Memories are made of this. This is often a start to certain
select memories. What are memories made out of? OK one can say they are
mere neurons and dendrites firing off in the brain and somehow producing a
photograph with feeling and passion. Then are they real? That
strange experiment done in Sweden
This song;
The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
When I first heard it years back and sung by a very old comedian and have heard so many people lament on this. Of all the folks that died, that will die and I will as well. Do I die or merely transform into something else? Its OK to have memories but if they become ones life then we can only recapture them as a mind thing, and that is ones reality. However in contrast to the physical visualizations as above they do produce results, although in both cases they are 'all in the mind' which ever way one tries wriggle without a mind do we not experience anything at all?
The there is a song;
Have you seen the old man in the closed down market
The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold
Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall
When I first heard it years back and sung by a very old comedian and have heard so many people lament on this. Of all the folks that died, that will die and I will as well. Do I die or merely transform into something else? Its OK to have memories but if they become ones life then we can only recapture them as a mind thing, and that is ones reality. However in contrast to the physical visualizations as above they do produce results, although in both cases they are 'all in the mind' which ever way one tries wriggle without a mind do we not experience anything at all?
The there is a song;
Have you seen the old man in the closed down market
Picking up the papers with his worn out shoes
In his eyes you see no pride and hanging loosely at his side
Yesterdays paper, telling yesterdays news
So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
In his eyes you see no pride and hanging loosely at his side
Yesterdays paper, telling yesterdays news
So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
Have you seen the old dear who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags
She's no time for talking, she just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home, in two carrier bags
So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags
She's no time for talking, she just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home, in two carrier bags
So how can you tell me you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
And in the all night cafe at a quarter past eleven
Same old man sitting there on his own
Looking at the world over the rim of his teacup
And each tea lasts an hour and he wanders home alone
So how can you tell me that you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
Same old man sitting there on his own
Looking at the world over the rim of his teacup
And each tea lasts an hour and he wanders home alone
So how can you tell me that you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
Have you seen the old man outside the seaman's mission
Memory fading with the medal ribbons that he wears
And in the winter city, the rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero, and a World that doesn't care
So how can you tell me that you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
Memory fading with the medal ribbons that he wears
And in the winter city, the rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero, and a World that doesn't care
So how can you tell me that you're lonely
And say for you that the sun don't shine
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind
When I worked the West End of London in Forensics and also when I went to the Clinic in Piccadilly and taught Judo in Leicester Square for a while, I witnessed many of the above and some patients reflected a lot of both songs. The haunting forlorn faces of the bag ladies and those who sat in cafe's staring blankly and seeming to question their existence and then in contrast watching soaps night after night or switching from channel to channel on TV bored but not admitting it, lonely and often afraid. Afraid of what?
Then those who have a hobby a past time all consuming and never question life. I am not saying its wrong, we have choices and I am a searcher a pioneer of my mind.
What way does one turn, if all the possible realities are explored and from a poem by the late Hari Prasad Shastri ; If made a King I am not elated and if made a beggar I am not deflated-------I am not a Jew, A Muslim, A Christian, A Hindu or any other religion, creed, sect, atheist or politic-----for my way is different to theirs'.
What is it if one is not illiterate, a simpleton, uneducated, not a moron, inherently wise, not a wild unkempt person, full of compassion, relaxed, smiling, at ease, not afraid to die or live, not definable, has no reality to cling too, is not ambitious, yet is competent with life, doesn't hanker after materialism, does not hoard and yet has sufficient unto the day----who is such a one ---maybe there isn't anyone here yet, maybe this is our future if we allow it to happen.
What is it if one is not illiterate, a simpleton, uneducated, not a moron, inherently wise, not a wild unkempt person, full of compassion, relaxed, smiling, at ease, not afraid to die or live, not definable, has no reality to cling too, is not ambitious, yet is competent with life, doesn't hanker after materialism, does not hoard and yet has sufficient unto the day----who is such a one ---maybe there isn't anyone here yet, maybe this is our future if we allow it to happen.
Consider the following; (Perhaps number ten has a meaning to the article, and the rest wrestling with life and its meaning)
Kuòān Shīyuǎn's Ten Bulls[edit]
Verses by Kuòān Shīyuǎn;[web 4] translation by Senzaki Nyogen (千崎如幻) (1876–1958) and Paul Reps (1895-1990);[web 4] paintings traditionally attributed to Tenshō Shūbun (天章周文) (1414-1463).[web 8]
SHACK
Maharishi Mahesh Yogi was once asked 'how does meditation help a beggar in India? He replied 'makes him a happy hungry beggar' Sometimes a happy person gets more from begging, he does not be through sorrow, he begs through joy, I knew a few tramps like this, they chose to live a simple as possible, one was an ex professor---we spoke a lot.
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