The link to the article is here:
Court Dismisses a Case Asserting Torture by C.I.A.
My comment is published here!
I think torture will never end and the populace can't possibly know what is going on because we are not permitted to. Europe is a little better than we are in providing information but in general information is controlled. Every news report will have several things; worldwide, state and local by county in addition to a few human interest tidbits. Remember we had a president who was going senile and knew nothing about anything - for god's sake he was an actor! And Ollie North took the fall! And we were told zip. Till today we still don't know who killed Kennedy and I suspect the CIA was involved. Hell how many of you are so naive you believe one silly guy who was killed did it all on his own.
Of course it's absurd for people to burn the Koran because it makes no sense to call this a protest; it's another hatemonger act. To destroy religious symbolism for the sake of protest. Kind of reminds me of the 60's when women burned their bras and men burned their draft cards but what makes this different is that it's outsiders who are being destructive and hurtful. If for example, Muslims want to protest something in their religion or culture that's a different thing.
Protesting a religious book because terrorists who happen to be Muslim hit the towers doesn't make sense. It would make more sense to distribute these books as a gift to a Muslim organization.
Actually we killed more of our own on 9/11 by forcing them to stay in a building where they'd be trapped and die and this was done supposedly with the good thoughts about preventing stampede. I know one woman who told me about how she escaped and sneaked out.
The world is a crazy place and hate will make it more crazy.
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
10 most amazing slam poets
I got an email from Onlineuniversities.com asking me to share the following link with my readers. I'm excited to share with you their article 10 Most Amazing Slam Poets on YouTube published on their blog at the enclosed link.
It seems to fit right in with our previous post of shared poetry, music and bluetry.
It seems to fit right in with our previous post of shared poetry, music and bluetry.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
THERMODYNAMICS
I keep trying to create order amidst chaos
And am engaged in a losing battle
I try in little ways: I make up the bed,
Call creditors, respond to landlord complaints about DubbleX
Call doctors, write letters to tons of official agencies
Very little seems to help
I keep trying to create order amidst chaos
Life is stories strung together like grapes
Hanging unpicked b4 my eyes
Right there why can’t I see it
I keep looking and trying to touch
I can’t see all the fuss
Ur sweet soft lips pressing against mine
I look into your eyes, your face so fine
I see the little boy inside your eyes
Hidden away from prying eyes
Longing to be freed
The hurt small boy deep inside
Longing for a sheriff’s pin
I want to get back to where I thought you used to be
Wearing your red knit jersey hoodie
Your soft brown eyes shining thru
The dichotomy of the one I see,
the one who isn’t inside
I was going to ask you a word
Umm that sandalwood smells so good
Can’t remember what the word meant
Forget it, everything is falling apart
The bridge on 225th Street is falling down
You tell me on your return
I keep on trying to keep order amidst chaos
Amid stories strung together for their own sake
Sharing our poems about love, tranquility the strife of life
Park walks with chalk talks & loving challenges
To the world, I keep trying to hang on
To hold together the I & I as the cracks in the glass
Increasingly multiplying forming 2 X 2 numbers
The cracks so deep it’s like a crevice where lava has run down
Flowing like my intuition
I’ma’ sit for a minute enjoy the sweet warm taste of the java I made this morning
October 2008
And am engaged in a losing battle
I try in little ways: I make up the bed,
Call creditors, respond to landlord complaints about DubbleX
Call doctors, write letters to tons of official agencies
Very little seems to help
I keep trying to create order amidst chaos
Life is stories strung together like grapes
Hanging unpicked b4 my eyes
Right there why can’t I see it
I keep looking and trying to touch
I can’t see all the fuss
Ur sweet soft lips pressing against mine
I look into your eyes, your face so fine
I see the little boy inside your eyes
Hidden away from prying eyes
Longing to be freed
The hurt small boy deep inside
Longing for a sheriff’s pin
I want to get back to where I thought you used to be
Wearing your red knit jersey hoodie
Your soft brown eyes shining thru
The dichotomy of the one I see,
the one who isn’t inside
I was going to ask you a word
Umm that sandalwood smells so good
Can’t remember what the word meant
Forget it, everything is falling apart
The bridge on 225th Street is falling down
You tell me on your return
I keep on trying to keep order amidst chaos
Amid stories strung together for their own sake
Sharing our poems about love, tranquility the strife of life
Park walks with chalk talks & loving challenges
To the world, I keep trying to hang on
To hold together the I & I as the cracks in the glass
Increasingly multiplying forming 2 X 2 numbers
The cracks so deep it’s like a crevice where lava has run down
Flowing like my intuition
I’ma’ sit for a minute enjoy the sweet warm taste of the java I made this morning
October 2008
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
David Died
Last night he struggled for his last breath
Flailing his arms, his paws pushed against my chest
Grabbing for me with his last bit of strength
Disbelief in his eyes –
And then they were devoid empty
calling out to the doctor
“He’s passed already”
She looked at his lean slim body
“No,” she said, “his rib cage is still moving,”
She put her stethoscope to his chest
She put her stethoscope to his chest
She shook her head, “You’re right,” she’s said. “He’s gone.”
Questions along with accusations swim in my head
Why didn’t I recognize his symptoms?
Why didn’t I know?
I blame myself - feel guilty
I blame myself - feel guilty
He ate normally until yesterday.
Today he died in my arms
Today he died in my arms
Went about his normal activities
I noticed his shallow breathing a week ago
but his behavior seemed normal
Today he meowed loudly, staring in my eyes.
I saw he was dying
I saw he was dying
The doctor proclaimed he was too far gone
Nothing could save him
Nothing could save him
My heart aches
I doubt it will ever be the same
I doubt it will ever be the same
Longing and sad I wait for him
Sitting at my computer I see
His shadow at the periphery of my vision
His shadow at the periphery of my vision
About to jump on my lap
He would sit for as long as I’d be still
His soft fur like silk against my hand
purring, rumbling beneath my hand
Bright blue eyes staring into mine
He was different from the moment he was born
A malleable mellow fellow demure and docile
David would remain in any position
Siamese are supposed to talk
Not him, he preferred touch
So beautiful and sweet
Why do they have to go first?
I want David back
In memory of David, born January 27th, 2007 – August 10th, 2010
David is the one on the left in both photos.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Rotations of Quotations
The urge to merge, that surge of exploratory
circumference leading from that universal inner desire
Splurge on love with furious abandon and concentration
so powerful it feels like rage always on the verge of the next glorious conception,
A reception of unrivaled perception like a climax
And get this no hidden taxes, no more sales taxes, inheritance taxes, gift and land taxes even stamp taxes
every way I turn I spurn the next tax crack the ax on it estate tax poll tax license tax
Cover the tracks of my pain, skip the lines of taxes back on climax anti war tax withholding tax too bad we don’t relax these taxes and rely on Marxist taxes and don’t think antioxidants will cure me of the blues
Purged glory to gory what a story isn’t it always
We have so many clues
A mischarge recharged a large electric charge
A surcharge a cover charge a take charge explosive dishonorable discharge
Vindictive surly abrasive afflictive action
Can’t alleviate the stain on that purple blue velvet so soft like rain drops drawing cursive on a window pane
wild adrenalin addictive chocolate’s submissive dripping from my chin
My anticonvulsive cardio selective beehive alive behind the iron curtain
The jewish question, he shoved Mein Kempf in my hands I read the jews are not lovers of water, especially the ones who wear black dresses they have no state of their own they only learn languages not assimilate to different countries they’re like parasites waiting to take over the world,
they’re a different race, he tried to erase all traces the US turned their faces away until our army base, pearl harbor, was hit by the Japanese.
Did he think the Japanese were a new Arayan race
Hitler a curse on the human race
Kwan Yin show mercy on my brethren no more suffering
The intro says they publish this book to show the world that humanity is never ever exempt from responsibility ignorance is only a pretense they intend to commence at my expense
Now it’s past tense pray for a new line of defense
Grow a new healthy skin to cover the wound of my eloquence
circumference leading from that universal inner desire
Splurge on love with furious abandon and concentration
so powerful it feels like rage always on the verge of the next glorious conception,
A reception of unrivaled perception like a climax
And get this no hidden taxes, no more sales taxes, inheritance taxes, gift and land taxes even stamp taxes
every way I turn I spurn the next tax crack the ax on it estate tax poll tax license tax
Cover the tracks of my pain, skip the lines of taxes back on climax anti war tax withholding tax too bad we don’t relax these taxes and rely on Marxist taxes and don’t think antioxidants will cure me of the blues
Purged glory to gory what a story isn’t it always
We have so many clues
A mischarge recharged a large electric charge
A surcharge a cover charge a take charge explosive dishonorable discharge
Vindictive surly abrasive afflictive action
Can’t alleviate the stain on that purple blue velvet so soft like rain drops drawing cursive on a window pane
wild adrenalin addictive chocolate’s submissive dripping from my chin
My anticonvulsive cardio selective beehive alive behind the iron curtain
The jewish question, he shoved Mein Kempf in my hands I read the jews are not lovers of water, especially the ones who wear black dresses they have no state of their own they only learn languages not assimilate to different countries they’re like parasites waiting to take over the world,
they’re a different race, he tried to erase all traces the US turned their faces away until our army base, pearl harbor, was hit by the Japanese.
Did he think the Japanese were a new Arayan race
Hitler a curse on the human race
Kwan Yin show mercy on my brethren no more suffering
The intro says they publish this book to show the world that humanity is never ever exempt from responsibility ignorance is only a pretense they intend to commence at my expense
Now it’s past tense pray for a new line of defense
Grow a new healthy skin to cover the wound of my eloquence
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Going Postal Emotional on Peaches
Did you know Pakistanis sell the best fruits downtown on street corners all around
Downtown furry peaches with skins have dark strains of orange and red
3 for a dollar choose 3 for me please Mr. fruit man
Even street sellers don’t want you to squeeze their fruits and bruise them
He displays the 3 fruits holding them up for me to see
Perfect tender moist velvet am I talking about a peach cause I swear it sounds like my pussy
From beneath the cart he grabs a bottle of water blesses my trio,
I politely thank him on my way crossing another dangerous street
juice drips down my chin I catch it with a napkin
my palette yields the taste gives me a momentary memory lapse is it heaven
up here in Washington Heights ghetto - even Riverdale
matter of fact any good store here where I go there’s nowhere to procure a fucking good peach,
or nectarines nothing like that apricots también
Store bought peaches are slightly moist mealy-mouthed fibrous fruits with no flavor or taste a pulpy consistence for twice the price and half the weight
who will pay for pitiful dismay I swear I think there’s some foul play somewhere
I can’t understand how none of the stores know how to find fine juicy peaches but these Indian and Pakistani men do
I told my neighbor about buying tasteless peaches from a local green grocer –
isn’t that funny she said you’re saying exactly what I told my daughter earlier today
See it’s not a conspiracy I’m not imagining these peaches are truly yucky
if store bought peaches taste this bad how good can they be for our health under constant attack
do you think the rich & famous eat these mealy mouthed peaches
Criminal to betray us - matter of fact stay on track Jack and present the facts
I’m looking for peaches to savor the flavor of ripe red sweet orange peaches
sink my teeth into ripe sin fulfilled and gratified juice released on my tongue
I guess I have to go back downtown and look around for those Pakistani and Indian fruit guys
They showed me whom to seek when I need to buy sweet ripe red tender peaches
Downtown furry peaches with skins have dark strains of orange and red
3 for a dollar choose 3 for me please Mr. fruit man
Even street sellers don’t want you to squeeze their fruits and bruise them
He displays the 3 fruits holding them up for me to see
Perfect tender moist velvet am I talking about a peach cause I swear it sounds like my pussy
From beneath the cart he grabs a bottle of water blesses my trio,
I politely thank him on my way crossing another dangerous street
juice drips down my chin I catch it with a napkin
my palette yields the taste gives me a momentary memory lapse is it heaven
up here in Washington Heights ghetto - even Riverdale
matter of fact any good store here where I go there’s nowhere to procure a fucking good peach,
or nectarines nothing like that apricots también
Store bought peaches are slightly moist mealy-mouthed fibrous fruits with no flavor or taste a pulpy consistence for twice the price and half the weight
who will pay for pitiful dismay I swear I think there’s some foul play somewhere
I can’t understand how none of the stores know how to find fine juicy peaches but these Indian and Pakistani men do
I told my neighbor about buying tasteless peaches from a local green grocer –
isn’t that funny she said you’re saying exactly what I told my daughter earlier today
See it’s not a conspiracy I’m not imagining these peaches are truly yucky
if store bought peaches taste this bad how good can they be for our health under constant attack
do you think the rich & famous eat these mealy mouthed peaches
Criminal to betray us - matter of fact stay on track Jack and present the facts
I’m looking for peaches to savor the flavor of ripe red sweet orange peaches
sink my teeth into ripe sin fulfilled and gratified juice released on my tongue
I guess I have to go back downtown and look around for those Pakistani and Indian fruit guys
They showed me whom to seek when I need to buy sweet ripe red tender peaches
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
EX WIFE TRIBULATIONS
What’s all this discussion about an introspection she’s having
We have our analyzations but
We can only imagine her situation
What’s her objection to the time and place
of her previous selection
what’s your impression about her disposition
to a new meeting place each week
Dragging your son around to new destinations
This week it’s Chinatown. What’s the occasion?
Some unknown purpose a distraction a new fixation on the Asian population
Every week it’s a new transmigration
A communication problem a clockwork creation every Friday
I wish I could give her an examination to figure out why she has such disorganization
why her convictions are like the weather
Why today it’s another subway station another combination a new calculation
a different regulation, the justification for another dozen calls
with hesitation you ask where’s today’s location
another starbucks a different barnes & noble in another section of town she says she’ll call you later after some further investigation on her formulation to set the details she needs to use her imagination to figure out
the navigation for where today’s exchange of your son should take place
with her mitigation and exploration of another new NYC place
Josie’s observation is that ex wife’s harassment is a violation of your rights
not to mention a terrible inconsideration
As if you have an obligation to change location forget her protestations
The orchestration of this battle of wills must have some correlation but to me it’s a mystery
If you give in once it’s like giving her an invitation to begin a new rotation to free association
All the misinformation the procrastination the vilification
We can’t understand the formation – doesn’t she know the child needs stabilization instead of an improvisation of complications each visitation day at the last moment
You mean last night she had no clue that today she was going downtown
We’d show appreciation for some clarification of the circumstances
Why can’t she call when she knows her plans instead of relying on manipulations for which
We can’t figure out her motivations
What’s her inspiration for this orchestration of wandering pick up & drop off points
her consistent continuation of these indignations
It’s getting worse every day
Congratulations on being the craziest person I know with no further deliberation and without discrimination
I gotta stop this preoccupation – this persecution is getting to me now
I want some mediation mixed with medication to
stop this perpetuation of this humiliation and domination
We have our analyzations but
We can only imagine her situation
What’s her objection to the time and place
of her previous selection
what’s your impression about her disposition
to a new meeting place each week
Dragging your son around to new destinations
This week it’s Chinatown. What’s the occasion?
Some unknown purpose a distraction a new fixation on the Asian population
Every week it’s a new transmigration
A communication problem a clockwork creation every Friday
I wish I could give her an examination to figure out why she has such disorganization
why her convictions are like the weather
Why today it’s another subway station another combination a new calculation
a different regulation, the justification for another dozen calls
with hesitation you ask where’s today’s location
another starbucks a different barnes & noble in another section of town she says she’ll call you later after some further investigation on her formulation to set the details she needs to use her imagination to figure out
the navigation for where today’s exchange of your son should take place
with her mitigation and exploration of another new NYC place
Josie’s observation is that ex wife’s harassment is a violation of your rights
not to mention a terrible inconsideration
As if you have an obligation to change location forget her protestations
The orchestration of this battle of wills must have some correlation but to me it’s a mystery
If you give in once it’s like giving her an invitation to begin a new rotation to free association
All the misinformation the procrastination the vilification
We can’t understand the formation – doesn’t she know the child needs stabilization instead of an improvisation of complications each visitation day at the last moment
You mean last night she had no clue that today she was going downtown
We’d show appreciation for some clarification of the circumstances
Why can’t she call when she knows her plans instead of relying on manipulations for which
We can’t figure out her motivations
What’s her inspiration for this orchestration of wandering pick up & drop off points
her consistent continuation of these indignations
It’s getting worse every day
Congratulations on being the craziest person I know with no further deliberation and without discrimination
I gotta stop this preoccupation – this persecution is getting to me now
I want some mediation mixed with medication to
stop this perpetuation of this humiliation and domination
Sunday, July 25, 2010
I’m Not The Me I Used To Be
I’m not the me you know
I’m not the me I’m gonna be
Tomorrow or the next day
How the hell would I know
Who I’m gonna be tomorrow
Or the day after that
Don’t judge me by what you see when you look at me
You don’t see the real me – you see the me you think you see the me you thought you saw yesterday when we met for dinner
you only think you’re who you wanna be today but come tomorrow you dunno either who you’ll be the day after next
We all used to be somebody and now we’re somebody else
Faced with unforeseen and unseemly experiences that just seem to get in the way of everything
We can’t always become the mes we want to be
I’m not the same me you knew yesterday
I’m different than her today
Whaddaya I know?
Nothing except this: I’m not the me I knew yesterday
So how can I be the me you think you see the me I really be
I can’t be the same old tired me you see when I stood here beside you in this new place
Repeating the same worn out words
I know you heard this before and the same tune plays in your head alongside mine
If you don’t judge me – the me who you think you are – then I won’t judge the you who I think you are either and in that way we will have peace
Let’s have peace like dat!
Let’s have peace like dat!
You accept me and I’ll accept you.
You don’t wanna see me be who I wanna be
It’s ok I can take that too
You keep away from me and I’ll keep my distance too.
Don’t look at me like that I don’t want to be mean and play games I just want to be me with out thinking how being me feels about you today when I only have the memory of me and you – the me you knew yesterday and the you who stands here today
Yesterday is not tomorrow and today is not yesterday I can’t tell you more about who I’ll be tomorrow if you wait around and see you may catch a glimpse of the me the she the me became when you thought you saw her emerge yesterday forget about tomorrow’s merge
Or yesterday’s surge of energy forget the rage
We may not be around tomorrow
We may only have only today after all
I’m not the me I’m gonna be
Tomorrow or the next day
How the hell would I know
Who I’m gonna be tomorrow
Or the day after that
Don’t judge me by what you see when you look at me
You don’t see the real me – you see the me you think you see the me you thought you saw yesterday when we met for dinner
you only think you’re who you wanna be today but come tomorrow you dunno either who you’ll be the day after next
We all used to be somebody and now we’re somebody else
Faced with unforeseen and unseemly experiences that just seem to get in the way of everything
We can’t always become the mes we want to be
I’m not the same me you knew yesterday
I’m different than her today
Whaddaya I know?
Nothing except this: I’m not the me I knew yesterday
So how can I be the me you think you see the me I really be
I can’t be the same old tired me you see when I stood here beside you in this new place
Repeating the same worn out words
I know you heard this before and the same tune plays in your head alongside mine
If you don’t judge me – the me who you think you are – then I won’t judge the you who I think you are either and in that way we will have peace
Let’s have peace like dat!
Let’s have peace like dat!
You accept me and I’ll accept you.
You don’t wanna see me be who I wanna be
It’s ok I can take that too
You keep away from me and I’ll keep my distance too.
Don’t look at me like that I don’t want to be mean and play games I just want to be me with out thinking how being me feels about you today when I only have the memory of me and you – the me you knew yesterday and the you who stands here today
Yesterday is not tomorrow and today is not yesterday I can’t tell you more about who I’ll be tomorrow if you wait around and see you may catch a glimpse of the me the she the me became when you thought you saw her emerge yesterday forget about tomorrow’s merge
Or yesterday’s surge of energy forget the rage
We may not be around tomorrow
We may only have only today after all
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Attached - who me?
I've often spoken about attachments on this blog and how our attachments affect us because with attachments come inevitable loss. Kind of the way of life, including birth and death. This is a difficult process for everyone. I'd be the last to preach about attachments. I've also spoken in my poetry about how people places and things only have the meanings we attribute to them and the power we give them.
This is a story about a book, The Gospel Of Buddha by Paul Carus - copyrighted in 1894, that strangely came to be in my possession and led me this digression about a transgression.
Some 30 years ago I was attending Columbia University for my undergraduate degree and was in love with this young Hungarian bike messenger who moved in with me. We were both avid readers and he knew I'd studied and followed eastern philosophy.
One day on his bike messenger travels outside of a fancy mid town - east side office building he espied this book on top of a box of trash and took it. He said he'd imagined I'd love it and that he couldn't think of anyone else who would appreciate this text like me. And he put the book below in my hands. I carefully accepted the gift as the book cover was already worn. The cover feels like leather.
I began to go page through this book and above is what I saw. I was enthralled by the hand drawings illustrating the text.
Imagine my surprise and delight when I saw how old it was and that the illustrations were so lovely.
This is a 1917 edition by The Open Court Publishing Company and is only available in libraries and online pdf of this edition. If you'd like to read the entire book online with the drawings - click here!
Suddenly I realized this book was not only old, it was ancient in the publishing world. It doesn't even have an ISBN number. I searched for the copyright and found 1894 on the preface above.
Occasionally I read the book. A while back I went to retrieve the book from my shelf and it wasn't there. I missed the comfort I feel when I handle this book. It's become imbibed with meaning.
I realized that my more recent ex had taken it with him when he moved out. I trusted he'd leave my things be when he moved but I was sadly wrong and I was unable to locate many items. It actually took me some time to discover that this book wasn't where I'd kept it.
After our break up I was overwhelmed with trying to get my place my life and my records back in order (and it's still not) and many things slipped by me, like my membership in the National Association of Social Workers lapsed and later it was very difficult to convince them to give me the retirement rate. Five months passed before I realized the book had gone missing. I contacted my ex and he paused before he said he "believed he could locate it," Another month passed before my beloved book was returned to my hands. Guess I'm lucky to get it back at all.
So now here I am with my lovely ancient leather bound volume with original illustrations so I decide to do an internet search to see if it has any value online but in my search for the monetary value (I figure I won't be here forever to enjoy it) I discover uncover Mr. Peter RF Brown and his amazing website, Inter-disciplinary Publications of Peace and Great Souls.
Underneath his title is the following greeting:
"There is a mighty mountain pass,
mountainman,
For those interested in reading reviewing or exploring - esotericism - this man's site would be an excellent place to browse about. His topic listing is extensive and ranges from Western Science to Western Mystics Poets and Religions to Eastern Mystics Poets and Relgions and much much more including but not limited to the Dalai Lama, Australian Aboriginal insights and the Universal Declaration Of Human Rights published by the United Nations General Assembly. I am impressed by the depth of the subjects offered and the quotes Peter R.F. Brown, the designer and everything person I assume, who maintains the site. It took me a second to find him.
For those wishing to know more about what I'm going on about - check these links below:
Inner Self: Esotericism - What Is It? Andrew Schneider
On Wikipedia
Other online books by Paul Carus
Cambridge Centre for Western Esotericism
This is a story about a book, The Gospel Of Buddha by Paul Carus - copyrighted in 1894, that strangely came to be in my possession and led me this digression about a transgression.
Some 30 years ago I was attending Columbia University for my undergraduate degree and was in love with this young Hungarian bike messenger who moved in with me. We were both avid readers and he knew I'd studied and followed eastern philosophy.
One day on his bike messenger travels outside of a fancy mid town - east side office building he espied this book on top of a box of trash and took it. He said he'd imagined I'd love it and that he couldn't think of anyone else who would appreciate this text like me. And he put the book below in my hands. I carefully accepted the gift as the book cover was already worn. The cover feels like leather.
Imagine my surprise and delight when I saw how old it was and that the illustrations were so lovely.
This is a 1917 edition by The Open Court Publishing Company and is only available in libraries and online pdf of this edition. If you'd like to read the entire book online with the drawings - click here!
After our break up I was overwhelmed with trying to get my place my life and my records back in order (and it's still not) and many things slipped by me, like my membership in the National Association of Social Workers lapsed and later it was very difficult to convince them to give me the retirement rate. Five months passed before I realized the book had gone missing. I contacted my ex and he paused before he said he "believed he could locate it," Another month passed before my beloved book was returned to my hands. Guess I'm lucky to get it back at all.
So now here I am with my lovely ancient leather bound volume with original illustrations so I decide to do an internet search to see if it has any value online but in my search for the monetary value (I figure I won't be here forever to enjoy it) I discover uncover Mr. Peter RF Brown and his amazing website, Inter-disciplinary Publications of Peace and Great Souls.
Underneath his title is the following greeting:
WELCOME YOU ARE! to this ... Small Island of Inner Space
and to the right side of this little tidbit is the following:
"There is a mighty mountain pass,
the causeWay of the sun;
to whom all earth gives homage,
for whom the days began."
mountainman,
deep Himalaya,
1976-1977
Actually the way mountainman has the text from my book laid out on his site is how poetry is laid out which is nicer than my book but Carus' translation is untouched on both. My book also has wonderful hand drawn illustrations.
For those interested in reading reviewing or exploring - esotericism - this man's site would be an excellent place to browse about. His topic listing is extensive and ranges from Western Science to Western Mystics Poets and Religions to Eastern Mystics Poets and Relgions and much much more including but not limited to the Dalai Lama, Australian Aboriginal insights and the Universal Declaration Of Human Rights published by the United Nations General Assembly. I am impressed by the depth of the subjects offered and the quotes Peter R.F. Brown, the designer and everything person I assume, who maintains the site. It took me a second to find him.
For those wishing to know more about what I'm going on about - check these links below:
Inner Self: Esotericism - What Is It? Andrew Schneider
On Wikipedia
Other online books by Paul Carus
Cambridge Centre for Western Esotericism
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