Cosmic Dance Quotes

We are travelers on a cosmic journey,stardust,swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share.This is a precious moment. It is a little parenthesis in eternity.

Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect, as well as for the star. Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper.

Don't you see?" said Calla. "He wasn't coming to pay your debt. He was coming to see if you'd returned to pay it yourself." Lila felt her face go hot. "I do not know why you two are circling each other like stars. It is not my cosmic dance. But I do know that you come asking after one another, when only a few strides and a handful of stars divide you.

A star can never die. It just turns into a smile and melts back into the cosmic music, the dance of life.

This cosmic dance of bursting decadence and withheld permissions twists all our arms collectively, but if sweetness can win, and it can, then I'll still be here tomorrow to high-five you yesterday, my friend. Peace.

When we are alone on a starlit night, when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children, when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet, Basho, we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash - at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the "newness," the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, all these provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.

Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper.

Breathing is our participation with the cosmic dance. When our breath is in harmony, cosmos nourishes us in every sense.

Grace is the celebration of life, relentlessly hounding all the non-celebrants in the world. It is a floating, cosmic bash shouting its way through the streets of the universe, flinging the sweetness of its cassations to every window, pounding at every door in a hilarity beyond all liking and happening, until the prodigals come out at last and dance, and the elder brothers finally take their fingers out of their ears.

Surrender is the ultimate sign of strength and the foundation for a spiritual life. Surrendering affirms that we are no longer willing to live in pain. It expresses a deep desire to transcend our struggles and transform our negative emotions. It commands a life beyond our egos, beyond that part of ourselves that is continually reminding us that we are separate, different and alone. Surrendering allows us to return to our true nature and move effortlessly through the cosmic dance called life. It's a powerful statement that proclaims the perfect order of the universe. When you surrender your will, you are saying, "Even though things are not exactly how I'd like them to be, I will face my reality. I will look it directly in the eye and allow it to be here." Surrender and serenity are synonymous; you can't experience one without the other. So if it's serenity you're searching for, it's close by. All you have to do is resign as General Manager of the Universe. Choose to trust that there is a greater plan for you and that if you surrender, it will be unfolded in time. Surrender is a gift that you can give yourself. It's an act of faith. It's saying that even though I can't see where this river is flowing, I trust it will take me in the right direction.

I place my fingers upon these keys typing 2,000 dreams per minute and naked of spirit dance forth my cosmic vortex upon this crucifix called language.

The fires of night through distance dance ghosts who still know how to sing

The fact of the matter is that all apparent forms of matter and body are momentary clusters of energy. We are little more than flickers on a multidimensional television screen. This realization directly experienced can be delightful. You suddenly wake up from the delusion of separate form and hook up to the cosmic dance. Consciousness slides along the wave matrices, silently at the speed of light

Incidentally, disturbance from cosmic background radiation is something we have all experienced. Tune your television to any channel it doesn't receive, and about 1 percent of the dancing static you see is accounted for by this ancient remnant of the Big Bang. The next time you complain that there is nothing on, remember that you can always watch the birth of the universe.

What is serious to men is often very trivial in the sight of God. What in God might appear to us as "play" is perhaps what he Himself takes most seriously. At any rate, the Lord plays and diverts Himself in the garden of His creation, and if we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear His call and follow Him in His mysterious, cosmic dance. We do not have to go very far to catch echoes of that game, and of that dancing. When we are alone on a starlit night; when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children; when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet Bashō we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash--at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the "newness," the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance. For the world and time are the dance of the Lord in emptiness. The silence of the spheres is the music of a wedding feast. The more we persist in misunderstanding the phenomena of life, the more we analyze them out into strange finalities and complex purposes of our own, the more we involve ourselves in sadness, absurdity and despair. But it does not matter much, because no despair of ours can alter the reality of things; or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there. Indeed, we are in the midst of it, and it is in the midst of us, for it beats in our very blood, whether we want it to or not. Yet the fact remains that we are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join in the general dance.

You're dancing on me said the cosmic dragon, the galactic surface of all we can see. So fucking what? she said.

Life is not a discrete phenomenon it is a part of an intelligent cosmic field. It is a cosmic dance.

There was a feeling of inevitability when I met you. The sense that we would be together; that there would be a moment when you would look at me in a certain way, and we could cross the threshold from friendship into something so much more. We spoke once about lovers who kept finding each other, no matter how many times the world came between them. And I think I had to break your heart, and you had to break mine. How else could we know the worth of what we were given? I think you were always meant to know me a little better than anyone else. And our lives were fated to converge like some cosmic dance. I know there is terrible distance between us. But our bodies are made of celestial light, and we are hurtling through space and time, toward the most beautiful collision.

The silence of the spheres is the music of a wedding feast. The more we persist in misunderstanding the phenomena of life, the more we analyze them out into strange finalities and complex purposes of our own, the more we involve ourselves in sadness. But it does not matter much because no despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there.

It takes two to Tao.

Life in love with you Is a poerty of the heart Is a song of divinity, and A cosmic dance.

On the great canvas of time We all create our own masterpiece. Choreographing our steps across minutes and hours Dancing over the days Painting pictures over months and Writing our stories on the years. Singing our songs that echo across eons. We are all a thread in the talent tapestry. A snapshot in the cosmic, collective collage.

There is evidence that the honoree [Leonard Cohen] might be privy to the secret of the universe, which, in case you're wondering, is simply this: everything is connected. Everything. Many, if not most, of the links are difficult to determine. The instrument, the apparatus, the focused ray that can uncover and illuminate those connections is language. And just as a sudden infatuation often will light up a person's biochemical atmosphere more pyrotechnically than any deep, abiding attachment, so an unlikely, unexpected burst of linguistic imagination will usually reveal greater truths than the most exacting scholarship. In fact. The poetic image may be the only device remotely capable of dissecting romantic passion, let alone disclosing the inherent mystical qualities of the material world. Cohen is a master of the quasi-surrealistic phrase, of the "illogical" line that speaks so directly to the unconscious that surface ambiguity is transformed into ultimate, if fleeting, comprehension: comprehension of the bewitching nuances of sex and bewildering assaults of culture. Undoubtedly, it is to his lyrical mastery that his prestigious colleagues now pay tribute. Yet, there may be something else. As various, as distinct, as rewarding as each of their expressions are, there can still be heard in their individual interpretations the distant echo of Cohen's own voice, for it is his singing voice as well as his writing pen that has spawned these songs. It is a voice raked by the claws of Cupid, a voice rubbed raw by the philosopher's stone. A voice marinated in kirschwasser, sulfur, deer musk and snow; bandaged with sackcloth from a ruined monastery; warmed by the embers left down near the river after the gypsies have gone. It is a penitent's voice, a rabbinical voice, a crust of unleavened vocal toasts -- spread with smoke and subversive wit. He has a voice like a carpet in an old hotel, like a bad itch on the hunchback of love. It is a voice meant for pronouncing the names of women -- and cataloging their sometimes hazardous charms. Nobody can say the word "naked" as nakedly as Cohen. He makes us see the markings where the pantyhose have been. Finally, the actual persona of their creator may be said to haunt these songs, although details of his private lifestyle can be only surmised. A decade ago, a teacher who called himself Shree Bhagwan Rajneesh came up with the name "Zorba the Buddha" to describe the ideal modern man: A contemplative man who maintains a strict devotional bond with cosmic energies, yet is completely at home in the physical realm. Such a man knows the value of the dharma and the value of the deutschmark, knows how much to tip a waiter in a Paris nightclub and how many times to bow in a Kyoto shrine, a man who can do business when business is necessary, allow his mind to enter a pine cone, or dance in wild abandon if moved by the tune. Refusing to shun beauty, this Zorba the Buddha finds in ripe pleasures not a contradiction but an affirmation of the spiritual self. Doesn't he sound a lot like Leonard Cohen? We have been led to picture Cohen spending his mornings meditating in Armani suits, his afternoons wrestling the muse, his evenings sitting in cafes were he eats, drinks and speaks soulfully but flirtatiously with the pretty larks of the street. Quite possibly this is a distorted portrait. The apocryphal, however, has a special kind of truth. It doesn't really matter. What matters here is that after thirty years, L. Cohen is holding court in the lobby of the whirlwind, and that giants have gathered to pay him homage. To him -- and to us -- they bring the offerings they have hammered from his iron, his lead, his nitrogen, his gold.

You, like everyone, are but a single light dancing at the whim of cosmic forces.

I thought my dance alone through worlds of odd and eccentric planets that no one else knew would sustain me.

COSMIC DANCER" "I was dancing when I was twelve I was dancing when I was aaah I danced myself right out the womb Is it strange to dance so soon I danced myself right out the womb I was dancing when I was eight Is it strange to dance so late I danced myself into the tomb Is it strange to dance so soon I danced myself into the tomb Is it wrong to understand The fear that dwells inside a man What's it like to be a loon I liken it to a balloon I danced myself out of the womb Is it strange to dance to soon I danced myself into the tomb But then again once more I danced myself out of the womb Is it strange to dance so soon I danced myself out of the womb.

Compassion has certain vibration – vibration that resonates with the cosmos.

Life is a ritual of love Life is a ritual of union, and Life is a dance of the divine

Every being has its own important and unique place in the cosmic dance.

I do not know why you two are circling each other like stars. It is not my cosmic dance.

I do not know why you two are circling each other like stars. It is not my cosmic dance. But I do know that you come asking after one another, when only a few strides and a handful of stars divide you.

We took a bus to Victoria, then passed on foot into a vast, desolate region of stucco streets and squares upon which a doom seemed to have fallen. The gloom was cosmic.

The gods have meant that I should dance, and by the gods, I will dance!!! For in some mystic hour I shall move to the unheard rhythms of the cosmic orchestra of heaven, and you will know the language of my wordless poems, and will come to me... for that is why I dance." "Los dioses me destinaron a bailar, ¡y por los dioses bailaré! Pues en alguna hora mística me moveré a los ritmos ináuditos de la orquesta cósmica del cielo, y conocerás el lenguaje de mis poemas sin palabras, y vendrás a mí... pues por éso es que bailo.

The lights of the city streaked off below him like the luminous spokes of a warped wheel. An indistinctly outlined, pearly moon seemed to drip down the sky, like a clot of incandescent tapioca thrown up against the night by a cosmic comic. He lit the after-the-dance, while-waiting-for-her-to-come-back cigarette. He felt good, looking down at the town that had nearly had him licked once. "I'm all set now," he thought. "I'm young. I've got love. I've got a clear track. The rest is a cinch.

Don't say I'm insignificant in the infinite, don't say i'm alone in life, you are a cosmic collection that dances harmoniously. You coexist with all beings, visible and invisible together, you are bound from the energy of the universe itself.

Even as we sit, we dance – In this cosmic saga of numbers and geometric patterns, continually coming alive.

All it takes is an eagerness to join the cosmic dance, and a willingness to seek the miracles of the soul.

Incidentally, disturbance from cosmic background radiation is something we have all experienced. Tune your television to any channel it doesn’t receive, and about 1 percent of the dancing static you see is accounted for by this ancient remnant of the Big Bang. The next time you complain that there is nothing on, remember that you can always watch the birth of the universe.

You must take care to know once you enter her you are merging worlds. You are reaffirming a sacred agreement of eternal connectivity. Her energy centers will be connected with yours. Your intentions must be the purest to maintain this kind of cosmic sacred connection. You will be connected on every level seen and unseen. You both will become witness to the universe at play. The cosmic etheric dance of devotion. Two existences intermingle creating a third existence of oneness with tantric overtones and harmonics.

We are travelers on a cosmic journey,stardust,swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share.

The cosmic dance, such an obvious thing, in its simplicity somehow eludes a blunt human mind, excepting when, in brilliant flashes, the yogis and monks, the poets, artists, lovers, and yes, the Fool too, remember

Mystery the moon A hole in the sky A supernatural nightlight So full but often right A pair of eyes, a closin' one, A chosen child of golden sun A marble dog that chases cars To farthest reaches of the beach and far beyond into the swimming sea of stars A cosmic fish they love to kiss They're giving birth to constellation No riffs and oh, no reservation. If they should fall you get a wish or dedication May I suggest you get the best For nothing less than you and I Let's take a chance as this romance is rising over before we lose the lighting Oh bella bella please Bella you beautiful luna Oh bella do what you do Do do do do do You are an illuminating anchor Of leagues to infinite number Crashing waves and breaking thunder Tiding the ebb and flows of hunger You're dancing naked there for me You expose all memory You make the most of boundary You're the ghost of royalty imposing love You are the queen and king combining everything Intertwining like a ring around the finger of a girl I'm just a singer, you're the world All I can bring ya Is the language of a lover Bella luna, my beautiful, beautiful moon How you swoon me like no other May I suggest you get the best Of your wish may I insist That no contest for little you or smaller I A larger chance happened, all them they lie On the rise, on the brink of our lives Bella please Bella you beautiful luna Oh bella do what you do Bella luna, my beautiful, beautiful moon How you swoon me like no other, oh oh oh ((Bella Luna))

If I could give you one key, and one key only to more abundant life, I would give you a sense of your own worth, an unshakeable sense of your own dignity as one grounded in the source of the cosmic dance, as one who plays a unique part in the unfolding of the story of the world…

When you look at a tree, you are aware of the tree. When you have a thought or feeling, you are aware of that thought or feeling. When you have a pleasurable or painful experience, you are aware of that experience. These seem to be true and obvious statements, yet if you look at them very closely, you will find that in a subtle way their very structure contains a fundamental illusion, an illusion that is unavoidable when you use language. Thought and language create an apparent duality and a separate person where there is none. The truth is: you are not somebody who is aware of the tree, the thought, feeling, or experience. You are the awareness or consciousness in and by which those things appear. As you go about your life, can you be aware of yourself as the awareness in which the entire content of your life unfolds? You say, “I want to know myself.” You are the “I.” You are the Knowing. You are the consciousness through which everything is known. And that cannot know itself; it is itself. There is nothing to know beyond that, and yet all knowing arises out of it. The “I” cannot make itself into an object of knowledge, of consciousness. So you cannot become an object to yourself. That is the very reason the illusion of egoic identity arose — because mentally you made yourself into an object. “That's me,” you say. And then you begin to have a relationship with yourself, and tell others and yourself your story. By knowing yourself as the awareness in which phenomenal existence happens, you become free of dependency on phenomena and free of self-seeking in situations, places, and conditions. In other words: what happens or doesn't happen is not that important anymore. Things lose their heaviness, their seriousness. A playfulness comes into your life. You recognize this world as a cosmic dance, the dance of form — no more and no less.

Thomas Merton writes, "No despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there...We are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join in the general dance." The cosmic dance is simply always happening, and you'll want to be there when it happens. For it is there in the birth of your first child, in roundhouse bagging, in watching your crew eat, in an owl's surprising appearance, and in a "digested" frog. Rascally inventions of holiness abounding--today, awaiting the attention of our delight. Yes, yes, yes. God so love the world that He thought we'd find the poetry in it. Music. Nothing playing.

Only the trees, only the trees. Like a key they see beyond the mystery, waiting patiently ever holding me while I hold the sky.

I always find it a cosmic mystery that spring knows when to follow winter. And how is it that spring always brings out the same smells? Year after year. However subtle, exactly identical.

Every second, every minute, every hour our bodies breathe in the manna of Heaven. Our bodies resonate with the love and power of creative cosmic rhythms dancing through every cell in our beautiful beingness. Heaven is the heart of our atomic structure. Only with realisation of God manna within can the external cosmic energy fuse and ignite eternal bliss. Manna from Heaven.

Religion, with its metaphysical error of absolute guilt, dominated the broadest, the cosmic realm. From there, it infiltrated the subordinate realms of biological, social and moral existence with its errors of the absolute and inherited guilt. Humanity, split up into millions of factions, groups, nations and states, lacerated itself with mutual accusations. "The Greeks are to blame," the Romans said, and "The Romans are to blame," the Greeks said. So they warred against one another. "The ancient Jewish priests are to blame," the early Christians shouted. "The Christians have preached the wrong Messiah," the Jews shouted and crucified the harmless Jesus. "The Muslims and Turks and Huns are guilty," the crusaders screamed. "The witches and heretics are to blame," the later Christians howled for centuries, murdering, hanging, torturing and burning heretics. It remains to investigate the sources from which the Jesus legend derives its grandeur, emotional power and perseverance. Let us continue to stay outside this St. Vitus dance. The longer we look around, the crazier it seems. Hundreds of minor patriarchs, self-proclaimed kings and princes, accused one another of this or that sin and made war, scorched the land, brought famine and epidemics to the populations. Later, this became known as "history." And the historians did not doubt the rationality of this history. Gradually the common people appeared on the scene. "The Queen is to blame," the people's representatives shouted, and beheaded the Queen. Howling, the populace danced around the guillotine. From the ranks of the people arose Napoleon. "The Austrians, the Prussians, the Russians are to blame," it was now said. "Napoleon is to blame," came the reply. "The machines are to blame!" the weavers screamed, and "The lumpenproletariat is to blame," sounded back. "The Monarchy is to blame, long live the Constitution!" the burgers shouted. "The middle classes and the Constitution are to blame; wipe them out; long live the Dictatorship of the Proletariat," the proletarian dictators shout, and "The Russians are to blame," is hurled back. "Germany is to blame," the Japanese and the Italians shouted in 1915. "England is to blame," the fathers of the proletarians shouted in 1939. And "Germany is to blame," the self-same fathers shouted in 1942. "Italy, Germany and Japan are to blame," it was said in 1940. It is only by keeping strictly outside this inferno that one can be amazed that the human animal continues to shriek "Guilty!" without doubting its own sanity, without even once asking about the origin of this guilt. Such mass psychoses have an origin and a function. Only human beings who are forced to hide something catastrophic are capable of erring so consistently and punishing so relentlessly any attempt at clarifying such errors.

Ah, the painful truth: Fate was a cosmic toilet. It was the nature of the universe to flush sluggish things that failed to exercise free will. Stasis was stagnancy. Change was velocity. Fate—a sniper that preferred a motionless target to a dancing one.

I am a determinist. As such, I do not believe in free will. The Jews believe in free will. They believe that man shapes his own life. I reject that doctrine philosophically. In that respect I am not a Jew… I believe with Schopenhauer: We can do what we wish, but we can only wish what we must. Practically, I am, nevertheless, compelled to act is if freedom of the will existed. If I wish to live in a civilized community, I must act as if man is a responsible being. "I claim credit for nothing. Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect as well as for the star. Human being, vegetables or cosmic dust, we all dance to an invisible tune, intoned in the distance by a mysterious player. "I am enough of an artist to draw freely from the imagination. Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."--Albert Einstein, from an interview, in 1929, with George Sylvester Viereck. (Albert Einstein by Lotte Jacobi.)

We are travelers on a cosmic journey — stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. But the expressions of life are ephemeral, momentary, transient. Gautama Buddha, the founder of Buddhism, once said, This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds. To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance. A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky, Rushing by like a torrent down a steep mountain. We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment, but it is transient. It is a little parenthesis in eternity. If we share with caring, lightheartedness, and love, we will create abundance and joy for each other. And then this moment will have been worthwhile.

I have seen countless people say they want to transform themselves and their lives and tune into the new vibration. But when the challenges have come, which are necessary to make that happen, they want out immediately and go back to life as before. Yet these challenges set us free. The reason we face personal and emotional mayhem when we start this journey is because of the need to clean out our emotional cesspit of suppressed and unprocessed emotional debris that we have pushed deep into our subconscious because we don’t want to deal with it. If we don’t clear the emotional gunge of this and other physical lifetimes, we can’t reconnect with our multidimensional self. We can’t be free of the reptilian manipulation and control from the lower fourth dimension. So when we say we intend to transform, that intent draws to us the people and experiences necessary to bring that suppressed emotion to the surface where we can see it and deal with it. The same is happening collectively as the information presented in this book comes into the light of public attention, so we can see it, address it and heal it. Much of the New Age is in denial of this collective cesspit because it doesn’t want to face its own personal cesspit. It would rather sit around a candle and kid itself it is enlightened while, in fact, it is an emotional wreck with a crystal in its hand. The information in this book is part of the healing of Planet Earth and the human consciousness as the veil lifts on all that has remained hidden and denied. Hey, this is a wonderful time we’re living through here. We are tuning to the cosmic dance, the wind of change, the rhythm of reconnection with all that is, has been, or ever will be. You have come to make a difference, for yourself and for the world. You have the opportunity to do that now, now, now. Grasp it and let’s end this nonsense. A few can only control billions because the billions let it happen. We don’t have to. And we can change it just by being ourselves, allowing other people to be themselves, and enjoying the gift of life. This is not a time to fear and it’s not a time to hide. It is a time to sing and a time to dance.

Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect as well as for the star. Human beings, vegetables or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible player.

What could be more miraculous than the evident presence in every speck of creation of a Divine Intelligence? How the mighty tree emerges from a tiny seed. How countless worlds roll in infinite space, held in a purposeful cosmic dance by the precise adjustment of universal forces. How the marvelously complex human body is created from a single microscopic cell, is endowed with self-conscious intelligence, and is sustained, healed, and enlivened by invisible power. In every atom of this astounding universe, God is ceaselessly working miracles; yet obtuse man takes them for granted.

Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for insects as well as for the stars. Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper. You can will what you want, but you can't will what you will

Everything in the universe is connected, a fact long known by astrologers but now being recognized by scientists using quantum mechanics, which suggests that every atom affects other atoms. In quantum physics, everything is made of waves and particles and works according to entanglement theory, which suggests that no particle is entirely independent. In a nutshell, everything in the universe works together and the movements of the cosmic bodies activate energy within us and the natural world. In other words, we are entangled with the entire universe. All the energies intertwine in an intricate dance of planetary magic and science, and the language of astrology interprets that dance.

If you could get a “God’s eye view” of the universe from outside it, all you would “see” is just an immense equation with infinite variables relentlessly unfolding in a bewildering dance of competing mathematical functions. We ourselves are self-contained and eternal nodes of the cosmic equation. We have our own solution to our own equation: to become God.

To each memorable image you attach a thought, a label, a category, a piece of the cosmic furniture, syllogisms, an enormous sorites, chains of apothegms, strings of hypallages, rosters of zeugmas, dances of hysteron proteron, apophantic logoi, hierarchic stoichea, processions of equinoxes and parallaxes, herbaria, genealogies of gymnosophists—and so on, to infinity.

Incidentally, disturbance from cosmic background radiation is something we have all experienced. Tune your television to any channel it doesn’t receive, and about 1 percent of the dancing static you see is accounted for by this ancient remnant of the Big Bang. The next time you complain that there is nothing on, remember that you can always watch the birth of the universe

Incidentally, disturbance from cosmic background radiation is something we have all experienced. Tune your television to any channel it doesn’t receive and about 1 per cent of the dancing static you see9 is accounted for by this ancient remnant of the Big Bang. The next time you complain that there is nothing on, remember that you can always watch the birth of the universe.

THE DANCE OF ANGELS Suzy Kassem He spins and spins and spins To remove all three layers of him And with devout discipline He spirals to ignite the light within. He becomes a part Of the solar system And spirals to its cosmic hymn. His soul transcends through The mouth of God To join the source Of everything. He turns and turns and turns To open up windows to the universe And with each circle of love he twirls The love in his heart Radiates and bursts. His thirst for a meeting with the divine Has been his only quest since birth, And while rotating like the hand of time He sings the 'AH' of an angel's verse. As he turns and turns and turns A million emotions and vibrations submerge A luminous spectacle worth a million candles, The Sufi dancer is poetry without Words. THE DANCE OF ANGELS by Suzy Kassem

You can have mad thoughts in here. Like ... tell me, when I die, do they bring my corpse back to my cell to serve out the full term of my second sentence plus those seven years? Perhaps I've already been brought back and have just forgotten it? Maybe I'm already a corpse? A breathing cadaver? But no, no. A cadaver couldn't smile at himself this way. Somewhere, somehow, there's got to be something funny about all of this. Something horrendously funny. A wild cosmic joke on me, a real knee-slapper in some demonic heaven or hell. A while back someone was crying out eerily down the corridor in the echoing half-darkness. "Slur the buds!" he cried out dementedly, repeating those meaningless words over and over again in a ghostly voice, softly hissing and hollow. "Slur the buds! Slur the buds!" That's all I could make out. He must have called it out in that soft hollow hiss a dozen times in the course of fifteen minutes. Still other voices picked it up, and for a short while there was an impromptu ghostly chorus of "Slur the buds!" echoing down these unholy corridors. I never learned what the words meant. I never learned who it was who called out. Maybe I dreamed it. Maybe that was just me myself calling out in the demented darkness of my own imagination. Doing time does this thing to you. But, of course, you don't do time. You do without it. Or rather, time does you. Time is a cannibal that devours the flesh of your years day by day, bite by bite. And as he finishes the last morsel, with the juices of your life running down his bloody chin, he smiles wickedly, belches with satisfaction, and hisses out in ghostly tones, "Slur the buds!"

Ninety aeons ago, before even the gods had danced upon its pointed peak, that mountain had spoken with fire and roared with the voices of the inner thunders. Now it towered all silent and sinister, bearing on the hidden side that secret titan image whereof rumour told. And there were caves in that mountain, which might be empty and alone with elder darkness, or might—if legend spoke truly—hold horrors of a form not to be surmised.

You will never find the life for which you are looking. When the gods created man they allotted to him death, but life they retained in their own keeping. As for you, Gilgamesh, fill your belly with good things; day and night, night and day, dance and be merry, feast and rejoice. Let your clothes be fresh, bathe yourself in water, cherish the little child that holds your hand, and make your wife happy in your embrace; for this too is the lot of man.

Rμv– 1/2 gμv R = 8πTμv The left side of the equation starts with the term Rμv, which is the Ricci tensor he had embraced earlier. The term gμv is the all-important metric tensor, and the term R is the trace of the Ricci tensor called the Ricci scalar. Together, this left side of the equation—which is now known as the Einstein tensor and can be written simply as Gμv—compresses together all of the information about how the geometry of spacetime is warped and curved by objects. The right side describes the movement of matter in the gravitational field. The interplay between the two sides shows how objects curve spacetime and how, in turn, this curvature affects the motion of objects. As the physicist John Wheeler has put it, “Matter tells spacetime how to curve, and curved space tells matter how to move.”83 Thus is staged a cosmic tango, as captured by another physicist, Brian Greene: Space and time become players in the evolving cosmos. They come alive. Matter here causes space to warp there, which causes matter over here to move, which causes space way over there to warp even more, and so on. General relativity provides the choreography for an entwined cosmic dance of space, time, matter, and energy.84 At

Most energy moves through space in a spiral form—a ubiquitous motif in the macrocosmic and microscopic architecture of the universe. Beginning with galactic nebulae—the cosmic birth-cradle of all matter—energy flows in coiled or circular or vortex-like patterns. The theme is repeated in the orbital dance of electrons around their atomic nucleus, and (as cited in Hindu scriptures of ancient origin) of planets and suns and stellar systems spinning through space around a grand center of the universe. Many galaxies are spiral-shaped; and countless other phenomena in nature—plants, animals, the winds and storms—similarly evidence the invisible whorls of energy underlying their shape and structure.

In the blackness of the midnight sleep world, immunized from the harsh glare of daytime reality, the active imagination of the soul dances in the mind of a dream weaver. Safely shrouded in the all-encompassing blanket of darkness supplied by nighttime sleep, our secret wishes speak to us by channeling the collective mythology of the primordial mind. During the wee hours of night, right before first light, we summon our personal muse to tell us in operatic fashion what it means to be human. If we listen carefully, our muse’s heart songs shares with us what it means to experience both the tragedy and comedy of life, and encourages us to unreservedly embrace in a moral manner the banality, brutality, beauty, and splendor of nature that occurs eternally in the cosmic world that swaddles us.

The result was not nearly as vivid to the layman as, say, E=mc2. Yet using the condensed notations of tensors, in which sprawling complexities can be compressed into little subscripts, the crux of the final Einstein field equations is compact enough to be emblazoned, as it indeed often has been, on T-shirts designed for proud physics students. In one of its many variations,82 it can be written as: Rμv– 1/2 gμv R = 8πTμv The left side of the equation starts with the term Rμv, which is the Ricci tensor he had embraced earlier. The term gμv is the all-important metric tensor, and the term R is the trace of the Ricci tensor called the Ricci scalar. Together, this left side of the equation—which is now known as the Einstein tensor and can be written simply as Gμv—compresses together all of the information about how the geometry of spacetime is warped and curved by objects. The right side describes the movement of matter in the gravitational field. The interplay between the two sides shows how objects curve spacetime and how, in turn, this curvature affects the motion of objects. As the physicist John Wheeler has put it, “Matter tells spacetime how to curve, and curved space tells matter how to move.”83 Thus is staged a cosmic tango, as captured by another physicist, Brian Greene: Space and time become players in the evolving cosmos. They come alive. Matter here causes space to warp there, which causes matter over here to move, which causes space way over there to warp even more, and so on. General relativity provides the choreography for an entwined cosmic dance of space, time, matter, and energy.

In this cosmic arena, Luo Ji faced not the fancy moves of Chinese sword fighting, resembling dance more than war; nor the flourishes of Western sword fighting, designed to show off the wielder’s skill; but the fatal blows of Japanese kenjutsu. Real Japanese sword fights often ended after a very brief struggle lasting no more than half a second to two seconds. By the time the swords had clashed but once, one side had already fallen in a pool of blood. But before this moment, the opponents stared at each other like statues, sometimes for as long as ten minutes. During this contest, the swordsman’s weapon wasn’t held by the hands, but by his heart. The heart-sword, transformed through the eyes into the gaze, stabbed into the depths of the enemy’s soul. The real winner was determined during this process: In the silence suspended between the two swordsmen, the blades of their spirits parried and stabbed as soundless claps of thunder. Before a single blow was struck, victory, defeat, life, and death had already been decided.

Einstein, on the other hand, believed, as did Spinoza, that a person’s actions were just as determined as that of a billiard ball, planet, or star. “Human beings in their thinking, feeling and acting are not free but are as causally bound as the stars in their motions,” Einstein declared in a statement to a Spinoza Society in 1932. Human actions are determined, beyond their control, by both physical and psychological laws, he believed. It was a concept he drew also from his reading of Schopenhauer, to whom he attributed, in his 1930 “What I Believe” credo, a maxim along those lines: I do not at all believe in free will in the philosophical sense. Everybody acts not only under external compulsion but also in accordance with inner necessity. Schopenhauer’s saying, “A man can do as he wills, but not will as he wills,” has been a real inspiration to me since my youth; it has been a continual consolation in the face of life’s hardships, my own and others’, and an unfailing wellspring of tolerance. Do you believe, Einstein was once asked, that humans are free agents? “No, I am a determinist,” he replied. “Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect as well as for the star. Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible player.

I get this feeling,' I said, pacing a step, the ancient wood floorboards creaking beneath my boots, my power a writhing, living thing prowling through my veins, 'that it's all some sort of joke. Some sort of cosmic trick, and that no one- no one- can be this happy and not pay for it.' 'You've already paid for it, Rhys. Both of you. And then some.' I waved a hand. 'I just...' I trailed off, unable to finish the words. Cassian stared at me for a long moment. Then he crossed the distance between us, gathering me in an embrace so tight I could barely breathe. 'You made it. We made it. You both endured enough that no one would blame you if you danced off into the sunset like Miryam and Drakon and never bothered with anything else again. But you are bothering- you're both still working to make this peace last. Peace, Rhys. We have peace, and the true kind. Enjoy it- enjoy each other. You paid the debt before it was ever a debt.' My throat tightened, and I gripped him hard around his wings, the scales of his leathers digging into my fingers. 'What about you?' I asked, pulling away after a moment. 'Are you... happy?' Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. 'I'm getting there.' A halfhearted answer. I'd have to work on that, too. Perhaps there were threads to be pulled, woven together. Cassian jerked his chin toward the door. 'Get going, you bastard. I'll see you in three days.' I nodded, opening the door at last. But paused on the threshold. 'Thanks, brother.' Cassian's crooked grin was bright, even if those shadows still guttered in his eyes. 'It's an honour, my lord.

Pieces of my self. I have come to realise that our soul is not a static element or something that we can ever put in words. It is something that we find and embrace in bits and pieces flowing through an endless journey of life. Sometimes we find a halo of it in the setting sun while sometimes we chase its harmony in a distant sunrise. We have moments in Life, defining our traits, when some incident or some part of our Life changes forever rather takes shape forever but that too is not entirely rigid, they too flow with our soul and may be years or even moments later they change shape into something that twinkles more with our soul. It is a process of learning, unlearning and relearning where everything that we assemble in this Lifetime is like a free flowing river which meanders its way onto an ocean. And the ocean is Love. Not the Love that we often imagine it be, it is something beyond any imagination or definition. It is an air that absorbs every other force of Nature and releases them through the filter of Wisdom. It is about understanding our innermost fear and fighting it out with the indomitable courage that is always lurking in the deepest part of our heart. It is about knowing how contagious kindness can be and becoming the reflector of grace through our very existence. It is about embracing every chapter of our life with gratitude for the path that our spirit has chosen beyond boundaries and limits. It is about growing and healing. Growing through a voyage that is endless in this Cosmic ocean and healing through the balm of connections. I have realised that every connection that we make even if it is for a fraction of a second stays on within our soul and every alley that we explore leads us to a place that is closer to our destination. Sometimes the Destination gets blurred through the noises of all that is tangible in our surroundings and we often grow exhausted on this journey, it is then that we grow, trying to walk over a pyre of our failures, lost bonds, detours and everything that are capable of pulling us down they become stars, like the fireflies that show us the path to bring us closer to our soul, to put back the pieces of our self. They make us all that we stand as a whole. So especially when we run out of our strength somewhere in some hidden alley of our soul, something burns in our soul, a flicker of our passion guiding us home, where the pieces of our soul dance in a mad harmony to awaken the flame that lights our way onto a destination, wandering along the edge of a purpose that breathes through scattered pieces of our self, basking in the halo of eternity.

The Monk in the Kitchen I ORDER is a lovely thing; On disarray it lays its wing, Teaching simplicity to sing. It has a meek and lowly grace, Quiet as a nun's face. Lo—I will have thee in this place! Tranquil well of deep delight, All things that shine through thee appear As stones through water, sweetly clear. Thou clarity, That with angelic charity Revealest beauty where thou art, Spread thyself like a clean pool. Then all the things that in thee are, Shall seem more spiritual and fair, Reflection from serener air— Sunken shapes of many a star In the high heavens set afar. II Ye stolid, homely, visible things, Above you all brood glorious wings Of your deep entities, set high, Like slow moons in a hidden sky. But you, their likenesses, are spent Upon another element. Truly ye are but seemings— The shadowy cast-oft gleamings Of bright solidities. Ye seem Soft as water, vague as dream; Image, cast in a shifting stream. III What are ye? I know not. Brazen pan and iron pot, Yellow brick and gray flag-stone That my feet have trod upon— Ye seem to me Vessels of bright mystery. For ye do bear a shape, and so Though ye were made by man, I know An inner Spirit also made, And ye his breathings have obeyed. IV Shape, the strong and awful Spirit, Laid his ancient hand on you. He waste chaos doth inherit; He can alter and subdue. Verily, he doth lift up Matter, like a sacred cup. Into deep substance he reached, and lo Where ye were not, ye were; and so Out of useless nothing, ye Groaned and laughed and came to be. And I use you, as I can, Wonderful uses, made for man, Iron pot and brazen pan. V What are ye? I know not; Nor what I really do When I move and govern you. There is no small work unto God. He required of us greatness; Of his least creature A high angelic nature, Stature superb and bright completeness. He sets to us no humble duty. Each act that he would have us do Is haloed round with strangest beauty; Terrific deeds and cosmic tasks Of his plainest child he asks. When I polish the brazen pan I hear a creature laugh afar In the gardens of a star, And from his burning presence run Flaming wheels of many a sun. Whoever makes a thing more bright, He is an angel of all light. When I cleanse this earthen floor My spirit leaps to see Bright garments trailing over it, A cleanness made by me. Purger of all men's thoughts and ways, With labor do I sound Thy praise, My work is done for Thee. Whoever makes a thing more bright, He is an angel of all light. Therefore let me spread abroad The beautiful cleanness of my God. VI One time in the cool of dawn Angels came and worked with me. The air was soft with many a wing. They laughed amid my solitude And cast bright looks on everything. Sweetly of me did they ask That they might do my common task And all were beautiful—but one With garments whiter than the sun Had such a face Of deep, remembered grace; That when I saw I cried—"Thou art The great Blood-Brother of my heart. Where have I seen thee?"—And he said, "When we are dancing round God's throne, How often thou art there. Beauties from thy hands have flown Like white doves wheeling in mid air. Nay—thy soul remembers not? Work on, and cleanse thy iron pot.

He adored telling this story of near disaster and how he had triumphed, just as he relished the report of how he went on stage every night on tour in his The Cosmic Dance of Shiva, requiring all manner of spinal flexibilities and related actions, while his sacroiliac was painfully out of place.

This cosmic dance of, bursting decadence and withheld permissions-twists all-our-arms collectively but, if sweetness can win, and it can, then I'll still be here tomorrow, to high-five you, yesterday... my friend––peace.

We come much closer together when the Heart of the matter is unveiled, when the best of Hinduism and Islam and Christianity are uncovered, then we are dealing with people who love God. We're not dealing with inculturated things, with prejudices of different times and places, we're dealing with ecstatic love of God. Think of Rumi the poet, also known as Mevlana, whose delight in the reality of God caused him to dance spontaneously and it gave rise to the Dervishes of Sufism, the mystical dimension of Islam.

See—Mark tells the orange-faced flight attendant as they part a briefly-open-anyway curtain of water and enter the rain comparatively unseen, she shoeless and brown-skirted, his fashionable surgeon's shirt soaking quickly to a light green film over much health—dividing this fiction business into realistic and naturalistic and surrealistic and modern and postmodern and new-realistic and meta- is like dividing history into cosmic and tragic and prophetic and apocalyptic; is like dividing human beings into white and black and brown and yellow and orange. It atomizes, does not bind crowds, and, like everything timelessly dumb, leads to blind hatred, blind loyalty, blind supplication. Difference is no lover; it lives and dies dancing on the skins of things, tracing bare outlines as it feels for avenues of entry into exactly what it's made seamless.

Creation is boundless Life is eternal All living things dance with joy when they realise that in every atom of time and space is the spark of eternal life Everyone is an aspect of Light and are potentially the blazing glory of the whole of Light Be aware of your inner eternality Be aware that you are not a speck of dust on the face of the Universe You are a cell in a mighty blood stream of Cosmic power Know that you are a living vital part of the essence of creative life

... My cosmic desires freeze in an apocalyptical healing Of agonized thoughts, of betrayed hearts, of dancing daemons Alleviate my nightmares and calm my deep thunders ... (Excerpted from Healed by rain, chapter Resilience)

She was faint by passing the terrible things art has done countless times over, why believe in put down theories and books her eyes constantly told me without lower lengths of ultraviolet new beams pouring from an endless waterfall toward the center of every center. I've emerged my skin in years of Roman romance only to find cosmic rays from a different perspective and on that note perception expanded all the truthful parts of myself. I was merely deadly alone in a sunlit gaze trying to hold my organs inside long enough to finish the next book, to wrap the defensive cloak of life before the moon rose from the red sea eons ago, casting the net of creation where no man has ever been.

When we are alone on a starlit night; when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children; when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet Bashō we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash—at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the “newness,” the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.

When they [Shiva and Parvati] play the game of dice, they always wind up in an acrimonious dispute, accusing each other of cheating and many other unfair tricks. Shiva's game of dice is another mythological account of how the world runs, although it is not so well known as the myth of his cosmic dance. The game illustrates the conflict between the individual and cosmic self. The game of dice is also Zarathustra's favorite metaphor along with the metaphor of dance. In 'Before Sunrise', he compares the world to a game of dice by calling the azure bell 'a divine table for divine dice and dice players.' In fact, he equates the cosmic game of dice with the cosmic dance of the world. He says to the azure bell, 'You are to me a dance floor for divine accidents. The dance of Life is the cosmic dance of the azure bell. Just like Shiva's dance, the cosmic dance of Life is a game of dice. That explains why Zarathustra cannot control it. By its nature, the game of dice is beyond control. Parvati gets into vicious arguments with Shiva because she is trying to control what is beyond control. For the same reason, Zarathustra cannot avoid fighting with Life. He cannot resist the temptation to control her.

This lovers quarrel is similar to the one between Shiva and his consort Parvati. When they play the game of dice, they always wind up in an acrimonious dispute, accusing each other of cheating and many other unfair tricks. Shiva's game of dice is another mythological account of how the world runs, although it is not so well known as the myth of his cosmic dance. The game illustrates the conflict between the individual and cosmic self. The game of dice is also Zarathustra's favorite metaphor along with the metaphor of dance. In 'Before Sunrise', he compares the world to a game of dice by calling the azure bell 'a divine table for divine dice and dice players.' In fact, he equates the cosmic game of dice with the cosmic dance of the world. He says to the azure bell, 'You are to me a dance floor for divine accidents. The dance of Life is the cosmic dance of the azure bell. Just like Shiva's dance, the cosmic dance of Life is a game of dice. That explains why Zarathustra cannot control it. By its nature, the game of dice is beyond control. Parvati gets into vicious arguments with Shiva because she is trying to control what is beyond control. For the same reason, Zarathustra cannot avoid fighting with Life. He cannot resist the temptation to control her.

If you want to treat a tiger reasonably, you must go back to the garden of Eden. For the obstinate reminder continued to recur: only the supernatural has taken a sane view of Nature. The essence of all pantheism, evolutionism, and modern cosmic religion is really in this proposition: that Nature is our mother. Unfortunately, if you regard Nature as a mother, you discover that she is a step-mother. The main point of Christianity was this: that Nature is not our mother: Nature is our sister. We can be proud of her beauty, since we have the same father; but she has no authority over us; we have to admire, but not to imitate. This gives to the typically Christian pleasure in this earth a strange touch of lightness that is almost frivolity. Nature was a solemn mother to the worshippers of Isis and Cybele. Nature was a solemn mother to Wordsworth or to Emerson. But Nature is not solemn to Francis of Assisi or to George Herbert. To St. Francis, Nature is a sister, and even a younger sister: a little, dancing sister, to be laughed at as well as loved.

Normally, you exist at a scale where your body consists of a thousand trillion trillion atoms in an assembly ten billion times larger than a single atom. And you move around quickly, at meters per second. Any diffraction in passing from one scale to the next smaller power of ten has been beyond your perception, or that of any current measurement device. But now, at this tiny scale of a tenth of a billion of a meter, you can't waltz through a doorway between magnitudes and hope to be just fine. The particle-wave duality of matter-the deeper truth of reality- is in full force. On these scales the universe is a place of probabilities, of statistics, a dance of a multitude of branching pathways and curious relationships. That weirdness is at the heart of reality-it is what lets us exist.

Imagine you and I were eternal— A Goddess and a God capable of miracles, Standing as one at the beginning of time. Every time you kiss me, a world is created. Every time I kiss you, a world vanishes. When we kiss, time stops again. Between two kisses, time continues to flow. You kiss me first, for your breath ruptures with creativity. One kiss, and a universe is brought to life— A perfect world full of beauty and pain. Wait, I whisper—another universe would be one too many. I kiss you back, and the world vanishes. Once again we are all alone, just you and me. It took one cosmic unit of time for you to kiss me And just half of that time, for me to kiss you back. And a half of that half for you to kiss me again. We take infinitely many turns: Who can tell if this game is one of lust or a brawl? Each kiss betides twice faster than the last. When the clock strikes the second cosmic unit of time Who’ll be the winner between the two of us? If you kiss me last, I promise we’ll be dancing through a multiverse If I kiss you last, then everything will fall into oblivion— even this eternal love.

Imagine you and I were eternal— A Goddess and a God capable of miracles, Standing as one at the beginning of time. Every time you kiss me, a world is created. Every time I kiss you, a world vanishes. When we kiss, time stops again. Between two kisses, time continues to flow. You kiss me first, for your breath ruptures with creativity. One kiss, and a universe is brought to life— A perfect world full of beauty and pain. Wait, I whisper—another universe would be one too many. I kiss you back, and the world vanishes. Once again we are all alone, just you and me. It took one cosmic unit of time for you to kiss me And just half of that time, for me to kiss you back. And a half of that half for you to kiss me again. We take infinitely many turns: Who can tell if this game is one of lust or a brawl? Each kiss betides twice faster than the last. When the clock strikes the second cosmic unit of time Who’ll be the winner between the two of us? If you kiss me last, I promise we’ll be dancing through a multiverse If I kiss you last, then everything will fall into oblivion— even this eternal love.

Wholeness includes brokenness; perfect literally means inclusive of everything; complete means evolving. I incorporated this paradoxical wisdom into my life and became gentler with myself and others.

The Home: A Haiku From void's womb they bloom, Cosmic dance of fleeting forms, Stars return to dusk.

I'll never forget the day I met Rudy (aka Rudolf Nureyev). He was at the St Peter's Theatre for a rehearsal with the Ballet of Nancy on the same stage I would dance with the Young Ballet of Sao Paulo some years later. I saw him leaving the place in the backdoor wearing his Black outfit boots and Bohemian hat. People surrounded him to get his autograph. My sister pulled me out so we wouldn't be massacred by the crowd. He did a very Russian move step-step and stop before a hole (such a cute role) in the sidewalk. Took the limousine and passed right in front of where my sister and I stood. He took a glance at me and had a gentle expression like saying, "yep you stood up from that crowd. I see you..." Lovely soul. I have this image in my heart ever since. What I didn't know then and could never imagine it was that just a few months later I would be dancing with the Ballet of São Paulo in the same Theatre he performed his Apollo. He did send his charisma towards me!

Within the cosmic dance of existence, we are not mere spectators; we are celestial avatars, each carrying a fragment of stardust. Our purpose lies not in conformity, but in the audacity to embrace our unique essence—to ignite galaxies within and illuminate the path for others. As we journey, let us remember the words of the Psalmist: For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:13-14, NIV). Our divine purpose transcends earthly limitations; it is etched in the very fabric of our souls. So, let us walk this odyssey with faith, knowing that the Creator's brushstrokes adorn our existence, and our avatars carry a sacred spark.

Śiva is both the creator and destroyer of the universe, movement and tranquility, light and darkness, male and female, celibate and promiscuous. These paradoxes serve to symbolize the limitlessness and freedom of the divine and suggest that what we might ordinarily consider oppositions are, in fact, closer than we think. These divine dimensions are illustrated in the images of Śiva as Mahāyogi, the Lord of the Dance (Natarāja), and Half- Woman Lord. The image of Śiva as the Great Yogi accents Śiva’s tranquil, ascetic aspect, providing a model for many Śaivites who seek to practice asceticism. The Natarāja image depicts Śiva’s cosmic dance during the auspicious occasion of the Mahashivaratri, the great night of Śiva, when he dances to dispel the ignorance of the night. He holds a drum and a flame; with the drum, he sounds the world into existence, and with the flame, he destroys it in order to create another. [...] The Hindu images of divine, both anthropomorphic and aniconic, function symbolically to point beyond themselves to ultimate, infinite reality.

The universe functions like a clock: To everything— There is a season— And a time to every purpose under heaven A time to be born, a time to die A time to plant, a time to reap A time to kill, a time to heal A time to laugh, a time to weep A time to build up, a time to break down A time to dance, a time to mourn A time to cast away stones A time to gather stones together These rhythms are not set by us. We are all participating in a larger creative act we are not conducting. We are being conducted. The artist is on a cosmic timetable, just like all of nature.

What were we, exactly? Atoms that on their own have no will, no purpose, nothing but constraints based on “laws” of physics (whatever those really are ultimately). Somehow, under the conditions of New Earth—temperature, radiation impact from the sun and cosmic rays, composition, pressure—these atomic entities can form organized structures that at one point obtained the power to replicate. Then the process of “survival of the stable” took over, and evolution produced increasingly complex molecules, cells, bodies—minds. That love and the ideals of beauty and wonder all come from the arbitrary dance of molecules like carbon chains and water is extremely strange when you really think about it. In fact, it makes no sense at all to me.

You and I, we are just carbon. All of us. This, our most basic elemental origin, every atom of it, came from a star’s breath. And as our pre-primordial selves hurtled, orphaned, formless and alone through space, our sun found us, spun us playfully around and took us in, bringing you and I, us, together in a cosmic dance of eons.

CYGNUS EXPRESS – A PROJECT ODYSSEUS FUNDRAISER Vastness of space, planets orbiting distant suns, partygoers in gleaming imitations of vacuum suits, bleeping sound of contact through the static of cosmic background radiation, overlaid with driving trance rhythm. Frances shrugged. Damn, she felt good pressed against him. “In space,” she said, “no one can hear you dance.” Kade shrugged. “Next.

Though he was gone, Stairway to Heaven lingered in the gentle breeze. Sartre and Freya, while holding hands, began to sway back and forth until they found themselves wrapped in each other’s arms. Starting in Gimli, everyone followed their lead. Soon, across the whole world, and like the last song at a high school homecoming in the late 70s, people slow danced with each other.

You and I, we are just carbon. All of us. This, our most basic elemental origin, every atom of it, came from a star’s breath. And as our pre-primordial selves hurtled, orphaned, formless and alone through space, our sun found us, spun us playfully around and took us in, bringing you and I, us, together in a cosmic dance of eons.  It taught us to be together, and that without each other we would be nothing, formless and alone.

Supple Sunlight Supple sunlight dancing in the breeze Stealing shadows from leafless trees With golden seeds you spawn our earth From the largesse of thy cosmic hearth. Apocalyptic is thy stark ascent From the cryptic dark of banishment And most gracious is thy humble light To escort the moon out of the night.