to accomplish something even just a rock climb. I felt equal to or superior to the aimless Neil and sensitive Sal ne. Kerouac.
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BLUEBLOCR
Social climber
joshua tree
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Oct 22, 2014 - 07:45pm PT
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i need a Bushman poem
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Oct 23, 2014 - 04:04am PT
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pomp an circumstance
prevail
the third stone
turns left
as all who fail will tell
High gravity does exsit
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MikeL
Social climber
Seattle, WA
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Oct 23, 2014 - 07:17am PT
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase: Back then my lack of true passionate experience defined as the conflicting feelings of extremes; emotional lows and highs made, "On The Road" and its description of living with passion for every adventure seem vital and important.
Cheers.
IMO and experience, passion has many forms. It can be viewed from a content perspective (the things one is passionate about), but there is also the beauty of living that seems to be an embodiment of passion. To feel an experience without care as to whether it is right or wrong, correct or incorrect, appropriate or inappropriate seems to me to be a pure form of being without elaboration. Good and bad seem completely irrelevant in experience. Passion appears to be simply quiet love, like the picture of the river you showed: deep, powerful, expansive, irrepressible.
Vitality is one thing, but importance . . . ppfffftttttttt! Importance is an indicator of a dominant sense of self, I'd say.
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jgill
Boulder climber
Colorado
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Oct 26, 2014 - 09:19pm PT
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I've been pondering the minds of chickens and goats lately
Oh thread, the bell tolls for thee . . .
;>)
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MikeL
Social climber
Seattle, WA
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Oct 26, 2014 - 10:44pm PT
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EXCELLENT POST, DMT!
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Bushman
Social climber
The island of Tristan da Cunha
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Oct 26, 2014 - 11:11pm PT
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'Hairy Bones'
I scratch your back with hairy chin,
So hard my my hair is pushing in,
And burns while turning inside out,
It hurts so bad I want to shout,
My hair is longing to get in,
Between my bones and cracks within,
My hair attaches to my bones,
And makes my attitude like stones,
That rasp and creak this watercraft,
As rocks scrape gouges in this raft,
If soggy bones that grind and chip,
Are bleached and worn out as this ship,
Grows moss and weeds from stern to keel,
Imagine how my bones would feel,
That hair is working deep within,
And growing on my bones again,
So touch my shoulder if you dare,
And you might earn an icy stare,
But don't think I don't give a damn,
My lips are sealed up like a clam ,
For how can I relay so strange,
This portent that would rearrange,
My physiological chemistry,
And damn for all eternity,
The shadows cast that seem to fall,
Not from my shoulder to the wall,
But through my eyes and back at me,
The mirror never tells a lie,
Of who will live or who will die,
And always it comes back to me,
The bones are fighting gravity,
And hair keeps growing from the cracks,
Between my bones like old thumb tacks,
That scrape, and prod, and torture me,
From scarred up head to wounded knee,
The bones are growing hair again,
As tenderly our love began,
Replenishing the strength within,
To ward off pain and diffidence,
And taking down my best defense,
Your love is shoring up the cracks,
Allowing that I might relax,
And leaves my heart without a care,
So such is life that I don't dare,
To shave my bones or change a thing,
Of cloven hooves or winged wing.
-Bushman
03/08/2014
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jgill
Boulder climber
Colorado
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Oct 28, 2014 - 05:27pm PT
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We now have "Poetry of the Mind" thread.
Let's have that in iambic pentameter, please.
;>|
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Tvash
climber
Seattle
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Oct 28, 2014 - 05:52pm PT
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Climbing related, even:
Stein’s Pillar
Oh rusty rye crisp misspelled missile
What have you for me today?
One cat spit squall, cut short
A pair of peregrines, unperturbed
Three caves of turkey grit and packrat sh#t
Lenticulars in four directions
Five o’clock and I’m still climbing
Ten sagging lag screws left to go
Fifty rifle shots upon the hillside
A thousand long shadowed ponderosas, swaying
A modern monkey, braying up at Vega
from your twilit summit
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