Troops:
I know how much you enjoy being privy to my every passing thought.
["Privy" might not be the best choice of words.]
However, this will be a video heavy Bulletin.
Let’s start with this bit of craziness
As you listen to the German, “der Turm” means “the tower”, and “einen kopfstand” is “a headstand”….
Just watch. You have to admire the commitment to conceive, and BUILD, and then actually execute this stunt.
This is very German – trust in engineering! The announcer stands below the stunt the whole time.
==========================
Darwin Was Wrong
I think Rickie Gervais pretty much destroys Evolutionary Theory in parts One and Two of this dissertation. It’s Friday, so we have time.
==========================
Phil 101
OK, seriously, this is my wheelhouse – Philosophy 101. [Call me butter, 'cause I'm on a roll.]
This series, via Harvard, is Excellent: It’s a full-on, pointy-headed course about ethics and justice and moral reasoning.
If you watch nothing else, watch the first 30 minutes of Episode 1. We first entertain a few hypothetical moral dilemmas regarding runaway trolleys and cannibalism, and then the prof delivers a Wonderful Warning about the Dangers of philosophy. He is quite right. God love him.
Episode 1. part 1, not to be missed
The entire course is here, and I’m totally loving it. But it’s not everyone’s cuppa.
==========================
There IS hope for the endangered species of the world, if only we humans will do our part. Give until it hurts.
==========================
Pottery
Now a wee smite o’ reading.
Remember poetry?
Ever been moved by it?
Here’s a poem from Hillary Anne Farley, age 5:
THIS IS A POEM
This is a poem about God looks after things:
He looks after lions, mooses and reindeer and tigers,
Anything that dies
And mans and little girls when they get to be old,
And mothers he can look after,
And God can look after many old things
That’s why I do this.
Here’s one from Debora Ensign, age 7
MIRROR! MIRROR!
As I look into the mirror I see my face.
Then I play like I am in jail.
I pretend that I am bad.
I pretend sometimes that I am on a stage.
I sing to myself. I introduce people.
From Ngaire Noffke, age 12
I shook his hand
I touched him
How proud I felt
He said, “Hello” softly
I lost my voice,
But in my mind I said everything.
Now comes one of my favorite poems of all time. Read it and mull it over before you read my wee note that follows on it.
“Corbies” are ravens or crows ["cormorant" = "cor," crow, plus "mare," the Latin for sea [maritime, mariner] cor + mare = sea crow]. “Twa” is, of course, two, and a “hause-bane” is a breast bone.
THE TWA CORBIES [by Anon]
As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t’other say,
“Where sall we gang and dine today?”
“In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
“His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s ta’en another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet.
“Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pick out his bonny blue een;
Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair
We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.
“Mony a one for him makes mane,
But none sall ken where he is gane;
O’er his white banes when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.”
Now THAT, brethren and sistren, is some serious pottery! [If you want a real treat, like dark chocolate, read it aloud, wi' yer best Scots accent.]
Nicely unsettling, and a fine, cold meditation on death.
But there’s more.
Here’s a wee note about what’s unspoken:
Naebody knows that our gowden-haired knight lies dead, hidden behind a dyke, except “his hound, his hawk, and lady fair.” Well, if the knight went out hawking, his hawk and hound would be with him. That’s how they’d know where he lies dead. But his lady fair? Who has ta’en another mate already, while the corpse of our “new-slain” knight is still fresh? How would his lady know she was a widow, fit to marry again?
God be praised, ain’t poetry grand?
Nothing’s new ‘neath our good sun.
gh