life: acoustic & amplified

poetry, quotes & thoughts about life

Archive for the category “moment”

Caesium standard 

 caesium standard or caesium atomic clock is a primary frequency standard in which electronic transitionsbetween the two hyperfine ground states of caesium-133 atoms are used to control the output frequency. The first caesium clock was built by Louis Essenin 1955 at the National Physical Laboratory in the UK.[1]
Caesium clocks are the most accurate commercially produced time and frequency standards, and serve as the primary standard for the definition of the second in SI (the metric system). By definition, radiation produced by the transition between the two hyperfine ground states of caesium (in the absence of external influences such as the Earth’s magnetic field) has a frequency of exactly 9,192,631,770 Hz. That value was chosen so that the caesium second equalled, to the limit of human measuring ability in 1960 when it was adopted, the existing standard ephemeris second based on the Earth‘s orbit around the Sun.[2] Because no other measurement involving time had been as precise, the effect of the change was less than the experimental uncertainty of all existing measurements. 

🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘 05.01.15

http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caesium_standard
 
Listen to Aime by Pure Prairie League http://youtu.be/V4mCiYQeU_s
🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘🕘

photo sources found at www.pinterest.com/al513

Derby Day

  On a pleasant May day perfect for the racing events 

The Churchill downs of Kentucky proudly presents 
The finest champion thoroughbreds of all time 
With forthcoming foals of champion bloodline 
Attention please, the speaker was saying “We have an honored guest” 
A lone horse with “Jerry Bailey” in the saddle by request 
Yes, we have your favorite star 
The famous champion “cigar” 
The crowd became estatic, cheering as the judges gave an award 
A bronze replica of the wonder horse with gold letters “cigar” 
By this time the music began to play, all stood still to hear 
My old Kentucky home they love to so dear 
The jockeys suits of outstanding vivid colors as they rode 
Their mounts to the post 
Matched the bright ensembles of the enthusiastic hosts 
Oh! There is number eight, he does not want to cooperate 
Number nine like most is in his prime 
Ok now they are all in line 
Their off oh no, cigar want to go 
He doesn’t know he was only there for show 
Number eight that was slow to go to the gate 
He is now by the side rail 
Only two horses does he trail 
He is coming down the stretch fast 
Yes one of the horses he did pass 
The crowd is on their feet he won fair and square 
A little elderly man with a hearing aid said “Who was he that rode into victory?” 
Sir, it was pulpit that won the race 
And Captain Budgit came in second place 
And Concerto was in third today 
When I awake I hope it’s true 
About the Kentucky Derby as I told to you. 
Now that the race has been run 
There was laughter, chatting and fun 
And the celebrating has just begun 
The horse owners, jockeys, trainers and their families 
All met in the diner, ordering drinks to their families 
The happy people were dancing to rock, pop and who knows what 
And when they settled down they talked about racing a lot 
Questions and suggestions, like- Was Pulpit really that hot? 
Will Cigar run again or was he just for show? 
We will ask Allen Paulson- He knows 
What about Thesaurus- he won four races on turf- Wow! 
He is ready for big time and he is ready now 
My goodness, what time can it be? 
I slept too long 
I enjoyed every minute of my dream, is that so wrong?

🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎

Dreaming of the Kentucky Derby by Jeannette V. Steiner

    

Listen to Dan Folgelberg sing Run For the Roses http://youtu.be/61cceAXnC6w

🐴🐴🐴🐴🐴🐎🐴

http://www.kentuckyderby.com

sing & hark

/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/ed9/21335673/files/2014/12/img_4993.jpg

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.

December by Gary Johnson

/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/ed9/21335673/files/2014/12/img_4874.jpg

be

IMG_3481.JPG
My Dearest, I love you deeply.
I’m not worried to impress you,
or to keep you from getting mad at me;
nor do I need to figure you out,
or to tell you how I want you to be.
I just love you, weak in the knees.

My Love, when I think of you I forget myself;
I fill with joy and warmth at the thought of you.
When I think of other things, you are still on my mind.
I’m obsessed with you.

Beautiful Lover, I like you the way you are.
I enjoy your presence. I like being with you.
My world is made better because of you,
and I am grateful for you.

Beloved, my love is for your sake, not mine.
Yes, I want to hold you, enjoy you,
take you into myself.
But I don’t want to possess you; I want to bless you.
I care about you, and want the best for you.
My deepest soul honors you. My heart is yours.
I entrust myself completely to you.
My heart goes out to you, and belongs to you.
I will do anything for you, for your sake.
My whole life is my promise to you.
I give you myself, all of my living, for all of my life.

O Love, I am yours.
With joy, with gratitude, with utter trust,
with all of my being, forever,
I love you.

Amen.

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

IMG_3480.JPG

IMG_3163.JPG
Worthiness
Accepting Our Calling
by Madisyn Taylor

Our worth of being on the planet at this time cannot be judged as we are all worthy and essential to being here now.

The issue of worthiness may come up in many areas of our lives, as we ask, often unconsciously, whether we are worthy of success, love, happiness, and countless other things, from supportive relationships to a beautiful home. In the end, though, it all comes down to one thing: our willingness to claim our space in this life as humans on this planet at this time. When we accept our divinity, we no longer question whether we are worthy, because we know that we are meant to be here to fulfill a particular purpose, a purpose that no one other than us can fulfill.

There are no replacements who can take over and live our lives for us, no other person who has had the experiences we have had, who has access to the same resources and relationships, who carries the same message to share with the world. Our purpose may be large or small, and in most cases it is multi-leveled, with important actions taking place on the interpersonal level, as well as in terms of the work we do in the world. Small acts of kindness share the stage with large acts of sacrifice, and only through accepting and honoring our divinity can we know what we are called to do and when.

Ultimately, we are all equally, exactly, completely worthy of being here in this life. Moreover, we are all essential to the unfolding plan of which we are each one small, but important, part. If we suffer from low self worth, it is because we have lost track of understanding this truth, and allowing it to guide our actions in the world. Seeing ourselves as part of something larger, as beings called to serve, is the ultimate cure for feelings of unworthiness. In the end, it’s not about evaluating ourselves as worthy or unworthy, so much as it’s about accepting that we have been called here to serve and taking the steps required to listen and respond to what our lives are asking us to do.

http://www.dailyom.com

IMG_3479.JPG

IMG_3277.JPG

on a day like today

IMG_2088.JPG
Every day, at least once, one must allow a picture to form
Out of the random scene before one’s eyes.
It may take shape easily, in front of a window, say,
with table and bench, light silhouetted,
plants enclosed by the window frame.
Objects on the table, a tea cozy and tea egg
in a dish. A ruffled napkin askew on the oilcloth.
One must observe the entire field of view
and the angles and harmonies of color.
And then back up to form a new picture
out of the wider context framed by your eyes.

Every day, at least once, one must listen to
music with complete attention and concentration.
Or, stop and listen to whatever form takes
shape in the random sounds of the air.
One must attend to several voices at once
in random balance, letting the mind make
sense of it. Some balance or imbalance.

One must, every day, become aware of
one’s body in as much of its totality
as possible. Complete physical awareness.
With arms and legs extended or curled up,
active or passive.

One must on a daily basis be in a garden
of whatever choice or kind, urban or country,
and sit and look, being calm.

One must watch and listen to the birds.
This is very important to being alive.
The birds can help you rediscover
your soul.

And one must read a poem or listen,
remembering the world from which
the poem speaks and takes life,
paying attention to the world the poem
creates.

One must eat meals with knowledge
of what one is eating. Full consciousness.

And one must acknowledge one’s
lack of complete consciousness,
one must realize one’s own
place.

“Every Day” by Bill Wahman

IMG_2098.JPG

IMG_2090.JPG

IMG_2101.JPG

IMG_2174.JPG

IMG_2175.JPG

IMG_2176.JPG
the breeze dances across my face
like a fairy in ballet slippers made of the finest feathers.
the world is all azurite and emerald
I listen for the wings of angels, hawks and dragonflies
soaring
miles and miles above.
under the music of the leaves,
the peace of a quiet silence,
as butterflies fan the heavy hanging goldenrod.
I hear an infant cry,
the kind of music only a mother and father can interpret –
sounds like hunger to my instinctual response.
Airplanes, bees and flies drone at different intervals.
the silly dog barks at occasional squirrels and passersby,
then settles back into napping.
a goose honks somewhere to the distant left.
a loud truck makes a dissonant note in this beautiful melody.
I am here wrapped in my snuggly blanket and this joy,
for these perfect falling-from-summer moments.
tomatoes and squash are warm ripe
in the friendly neighbors garden.
we have pushed through some hard work,
you and I,
we have made it through a tough act,
a brutal season,
burdens now roll off stooped shoulders,
just in time to enjoy a new beginning.
a celebration.
a new and better path.
a shining light,
right here
guiding us all
home.

ACL 9/18/14

IMG_2148.JPG

IMG_2133.JPG

touches of the wings

IMG_2069.JPG
Some Sunday afternoon, it may be,
you are sitting under your porch roof,
looking down through the trees
to the river, watching the rain. The circles
made by the raindrops’ striking
expand, intersect, dissolve,

and suddenly (for you are getting on
now, and much of your life is memory)
the hands of the dead, who have been here
with you, rest upon you tenderly
as the rain rests shining
upon the leaves. And you think then

(for thought will come) of the strangeness
of the thought of heaven, for now
you have imagined yourself there,
remembering with longing this
happiness, this rain. Sometimes here
we are there, and there is no death.

“1996, V” [“Some Sunday afternoon, it may be”] by Wendell Berry

IMG_2070.JPG
On this bitter-sweet morning
I spot the jar,
and deliberately,
lick spun honey from a spoon.
Remembering my Grandma Duvall,
always a mystery person for me,
always had that,
and other, oh-so-wonderful,
treats at her house.
As a little girl,
I loved it so,
I love it still,
tho it goes right to my head,
and makes me a bit dizzy.
My more mature tastebuds know
there must be balance.
Remembering the wisdom
of Solomon in Proverbs.
How kind words are like honey.
How important it is to choose the sweet,
right in the bitter.
I suck the last bit off the spoon,
smile a bit,
and move along.
Angels visit us in strange ways some days.
A bit of healing
right there in the kitchen.
A bit of grace
right in the mess.
A bit of heaven,
right here and now,
on a rainy Tuesday.

ACL 9/16/14

IMG_2068-0.JPG

Don’t mistake movement for achievement. It’s easy to get faked out by being busy. The question is: “Busy doing what?” – Jim Rohn

IMG_1263.JPG

Most people are not apathetic fools—they are engaged and intelligent beyond measure. It’s just that they spend a shocking amount of time studying foolish things, and so they have gained great intelligence in the inconsequential. They know dozens of batting averages, celebrity baby names, and trivial anecdotes from the latest news alert. They know more about television characters than their coworkers; more about the freeway traffic ahead than their financial future; more about the new tech toy than what’s truly missing from their lives.

This of course, does not describe everyone. Yet we have the average American watching four hours of television per day. This amounts to around 13 years of his or her lifetime. Yes, that’s 13 years 24/7 in front of the boob tube. Those years slip by episode-to-episode, and often feel like rest and entertainment. But all research shows they amount to very little joy or meaning in one’s day or life.

The cost is immense: had those 13 years been used for vital and productive endeavor, they would amass to nearly $1,000,000 more in wages and over $2,000,000 in investment opportunity. Let’s not forget how those 13 years could have been used to deepen friendships, travel, create more art, learn languages, develop world-class expertise, contribute, enjoy love, or live life as a human rather than a gape-mouthed consumer of waste.

While television isn’t stealing everyone’s four hours, most of us now suffer from a sort of recurring “browser blackout” or “app amnesia,” losing hours of time each day on our computer or mobile devices without any recollection of what we saw or accomplished. Distraction reigns.

And so the outcome is we have tremendously engaged and intelligent people often tragically consuming and learning meaningless things. We are busy, but at what? We are smart, but at what? We are engaged, but with what?

Not everyone is so lost, but this might help explain the melancholy one feels in our society. For what could be worse than for smart, engaging people to finish their lifetimes without much to show for it but the ability to win a pop culture trivia contest?

Let us refocus our attentions now, for our dreams and our families are waiting on us and there is so much to be felt and enjoyed in life.

Brendon Burchard – Live. Love. Matter.

IMG_1264.JPG

Every happening, great and small, is a parable whereby God speaks to us, and the art of life is to get the message. – Malcolm Muggeridge

20140730-105714-39434299.jpg

Nature will bear the closest inspection. She
Invites us to lay our eyes level with her
Smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its
Plain.

—Thoreau

The raspberries
in my driveway
have always
been here
(for the whole eleven years
I have owned
but have not owned
this house),
yet
I have never
tasted them
before.

Always on a plane.
Always in the arms
of man, not God,
always too busy,
too fretful,
too worried
to see
that all along
my
driveway
are red, red raspberries
for me to taste.

Shiny and red,
without hairs—
unlike the berries
from the market.
Little jewels—
I share them
with the birds!

On one perches
a tiny green insect.
I blow her off.
She flies!
I burst the raspberry
upon my tongue.

In my solitude
I commune
with raspberries,
with grasses,
with the world.

The world was always
there before,
but where
was I?

Ah raspberry—
if you are so beautiful
upon my ready tongue,
imagine
what wonders
lie in store
for me!

“Raspberries in my Driveway” by Erica Jong

full

20140727-095311-35591528.jpg

Although I watched and waited for it every day,

somehow I missed it, the moment when everything reached 

the peak of ripeness. It wasn’t at the solstice; that was only
the time of the longest light. It was sometime after that, when

the plants had absorbed all that sun, had taken it into themselves

for food and swelled to the height of fullness. It was in July,
in a dizzy blaze of heat and fog, when on some nights
it was too hot to sleep, and the restaurants set half their tables

on the sidewalks; outside the city, down the coast,
the Milky Way floated overhead, and shooting stars

fell from the sky over the ocean. One day the garden

was almost overwhelmed with fruition:
My sweet peas struggled out of the raised bed onto the mulch
of laurel leaves and bark and pods, their brilliantly colored

sunbonnets of rose and stippled pink, magenta and deep purple
pouring out a perfume that was almost oriental. Black-eyed Susans

stared from the flower borders, the orange cherry tomatoes

were sweet as candy, the corn fattened in its swaths of silk,

hummingbirds spiraled by in pairs, the bees gave up

and decided to live in the lavender. At the market,

surrounded by black plums and rosy plums and sugar prunes

and white-fleshed peaches and nectarines, perfumey melons
and mangos, purple figs in green plastic baskets,

clusters of tiny Champagne grapes and piles of red-black cherries

and apricots freckled and streaked with rose, I felt tears

come into my eyes, absurdly, because I knew
that summer had peaked and was already passing

away. I felt very close then to understanding 

the mystery; it seemed to me that I almost knew

what it meant to be alive, as if my life had swelled

to some high moment of response, as if I could

reach out and touch the season, as if I were inside

its body, surrounded by sweet pulp and juice,

shimmering veins and ripened skin.

“A Warm Summer in San Francisco” by Carolyn Miller

Abba (breathe in) I belong to you (breathe out) – Brennan Manning

20140612-074902-28142309.jpg

Empowered to Receive Love

The Spirit reveals to us not only that God is “Abba, Father” but also that we belong to God as his beloved children. The Spirit thus restores in us the relationship from which all other relationships derive their meaning.

Abba is a very intimate word. The best translation for it is: “Daddy.” The word Abba expresses trust, safety, confidence, belonging, and most of all intimacy. It does not have the connotation of authority, power, and control, that the word Father often evokes. On the contrary, Abba implies an embracing and nurturing love. This love includes and infinitely transcends all the love that comes to us from our fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, spouses, and lovers. It is the gift of the Spirit.
– Henri Nouwen
http://www.henrinouwen.org

Trinity meditation

Holy One,
Mysterious Love,
“I Am,”

I wonder; I surrender.

Gentle Christ,
Self-Pouring
Companion,

I thank you; I love you.

Holy Spirit,
Divine Breathing,
Emerging love,

I bear you; I follow you.
______________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
http://www.unfoldinglight.net

Post Navigation