Calm Era Quotes

Heade’s calm is unsteady, storm-stirred; we respond in our era to its hint of the nervous and the fearful. His weather is interior weather, in a sense, and he perhaps was, if far from the first to portray a modern mood, an ambivalent mood tinged with dread and yet imbued with a certain lightness.The mood could even be said to be religious: not an aggressive preachment of God’s grandeur but a kind of Zen poise and acceptance, represented by the small sedentary or plodding foreground figures that appear uncannily at peace as the clouds blacken and the lightning flashes.

I also liked the ocean, and I found staring at it had a calming effect. The air was so clean, so fresh, while the world back beyond the border was what it had always been during the modern era: dirty, tired, imperfect, winding down, at war with itself. Back there, I had always felt as if my work amounted to a futile attempt to save us from who we are.

The only thing that could soothe and calm me during this era was music. That's continued to be true throughout my life. My mother would put my sister and me to bed and turn on the radio to sing us to sleep. There was something very comforting about being in a dark, cold room with Prince, Tina Turner, Cyndi Lauper, or Madonna playing quietly. I didn't have to think about anything - the music took me away from myself and I got lost in it. I needed it like a drug. I felt disconnected and alone, and I realized around this time that things would never get better. It got so bad that I would pretend to be sick at school just so I could come home and lie in bed listening to music. It was like being adrift on the ocean at night. I still have trouble falling asleep without music now.

I had a chat with May and I had a sweet talk with April but the lovely conversation that left me to ponder was the long talk I had with June. Mathematics came to tell me that May is 3, June is 4 and April is 5. ‘ This should have been the counting order’ Mathematics said to me, and added, if you add 3 and 5 you shall surely get 8 and if you find the mid of 8 you will get 4 which is June. Ask June why the disorder! So I quickly called June and asked, why have you change the order? June said, ‘my brother, in this era, you should least give men things which are in order. Let them ponder and put things in order and they will learn something better’. I had to ponder and wonder. Then June added, those who will ponder to know why I have change the order to be at the mid of the other shall get to the mid of the other and wonder why they are at the mid of the other and end the other in wonder but, those who would never see why they must ponder when they get to the mid of the other to know why I am there shall end the other in disorder. They shall end the other and wander in the end! I was quick to ask June, which other? June calmly said, the twelve disciples of the year. Disciples’? I asked. June quickly said, I mean months! In your journey of life, take a break as you journey and ponder over the journey; June concluded!

This is why Willis is one of the most powerful actors of this or any other era. He delivers dialogue like he’s calming a jittery leopard.

Toată viața am încercat- și mi-a reușit, de cele mai multe ori să fiu discretă. Poate de la mama e chestia asta, și acum țin minte cum zicea mereu ca să nu mai vorbesc tare că ne aud vecinii (...) mai încet, că ne știe toată lumea, totul trebuia să se petreacă ușor și pe muțenie. Oricum, am încercat întodeauna să trec neobservată. Nu am vorbit niciodată în public despre evenimente care mă priveau personal(...) Sunt femeia de pe margine, le-am spus mereu și celor pe care i-am iubit , ca un fel de avertisment, sunt în afară mai mereu, acolo e zona mea de confort. O vreme mi-a și plăcut așa, eram un fel de observator neutru, nu mă implicam prea mult, nu doream prea mult, era mai sigur. În timp, însă, am trecut în cealată extremă. Am ajuns să urăsc cumințenia asta idioată care mă caracterizează, incapacitatea de a mă exterioriza, de a-mi savura plăcerile. Timiditatea, frustrările, orgoliul stupid. La mine totul se consumă încet, parcă în reluare. Între gesturi și emoțiile sau gândurile care le-au provocat există o distanță suficent de mare, încât să se ducă dracului orice urmă de spontaneitate. Calmul meu nu este calm, liniștea mea nu este o liniște, sub aparențele astea există o viermuială de gânduri, presupuneri, temeri. Tac mai mereu, dar e o tăcere care mă sufocă.

O dieses ist das Tier, das es nicht giebt. Sie wußtens nicht und habens jeden Falls – sein Wandeln, seine Haltung, seinen Hals, bis in des stillen Blickes Licht – geliebt. Zwar war es nicht. Doch weil sie’s liebten, ward ein reines Tier. Sie ließen immer Raum. Und in dem Raume, klar und ausgespart, erhob es leicht sein Haupt und brauchte kaum zu sein È questo l’animale favoloso, che non esiste. Non veduto mai, ne amaron le movenze, il collo, il passo: fino la luce dello sguardo calmo. Pure “non era”. Ma perchè lo amarono, divenne. Intatto. Gli lasciavan sempre più spazio. E in quello spazio chiaro, etereo: serbato a lui – levò, leggiero, il capo. And here we have the creature that is not. But they did not allow this , and as it happens - his gait and bearing, his arched neck, even the light in his eyes - they loved it all. Yet truly he was not. But because they loved him the beast was seen. And always they made room. And in that space, empty and unbounded, he raised an elegant head, yet hardly fought for his existence. Oh ! C'est elle, la bête qui n'existe pas. Eux, ils n'en savaient rien, et de toutes façons - son allure et son port, son col et même la lumière calme de son regard - ils l'ont aimée. Elle, c'est vrai, n'existait point. Mais parce qu'ils l'aimaient bête pure, elle fut. Toujours ils lui laissaient l'espace. Et dans ce clair espace épargné, doucement, Elle leva la tête, ayant à peine besoin d'être.

Frédéric se așteptase să fie zguduit de bucurie; dar sentimentele slăbesc cînd le schimbi locul și, nemaigăsind-o pe doamna Arnoux în mediul în care o cunoscuse, îi părea că pierduse ceva, că purta în ea, nelămurit, un fel de degradare, că, în sfîrșit, nu mai era aceeași. Liniștea inimii lui îl uluia./ Frédéric s’était attendu à des spasmes de joie; mais les passions s’étiolent quand on les dépayse, et, ne retrouvant plus Mme Arnoux dans le milieu où il l’avait connue, elle lui semblait avoir perdu quelque chose, porter confusément comme une dégradation, enfin n’être pas la même. Le calme de son coeur le stupéfiait. (©BeQ)

The overreactor is responsible, as the psychological term puts it, for the 'transference' of an emotion from the past on to someone in the present -- who perhaps doesn't entirely deserve it. Our minds are, oddly, not always good at knowing what era they are in. They jump a little too easily, like an erstwhile victim of burglary who keeps a gun by the bed and is startled awake by every rustle. What's worse for the loved ones standing in the vicinity is the people in the throes of a transference have no easy way of knowing, let alone calmly explaining, what they are up to; they simply feel that their response is entirely appropriate to the occasion. Their partners, on the other hand, may reach a rather different and rather flattering conclusion: that they are distinctly odd -- and maybe even a little mad.

Learning to meditate helped too. When the Beatles visited India in 1968 to study Transcendental Meditation at the ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, I was curious to learn it, so I did. I loved it. Meditation has benefited me hugely throughout my life because it produces a calm open-mindedness that allows me to think more clearly and creatively. I majored in finance in college because of my love for the markets and because that major had no foreign language requirement—so it allowed me to learn what I was interested in, both inside and outside class. I learned a lot about commodity futures from a very interesting classmate, a Vietnam veteran quite a bit older than me. Commodities were attractive because they could be traded with very low margin requirements, meaning I could leverage the limited amount of money I had to invest. If I could make winning decisions, which I planned to do, I could borrow more to make more. Stock, bond, and currency futures didn’t exist back then. Commodity futures were strictly real commodities like corn, soybeans, cattle, and hogs. So those were the markets I started to trade and learn about. My college years coincided with the era of free love, mind-expanding drug experimentation, and rejection of traditional authority. Living through it had a lasting effect on me and many other members of my generation. For example, it deeply impacted Steve Jobs, whom I came to empathize with and admire. Like me, he took up meditation and wasn’t interested in being taught as much as he loved visualizing and building out amazing new things. The times we lived in taught us both to question established ways of doing things—an attitude he demonstrated superbly in Apple’s iconic “1984” and “Here’s to the Crazy Ones,” which were ad campaigns that spoke to me. For the country as a whole, those were difficult years. As the draft expanded and the numbers of young men coming home in body bags soared, the Vietnam War split the country. There was a lottery based on birthdates to determine the order of those who would be drafted. I remember listening to the lottery on the radio while playing pool with my friends. It was estimated that the first 160 or so birthdays called would be drafted, though they read off all 366 dates. My birthday was forty-eighth.

Uneori, firește, se trăda printr-o nemulțumire naivă, socotind că nu i se dă suficientă atenție; pe vremea când eram acolo se putea întâmpla să se înece brusc la masă, într-un fel ostentativ și complicat, care îi asigura compătimirea tuturor și o făcea, cel puțin pentru moment, să apară senzațională și captivantă, cum ar fi dorit să fie în viața mondenă. Presupun că tata era singurul care îi lua în serios crizele astea mult prea numeroase. El o privea înclinat politicos peste masă și se putea observa cum îi oferă în gând și îi pune la dispoziție propria-i trahee sănătoasă. Șambelanul, firește, nu mai mânca nici el; sorbea o înghițitură de vin și se abținea să-și declare opinia proprie. El și-o susținuse o singură dată, în fața soției sale, la masă. E mult de atunci, însă povestea a fost totuși colportată cu răutate și pe ascuns; se ivea aproape oriunde mai era cineva care încă n-a auzit-o. Se povestea că, într-o vreme, șambelana se putea supăra foarte rău din cauze petelor de vin care, din neîndemânare, apăreau pe fața de masă. Observa imediat o astfel de pată și, indiferent de împrejurarea în care s-ar fi produs, o expunea, ca să zic așa, batjocurii cu cea mai mare violență. Așa s-a întamplat tocmai când avea mai mulți oaspeți de vază. Câteva pete nevinovate, pe care le exagera, au devenit obiectul acuzațiilor ei batjocoritoare și, oricât s-a străduit bunicul să o calmeze prin semne discrete și exclamații glumețe, ea a rămas totuși la reproșurile încăpățânate pe care apoi, de altfel a trebuit să le întrerupă în mijlocul frazei. Pentru că s-a întâmplat ceva nemaipomenit și de neînțeles. Șambelanul ceruse vinul roșu care tocmai se servea și își umplea foarte atent paharul. Numai că, într-un fel uimitor, n-a încetat să toarne și după ce paharul era de mult plin, ci, tot mai calm, a turnat încet și atent până când maman, care niciodată nu se putea abține, a pufnit în râs și astfel toată situația penibilă s-a rezolvat râzând, pentru că toți s-au luat după ea ușurați, iar șambelanul a ridicat privirea și i-a întins sticla servitorului. [...] A murit spre primăvară, într-o noapte, în oraș. Sophia Oxe, care dormea alături, cu ușa deschisă, nu a auzit nimic. Când a fost găsită, dimineața, era rece ca gheața. Imediat după aceea a început boala grea și îngrozitoare a șambelanului. Parcă așteptase sfârșitul ei ca să poată muri fără să țină seama de nimic, așa cum îi convenea lui.

Speaking in town squares, beer halls, and circus tents, Hitler employed over and over again the same action verbs—smash, destroy, annihilate, kill. In a typical address, he would shout himself into a lather of arm-flailing, screaming fury at the nation’s enemies, only to grow abruptly calm as he painted a word picture of what a new era of German ascendance might look like.

Pliny was persuaded to explore a peculiar cloud formation that appeared to be coming from the summit of the local mountain, Vesuvius. He was duly rowed ashore, visited a local village to calm the panicked inhabitants—and was promptly caught up in a massive eruption. He died of asphyxiation by volcanic gases on August 24, leaving behind him a vast reputation and, as memorial, a single word in the lexicon of modern vulcanology, Plinian. A Plinian eruption is now defined as an almighty, explosive eruption that all but destroys the entire volcano from which it emanates. And the most devastating Plinian event of the modern era occurred 1,804 years, almost to the day, after Pliny the Elder’s death: at Krakatoa.)

Ce arogant! Încerca să o domine prin statura și forța lui. Dumnezeule, era imposibil! Nu-i venea să creadă că acest bărbat chiar credea că o prinsese. Și stătea deasupra ei atât de calm, de parcă totul era normal. Iar deși nu-i putea vedea chipul, îi simțea privirea arzând-o. De parcă era vânătorul ce tocmai și-a capturat prada iar acum se delecta cu ea.

He's on to sashimi now, fanning and curling slices of snapper and fugu into white roses on his cutting board. Before Toshio can plate the slices, Shunichi reaches over and calmly replaces the serving plate his son has chosen with an Edo-era ceramic rectangle more to his liking. Three pieces of tempura- shrimp, eggplant, new onion- emerge hissing and golden from the black iron pot in the corner, and Toshio arranges them on small plates with wedges of Japanese lime. Before the tempura goes out, Shunichi sneaks in a few extra granules of salt while Toshio's not looking. By now Dad is shadowing his son's every move. As Toshio waves a thin plank of sea cucumber eggs over the charcoal fire, his dad leans gently over his shoulder. "Be careful. You don't want to cook it. You just want to release its aroma." Toshio places a fried silverfish spine on a craggy ceramic plate, tucks grated yuzu and sansho flowers into its ribs, then lays a sliver of the dried eggs over the top. The bones shatter like a potato chip, and the sea cucumber detonates in my mouth.

Using these techniques often made me feel as if I were on the verge of ushering in a golden era of calm, undistracted productivity and meaningful activity. But it never arrived. Instead, I just got more stressed and unhappy.

The most important question for us humans is, "What is human?" "What is life?" "What is life?" If you can't answer this question, you can't live your life seriously. So Tolstoy, Russia's main gate, for a long time of 15 years I wrote my last book at the end of my career. What is life?It's 입니다. In this book, Tolstoy defines life like this. "Life is holding onto a thin arrowroot vine in a desperate situation where it doesn't know when it's going to break off." What do you think life is? Someone said that life is about luck. What is "WOON 7G3"? It means that luck is 70% and opportunity is 30%. Life is luck. Do you really think life is luck? Then you're lucky to live well, Is it bad luck not to be able to buy it? Being healthy is good luck, Is it bad luck to be sick? That's not true. Life is not luck. Victor Wigor thinks about what life is and then expresses it in one word. It's a voyage. Life is a voyage in which a boat floating on the sea plumped and sailed through a port. Ships floating in the sea of the world have calmness, rough waves, and scary typhoons. Life is not easy. So Job says life like this. "Isn't there hard labor in life on this land?" (Job 7:1) There is a theory of life in today's text. Section 13 of the body. "Those who say they will profit by doing business" (approximately 4:13) What is business and profit? Business is selling things to make money. What are the benefits? It's money from the business. Jews thought it was important to make money. So Jewish tactics are world-famous. The Jews were the geniuses of the tactics. In the old days, money was all coins. Our country also made money into a not. This is called Yupjeon. Heavy coins were very uncomfortable for traders. So the Jews made bills instead of coins, they made checks, they made bills. And the Jews thought about how to sell things without discounting them I made a department store in America. The Jews also taught their children this way. "The whole world is a business. Even white clouds become rain when squeezed." These people are Jewish. Trade was the best way to make money in the days of the First Church. Especially in the early church era, it was the best environment to make money from trade. In this era, it was Pax Romana.

It is easy to see all that art can lose from such a constant obligation. Ease, to begin with, and that divine liberty so apparent in the work of Mozart. It is easier to understand why our works of art have a drawn, set look and why they collapse so suddenly. It is obvious why we have more journalists than creative writers, more boy scouts of painting than Cézannes, and why sentimental tales or detective novels have taken the place of War and Peace or The Charterhouse of Parma. Of course, one can always meet that state of things with a humanistic lamentation and become what Stepan Trofimovich in The Possessed insists upon being; a living reproach. One can also have, like him, attacks of patriotic melancholy. But such melancholy in no way changes reality. It is better, in my opinion, to give the era its due, since it demands this so vigorously, and calmly admit that the period of the revered master, of the artist with a camellia in his buttonhole, of the armchair genius is over.

We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust the sails.” Gerri says it's a helpful reminder that she can't control everything. “I can only focus on what I can control and let go of absolutely everything else. It keeps me grounded, keeps me calm, and in the present.

Climate change alarmism is a belief system, and needs to be evaluated as such. There is, indeed, an accepted scientific theory which I do not dispute and which, the alarmists claim, justifies their belief and their alarm. This is the so-called greenhouse effect: the fact that the earth’s atmosphere contains so-called greenhouse gases (of which water vapour is overwhelmingly the most important, but CO2 is another) which, in effect, trap some of the heat we receive from the sun and prevent it from bouncing back into space. Without the greenhouse effect, the planet would be so cold as to be uninhabitable. But, by burning fossil fuels—coal, oil and gas—we are increasing the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere and thus, other things being equal, increasing the earth’s temperature. But four questions immediately arise, all of which need to be addressed, coolly and rationally. First, other things being equal, how much can increased atmospheric CO2 be expected to warm the earth? (This is known to scientists as climate sensitivity, or sometimes the climate sensitivity of carbon.) This is highly uncertain, not least because clouds have an important role to play, and the science of clouds is little understood. Until recently, the majority opinion among climate scientists had been that clouds greatly amplify the basic greenhouse effect. But there is a significant minority, including some of the most eminent climate scientists, who strongly dispute this. Second, are other things equal, anyway? We know that over millennia, the temperature of the earth has varied a great deal, long before the arrival of fossil fuels. To take only the past thousand years, a thousand years ago we were benefiting from the so-called medieval warm period, when temperatures are thought to have been at least as warm, if not warmer, than they are today. And during the Baroque era we were grimly suffering the cold of the so-called Little Ice Age, when the Thames frequently froze in winter and substantial ice fairs were held on it, which have been immortalised in contemporary prints. Third, even if the earth were to warm, so far from this necessarily being a cause for alarm, does it matter? It would, after all, be surprising if the planet were on a happy but precarious temperature knife-edge, from which any change in either direction would be a major disaster. In fact, we know that, if there were to be any future warming (and for the reasons already given, ‘if’ is correct) there would be both benefits and what the economists call disbenefits. I shall discuss later where the balance might lie. And fourth, to the extent that there is a problem, what should we, calmly and rationally, do about it?

Soon after that, Eno briefly joined a group called the Scratch Orchestra, led by the late British avant-garde composer Cornelius Cardew. There was one Cardew piece that would be a formative experience for Eno—a piece known as “Paragraph 7,” part of a larger Cardew masterwork called The Great Learning. Explaining “Paragraph 7” could easily take up a book of its own. “Paragraph 7”’s score is designed to be performed by a group of singers, and it can be done by anyone, trained or untrained. The words are from a text by Confucius, broken up into 24 short chunks, each of which has a number. There are only a few simple rules. The number tells the singer how many times to repeat that chunk of text; an additional number tells each singer how many times to repeat it loudly or softly. Each singer chooses a note with which to sing each chunk—any note—with the caveats to not hit the same note twice in a row, and to try to match notes with a note sung by someone else in the group. Each note is held “for the length of a breath,” and each singer goes through the text at his own pace. Despite the seeming vagueness of the score’s few instructions, the piece sounds very similar—and very beautiful—each time it is performed. It starts out in discord, but rapidly and predictably resolves into a tranquil pool of sound. “Paragraph 7,” and 1960s tape loop pieces like Steve Reich’s “It’s Gonna Rain,” sparked Eno’s fascination with music that wasn’t obsessively organized from the start, but instead grew and mutated in intriguing ways from a limited set of initial constraints. “Paragraph 7” also reinforced Eno’s interest in music compositions that seemed to have the capacity to regulate themselves; the idea of a self-regulating system was at the very heart of cybernetics. Another appealing facet of “Paragraph 7” for Eno was that it was both process and product—an elegant and endlessly beguiling process that yielded a lush, calming result. Some of Cage’s pieces, and other process-driven pieces by other avant-gardists, embraced process to the point of extreme fetishism, and the resulting product could be jarring or painful to listen to. “Paragraph 7,” meanwhile, was easier on the ears—a shimmering cloud of sonics. In an essay titled “Generating and Organizing Variety in the Arts,” published in Studio International in 1976, a 28-year-old Eno connected his interest in “Paragraph 7” to his interest in cybernetics. He attempted to analyze how the design of the score’s few instructions naturally reduced the “variety” of possible inputs, leading to a remarkably consistent output. In the essay, Eno also wrote about algorithms—a cutting-edge concept for an electronic-music composer to be writing about, in an era when typewriters, not computers, were still en vogue. (In 1976, on the other side of the Atlantic, Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak were busy building a primitive personal computer in a garage that they called the Apple I.) Eno also talked about the related concept of a “heuristic,” using managerial-cybernetics champion Stafford Beer’s definition. “To use Beer’s example: If you wish to tell someone how to reach the top of a mountain that is shrouded in mist, the heuristic ‘keep going up’ will get him there,” Eno wrote. Eno connected Beer’s concept of a “heuristic” to music. Brecht’s Fluxus scores, for instance, could be described as heuristics.

There was an aura about King that was unforgettable. I seem him now in my mind's eye: collected, peaceful, calm. He was in his element and totally in command of himself and the situation.

The four of them stand in the cockpit of the Misdemeanor as they motor from one town to another. They pass their house, which is not theirs any longer. Libby cuts the throttle, and they stall there in front of their sprawling memory. The four of them have come up for the closing; since all of them are owners, they all must be present to sign away this place. They have given most of the land to the Maine Preservation Society, and the house, they have sold to a family who promises not to tear the whole thing down, though they know that is a lie. The oak is yellow and peeks from behind the house. The glossy white windows of the great room look down upon them. It is cold and they all wear their foul-weather gear, bright-yellow slickers, except Gwen, in a red poncho to accommodate the swell of her belly. Libby keeps one hand on the tiller and the other she slips into Tom’s hand. He gives it a squeeze and then puts his arm around her. Danny moves from the stern to stand between Tom and Gwen. They all stand on the starboard side looking at the house. Libby and Tom, then Danny, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, and Gwen next to him, her arms crossed over her protruding belly, her hair long and dark hanging down her back. She is no longer a beacon, but a buoy in her poncho, red right returning. The sky is gray and low and promises a choppy ferry ride to the mainland, but there in the safe haven of the harbor it is calm and windless, and the house isn’t empty, but expectant. The flat water, dark green now, lies empty, the float pulled out the month before. Going from town dock to town dock, there is no need for a tender. There is no way for them to come ashore, even if they wanted to. A house like this is not supposed to exist now. It comes from another era. It is a ghost, like the schooners that sail through the thoroughfare every summer. It is an aberration, a figment. It is their great shingled memory.

His reputation is based largely on his thirty-seven-volume Natural History, an immense masterpiece in which, among countless other delights, is the first use of the word from which we derive today’s encyclopedia. It was during the late summer of A.D. 79, while pursuing his official task of investigating piracy in the Bay of Naples, that Pliny was persuaded to explore a peculiar cloud formation that appeared to be coming from the summit of the local mountain, Vesuvius. He was duly rowed ashore, visited a local village to calm the panicked inhabitants—and was promptly caught up in a massive eruption. He died of asphyxiation by volcanic gases on August 24, leaving behind him a vast reputation and, as memorial, a single word in the lexicon of modern vulcanology, Plinian. A Plinian eruption is now defined as an almighty, explosive eruption that all but destroys the entire volcano from which it emanates. And the most devastating Plinian event of the modern era occurred 1,804 years, almost to the day, after Pliny the Elder’s death: at Krakatoa.) Pepper has a confused reputation.

narcissist’s confidence is often hollow and characterized by what is almost a hip coolness or insouciance. Narcissists can appear nonchalant, unusually calm, not affected by emotions around them (positive or negative)—until their ego is threatened and their confidence shaken—and then their rage bubbles to the surface.

The standpoint to be expressed is perfectly clear. The knowledge of having dominion over the world which is part of the Christian Faith, creates strong characters that cannot be shaken. It gives men a feeling of great stability in the vicissitudes of life, a steady purpose in all the activities of this world, an unconditional reliability and fidelity in all the changes of time, an untiring diligence in everything that has to be accomplished. When the nucleus of a nation is composed of men of this stamp, or when a spirit such as this dominates a people, a wonderful source of strength thus exists for them. For men of this kind guarantee invincible calm, endurance, equability and steadfastness of soul in the spirit of the nation. This spirit can moreover, preserve a nation from inner disintegration and dissolution, and can guide it from an era of destruction into an age of reconstruction, of unity and solidarity. Consequently the permanent recovery of our German Volk also comes “from within”, that is to say from the sources of holy life dwelling in the depths of the soul by virtue of kinship with God. And precisely in the heroic fight to be won before our Volk can hope to recover from its collapse, there can be no better source of strength than the life-giving streams that flow from the depths of the Godhead into the soul of the nation open to receive them. For the consciousness of having dominion over the world gives God’s children strength to overcome all difficulties, to become indomitable fighters, to ward off every danger in a cheerful spirit, to break down all obstacles boldly and courageously, and form a brave knighthood scorning death and the devil.

Bessel van der Kolk’s book The Body Keeps the Score is one of the bestselling books of our era. It’s about trauma—and healing from trauma—and has sold millions of copies. As Van der Kolk writes, “Knowing that we are seen and heard by the important people in our lives can make us feel calm and safe, and… being ignored or dismissed can precipitate rage reactions or mental collapse.

We’re reminded that what school is chiefly about — in any era — is the acceptance of authority; a good child follows the rules. And the promise is always the same: if we are submissive and jump through the hoops, we will be rewarded, not just in next Tuesday’s test or the end-of-year exams, but in life more broadly. The teachers know and they can illuminate the path for us. The problem is that what schools chiefly know about is how to do well at school, which is subtly but importantly different from doing well at life.

Most eras before our own knew that solitude didn’t have to be a sign of wretchedness or deficiency. There were ways of being on one’s own that could be filled with honour and an impression of communion with what is noble and sincere; physical isolation could be accompanied by a strong sense of connection with a god, a person in a book, a piece of music or a quieter part of one’s own mind. One could be alone and at the same time not feel isolated or damned — just as one might be surrounded by family and yet feel painfully unseen and unheard.

INTEGRAL YOGA All the branches of Yoga described so far were creations of premodern India. With Sri Aurobindo’s Integral Yoga we enter the modern era. This Yoga is a vivid demonstration that the Yoga tradition, which has always been highly adaptive, is continuing to develop in response to the changing cultural conditions. Integral Yoga is the single most impressive attempt to reformulate Yoga for our modern needs and abilities. While intent on preserving the continuity of the Yoga tradition, Sri Aurobindo was eager to adapt Yoga to the unique context of the Westernized world of our age. He did this on the basis not only of his own European education but also his profound personal experimentation and experience with spiritual life. He combined in himself the rare qualities of an original philosopher and those of a mystic and sage. Aurobindo saw in all past forms of Yoga an attempt to transcend the ordinary person’s enmeshment in the external world by means of renunciation, asceticism, meditation, breath control, and a whole battery of other yogic means. By contrast, Integral Yoga—which is called pūrna-yoga in Sanskrit—has the explicit purpose of bringing the “divine consciousness” down into the human body-mind and into ordinary life. While Aurobindo certainly did not deny the value of asceticism, he sought to assign to it its proper place within the context of an integral spirituality. He argued that the ancient Hindu thinkers and sages took very seriously the Vedāntic axiom that there is only a single Reality but failed to do proper justice to the correlated axiom that “all this is Brahman.” In other words, they typically ignored the presence of the nondual Divine in and as the world in which we live. Aurobindo’s “supramental Yoga” revolves around the transformation of terrestrial life. He wanted to see paradise on Earth—a thoroughly transmuted existence in the world. Integral Yoga has no prescribed techniques, since the inward transformation is accomplished by the divine Power itself. There are no obligatory rituals, mantras, postures, or breathing exercises to be performed. The aspirant must simply open himself or herself to that higher Power, which Sri Aurobindo identified with The Mother. This self-opening and calling upon the presence of The Mother is understood as a form of meditation or prayer. Aurobindo advised that practitioners should focus their attention at the heart, which has anciently been the secret gateway to the Divine. Faith, or inner certitude, is deemed a key to spiritual growth. Other important aspects of Integral Yoga practice are chastity (brahmacarya), truthfulness (satya), and a pervasive disposition of calm (prashānti).

Silence! In the era of trembling world it is just a pause in mind which can help to understand calmness of innervoice

To us, the story of Tendulkar is unlike any other cricketing story. Gavaskar through his time and Kapil Dev who followed him were iconic cricketers but nothing has remotely matched the frenzy of modern cricket in India coinciding with the era of Tendulkar. How does he remain so calm? How does he handle this unimaginable pressure? How supreme must his love for the game be that he finds a nation’s expectations not weighing him down? He still has time to greet the young boy who comes to him for an autograph. He is polite to the hordes of journalists wanting a sound bite. He manages to present himself with such poise in the face of mercurial and whimsical assessment of his batting. People talk of Dhoni’s calmness under all circumstances, but spare a thought for Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar whose genius is under the microscope of a billion people.

One of the delights of running an establishment such as M.D.1. is that you never know what is going to get up and hit you. We appeared to have run into an era of calm once the Sticky Bomb was safely launched.

If you are contributing to hate speech online by fueling negative conversation you need to calm down by not adding tension. Be a part of the solution, not the problem.   

Why, then, the peculiar and somehow outsized response? The behavior makes little sense when one tries to understand it according to the current facts. It’s as if some aspect of the present scenario were drawing energy from another source, as if it were unwittingly triggering a pattern of behavior that the other person originally developed long ago in order to meet a particular threat which has now somehow been subconsciously re-evoked. The overreactor is responsible, as the psychological term puts it, for the “transference” of an emotion from the past onto someone in the present—who perhaps doesn’t entirely deserve it. Our minds are, oddly, not always good at knowing what era they are in. They jump a little too easily, like an erstwhile victim of burglary who keeps a gun by the bed and is startled awake by every rustle. What’s worse for the loved ones standing in the vicinity is that people in the throes of a transference have no easy way of knowing, let alone calmly explaining, what they are up to; they simply feel that their response is entirely appropriate to the occasion. Their partners on the other hand may reach a rather different and rather less flattering conclusion: that they are distinctly odd—and maybe even a little mad.

the idea that the past is obsolete is always resisted at an era’s end.

The major benefit is that ALBA is essentially a barter system, in which countries decide for themselves what any given commodity or service is worth, rather than letting traders in New York, Chicago or London set the prices for them. That makes trade far less vulnerable to the kind of sudden price fluctuations that devastated Latin American economies in the recent past. Surrounded by turbulent financial waters, Latin America is creating a zone of relative economic calm and predictability, a feat presumed impossible in the globalization era.

I liked climbing. I also liked the ocean, and I found staring at it had a calming effect. The air was so clean, so fresh, while the world back beyond the border was what it had always been during the modern era: dirty, tired, imperfect, winding down, at war with itself. Back there, I had always felt as if my work amounted to a futile attempt to save us from who we are.

I’m in my calm girl era and I don’t have time for all the bullshit.