Fun with Architecture
‘Sliding House’
Finding Wisdom among the White Mountain Masters
Once in the Jurassic about 150 million years ago,
the Great Sun Buddha in this corner of the Infinite
Void gave a Discourse to all the assembled elements
and energies: to the standing beings, the walking beings,
the flying beings, and the sitting beings—even grasses,
to the number of thirteen billion, each one born from a
seed, assembled there: a Discourse concerning
Enlightenment on the planet Earth.
”In some future time, there will be a continent called
America. It will have great centers of power called
such as Pyramid Lake, Walden Pond, Mt. Rainier, Big Sur,
Everglades, and so forth; and powerful nerves and channels
such as Columbia River, Mississippi River, and Grand Canyon
The human race in that era will get into troubles all over
its head, and practically wreck everything in spite of
its own strong intelligent Buddha-nature.”
”The twisting strata of the great mountains and the pulsings
of volcanoes are my love burning deep in the earth.
My obstinate compassion is schist and basalt and
granite, to be mountains, to bring down the rain. In that
future American Era I shall enter a new form; to cure
the world of loveless knowledge that seeks with blind hunger:
and mindless rage eating food that will not fill it.”
And he showed himself in his true form of
SMOKEY THE BEAR…
Smokey the Bear Sutra—Gary Snyder
Here is the beginning—not but a tender sapling. Here the rains fell well and the warm season lingered long past its time. Here the sky went dark for many moons from smoke and ash and light became a phantom memory. Here the sky flashed quick and bright, leaving its mark in a deep charred scar. Here the six legged and the eight legged, through yawning bore, made their home. Here, the sun returned—a miracle. These are grouped in spans of abundance, bracketed by equal terms of scarcity. This is where it stayed cold and dry, so cold and dry that the growing season might have been the last. Much was lost then, but what remains is surely grateful for the sacrifice. Then a fire came and took many that were near by, blackening here what was smooth and brown. So has it been and will continue to be as long as soil, sun, rain, and fortune allow it to be so.
The high, arid White Mountain range of what is these days called California stands in the rain shadow of the Sierra Nevada on the western edge of the Great Basin which seemingly stretches endlessly to the east. In this region, the extremes of geography are matched to the vicissitudes of climate with the lowest point in the North American Continent, Death Valley, bordering the southern end of the range and Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the contiguous United States, westward across the broad Owens Valley. This is an ancient place where extensive outcrops of dolomite were first laid down under the ocean 500 million years ago, then slowly uplifted through time; now sitting well over 14,000 feet in altitude many places. The soil quality is rated as some of the poorest in any of the alpine zones and much of the soil density has been swept away by the extreme conditions leaving little in which roots might take. Less than 10 inches of precipitation comes here annually with much of it in the form of snow that is largely blown away by the continual harsh winds. Lightning storms are frequent and severe. What awaits most life that would attempt settlement here is the slow suffering of exposure and desiccation.
Perceiving Beauty
Joshua Bell
A man sat at a Metro station in Washington, DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule.
A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk. A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.
The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.
In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money, but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars.
Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats average $100.
Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context? One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be: if we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?
Note: Original source of text is unknown. I received this through the email. The original Washington Post article from April 2007 is here. Below is a YouTube video excerpt and a link to the full audio of the performance is here.
A DESCENT TO THE UNDERWORLD
The fierce Sicilian sun beats down on the white marbles of the ancient necropolis, enveloped in a vast silence occasionally pierced by the mating songs of cicadas. Dotted by a lonely sail, the Mediterranean shimmers in the distance, unruffled by the cypress scented breeze. Now I hear a distant murmur of human voices. It originates from a vine enclosed bower, at the tip of a narrow tongue of land that affords the unobstructed view of the bay. A few persons can be seen, seated at a long table covered by a white cloth; bread,fruit,and calices of red wine enliven its immaculate expanse. A subdued conversation is in progress, which peters out as they become aware of my presence. Which does not appear to startle them: the astonishment is all mine, as I find myself among long lost friends of my youth. I am moved beyond words by this unexpected encounter. My friends eagerly enquire about my life, but gently deflect my own queries. They have changed but little over the years: their physical appearance barely altered, they seem to have become more thoughtful and considerate, but that is all. And then it dawns on me that all these friends but one (whom I shall call James) died years ago. This is a banquet of the dead, and I am invited to partake of their victuals. I am not alarmed, because the scene, and my presence in it, have nothing sinister about it; calm, serenity, and detachment prevail.Slowly the air darkens, the sun a steadily diminishing crimson sliver beyond the watery horizon. One by one my friends leave the bower, bidding me a silent farewell. James seems uncertain as to whether he should join me or the departing friends. This worries me. I Patiently wait for him to accompany me, but am eventually overcome by an urge to leave the deserted enclosure, and hurriedly retrace my steps through the labyrinthine necropolis, now turned alien and forbidding.
This dream was recounted to me by an older man, intrigued by this unexpected descent to Hades. He added that the next day he got in touch with James, whom he had not heard of in a long while. He found him cheerful, and in good health. Evidently, James’s presence among his other departed friends was not to be taken as ominous.
Less than two weeks later, he learned that James had died: in the night, of a heart attack, as he was about to begin a long awaited trip to Italy.
L. appellare “to address, appeal to, summon, name,” iterative of appellere “to prepare.” For more information about what's behind this site,