<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681</id><updated>2011-04-21T11:36:16.607-07:00</updated><title type='text'>stillness of a stream</title><subtitle type='html'>the perspiration of a winter's morning and the sun's playful eyes.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-11013370</id><published>2002-03-22T10:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-04-09T12:40:31.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;we refuse to &lt;i&gt;See&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;when we read a book,&lt;br /&gt;or when when we hold a conversation,&lt;br /&gt;our mind takes an absent minded walk.&lt;br /&gt;its this walk that traces or writes&lt;br /&gt;our (mis)understandings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we want to fight&lt;br /&gt;with what we read,&lt;br /&gt;without trying to see how the arguments follow,&lt;br /&gt;for we know that &lt;i&gt;We&lt;/i&gt; know better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in a conversation &lt;br /&gt;we fight and wait inwardly,&lt;br /&gt;without listening,&lt;br /&gt;as the other speaks,&lt;br /&gt;to explode with our objections.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;once i was talking to an academic friend &lt;br /&gt;about problems of mastering &lt;b&gt;hegel&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;i have seen about &lt;br /&gt;5 different interpretations&lt;br /&gt;of his &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;Phenomenology Of Spirit&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;and yet the text maintained its ambiguity,&lt;br /&gt;leaving other possibilities.&lt;br /&gt;i just couldnt meet hegel yet!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;she started laughing.&lt;br /&gt;i asked her, "whats so funny?"&lt;br /&gt;"hey! You can never indentify the author's context"&lt;br /&gt;she was bored,"its just another old problem."&lt;br /&gt;when i asked her,&lt;br /&gt;"but has it become a problem for u yet?"&lt;br /&gt;there was no answer.&lt;br /&gt;she was just repeating&lt;br /&gt;a certain theory of literature.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to tell another story,&lt;br /&gt;a friend once found &lt;br /&gt;the bus conductor and some people&lt;br /&gt;roughing up a middle aged man&lt;br /&gt;for not getting his ticket.&lt;br /&gt;people were whispering,&lt;br /&gt;'what could happen if u take&lt;br /&gt;a bus ticket.&lt;br /&gt;its not a lot of money.&lt;br /&gt;he should be punished.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my friend&lt;br /&gt;went up to the man and asked him&lt;br /&gt;why he didnt get the ticket.&lt;br /&gt;he said,&lt;br /&gt;his son was admitted &lt;br /&gt;in the medical college hospital,&lt;br /&gt;he was bringing him food,&lt;br /&gt;and he didnt even have enough money&lt;br /&gt;to buy medicines.&lt;br /&gt;my friend, a doctor at the same hospital,&lt;br /&gt;rescued the man &lt;br /&gt;and she later met his son.&lt;br /&gt;the boy had meningitis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;understanding the other in her own terms;&lt;br /&gt;why is it so difficult?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Martin Buber&lt;/b&gt; said in &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;I And Thou&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;"this is our exalted melancholy&lt;br /&gt;that every Thou in our world must become an It."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;its by seeing the other through&lt;br /&gt;the veils of prejudice of ages,&lt;br /&gt;and objectifying him/her,&lt;br /&gt;that we feel stronger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;its the fear of seeing one's own self&lt;br /&gt;reflected in the other like an apparition,&lt;br /&gt;that keeps our lives away,&lt;br /&gt;from our dwelling, Love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-11013370?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/11013370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/11013370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_03_17_archive.html#11013370' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-10759372</id><published>2002-03-15T03:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-04-18T14:28:11.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;in response to atul&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;i wanted to mention &lt;b&gt;godel&lt;/b&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;infact the &lt;i&gt;frege-russel-whitehead project &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and &lt;b&gt;wittgenstein&lt;/b&gt;'s  answer to that. &lt;br /&gt;but they all still fall within the realm of formal logic and they show, &lt;br /&gt;like u said how the system/structure cannot explain itself.&lt;br /&gt;this problem, ofcourse, was well adressed by &lt;br /&gt;the linguistic turn continental philosophy &lt;br /&gt;took around the mid 1900s;&lt;br /&gt;from &lt;b&gt;sassure &lt;/b&gt;and early &lt;b&gt;foucault&lt;/b&gt;, to later &lt;b&gt;foucault &lt;/b&gt;and &lt;b&gt;derrida&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;then these were never newly found problems.&lt;br /&gt;they can be seen in the work of &lt;b&gt;bhartrhari&lt;/b&gt;, and &lt;b&gt;nagarjuna&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;who reveals the empiness through a linguistic play&lt;br /&gt;in &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;mulamadhyamakakarika&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt; and &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;vigrahavyavartini&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;then in &lt;b&gt;kant's &lt;/b&gt;third critique&lt;br /&gt;where he discusses problems of measurement.&lt;br /&gt;from these one can move towards the joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to me &lt;b&gt;Ramana&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;is a different case.&lt;br /&gt;Ramana here is trying to show something else.&lt;br /&gt;he is putting an experience up front.&lt;br /&gt;if u share the same sphere of consciousness&lt;br /&gt;it might be revealed, i presume.&lt;br /&gt;it is also an extension&lt;br /&gt;of ramana's endless quiestion,&lt;br /&gt;"who am i?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sages were doing it all the while.&lt;br /&gt;one may find these in the aranyakas,&lt;br /&gt;zen,&lt;b&gt;eckhart&lt;/b&gt;,&lt;b&gt;nietzche&lt;/b&gt;,&lt;b&gt;heidegger&lt;/b&gt;, and so on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the two enquieries, of godel and co and of ramana,&lt;br /&gt;have the same root,&lt;br /&gt;yet they are so different.&lt;br /&gt;around here which road to take &lt;br /&gt;is quite a difficult issue,&lt;br /&gt;for we see all roads dissolve &lt;br /&gt;into a  vapour of puzzles and paradoxes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;wittgenstein&lt;/b&gt; in the end of tractatus said,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;"whereof one cannot speak,&lt;br /&gt;thereof one must remain silent."&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ask urself if u would still want to speak,&lt;br /&gt;why? and how?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-10759372?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/10759372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/10759372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_03_10_archive.html#10759372' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-10697383</id><published>2002-03-13T09:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-03-13T22:38:58.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;In response to Satish&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;satish,&lt;br /&gt;i dont come online that often.&lt;br /&gt;so there is always some delay in response.&lt;br /&gt;but i will get back to u eventually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the 'loop' u r talking about here&lt;br /&gt;is sort of like paradoxes.&lt;br /&gt;the one u pointed out infact is &lt;br /&gt;a refined liar's paradox.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the liar tells them,&lt;br /&gt;"from now on, whatever i say is a lie."&lt;br /&gt;so is he lying?&lt;br /&gt;or is he telling the truth?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but they, paradoxes, are always &lt;br /&gt;seen as a logical game.&lt;br /&gt;but things like antinomies in kant or&lt;br /&gt;,when hegel says,&lt;br /&gt;"all existents resolve in contradictions".&lt;br /&gt;or neitzsche's demon&lt;br /&gt;or the Zen koan "mu",&lt;br /&gt;are putting everything in quiestion.&lt;br /&gt;they are asking us, "where do u stand now?"&lt;br /&gt;as they  slip the ground from beneath our feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;also,&lt;br /&gt;i i dont understand Ramana's joke at all.&lt;br /&gt;i dont have that realm of experience&lt;br /&gt;to see it other than as a joke,&lt;br /&gt;or a shallow joke in an insignificant way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but then&lt;br /&gt;the joke must be told.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;anyway if u are interested &lt;br /&gt;i'll continue the discussion here,&lt;br /&gt;and may be we'll discuss an interesting interpretation&lt;br /&gt;of the joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;best :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-10697383?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/10697383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/10697383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_03_10_archive.html#10697383' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-10177731</id><published>2002-02-27T01:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-27T01:25:05.950-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;from Kant's what is enlightenment&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Enlightenment is man's release from his self-incurred tutelage. &lt;br /&gt;Tutelage is man's inability to make use of &lt;br /&gt;his understanding without direction from another. &lt;br /&gt;Self-incurred is this tutelage when its cause lies not in lack of reason &lt;br /&gt;but in lack of resolution and courage to use it without direction from another. &lt;br /&gt;Sapere aude! "Have courage to use your own reason!"- &lt;br /&gt;that is the motto of enlightenment. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-10177731?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/10177731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/10177731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_24_archive.html#10177731' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-10177420</id><published>2002-02-27T01:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-27T01:03:50.340-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;the last joke told by a friend&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;buddha was in newyork.&lt;br /&gt;he wandered around the whole morning&lt;br /&gt;and now he was hungry and tired.&lt;br /&gt;(buddhas do get hungry &lt;br /&gt;and they shit too)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;he approached a road side hot dog vendor &lt;br /&gt;and asked him, &lt;br /&gt;"make me one with everything."&lt;br /&gt;the man took the $20 bill and &lt;br /&gt;gave buddha one hot dog &lt;br /&gt;with all the ingrediants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;buddha after finishing the food asked for change.&lt;br /&gt;the vendor said,&lt;br /&gt;"sir, change comes from within".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-10177420?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/10177420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/10177420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_24_archive.html#10177420' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9811682</id><published>2002-02-17T02:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-18T02:01:17.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;from a letter to a friend&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this whole place is so full of him.&lt;br /&gt;i feel surrounded by his sweet smell &lt;br /&gt;and kind smile.&lt;br /&gt;i feel myself as witnessed by him &lt;br /&gt;while i am here.&lt;br /&gt;his fondness is holding me so close &lt;br /&gt;and i dont know how to hug him back.&lt;br /&gt;i am so angry with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as i was sitting in my room &lt;br /&gt;and going through &lt;br /&gt;an old copy of nietzsche that he used to read,&lt;br /&gt;i could hear his words more clear than anything&lt;br /&gt;that i have heard after him,&lt;br /&gt;"its the will thats most important. &lt;br /&gt;its from will power to will to power."&lt;br /&gt;now i understand its meaning..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my own palm is more alive in the memories &lt;br /&gt;where it touched him &lt;br /&gt;and my body is so real in those mornings&lt;br /&gt;when i embraced him.&lt;br /&gt;i guess i laughed best in those moments where&lt;br /&gt;i made fun of his lil tummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i see his chair and i realise that&lt;br /&gt;he will never be there.&lt;br /&gt;i see his books and i see that childlike frown&lt;br /&gt;that he had while he read.&lt;br /&gt;i see my own self in the mirror,&lt;br /&gt;and i tell myself that &lt;br /&gt;this image wont be seen by him.&lt;br /&gt;and now as i walk the streets of this silly town,&lt;br /&gt;all that i could see his absence&lt;br /&gt;and that past where i walked around this town&lt;br /&gt;holding his hand &lt;br /&gt;like a lil prince &lt;br /&gt;who didnt have to fear anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;why did it happen like this?&lt;br /&gt;i just dont understand.&lt;br /&gt;i am so angry with him &lt;br /&gt;for abandoning me like this.&lt;br /&gt;i can feel his laughter slowly blooming,&lt;br /&gt;first a suppressed smile,&lt;br /&gt;then the snickering,&lt;br /&gt;the full grin,&lt;br /&gt;and now his whole body is shaking &lt;br /&gt;with waves of laughter.&lt;br /&gt;but i cant scold him anymore.&lt;br /&gt;i think i shouldnt write anymore on this..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9811682?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9811682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9811682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_17_archive.html#9811682' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9756416</id><published>2002-02-15T06:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-18T01:48:26.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;eternal return&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: &lt;br /&gt;"This Life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable time more; &lt;br /&gt;and there will be nothing new in it, &lt;br /&gt;but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everthing unutterable small or great in your life will have to return to you, &lt;br /&gt;all in the same succession and sequence--&lt;br /&gt;even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself." &lt;/i&gt; &lt;b&gt;-Nietzsche&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9756416?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9756416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9756416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_10_archive.html#9756416' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9756103</id><published>2002-02-15T06:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-15T06:03:55.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;Places, Being, Not Belonging&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;being in two places is strange; being here where one has loved ones, the humid clean air from the ocean, the unending ocean of greenery, places and memories that arise along with one's  own language and a weighing reminder of a loss; but on the other hand there is a place where one has seen freedom in its expressions, again objects of wonderfully painful fondness, pollution, and a discardedness of not belonging. but being in many places is itself an expansion of space within, opened up by the release of the tension between the two, where one can behold many and let love rise freely and playfully. how beautiful is this tug at a heart that wishes to embrace further!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9756103?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9756103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9756103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_10_archive.html#9756103' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9720491</id><published>2002-02-14T06:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-14T06:39:57.553-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;     I celebrate myself, and sing myself, &lt;br /&gt;         And what I assume you shall assume, &lt;br /&gt;         For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;b&gt;-Walt Whitman&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9720491?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9720491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9720491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_10_archive.html#9720491' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9720352</id><published>2002-02-14T06:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-14T06:38:27.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;b&gt;response to syl&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it was night time. cold. a friend was reading whitman aloud. we both interrupted the reading with our own misreadings and memories. then we were talking about the tree: is it there? she said" the tree is there, even when i am gone."(reminds me of LW). "the tree is there" i said," when you are". then we were both quiet and she had that sad expression on her face that instantly invites one of her intense depressions. after a while she said," the tree is there..i have seen it...its scary." "oh! u mean &lt;b&gt;It&lt;/b&gt; is there?" now she was laughing," yes &lt;b&gt;It&lt;/b&gt; is there!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the tree is revealed to us; phenomenally, differentially and preferentially. then, we do talk about the " irrecoverable experiences" of "seeing things"(old boy seamus). but can the tree, or It as It is, be seen? or is it seeing? anyway language permits one only to say see &lt;b&gt;It&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9720352?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9720352'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9720352'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_10_archive.html#9720352' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9573103</id><published>2002-02-10T04:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-10T04:15:53.856-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Does &lt;b&gt;It&lt;/b&gt; want to be said?&lt;br /&gt;Does it say &lt;b&gt;It&lt;/b&gt;?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9573103?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9573103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9573103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_10_archive.html#9573103' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9573022</id><published>2002-02-10T04:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-10T04:07:31.356-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;The stream moves and holds a face&lt;br /&gt;Emptiness turns its pages&lt;br /&gt;Green smell, sweet touch, glassy light&lt;br /&gt;Sky becomes the earth and breeze the leaves&lt;br /&gt;In everything as everything..&lt;/i&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9573022?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9573022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9573022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_10_archive.html#9573022' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9572998</id><published>2002-02-10T04:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-10T04:04:47.120-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;"Without man being would be mute; it would be there, but it would not be the true one"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;b&gt;- Alexander Kojeve&lt;/b&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9572998?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9572998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9572998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_10_archive.html#9572998' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9572509</id><published>2002-02-10T03:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-10T03:11:19.070-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>we are always stuck somewhere between action and thinking, pragmatism and ontology, james and heidegger. this is more  evident if u ask someone to try to understand the other and show some compassion. the answer would be 'to think like that, its quite easy, but practical life is a different story'. one can understand it. but why? isnt it because we are unwilling to go beyond the appearing walls and inns, and be there 'in the dark hour of the night'? and what is it that prevents us from standing alone and seeing and thus being with all?  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9572509?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9572509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9572509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_02_10_archive.html#9572509' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3308681.post-9274339</id><published>2002-02-01T09:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2002-02-01T09:15:25.746-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;B&gt;Of Stained Coffee Cups &amp; Slightly Moist Grass&lt;/B&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a certain reality or a reality of correspondence. Delusion will be when you see the sun rise in the north or when you believe you are the one to end the world. Can a delusion offer solace, if it is a delusion, for it could be the one that has its own momentum, and is an excruciating torment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then the author of the &lt;A HREF="http://codelust.blogspot.com/2002_01_27_codelust_archive.html#9123262"&gt;question&lt;/A&gt; and I last morning, over a cup of coffee, decided that all world views and perspectives in the end can be seen as delusions...so is seeking a delusion the answer, since delusion is always, a delusion against something else? Is it not another ruminant sisphysing? Why not go pushing the question all the way till you see the questioner, the question, and the questioned in the distance amongst the dew on the grass?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3308681-9274339?l=charvaaka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9274339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3308681/posts/default/9274339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://charvaaka.blogspot.com/2002_01_27_archive.html#9274339' title=''/><author><name>charvaaka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11905697732172530158</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
