Open Domain Quotes

The path to decision may be hard because it leads into the territory of both finiteness and groundlessness—domains soaked in anxiety.

But everyone knows that the Breccia Domain is more than an empty hole in the earth. Who knows what happened to the queens who were thrown down into the dark? Into the heart of the island, where the Goddess’s eye is always open. Who knows how she kept those queens or what she turned them into

Human thought is thought that opens up into the future, and the future is inescapably the domain of the gods.

Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea, and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!

In the whole vast domain of living nature there reigns an open violence, a kind of prescriptive fury which arms all the creatures to their common doom. As soon as you leave the inanimate kingdom, you find the decree of violent death inscribed on the very frontiers of life. You feel it already in the vegetable kingdom: from the great catalpa to the humblest herb, how many plants die, and how many are killed. But from the moment you enter the animal kingdom, this law is suddenly in the most dreadful evidence. A power of violence at once hidden and palpable … has in each species appointed a certain number of animals to devour the others. Thus there are insects of prey, reptiles of prey, birds of prey, fishes of prey, quadrupeds of prey. There is no instant of time when one creature is not being devoured by another. Over all these numerous races of animals man is placed, and his destructive hand spares nothing that lives. He kills to obtain food and he kills to clothe himself. He kills to adorn himself, he kills in order to attack, and he kills in order to defend himself. He kills to instruct himself and he kills to amuse himself. He kills to kill. Proud and terrible king, he wants everything and nothing resists him. From the lamb he tears its guts and makes his harp resound ... from the wolf his most deadly tooth to polish his pretty works of art; from the elephant his tusks to make a toy for his child - his table is covered with corpses ... And who in all of this will exterminate him who exterminates all others? Himself. It is man who is charged with the slaughter of man ... So it is accomplished ... the first law of the violent destruction of living creatures. The whole earth, perpetually steeped in blood, is nothing but a vast altar upon which all that is living must be sacrificed without end, without measure, without pause, until the consummation of things, until evil is extinct, until the death of death.

All right, you primitive screwheads. Listen up. I'm Harry Dresden. I'm the new Winter Knight. I'm instituting a rule: When you're within sight of me, mortals are off-limits." I paused for a moment to let that sink in. Then I continued. "I can't give you orders. I can't control what you do in your own domains. I'm not going to be able to change you. I'm not even going to try. But if I see you abusing a mortal, you'll join Chunky here. Zero warnings. Zero excuses. Subzero tolerance." I paused again and then asked, "Any questions?" One of the Sidhe smirked and stepped forward, his leather pants creaking. He opened his mouth, his expression condescending. "Mortal, do you actually think that you can - " "Infriga!" I snarled, unleashing Winter again, and without waiting for the cloud to clear, hurled the second strike, shouting, "Forzare!" This time I aimed much of the force up. Grisly bits of frozen Sidhe noble cam pattering and clattering down to the ice of the dance floor. When the mist cleared, the Sidhe looked...stunned Even Maeve. "I'm glad you asked me that," I said to the space where the Sidhe lord had been standing. "I hope my answer clarified any misunderstandings." I looked left and right, seeking out eyes, but didn't find any willing to meet mine. "Are there any other questions?

Ironically, the serious study of the impossible has frequently opened up rich and entirely unexpected domains of science. For example, over the centuries the frustrating and futile search for a “perpetual motion machine” led physicists to conclude that such a machine was impossible, forcing them to postulate the conservation of energy and the three laws of thermodynamics. Thus the futile search to build perpetual motion machines helped to open up the entirely new field of thermodynamics, which in part laid the foundation of the steam engine, the machine age, and modern industrial society.

Our world is filled with competition, frenzied ambition in every domain. Each of us is acquainted with the spirit of competition. This spirit is not a bad thing in and of itself. Its influence has long been felt in personal relations within the dominant classes. Subsequently it spread throughout the whole of society, to the point that today it has more or less openly triumphed in every part of the world. In Western nations, and above all in the United States, it animates not only economic and financial life, but scientific research and intellectual life as well. Despite the tension and the unrest it brings, these nations are inclined on the whole to congratulate themselves for having embraced the spirit of competition, for its positive effects are considerable. Not the least of these is the impressive wealth it has brought a large part of the population. No one, or almost no one, any longer thinks of forgoing rivalry, since it allows us to go on dreaming of a still more glittering and prosperous future than the recent past. Our world seems to us the most desirable one there ever was, especially when we compare it to life in nations that have not enjoyed the same prosperity.

Pribram realized that if the holographic brain model was taken to its logical conclusions, it opened the door on the possibility that objective reality—the world of coffee cups, mountain vistas, elm trees, and table lamps—might not even exist, or at least not exist in the way we believe it exists. Was it possible, he wondered, that what the mystics had been saying for centuries was true, reality was maya, an illusion, and what was out there was really a vast, resonating symphony of wave forms, a "frequency domain" that was transformed into the world as we know it only after it entered our senses?

The best-trained part of us, though, is the mouth, it �is always obediently and devoutly shut. And it's only too true: an open mouth is a yawning fact, the fact that its owner is dwelling with his few thoughts in some other place than the domain and pleasure-garden of attentiveness.

Of the Three Rings that the Elves had preserved unsullied no open word was ever spoken among the Wise, and few even of the Eldar knew where they were bestowed. Yet after the fall of Sauron their power was ever at work, and where they abode there mirth also dwelt and all things were unstained by the griefs of time. Therefore ere the Third Age was ended the Elves perceived that the Ring of Sapphire was with Elrond, in the fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone; whereas the Ring of Adamant was in the Land of Lórien where dwelt the Lady Galadriel. A queen she was of the woodland Elves, the wife of Celeborn of Doriath, yet she herself was of the Noldor and remembered the Day before days in Valinor, and she was the mightiest and fairest of all the Elves that remained in Middle-earth. But the Red Ring remained hidden until the end, and none save Elrond and Galadriel and Cirdan knew to whom it had been committed. Thus it was that in two domains the bliss and beauty of the Elves remained still undiminished while that Age endured: in Imladris; and in Lothlórien, the hidden land between Celebrant and Anduin, where the trees bore flowers of gold and no Orc or evil thing dared ever come. Yet many voices were heard among the Elves foreboding that, if Sauron should come again, then either he would find the Ruling Ring that was lost, or at the best his enemies would discover it and destroy it; but in either chance the powers of the Three must then fail and all things maintained by them must fade, and so the Elves should pass into the twilight and the Dominion of Men begin. And so indeed it has since befallen: the One and the Seven and the Nine are destroyed; and the Three have passed away, and with them the Third Age is ended, and the Tales of the Eldar in Middle-earth draw to then-close.

He admitted but four elementary principles, or more strictly, conditions of bliss. That which he considered chief was (strange to say!) the simple and purely physical one of free exercise in the open air. "The health," he said, "attainable by other means is scarcely worth the name." He instanced the ecstasies of the fox hunter, and pointed to the tillers of the earth, the only people who, as a class, can be fairly considered happier than others. His second condition was love of woman. His third, and most difficult of realization, was the contempt of ambition. His fourth was an object of unceasing pursuit; and he held that, other things being equal, the extent of attainable happiness was in proportion to the spirituality of this object.

Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov stirred at half past eight to the sound of rain on the eaves. With a half-opened eye, he pulled back his covers and climbed from bed. He donned his robe and slipped on his slippers. He took up the tin from the bureau, spooned a spoonful of beans into the Apparatus, and began to crank the crank. Even as he turned the little handle round and round, the room remained under the tenuous authority of sleep. As yet unchallenged, somnolence continued to cast its shadow over sights and sensations, over forms and formulations, over what has been said and what must be done, lending each the insubstantiality of its domain. But when the Count opened the small wooden drawer of the grinder, the world and all it contained were transformed by that envy of the alchemists—the aroma of freshly ground coffee. In that instant, darkness was separated from light, the waters from the lands, and the heavens from the earth. The trees bore fruit and the woods rustled with the movement of birds and beasts and all manner of creeping things. While closer at hand, a patient pigeon scuffed its feet on the flashing. Easing

Literature has chosen the domain of small scale personal relationships, and no longer deals with great metaphysical themes. We no longer have writers like Balzac and Zola, geniuses of human comedy who could explore every domain. Proust also created an inexhaustible world, and Joyce’s Ulysses is still very close to Homer . . . Joyce is the bridge between the two great worlds of classicism and chaos. In the past, philosophy could also claim to be universal. The entire world was open to the thought of a philosopher like Spinoza. Today an immense part of the universe is closed to us.

When I let go of the identification with the body, then I open myself to the unbounded awareness of pure Self. This is the domain of bliss, of real fulfillment in life.

Here we want to return to the dynamic space beyond fixed norms on the one hand, and “anything goes” relativism on the other. Outside this false dichotomy is the domain of relationships that are alive, responsive, and make people capable of new things together, without imposing this on everyone else. It is in this space where values like openness, curiosity, trust, and responsibility can really flourish, not as fixed ways of being to be applied everywhere but as ways of relating that can only be kept alive by cultivating careful, selective, and fierce boundaries. For joy to flourish, it needs sharp edges.

Since its sudden birth the city had expanded, swallowing up acre upon acre of the surrounding grasslands and drawing thousands into its domain. Hardly built on the most advantageous ground, miles from the open waters, decades from the mines at the mountain summits, it yet remained the only settlement of note on the isle. This sprawling mass of a city, once a compact kingdom, was now the keystone of the Castilian Empire.

How do you get your organization to behave with a fail-fast mentality? First, start at the top. Lead by example: quickly and publicly acknowledge your mistakes, and move on. Act matter of fact-ly. I've had to clean up my own messes for everybody to see. Talk about it publicly, what you were thinking at the time, what was learned from it; this signals to the organization that it is okay to make mistakes and openly own them.

If our value system doesn't allow us to enjoy anything without putting a price on it, we miss a great part of the beauty of life. When we bring this value system into the domain of prayer, we can never enjoy God. As soon as we start enjoying Him, we have to reflect, "Oh boy, I'm enjoying God!" And as soon as we do that, we are taking a photograph of the experience. Every reflection is like a photograph of reality. It isn't our original experience; it is a commentary on it.

Even as he turned the little handle round and round, the room remained under the tenuous authority of sleep. As yet unchallenged, somnolence continued to cast its shadow over sights and sensations, over forms and formulations, over what has been said and what must be done, lending each the insubstantiality of its domain. But when the Count opened the small wooden drawer of the grinder, the world and all it contained were transformed by that envy of the alchemists—the aroma of freshly ground coffee.

It is usually the case that somewhere in the world, yesterday's workers are today's surplus population. This process continually opens up new domains for expropriation and value generation, whether it is through moneylending or warehousing people in prisons. (p. 109)

…Shakespeare is both my door knocker and the owner of the domains to which the knock admits me, at once my Virgil opening the gates of hell and heaven, and the devil, and God, and I say this as a person who believes in neither God nor the devil, I believe only in Virgil…

MAY 6 I HAVE BROKEN LEVIATHAN’S POWER FROM YOUR LIFE MY CHILD, I have broken the demonic power of the sea serpent from your life. I have caused all his demonic little demon fish to stick to his scales as I brought him up out of the midst of the sea and cast him into the wilderness to lie on the open field as food for all the beasts of the field and the birds of the heavens. The rivers and seas belong to Me, and I will make utterly waste and desolate the places where his evil power has dwelt. I am the one who commands the sea and its streams to run dry, and I have broken the power of the evils of the sea from bringing destruction to your life. EZEKIEL 29:3–5; ISAIAH 44:27 Prayer Declaration Father, in the name of Jesus I bind every sea monster that would attack my life or region. You have raised a watch against Leviathan, and You will not let the demonic powers of the sea oppress me. You have stripped him of his power and have taken away his armor. You have caused the places of his domain to become utterly waste and desolate and have thrown him and his demonic spirits into the wilderness to be food for the beasts and birds who dwell there.

All great, simple images reveal a psychic state. The house, even more than the landscape, is a "psychic state," and even when reproduced as it appears from the outside, it bespeaks intimacy. Psychologists generally, and Francoise Minkowska in particular, together with those whom she has succeeded interesting in the subject, have studied the drawing of houses made by children, and even used them for testing. Indeed, the house-test has the advantage of welcoming spontaneity, for many children draw a house spontaneously while dreaming over their paper and pencil. To quote Anne Balif: "Asking a child to draw his house is asking him to reveal the deepest dream shelter he has found for his happiness. If he is happy, he will succeed in drawing a snug, protected house which is well built on deeply-rooted foundations." It will have the right shape, and nearly always there will be some indication of its inner strength. In certain drawings, quite obviously, to quote Mme. Balif, "it is warm indoors, and there is a fire burning, such a big fire, in fact, that it can be seen coming out of the chimney." When the house is happy, soft smoke rises in gay rings above the roof. If the child is unhappy, however, the house bears traces of his distress. In this connection, I recall that Francoise Minkowska organized an unusually moving exhibition of drawings by Polish and Jewish children who had suffered the cruelties of the German occupation during the last war. One child, who had been hidden in a closet every time there was an alert, continued to draw narrow, cold, closed houses long after those evil times were over. These are what Mme. Minkowska calls "motionless" houses, houses that have become motionless in their rigidity. "This rigidity and motionlessness are present in the smoke as well as in the window curtains. The surrounding trees are quite straight and give the impression of standing guard over the house". Mme. Minkowska knows that a live house is not really "motionless," that, particularly, it integrates the movements by means of which one accedes to the door. Thus the path that leads to the house is often a climbing one. At times, even, it is inviting. In any case, it always possesses certain kinesthetic features. If we were making a Rorschach test, we should say that the house has "K." Often a simple detail suffices for Mme. Minkowska, a distinguished psychologist, to recognize the way the house functions. In one house, drawn by an eight-year-old child, she notes that there is " a knob on the door; people go in the house, they live there." It is not merely a constructed house, it is also a house that is "lived-in." Quite obviously the door-knob has a functional significance. This is the kinesthetic sign, so frequently forgotten in the drawings of "tense" children. Naturally, too, the door-knob could hardly be drawn in scale with the house, its function taking precedence over any question of size. For it expresses the function of opening, and only a logical mind could object that it is used to close as well as to open the door. In the domain of values, on the other hand, a key closes more often than it opens, whereas the door-knob opens more often than it closes. And the gesture of closing is always sharper, firmer, and briefer than that of opening. It is by weighing such fine points as these that, like Francoise Minkowska, one becomes a psychologist of houses.

It reminds us that as ordinary as we might be, we can, if we choose, take the harder road, walk forth bravely under the indifferent stars. We can hazard the ravages of chance. We can choose to endure what seems unendurable, and thereby open up the possibility of prevailing. We can awaken to the world as it is, and, seeing it with eyes wide open, we can nevertheless embrace hope rather than despair. When all is said and done, I think the story tells us that hope is the hero’s domain, not the fool’s. Because we dare to hope—even when doing so might undo us—we leave the worlds we create behind us, swirling in our wakes, eternal and effervescent with the beauty of our aspirations.

When you type an address in your web browser, a group of servers called domain name servers (DNS) match the address to an IP in their database, and send you to the right place. If you typed the IP into your browser’s address bar instead, you’d actually end up in the exact same place without the routing: 74.125.139.100 opens Google.com, 17.149.160.49 opens Apple.com, and so on.

The argument goes like this: even if public grazing contributes almost nothing to local economies and national food production, it nonetheless supports "an important western lifestyle and the rural west's social and cultural fabric." If we keep ranchers working on the range, on the big wide-open of the public domain, we ensure the historical continuity of a "custom" that has gone on for close to 150 years.

The autumn months are my domain: Mirrored in pools my castles dream Of wars long past and out of mind From towers with ivy garlands twined Weak and with regret the sun Drowns itself in the sluggish green Water that marble fountains weep; Trees open their nests to the wings of sleep. The wind like a phantom seems to roar, Returned to die of love once more At the false meeting of the ways Where a temple rounds its dome in the haze. Sometimes a child is heard to laugh In the house of the priest, far off; His lamp on the ledge of the window gleams Much as the Holy Spirit flames. Then nothing. Only a plane tree sways Its crown of leaves in the dark that graze Slowly and with a sound so alight They barely ripple the silent night. I am the lord of this domain. Through halls of hollow, echoing Armor, I haul the heavy shame Of not being able to be king.

When the soul opens its shell, it liberates the fundamental center that is the spirit. And once born, the spirit spreads its wings and flies with all the freedom of love, going to nestle in the heart where resides true Divine love. Love is God in full flight, and it is found inside our own selves. It is the bird coming back to its nest, the spirit returning to its reality, and the creature to the Creator, all coming together in the domain of the One who is and always was.

as ordinary as we might be, we can, if we choose, take the harder road, walk forth bravely under the indifferent stars. We can hazard the ravages of chance. We can choose to endure what seems unendurable, and thereby open up the possibility of prevailing. We can awaken to the world as it is, and, seeing it with eyes wide open, we can nevertheless embrace hope rather than despair. When all is said and done, I think the story tells us that hope is the hero’s domain, not the fool’s.

We have to throw open the Doors of Perception. As William Blake said, “If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.” The infinite is the province of mathematics, not science. Scientists are locked into the finite and the sensory. Ghosts are denizens of the non-sensory, dimensionless, infinite domain, where, currently, our perception fails us. But, one day, we shall all see ghosts. They shall be our best friends … our eternal soul mates!

I travel your body, like the world, your belly is a plaza full of sun, your breasts two churches where blood performs its own, parallel rites, my glances cover you like ivy, you are a city the sea assaults, a stretch of ramparts split by the light in two halves the color of peaches, a domain of salt, rocks and birds, under the rule of oblivious noon, dressed in the color of my desires, you go your way naked as my thoughts, I travel your eyes, like the sea, tigers drink their dreams in those eyes, the hummingbird burns in those flames, I travel your forehead, like the moon, like the cloud that passes through your thoughts, I travel your belly, like your dreams, your skirt of corn ripples and sings, your skirt of crystal, your skirt of water, your lips, your hair, your glances rain all through the night, and all day long you open my chest with your fingers of water, you close my eyes with your mouth of water, you rain on my bones, a tree of liquid sending roots of water into my chest

Music is exquisite and requisite. It is the creative juice that greases the machinery for insight and serendipity. It unlocks the right brain, opening a door to novel domains. It constructs neural networks and fosters pattern recognition. It trains willpower and discipline. Playing music builds a bigger and better highway between the two sides of the brain. Its myelinated interconnectivity nurtures out-of-the-box thinking and simulates meditation and flow. Like dreaming, it allows our powerful unconscious mind to sift and filter all the accumulated detritus into a meaningful story.

Galois's ideas, with all their brilliance, did not appear out of thin air. They addressed a problem whose roots could be traced all the way back to ancient Babylon. Still, the revolution that Galois had started grouped together entire domains that were previously unrelated. Much like the Cambrian explosion-that stunning burst of diversification in life forms on Earth-the abstraction of group theory opened windows into an infinity of truths. Fields as far apart as the laws of nature and music suddenly became mysteriously connected. The Tower of Babel of symmetries miraculously fused into a single language.

But I think what Sarah’s story tells us is that there were in fact heroes in the Donner Party, and that heroes are sometimes the most ordinary-seeming people. It reminds us that as ordinary as we might be, we can, if we choose, take the harder road, walk forth bravely under the indifferent stars. We can hazard the ravages of chance. We can choose to endure what seems unendurable, and thereby open up the possibility of prevailing. We can awaken to the world as it is, and, seeing it with eyes wide open, we can nevertheless embrace hope rather than despair. When all is said and done, I think the story tells us that hope is the hero’s domain, not the fool’s.

Period: Mid-twentieth century Ruling power: United States Rising power: Japan Domain: Sea power and influence in the Asia-Pacific Outcome: World War II (1941–45) Imperial Japan, bolstered by decisive victories in the Sino- and Russo-Japanese wars and a growing sphere of influence that included Korea and Taiwan, became aggressively hegemonic in the twentieth century. As Japanese expansion, particularly into China, threatened the American-led “Open Door” order in the Pacific, the United States became increasingly hostile toward Japan in the 1930s. After the US sought to contain Japan by embargoing its raw material imports, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, drawing the hitherto reluctant Americans into World War II.

I travel your body, like the world, your belly is a plaza full of sun, your breasts two churches where blood performs its own, parallel rites, my glances cover you like ivy, you are a city the sea assaults, a stretch of ramparts split by the light in two halves the color of peaches, a domain of salt, rocks and birds, under the rule of oblivious noon, dressed in the color of my desires, you go your way naked as my thoughts, I travel your eyes, like the sea, tigers drink their dreams in those eyes, the hummingbird burns in those flames, I travel your forehead, like the moon, like the cloud that passes through your thoughts, I travel your belly, like your dreams, your skirt of corn ripples and sings, your skirt of crystal, your skirt of water, your lips, your hair, your glances rain all through the night, and all day long you open my chest with your fingers of water, you close my eyes with your mouth of water, you rain on my bones, a tree of liquid sending roots of water into my chest, I travel your length, like a river, I travel your body, like a forest, like a mountain path that ends at a cliff I travel along the edge of your thoughts, and my shadow falls from your white forehead, my shadow shatters, and I gather the pieces and go with no body, groping my way, the endless corridors of memory, the doors that open into an empty room where all the summers have come to rot, jewels of thirst burn at its depths, the face that vanishes upon recall, the hand that crumbles at my touch, the hair spun by a mob of spiders over the smiles of years ago,

Laissez faire! Let things alone! have said the judges of the camp. Careers are open; and although the field is covered with corpses, although the conqueror stamps on the bodies of the vanquished, although by supply and demand, and the combinations and monopolies in which they result, the greater part of society becomes enslaved to the few, let things along — for thus has decreed fair play. It is by virtue of this beautiful system that a parvenu, without speaking of the great lord who receives counties as his heritage, is able to conquer with ready money thousands of acres, expel those who cultivate his domain, and replace people and their dwellings with wild animals and rare trees. It is thus that a tradesman, more cunning or intelligent, or, perhaps, more favored by luck than his fellows, is enabled to become master of an army of workers, and as often as not to starve them at his pleasure.

A unified Iran is constituted not only politically but also affectively. Liberty and constitutional rule bring "Affection among us." The affective sentiment- that of bonding among differing brothers-produces political bonds of national unity and was associatively linked with other desires. Perhaps foremost was the desire to care for and defend the mother, in particular her bodily integrity. The same words were commonly used to discuss territory and the female body. Laura Mulvey calls these words keys "that could turn either way between the psychoanalytic and the social" (1980, 180). They are not "just words" that open up to either domain; they mediate between these domains, taking power of desire from one to the other. More appropriately, they should be considered cultural nodes of psyhosocial condensation. Tajavuz, literally meaning transgression, expresses both rape and the invasion of territory. Another effective expression, as already noted, was Khak-i pak-i vatan, the pure soil of the homeland. The word used for "pure," pak, is saturated with connotations of sexual purity. Linked to the idea of the purity of a female vatan was the metaphoric notion of the "skirt of chastity" (daman-i 'iffat) and its purity-whether it was stained or not. It was the duty of Iranian men to protect that skirt. The weak and sometimes dying figure of motherland pleaded t her dishonorable sons to arise and cut the hands of foreigners from her skirt. Expressing hope for the success of the new constitutional regime by recalling and wishing away the horrors of previous years, an article in Sur-o Israfil addressed Iran in the following terms: "O Iran! O our Mother! You who have given us milk from the blood of your veins for many long years, and who have fed us with the tissues of your own body! Will we ever live to see your unworthy children entrust your skirt of chastity to the hands of foreigners? Will our eyes ever see foreigners tear away the veil of your chastity?

I travel your body, like the world, your belly is a plaza full of sun, your breasts two churches where blood performs its own, parallel rites, my glances cover you like ivy, you are a city the sea assaults, a stretch of ramparts split by the light in two halves the color of peaches, a domain of salt, rocks and birds, under the rule of oblivious noon, dressed in the color of my desires, you go your way naked as my thoughts, I travel your eyes, like the sea, tigers drink their dreams in those eyes, the hummingbird burns in those flames, I travel your forehead, like the moon, like the cloud that passes through your thoughts, I travel your belly, like your dreams, your skirt of corn ripples and sings, your skirt of crystal, your skirt of water, your lips, your hair, your glances rain all through the night, and all day long you open my chest with your fingers of water, you close my eyes with your mouth of water, you rain on my bones, a tree of liquid sending roots of water into my chest,

❝ Outside and inside form a dialectic of division, the obvious geometry of which blinds us as soon as we bring it into play in metaphorical domains. It has the sharpness of the dialectics of ‘yes’ and 'no,’ which decides everything. Unless one is careful, it is made into a basis of images that govern all thoughts of positive and negative. Logicians draw circles that overlap or exclude each other, and all their rules immediately become clear. Philosophers, when confronted with outside and inside, think in terms of being and non-being. Thus profound metaphysics is rooted in an implitcit geometry which– whether we will or no–confers spatiality upon thought; if a metaphysician could not draw, what would he think? Open and closed, for him, are thoughts. They are metaphors that he attaches to everything, even his systems. In a lecture given by Jean Hyppolite on the subtle structure of denegation (which is quite different from the simple structure of negation) Hyppolite spoke of “a first myth of outside and inside.” And he added: “you feel the full significance of this myth of outside and inside in alienation, which is founded on these two term. Beyond what is expressed in their formal opposition lie alienation and hostility between the two.” And so, simple geometrical opposition becomes tinged with agressivity. Formal opposition is incapable of remaining calm.

Eurydice He is here, come down to look for you. It is the song that calls you back, a song of joy and suffering equally: a promise: that things will be different up there than they were last time. You would rather have gone on feeling nothing, emptiness and silence; the stagnant peace of the deepest sea, which is easier than the noise and flesh of the surface. You are used to these blanched dim corridors, you are used to the king who passes you without speaking. The other one is different and you almost remember him. He says he is singing to you because he loves you, not as you are now, so chilled and minimal: moving and still both, like a white curtain blowing in the draft from a half-opened window beside a chair on which nobody sits. He wants you to be what he calls real. He wants you to stop light. He wants to feel himself thickening like a treetrunk or a haunch and see blood on his eyelids when he closes them, and the sun beating. This love of his is not something he can do if you aren’t there, but what you knew suddenly as you left your body cooling and whitening on the lawn was that you love him anywhere, even in this land of no memory, even in this domain of hunger. You hold love in your hand, a red seed you had forgotten you were holding. He has come almost too far. He cannot believe without seeing, and it’s dark here. Go back, you whisper, but he wants to be fed again by you. O handful of gauze, little bandage, handful of cold air, it is not through him you will get your freedom.

Whatever arises in and through the body does so, as we have seen, in accordance with the operation of karma. Karma holds our locked-up awareness, the larger buddha nature, of which we are only partially aware. Whatever of our karmic totality has not made its way into conscious awareness abides in the body. At any given time, a certain aspect of that totality begins to press toward consciousness; the totality intends that this come to birth now. It might not be pressing toward awareness until just now because, before this moment, it was not ready to do so, having been held at some deep level of enfoldment. Again, it may not have appeared in consciousness because, though ready to emerge at a certain moment as a step in our development, we have resisted it and pushed it back into the body. Either way, at a certain point, there is a pressure from the body toward consciousness, to communicate whatever, in the mysterious timing of our existence, is needed or appropriate. If we resist what is appearing in the body, at the verge of our awareness—and most of us modern people do habitually resist in order to rigidly maintain ourselves—what is trying to arise is pushed back, denied, and again held at bay in the body. There it resides within the shadows of our somatic being, in an ever-increasing residue—as that which our consciousness is in the continual process of ignoring, resisting, and denying. Residing in the shadows, all those aspects of our totality that are being denied admittance into conscious awareness continue to function in a powerful but unseen way, being reflected in the nature, structure, and activity of our ego. This process roughly corresponds to the psychological concept of repression, but there are some important differences. For one thing, the activity of the ego in “repressing” experience is seen here as ultimately not negative, but dynamic and creative in function. In our life, the ego emerges out of the unconscious as the field of our conscious awareness, the immediate domain in which our experience can be received and integrated. At the same time, the ego moderates what it takes in, resisting that which it is unready and unable to receive. There is much intelligence in this. An ego that is too rigid and frozen cannot accommodate the experience that is needed in order for us to grow. But an ego that is simply overwhelmed and pushed aside by experience cannot integrate the needed experience either. Spirituality, it would seem, depends on an ego—a field of consciousness—that can change and grow with the needs of our journey toward wholeness. Thus it is that spirituality is not about “getting rid of” or obliterating the ego, but rather about enabling the ego into a process of openness, increasing experience, death, and rebirth, as it integrates more and more of the buddha nature and itself becomes more aligned with and in service to our own totality. A buddha is not a person who has eliminated or wiped away his or her ego, but someone in whom the ego has integrated so much that there is no longer any room for individual identity at all.

He was the son of a very wealthy industrialist who was to play a rather important part in the organizing of the next International Exhibition. I was struck by how knowledgeable this young man and the other few male friends of the girls were in things like clothes, ways of wearing them, cigars, English drinks, horses—a form of erudition that in him was highly developed, which he wore with a proud infallibility, reminiscent of the scholar’s modest reticence—an expertise that was quite selfsufficient, without the slightest need for any accompanying intellectual cultivation. He could not be faulted on the appropriate occasions for wearing dinner jacket or pajamas, but he had no idea of how to use certain words, or even of the most elementary rules of good grammar. That disparity between two cultures must have been shared by his father, who, in his capacity as president of the Association of Property Owners of Balbec, had written an open letter to his constituents, now to be seen as a placard on all the walls, in which he said, “I was desirous of talking to the Mayor about this matter, however, he was of a mind to not hear me out on my just demands.” At the Casino, Octave won prizes in all the dancing competitions—the Boston dip, the tango, and so on—a qualification, if he should ever need one, for a good marriage, among seaside society, a milieu in which a young girl quite literally ends up married to her “partner.” He lit a cigar and said to Albertine, “If you don’t mind,” as one excuses oneself for going on with an urgent piece of work in the presence of someone. For he always “had to be doing something,” though in fact he never did anything. Just as a total lack of activity can eventually have the same effects as overwork, whether in the emotional domain or in the domain of the body and its muscles, the constant intellectual vacuum that resided behind the pensive forehead of Octave had had the result, despite his undisturbed air, of giving him ineffectual urges to think, which kept him awake at night, as though he were a metaphysician with too much on his mind.

MT: Mimetic desire can only produce evil? RG: No, it can become bad if it stirs up rivalries but it isn't bad in itself, in fact it's very good, and, fortunately, people can no more give it up than they can give up food or sleep. It is to imitation that we owe not only our traditions, without which we would be helpless, but also, paradoxically, all the innovations about which so much is made today. Modern technology and science show this admirably. Study the history of the world economy and you'll see that since the nineteenth century all the countries that, at a given moment, seemed destined never to play anything but a subordinate role, for lack of “creativity,” because of their imitative or, as Montaigne would have said, their “apish” nature, always turned out later on to be more creative than their models. It began with Germany, which, in the nineteenth century, was thought to be at most capable of imitating the English, and this at the precise moment it surpassed them. It continued with the Americans in whom, for a long time, the Europeans saw mediocre gadget-makers who weren't theoretical or cerebral enough to take on a world leadership role. And it happened once more with the Japanese who, after World War II, were still seen as pathetic imitators of Western superiority. It's starting up again, it seems, with Korea, and soon, perhaps, it'll be the Chinese. All of these consecutive mistakes about the creative potential of imitation cannot be due to chance. To make an effective imitator, you have to openly admire the model you're imitating, you have to acknowledge your imitation. You have to explicitly recognize the superiority of those who succeed better than you and set about learning from them. If a businessman sees his competitor making money while he's losing money, he doesn't have time to reinvent his whole production process. He imitates his more fortunate rivals. In business, imitation remains possible today because mimetic vanity is less involved than in the arts, in literature, and in philosophy. In the most spiritual domains, the modern world rejects imitation in favor of originality at all costs. You should never say what others are saying, never paint what others are painting, never think what others are thinking, and so on. Since this is absolutely impossible, there soon emerges a negative imitation that sterilizes everything. Mimetic rivalry cannot flare up without becoming destructive in a great many ways. We can see it today in the so-called soft sciences (which fully deserve the name). More and more often they're obliged to turn their coats inside out and, with great fanfare, announce some new “epistemological rupture” that is supposed to revolutionize the field from top to bottom. This rage for originality has produced a few rare masterpieces and quite a few rather bizarre things in the style of Jacques Lacan's Écrits. Just a few years ago the mimetic escalation had become so insane that it drove everyone to make himself more incomprehensible than his peers. In American universities the imitation of those models has since produced some pretty comical results. But today that lemon has been squeezed completely dry. The principle of originality at all costs leads to paralysis. The more we celebrate “creative and enriching” innovations, the fewer of them there are. So-called postmodernism is even more sterile than modernism, and, as its name suggests, also totally dependent on it. For two thousand years the arts have been imitative, and it's only in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries that people started refusing to be mimetic. Why? Because we're more mimetic than ever. Rivalry plays a role such that we strive vainly to exorcise imitation. MT

In all six domains we repeatedly find two major features that set us apart: our open-ended ability to imagine and reflect on different situations, and our deep-seated drive to link our scenario-building minds together.

Organs are supple and capable of adapting to different situations and domains. Finally, they are open to development, and this is precisely what “stable systems” (Case, 1992a, p. 5) are not. But organs are much more complex than such systems, and it is much more difficult to understand them.

when you inhabit the domain of alert and affectionate attention, the domain of non-judgmental spaciousness, and simply rest in awareness with no agenda other than to be awake. We adopt this perspective of open presence and acceptance throughout the meditation practice.

There was a dreadful logic here - so obvious he had overlooked it. The real need was for a different kind of book altogether, a book for the times. Very well then, he would explore that infernal map, transcribe its morbid cartography; record the tale of a realm that was at once a city and Hell and himself. In this way Owen Maddock turned his back on the light and sought out the oracles that lurk in darkness. A feverish energy possessed him. He laboured as never before upon his given work. Now he would strive to be obscure, to lead his readers by crooked paths, baffle them with indecipherable mysteries. There would no delicacy of style, only 'thunder at midnight'. Little by little there rose up before his inner eye a new vision to replace that of the White Road that had led him nowhere: a Kingdom of Darkness, a crepuscular domain of monstrous cults that chanted, to the tolling of iron bells and the beating of brazen gongs, unpronounceable demonic litanies. He must familiarise himself with every aspect of this world, its endless roll-calls of Hell, the spells by which the doors of the pit might be opened. He must cast in awful detail the laws by which tortures were administered. He would write for days in a frenzy, his mind ranging on raven's wings through skies black as pitch. "The White Road

There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, Mine!”19 If the world and everything in it belong to God and come under his direct claim over them in and through Jesus, then there can be no sphere of life that is not radically open to the rule of God. There can be no non-God area in our lives and in our culture.

Cizek had used art as the point of entry of his thinking into a whole new world of education—an avenue that had never occurred to me. He realized that children by nature are capable of real, indeed often great, art; that artistic activity is natural for them; and that adult interference in the natural development of children as artists was detrimental to that development. From that starting point, he made a leap into the entire realm of education and child development, concluding that the natural, unhindered growth of children enables them to reach their full potential as human beings, and that adult interference in general is more of a liability than an asset in this process of growth. That leap, from art to all domains of maturation, was an intuitive one for Cizek and his followers. It was not until I read the article referred to in the opening paragraph of this section that I not only gained an understanding of the real basis for Cizek’s intuitive leap, but I also achieved a new and enriching perspective on the nature of education, one that I had hitherto hardly noticed. The key is the observation that certain activities are universal, transcultural, and therefore related to the very essence of being a human. Even more significant and telling—and here once again Cizek hit upon the truth, albeit not consciously—is the fact that these same activities are engaged in by children from the earliest age, and therefore are not, indeed cannot be, the products of sociocultural influences. This places these activities in the realm of biological evolution rather than the realm of cultural history.50 And because these three activities—making music, decorating things, and talking—are the outcome of hundreds of millions of years of evolution, they must represent in and of themselves an important aspect of the exalted place humans occupy in the natural world. In other words, these activities not only represent the outcome of evolution, but they also represent important features that account for the specific place that the Homo sapiens species occupies in the natural order. To allow children—and indeed adults—to engage in these three activities to their heart’s desire is to allow them to realize their fullest potential as human beings. External interference in their exercise, although perhaps sometimes justifiable for social reasons (man is, after all, a social animal too, another aspect of evolution), always involves some diminishing of their ability to become what they by nature are inclined to be. Once this is realized, it is almost impossible to comprehend the enthusiasm with which educators and child development specialists advocate systems for coercing children, against their clear inclination and will, to curtail these activities in favor of an externally imposed adult agenda. Although there might have been some economic justification for such curtailment in the industrial age, there is no longer the slightest pretext of an advantage gained through the suppression of the natural, evolved behavior of children. In

Even as he turned the little handle round and round, the room remained under the tenuous authority of sleep. As yet unchallenged, somnolence continued to cast its shadow over sights and sensations, over forms and formulations, over what has been said and what must be done, lending each the insubstantiality of its domain. But when the Count opened the small wooden drawer of the grinder, the world and all it contained were transformed by that envy of the alchemists—the aroma of freshly ground coffee. In that instant, darkness was separated from light, the waters from the lands, and the heavens from the earth. The trees bore fruit and the woods rustled with the movement of birds and beasts and all manner of creeping things. While closer at hand, a patient pigeon scuffed its feet on the flashing.

Silent Lucidity" Hush now, don't you cry Wipe away the teardrop from your eye You're lying safe in bed It was all a bad dream Spinning in your head Your mind tricked you to feel the pain Of someone close to you leaving the game of life So here it is, another chance Wide awake you face the day Your dream is over... or has it just begun? There's a place I like to hide A doorway that I run through in the night Relax child, you were there But only didn't realize and you were scared It's a place where you will learn To face your fears, retrace the years And ride the whims of your mind Commanding in another world Suddenly you hear and see This magic new dimension I- will be watching over you I- am gonna help you see it through I- will protect you in the night I- am smiling next to you, in Silent Lucidity (Visualize your dream) (Record it in the present tense) (Put it into a permanent form) (If you persist in your efforts) (You can achieve dream control) (Dream control) (How are we feeling today, better??) (Dream control, dream control) (Help me) If you open your mind for me You won't rely on open eyes to see The walls you built within Come tumbling down, and a new world will begin Living twice at once you learn You're safe from pain in the dream domain A soul set free to fly A round trip journey in your head Master of illusion, can you realize Your dream's alive, you can be the guide but... I- will be watching over you I- am gonna help to see it through I- will protect you in the night I- am smiling next to you.... Queensryche, Empire (1990)

In other places, little old ladies might be harmless. In the South, they were the generals. They tottered around looking sweet and smelling like magnolias and mothballs, but they could open any door, then slam it shut and lock it tight depending on their whim. They knew how to lift you up but could cut you to the bone with only a few words or a look. They were the queens of Bless Your Heart in all its forms, the matrons of moral righteousness, and the dowagers of the domestic domain. In short, they ruled the world, and this one could do a lot of good for my business. Or at least a little bit of harm. I

Identifying Cultural Norms The following domains are areas in which cultural norms may vary significantly from company to company. Transitioning leaders should use this checklist to help them figure out how things really work in the organizations they’re joining. Influence. How do people get support for critical initiatives? Is it more important to have the support of a patron within the senior team, or affirmation from your peers and direct reports that your idea is a good one? Meetings. Are meetings filled with dialogue on hard issues, or are they simply forums for publicly ratifying agreements that have been reached in private? Execution. When it comes time to get things done, which matters more—a deep understanding of processes or knowing the right people? Conflict. Can people talk openly about difficult issues without fear of retribution? Or do they avoid conflict—or, even worse, push it to lower levels, where it can wreak havoc? Recognition. Does the company promote stars, rewarding those who visibly and vocally drive business initiatives? Or does it encourage team players, rewarding those who lead authoritatively but quietly and collaboratively? Ends versus means. Are there any restrictions on how you achieve results? Does the organization have a well-defined, well-communicated set of values that is reinforced through positive and negative incentives?

I'd used open source software before when studying computer science in college, including countless caffeinated hours writing code in EMACS, a brilliant editing program made by Richard Stallman (who coined the term copyleft). I used other tools that were open, or free, or in the public domain, but that was rarely the reason I chose them.

Whatever the mechanism, this influence by future emotional rewards would be the basis of the intuitive guidance system that takes over whenever we follow our gut or whenever we act skillfully and instinctively in any domain. A premonition or hunch or creative inspiration that pays off in a confirmatory action is part of a reward loop, entraining the attentional faculty on those meaningful experiences coming down the pike. Engaged flow states may not only open the door to precognition by focusing the senses and busying the critical, conscious mind with other matters, they may also condition the precognitive apparatus, providing constant payoffs that propel us forward to the next reward in an ongoing chain—like feeding sardines to the dolphin of intuition.45 In this model, a presponsive behavior needs to be seen as one half of a two-part system, the other half being our everyday actions and experiences unfolding in linear time that serve to confirm it and thus give it meaning—for instance, Norman Mailer’s encounter with the New York Times headline about the spy downstairs. The crucial role played by confirmation is part of what makes the whole topic suspect for skeptics and even for many parapsychologists open to other forms of ESP. Since hindsight is biased by a kind of selection, it is difficult or impossible in many cases to prove that ostensible precognition is not either memory error or “just coincidence.” The difficulties go even deeper, in fact. As we will see later, a retrospective tunnel vision on events, especially after surviving some trauma—ranging from the most extreme, death and disaster, to minor chaotic upheavals like reading about a plane crash or a close brush with international espionage in the newspaper—seems to be precisely what people precognize or pre-sense in their future. We precognize our highly biased hindsight, taking us deep into a kind of recursive or fractal, M. C. Escher territory. This fractal quality, coupled with our ignorance of precognitive or presentimental processes working in our lives, creates the causal circularity or time loops I have mentioned. Such loops may be a universal feature of a world that includes precognitive creatures who are unaware of their precognition.

Node.js is a powerful, open-source, server-side JavaScript runtime environment that enables developers to build scalable and high-performance applications. Leveraging event-driven architecture and non-blocking I/O operations, Node.js allows for efficient handling of concurrent requests, making it ideal for building real-time web applications, APIs, and microservices. With its extensive ecosystem of libraries and frameworks, Node.js empowers developers to create fast, lightweight, and modern applications across various domains.

207, 2nd Floor, 3rd Main Rd, Chamrajpet, Bengaluru, Karnataka 560018 Call – +91 7022122121 Kannada Books Purchase: Veeraloka Books: Find the Universe of Writing At the core of Karnataka's dynamic scholarly practice are its rich social legacy. Veeraloka Books offers an entryway to this universe of writing through its wide assortment of Kannada books. Whether you are an ardent peruser or somebody hoping to investigate the domain of Kannada writing, Veeraloka Books gives an amazing chance to dig into the different abstract scene of Karnataka. Veeraloka Books invests wholeheartedly in organizing a determination of Kannada books that envelops different types, including fiction, genuine, verse, show, from there, the sky is the limit. From exemplary works that have endured for an extremely long period to contemporary compositions that encapsulate present day Karnataka, the book shop offers a far reaching scope of scholarly works for perusers of all preferences and inclinations. For those keen on digging into the rich social legacy of Karnataka, Veeraloka Books' assortment incorporates works that praise the state's customs, fables, history, and ethos. Perusers can investigate stories that offer experiences into Karnataka's past, present, and future, giving a nuanced comprehension of the state's social embroidery. Veeraloka Books isn't simply a stage for Kannada Books Purchase; a social center cultivates a profound appreciation for the scholarly fortunes of Karnataka. The book shop effectively advances Kannada writing and energizes discourse around crafted by Kannada writers, both laid out and arising. Through book dispatches, writer occasions, and scholarly conversations, Veeraloka Books makes an energetic local area of artistic fans who share an energy for Kannada writing. Notwithstanding its actual store, Veeraloka Books likewise gives a web-based stage, empowering perusers from across the world to access and buy Kannada books effortlessly. The book shop's site offers an easy to understand interface, permitting guests to peruse its assortment, read book depictions, and make buys from the solace of their homes. This openness guarantees that Kannada writing contacts a worldwide crowd, rising above topographical limits and language obstructions. Besides, Veeraloka Books endeavors to help neighborhood writers and distributers, assuming a urgent part in advancing the development of Kannada writing. By giving a stage to arising scholars to feature their works and arrive at a more extensive readership, the book shop adds to the improvement and development of the Kannada abstract scene. Whether you are a Kannada writing lover, an understudy investigating Karnataka's social legacy, or a peruser enthusiastic about finding new scholarly voices, Veeraloka Books offers a vivid encounter that commends the universe of Kannada writing. With its obligation to safeguarding and advancing the rich scholarly customs of Karnataka, Veeraloka Books remains as a guide for those enthusiastic about embracing the composed word in Kannada. All in all, Veeraloka Books fills in as an extension among perusers and the enthralling domain of Kannada writing, welcoming people to leave on an excursion of investigation, revelation, and appreciation for the different stories that structure the embodiment of Karnataka's scholarly legacy.

that, instead of being fused to the skull, hangs loosely beneath the brain case. This enables the upper jaw to push forward and hyperextend open—wide enough to engulf, and crush, an adult bull elephant. As if the size and voraciousness of its feeding orifice were not enough, nature has endowed this monster with a predatory intelligence, honed by 400 million years of evolution. Six distinct senses expose every geological feature, every current, every temperature gradient … and every creature occupying its domain. The predator’s eyes contain a reflective layer of tissue situated behind the retina. When moving through the darkness of the depths, light is reflected off this layer, allowing the creature to see. In sunlight, the reflective plate is covered by a layer of pigment, which functions like a built-in pair of sunglasses. While black in normally pigmented members of the species, this particular male’s eyes are a cataract-blue—a trait found in albinos. As large as basketballs, the sight organs reflexively roll back into the skull as the creature launches its attack on its prey, protecting the eyeball from being damaged. Forward of the eyes, just beneath the snout, are a pair of directional nostrils so sensitive that they can detect one drop of blood or urine in a million gallons of water. The tongue and snout provide a sense of taste and touch, while two labyrinths within the skull function as ears. But it is two other receptor organs that make this predator the master of its liquid domain. The first of these mid-to-long-range detection systems is the lateral line, a hollow tube that runs along either flank just beneath the skin. Microscopic pores open these tubes to the sea. When another animal creates a vibration or turbulence in the water, the reverberations stimulate tiny hairs within these sensory cells that alert the predator to the source of the disturbance—miles away! Even more sensitive are the hunter’s long-range receptor cells, located along the top and underside

Carrying body and soul and embracing the one, can you avoid separation? Can you let your body become as supple as a newborn child’s? In the opening and shutting of heaven’s gate, can you play the feminine part? Can you love your people and govern your domain without self-importance? Giving birth and nourishing; having, yet not possessing; working, yet not taking credit; leading without controlling or dominating. One who heeds this power brings the Tao to this very earth. This is the primal virtue.

As a professional, a leader or an entrepreneur, there will be times in your career when you’ll be an outsider, either because you have changed sectors or jobs, or started a new business where full domain knowledge is not your core strength. Embrace this status, be a quick learner and an even sharper listener. ♦ Build a team that complements yet challenges you, and hones your skill sets, and get them aligned with the big picture sooner rather than later. ♦ I’m often asked about the keys to success as an outsider. The irony, I say, is that the raw material for any entrepreneur or leader to make an impact as an outsider comes from within. It’s a lesson I have learnt and relearnt every day in the two decades I spent in the media and entertainment business.

Halloween (known among European pagans as Samhain, pronounced “sa-wen”) is traditionally the day when the dead return to visit the living, similar to the Asian “Wandering Souls” festival mentioned above. It is the day when the gate between the living and the dead is open, a favorite day for evocations of spirits and demons. Candlemas, on the other hand, is the day of “quickening,” when the earth begins to wake from its slumber, a day of promise for the future, of the celebration of fertility, of anticipation for the bounty of the coming year. One could say, therefore, that the first rocket launch on Halloween was an evocation of the daimon of flight, or perhaps in a darker context a breaching of the barrier between this world and the next, an initiatic rending of the veil of the Temple: space being seen as the domain of both the dead and the higher spiritual forces. The actual birth of the American space program on Candlemas is, of course, also an auspicious event, ripe with mythical connotations. It is not the intention of this author to suggest that the selection of these dates was deliberate on the part of von Karman, Parsons, von Braun or the other space engineers. Indeed, by the time of the Explorer I launch in 1958 Parsons himself had already been dead six years. It is the intention, however, to point out these synchronicities as they occur, because they are evidence of deeper, more sinister, forces at work,

transporting and captivation can also harden into indifference, and then the open is taken as a place of common, objectively present things which seem to be the beings, because they are actual. On account of this concealed indifference deriving from the semblant absence of transporting and captivation, these (transporting and captivation) then appear as exceptions, as extraordinary, whereas they indeed show the ground and essence of truth. That indifferent validity [Gleich-gültigkeit] is also the domain in which all representing, opinion, and correctness play out (cf. The grounding: on space). That essence of truth, however, the transporting-captivating clearing and concealing as the origin of the “there,” essentially occurs in its ground which we experience as ap-propriation. The approach and absconding, the advent and retreat, or the simple remaining absent of the gods; for us in the sovereignty, i.e., beginning and dominion over this occurrence, the initial and final sovereignty which will show itself as the last god. In the intimations of the last god, being itself, the event as such, first becomes visible, and this shining requires both the grounding of the essence of truth as clearing-concealing and its final sheltering in the changed forms of beings.

Only humans perceive an open realm. Unless the strict relation between ἀλήθεια and openness is maintained, the essence of the open, as that essence is understood within the history of beyng, can never be thought with essential legitimacy. Only in interrogating the essential occurrence of beyng does thinking attain the concept of the “open” as thus determined. Only where this openness obtains is there “world” as structure of the steadfastly grounded open realm (truth) of beings. A being is a possible object, something standing over and against (ἀντί), only because it stands in the open domain of being. Precisely where there is an “over and against,” something more originary occurs essentially, the clearing of the “in between.” And precisely this open domain is denied to plant, animal, and everything that merely lives. To be sure, this has happened only where beings have become objects, because at the same time the being of beings is no longer appreciated in its essence but, instead, is taken to be purely decided: precisely as the certain, what is bent back to in “reflexion,” and, thus fastened down, the secured. This lack of appreciation of being is, in the mode of the oblivion of being, a proper mode of the truth of beings, a mode that all the more testifies to the essential occurrence of being, i.e., to the disconcealment of the open.

How blessed to know that we dwell in the domains of grace  and not of law! When thinking of my state before God the question is  not, "Am I perfect in myself before the law?" but, "Am I perfect in  Christ Jesus?" That is a very different matter. We need not enquire,  "Am I without sin naturally?" but, "Have I been washed in the fountain  opened for sin and for uncleanness?" It is not "Am I in myself well  pleasing to God?" but it is "Am I accepted in the Beloved?

According to the Mundell-Fleming Theorem, countries cannot simultaneously maintain an independent monetary policy, capital mobility, and fixed exchange rates. If a government chooses fixed exchange rates and capital mobility it has to give up monetary autonomy. If it chooses monetary autonomy and capital mobility it has to go with floating exchange rates. Finally, if it wishes to combine fixed exchange rates with monetary autonomy it has to limit capital mobility. In a paper published in 2000, Rodrik argued that the open-economy trilemma can be extended to what he called the political trilemma of the world economy. The elements of Rodrik’s political trilemma, in its more recent (2011) version, are: hyper-globalization, the nation state, and democratic politics. The claim is that it is possible to have at most two of these things, as in the standard trilemma of international economics. If we want deep globalization (‘hyper-globalization’), we have to go either with the nation state, in which case the domain of democratic politics will have to be significantly restricted, or else with democratic politics. In the latter case we would have to give up the nation state in favour of global federalism. If we want democratic legitimacy we have to choose between the nation state and deep globalization. Finally, if we wish to keep the nation state, we have to choose between democratic legitimacy at home and deep globalization internationally.

Rahab could swim the waters above and below the firmament. It was all her territory. But her special domain was the Abyss. From there, she could access every body of water that ultimately connected to this underwater abode. Her birth waters were Lake Urimiya, where Elohim created her and held her at bay when he established the heavens and the earth. She was in the Lake again at that moment. She had returned to this sacred ground to give birth to her own spawn. The Nephilim paddled on the surface of the water. They were unaware of the nemesis below, a protective mother sea dragon and her very hungry newborn offspring, Leviathan. Leviathan was every bit the armored sea serpent as its parent. Even so young, it was already about half the size of Rahab. But it had something its progenitor did not: seven heads. Seven dragon heads on seven snakelike necks with seven times the predator’s snapping jaws, and seven times the rows of razor teeth. Leviathan’s strike zone was wide and it was more agile and speedier than Rahab. And it had seven times the fury. The Nephilim were oblivious to the shadowy forms approaching them from the darkness below. They filled the waters with their crafts The lead skiffs were only two thirds of the way across. The first casualties came at the front of the line. A huge explosion of water erupted. Pontoons snapped in two, throwing Nephilim into the water. Yahipan screamed, “RAHAB!!” The Nephilim stopped rowing and looked about the water. The huge serpentine armor broke the surface again, crushing a slew of the flatboats and dragging Nephilim into the depths. The spiny back cut through the water and disappeared. The Rephaim yelled orders. The Nephilim rowed for their lives. But it was an easy feast for the monsters of the deep. Rahab simply opened her mouth and scooped up dozens of Nephilim like so many minnows. Leviathan came next, with the seven dragon heads snapping up Nephilim faster than they could get out of the way. Leviathan might be a newborn and smaller than its mother, but already armor covered it. It was even able to launch small pillars of fire from its nostrils. Its youth and speed made up for its size as it darted and dodged around, all of its heads coordinated in a bloodbath of feeding. Inanna wondered where all that food went. Some Nephilim tried to fight back But it was futile and the smart ones made for the shoreline. They hoped they might get lucky and be overlooked by their serpentine predators. That was only the beginning. The sorry paddlers were no match for the worst of all Elohim’s creatures. Another creature came up from the depths. Its body could not be seen, only tentacles bursting from the water and crushing demigods in its grip. Yahipan and Thamaq were in the middle of the mayhem and counted eight of these snakelike appendages grabbing hapless soldiers.

Europeana also addresses some of the key obstacles facing the digital heritage industry, including the legal issues that arise about what constitutes the public domain when user engagement meets linked open data.

As a sign of power the hand has a dynamic aspect: it is poised to act and conquer. Open and extended, it symbolizes the opposite of power; the willingness to lay down arms, the proffered hand a greeting, a sign of peace and reconciliation... Hegel called the hand of man 'der beseelte Werkmeister seines Glucks--the inspired maker of his own happiness. It can make happiness to others as well.

We are not capable of foreseeing the creative possibilities that this kind of deconstruction—the deconstruction of the old sacrificial system—produces. I think that we must examine our history and try to see whether, beneath what has already occurred, there are not additional layers of phenomena waiting to be revealed; whether some aspects of life that used to be constrained by the old sacrificial system are not going to flourish, other domains of knowledge, other ways of living. Everything that the Passion undid in the cultural sphere might well be an opening, an extraordinary source of enrichment. I am certain it is. One must also keep in mind what Jesus called the “signs of the times.”4

Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov stirred at half past eight to the sound of rain on the eaves. With a half-opened eye, he pulled back his covers and climbed from bed. He donned his robe and slipped on his slippers. He took up the tin from the bureau, spooned a spoonful of beans into the Apparatus, and began to crank the crank. Even as he turned the little handle round and round, the room remained under the tenuous authority of sleep. As yet unchallenged, somnolence continued to cast its shadow over sights and sensations, over forms and formulations, over what has been said and what must be done, lending each the insubstantiality of its domain. But when the Count opened the small wooden drawer of the grinder, the world and all it contained were transformed by that envy of the alchemists—the aroma of freshly ground coffee.

Unless you're living in the best neighborhoods, Philadelphia is indeed everything David Lynch claims it is: a very sick, twisted, violent, fear-ridden, decadent and decaying place. Huyen was so shocked, she wanted to go back to Vietnam immediately. Only pride prevented her from doing so. Grays Ferry was sullen and desolate and everyone seemed paranoid. Saigon is often squalid but it is never desolate. Vietnam is a disaster, agreed, but it is a socialized disaster, whereas America is -- for many people, natives or not -- a solitary nightmare. If Americans weren't so stoic and alienated, if they weren't' so cool, they wouldn't be so quiet about their desperation. Huyen could handle poverty, but she had no aptitude for paranoia, the one skill you needed to survive in Philadelphia. In Saigon you dreaded being cheated or robbed; in Philadelphia you feared getting raped and killed. In the end, Philadelphia was even worse than Eraserhead, because it didn't last for 108 minutes but went on forever. As in Vietnam, Huyen sought comfort in American movies to escape from the real America she could see just outside her window. Every American home was its own inviolable domain, a fortress with the door never left open. The rest of the world could go to hell as long as there was enough beer in the fridge and a good game on TV. And utopia was already on the internet, why go outside if you didn't have to? In the morning, Huyen kept the door locked, bolted and chained, and watched Jerry Springer -- in his glasses and tweed suit the image of a college professor -- to learn more about Americans and improve her colloquial English. In the afternoon, she took a bus to the YMCA to attend an ESL class. At night, the couple barely screwed in the land of bountiful screwing. His wife was so tense, Jaded went back to masturbating.

Call it the openness aversion. Cultural agoraphobia. We are systematically likely to undervalue the importance, viability, and productive power of open systems, open networks, and nonproprietary production.

In the clamoring industry scene of Myanmar, opening learning experiences and molding achievement depends on grasping the market elements. Statistical surveying assumes a urgent part in directing organizations towards informed choices and key headways. How about we dive into the domain of best market research companies in Myanmar and investigate the top organizations that are preparing for industry greatness! best market research companies in Myanmar -amtmarketresearch We assist our clients with opening learning experiences and shape With regards to exploring the perplexing business sector scene of Myanmar, one organization stands apart for its excellent ability in statistical surveying - amtmarketresearch. With a mission to assist clients with opening learning experiences and shape their prosperity direction, this unique firm blows away in conveying noteworthy bits of knowledge. amtmarketresearch brags a group prepared specialists who are knowledgeable in the subtleties of the Myanmar market. Their fitted way to deal with research guarantees that clients get custom tailored techniques that line up with their interesting objectives and difficulties. By utilizing state of the art procedures and industry mastery, they engage organizations to pursue informed choices that drive unmistakable outcomes. In a serious commercial center like Myanmar, having a believed accomplice like amtmarketresearch can have a significant effect. Their devotion to greatness and obligation to client achievement put them aside as one of the most mind-blowing statistical surveying organizations in the country. Prologue to Statistical surveying in Myanmar Myanmar, a country wealthy in culture and history, is likewise a place that is known for arising potential open doors for organizations. As the market scene advances quickly, understanding shopper conduct and industry patterns becomes urgent for progress. This is where statistical surveying assumes an essential part. best market research companies in Myanmar includes assembling and examining information to reveal experiences that drive informed direction. By digging into socioeconomics, inclinations, and buying designs, organizations can fit their methodologies to actually address the issues of the nearby market. From conventional overviews to creative advanced devices, statistical surveying procedures keep on developing in Myanmar. Organizations are utilizing innovation to contact more extensive crowds and accumulate continuous input on items and administrations. In this powerful climate, remaining in front of the opposition requires a profound comprehension of the nearby subtleties and elements forming shopper conduct. Statistical surveying fills in as a compass directing organizations towards development and maintainability in Myanmar's energetic commercial center. Significance of Statistical surveying for Organizations in Myanmar Statistical surveying holds massive significance for organizations in Myanmar. It goes about as a directing light, enlightening the way towards outcome in the powerful market scene of this Southeast Asian country. By leading careful statistical surveying, organizations can acquire important experiences into buyer inclinations, contest investigation, and arising patterns. Understanding the requirements and needs of the neighborhood populace is critical for fitting items or administrations that reverberate with Myanmar's different segment portions. Statistical surveying assists organizations with pursuing informed choices in view of information driven proof as opposed to suppositions or mystery. In a quickly developing business sector like Myanmar, remaining in front of contenders requires constant checking and examination of industry patterns. Statistical surveying empowers organizations to adjust rapidly to changing economic situations and jump all over chances before their rivals do. In addition, putting resources i

Intelligence agencies and Western governments have known for decades that China has a bioweapons program. It was rarely spoken about, kept to the domain of classified reports or intelligence files. But Chinese military-affiliated scientists were discussing the weaponisation of coronaviruses publicly and openly – and they did so five years before the Covid-19 pandemic.

Morning's Serenade by Stewart Stafford Stirred by a magpie's auction bids, I opened up our curtained eyelids, To pale dawn's reverential blinking, Beyond my lady's distant inkling. Anointed by the infant sun's rays, I stand in regal morning’s praise; Surveying virgin domain’s expanse, Before the hatchling public dance. The early-risen owl hoots carried far, The songbirds played off fading stars, Cockcrow drew in a loping red fox, Scattering fawns and sheep flocks. My lady spent, sports a drowsy crown, Her chest rises, then slowly down, Cityscape visions to last night's desire, Golden tresses tossed in oriole fire. To the kitchen, a connoisseur's start, A lover's labour, a chef's work of art, Crack avian treasures, new life's motif. Ground coffee, perfumed weekend relief. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.

champ /ʃɑ̃/ I. nm 1. (terre cultivable) field • dans un ~ de colza | in a field of rapeseed • des ~s de coton | cotton fields • couper or prendre à travers ~s | to cut across the fields • travailler aux ~s | to work in the fields • se promener dans les ~s | to walk in the fields • en pleins ~s | in open country 2. (étendue) field • ~ de glace | ice field • ~ de neige | snowfield • ~ pétrolifère or de pétrole | oil field • ~ de dunes | dunes (pl) 3. (domaine) field • mon ~ d'action/de recherche | my field of action/of research • le ~ culturel/politique | the cultural/political arena • le ~ des polémiques/investigations | the scope of the controversies/investigations • le ~ est libre, on peut y aller | (lit) the coast is clear, we can go; (fig) the way is clear, we can go • avoir le ~ libre | to have a free hand • laisser le ~ libre à qn | (gén) to give sb a free hand(en se retirant) to make way for sb 4. field • le ~ visuel | the field of vision • être dans le ~ | to be in shot • entrer dans le/sortir du ~ | to come into/go out of shot • être hors ~ | [personnage] to be offscreen ou out of shot • une voix hors ~ | an offscreen voice • prendre du ~ | (fig) to stand back 5. field • ~ acoustique/électrique/magnétique | sound/electric/magnetic field 6. field • ~ conceptuel/dérivationnel/lexical/sémantique | conceptual/derivational/lexical/semantic field 7. field • ~ de vecteurs/scalaires/tenseurs | vector/scalar/tensor field 8. field II. loc adv all the time voir aussi: sur-le-champ III. Idiome • mourir au champ d'honneur | to be killed in action

Johnny developed a list of what he calls “Google Dorks,” or a string that can be used to search in Google to find out information about a company. For example if you were to type in: site:microsoft.com filetype:pdf you be given a list of every file with the extension of PDF that is on the microsoft.com domain. Being familiar with search terms that can help you locate files on your target is a very important part of information gathering. I make a habit of searching for filetype:pdf, filetype:doc, filetype:xls, and filetype:txt. It is also a good idea to see if employees actually leave files like DAT, CFG, or other database or configuration files open on their servers to be harvested.

The deal was simple: Léopold was to open the area to trade and eliminate endemic Arab slave empires and African tribal wars. In return, he hoped to bring glory to the Belgian people for having done what no other European ruler dared (one in three Europeans who traveled to the Congo died, usually of illness). The EIC had nothing to do with the Belgian government. To the extent that limited abuses and misrule occurred in some parts of his domain, this was a direct result of its not being controlled by a European state. As no less than Morel insisted (not quoted by Hochschild), “Let us refrain from referring to the Congo as a Belgian colony, let us avoid writing of ‘Belgian misrule.

As Ruth taught me, there is as much guidance in way that closes behind us as there is in way that opens ahead of us. The opening may reveal our potentials while the closing may reveal our limits-two sides of the same coin, the coin called identity. In the spiritual domain, identity is coin of the realm, and we can learn much about our identity by examining either side of the coin.

No doubt whatever exists as to the strict and literal sense which should be assigned to the term in commercial matters. It refers exclusively to traffic, to the unlimited power of every one to sell and to buy, to import and to export products and manufactured articles. No privileged situation can be created under this head, the way remains open without any restrictions to free competition in the domain of commerce, but the obligations of local Governments do not go beyond that point.

No doubt whatever exists as to the strict and literal sense which should be assigned to the term in commercial matters. It refers exclusively to traffic, to the unlimited power of every one to sell and to buy, to import and to export products and manufactured articles. No privileged situation can be created under this head, the way remains open without any restrictions to free competition in the domain of commerce, but the obligations of local Governments do not go beyond that point.

Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov stirred at half past eight to the sound of rain on the eaves. With a half-opened eye, he pulled back his covers and climbed from bed. He donned his robe and slipped on his slippers. He took up the tin from the bureau, spooned a spoonful of beans into the Apparatus, and began to crank the crank. Even as he turned the little handle round and round, the room remained under the tenuous authority of sleep. As yet unchallenged, somnolence continued to cast its shadow over sights and sensations, over forms and formulations, over what has been said and what must be done, lending each the insubstantiality of its domain. But when the Count opened the small wooden drawer of the grinder, the world and all it contained were transformed by that envy of the alchemists—the aroma of freshly ground coffee. In that instant, darkness was separated from light, the waters from the lands, and the heavens from the earth. The trees bore fruit and the woods rustled with the movement of birds and beasts and all manner of creeping things.

The way out of this ideological deadlock is to supplement the negation of positive universals with the assertion of negative universals, i.e., with an impossibility constitutive of the entire domain: yes, all positive universals are relative, unstable, they can be transformed, but not simply because of the dynamic and changeable form of reality. Positive formations are so many attempts to deal with the same underlying antagonism, and what triggers change is the ultimate failure of every attempt to resolve this antagonism. One of Lacan’s negative universals is “there is no sexual relationship,” which means that it is not enough to point out the immanent instability and historical character of the traditional gender binary—one should also add that every determinate form of gender relationship, no matter how open and flexible it is, will fail to overcome the impossibility constitutive of human sexuality.

Persistent use of the UBIQUITOUS LANGUAGE will force the model’s weaknesses into the open. The team will experiment and find alternatives to awkward terms or combinations. As gaps are found in the language, new words will enter the discussion. These changes to the language will be recognized as changes in the domain model and will lead the team to update class diagrams and rename classes and methods in the code, or even change behavior, when the meaning of a term changes.

I stopped by the kitchen on my way out, only to find that the cats had eaten all my food before they’d ordered the pizza. And this was after Muffin had presumably had some ham with Mayhem. Even a bottle of cheap champagne was open and empty. I glared at Muffin. He glared back. Is this how you treat your guests? I sighed. “Just try to clean up after yourself, okay?” There was no point in sticking around to hear his response. He was a cat. He was going to do whatever the heck he wanted. Lachlan was waiting for me down in the main entry hall, but my stomach was still grumbling. “You hungry?” “I could eat.” “Good. Let’s grab something from the kitchen real quick.” I led him down the stairs into the kitchen, the domain of Hans, the chef. Hans’s mustache quivered with delight when he saw us. He loved guests. “Food!” he cried. “You must eat!” “Could we have something quick to go, please? Something that won’t put you out.” “But it never puts me out, ma cherie!” He darted about the kitchen like a ballet dancer, quick and determined. A little brown rat sat on the counter, a platter of cheese in front of him. “How are you doing, Boris?” I asked. The rat nodded, looking happy. Bree had rescued him from a crazy healer about a month ago, and now he spent his days either in the kitchen, mooching off of Hans, who was only too happy to oblige, or hanging out with Hedy while she created the spells and potions that we used so often. Hans piled us high with sandwiches wrapped in paper, then he shoved a six-pack of juice boxes at Lachlan. “You must drink your juice!” For whatever reason, Hans was utterly obsessed with giving people juice. It was the strangest thing, but he clearly felt strongly about it. Since my sisters and I hadn’t had anyone caring for us since our mother’s death when we were thirteen, I really didn’t mind. “We’ll drink it. Thank you, Hans.

In this vision, the worlds is conceived as multiple and performative, i.e. shaped through practices, as different from a single pre-existing reality. This is why, for Bruno Latour, politics should become material, a Dingpolitik revolving around things and issues of concern, rather than around values and beliefs. Stem cells, mobile phones, genetically modified organisms, pathogens, new infrastructure and new reproductive technologies brings concerned publics into being that create diverse forms of knowledge about these matters and diverse forms of action - beyond institutions, political interests or ideologies that delimit the traditional domain of politics. Whether it is called ontological politics, Dingpolitik or cosmopolitics, this form of politics recognizes the vital role of nom-humans, in concrete situations, co-creating diverse forms of knowledge that need to be acknowledged and incorporated rather than silenced. Particular attention has gone to that most central organization of all for political geographers: the state. Instead of conceiving the state as a unified actor, it should be approached as an assemblage, which makes heterogenous points of order - geographic, ethnic, linguistic, moral, economic, technological particularities - resonate together. As such, the state is an effect rather than the origin of power, and one should focus on reconstructing the socio-material basis of its functioning. The concept of assemblage questions the naturalization of hegemonic assemblages and renders them open to political challenge by exposing their contingency.

In the domain of telling stories, a gesture homologous to translation would be a change in the plot of the original narrative which makes us think 'it is only now that we really understand what the story is about.' This is how we should approach numerous recent attempts to stage some classical opera by not only transposing its action into a different (most often contemporary) era, but also by changing some basic facts of the narrative itself. There is no a priori abstract criterion which would allow us to judge its success of failure: each such intervention is a risky act and must be judged by its own immanent standards. Such experiments often ridiculously misfire - however, not always, and there is no way to tell in advance, so one has to take the risk. Only one thing is certain: the only way to be faithful to a classic work is to take such as risk - avoiding it, sticking to the the traditional letter, is the safest way to betray the spirit of the classic. In other words, the only way to keep a classical work alive is to treat it as 'open', pointing towards the future, or, to use the metaphor evoked by Walter Benjamin, to act as if the classic work is a film for which the appropriate chemical liquid to develop was invented only later, so that it is only today that we can get the full picture. In both these cases, that of translation and that of (re)telling stories, the result is thus the same: instead of the original and its translation (or re-telling), both versions are conceived as fragmentary variations of an impossible Idea which can only be discerned by way of bringing out all its variations.

[B]ad conscience also appears as a result of incipient priestly influence, beginning in the era when priests are considered, or at least associated with, aristocracy. According to Nietzsche, the priestly valuation ‘branch[es] off from the knightly-aristocratic [manner of valuation] and then develop[s] into its opposite’. Knights (and warriors) prize ‘a powerful physicality, a blossoming, rich, even overflowing health, along with whatever is required for their preservation: war, adventure, hunting, dancing, war games, and in general everything that involves strong, free and cheerful activity’. Priests value other things. They are impotent and thus afraid to act openly for fear of reprisals. Their desire for expression remains undiminished, however, and so gives rise to hatred. This hatred is directed toward those in power, whether primeval barbarian-masters or present-day noble-masters. It results in a posture contrary to everything represented by the masters (aforementioned as knights). For Nietzsche, masters are the picture of Life. They say yes to everything in the world, whether good or bad. The impotent, by contrast, say no to everything in the world, imagining another domain to which to flee for refuge from the perceived suffering of this one. The impotent, for Nietzsche, represent something even more dangerous and profound than death. Theirs is the way (paved by the priest) to nothingness.

Britt ignored the growing sense of dread swirling inside her stomach and tapped tentatively on the battered door of Lorraine Grayson’s office. Fifteen seconds dragged by. Apart from her heart beating more rapidly in her chest, nothing happened. As she raised her hand for a second attempt, a scream from inside caused her to recoil. It was the kind she’d only ever heard in those low-budget horror movies Howie enjoyed watching on a Friday evening after drinking too much Guinness. The scream morphed into a deathly gurgle. It sounded like someone was being strangled. A few seconds of forbidding silence. Then a grunting noise, followed by the sound of something being smashed in furious retribution, caused Britt to think twice about entering this madwoman’s lair. Maybe she would come back in half an hour. Yes. A quick espresso in the NSIS canteen to allow things to calm down. By then, Lorraine’s mood would have descended from the realms of complete insanity, dropped through the domain of the dangerously demented, and settled into its more natural state of moderate lunacy. Hopefully. Then the door swung open and Lorraine’s squat figure was in front of her – cheeks crimson, hair tousled, eyes bulging, lungs heaving. From the look of her, Britt wouldn’t have been surprised to discover she had just strangled someone.

What is a Gestalt? A whole that does not reduce itself to the sum of the parts--a negative, exterior definition...It is a principle of distribution, the pivot of a system of equivalencies, it is the Etwas of which the fragmentary phenomena will be the manifestation...It has a certain weight that doubtless fixes it not in an objective site and in a point of objective time, but in a region, a domain, which it dominates, where it reigns, where it is everywhere present without one ever being able to say: it is here. It is transcendence. And who experiences it?...My body is a Gestalt and it is co-present in every Gestalt....The Gestalt therefore implies the relation between a perceiving body and a sensible, i.e. transcendent i.e. horizonal i.e. vertical and not perspectival world--It is a diacritical, oppositional, relative system whose pivor is the Etwas, the thing, the world, and not the idea...It is being for X, not a pure agile nothingness, but an inscription in an open register, in a lake of non-being, in an Eroffnung, in an offene.

In a 2006 article in Management Science, Alan MacCormack and Carliss Baldwin document an example of a product that successfully evolved from an integral to a modular architecture.21 When the software was put into the public domain as open source, the commercial firm that owned the copyright invested significant resources to make the transition. This was critical because the software could not have been maintained by distributed teams of volunteer developers if it had not been broken into smaller subsystems.

As many anthropologists have shown, hostile relations within segmentary societies can be represented by three concentric circles in the center of which stands the individual.14 In the first circle, resorting to open violence to resolve conflicts is strictly forbidden. This is the domain of the family and the household, where one gives without demanding anything in return, and where failings and refusal that elsewhere would give offense are accepted with little or no protest. Beyond this circle—outside the family or the lineage, but still within the tribe or the village—is the domain of limited conflicts and ritualized warfare. Here the use of violence as a way of resolving disputes is allowed, but efforts are made to limit violence and to ensure equilibrium between the adversaries. Finally there is a third circle, often referred to as the domain of extreme hostility, where utterly destroying more distant enemies is not only permissible, but encouraged, and where unequal conflicts, surprise attacks, or early morning raids against defenseless villages constitute the rule. Among humans, as among chimpanzees, meetings with distantly related others often turn into u-encounters, while conflicts among close associates tend to be e-contests.

Big Sister Shen tells me this used to be a sleepy fishing village. But with the economic reforms and the opening up of China, urbanization brought construction everywhere. To get more compensation when the government exercised its eminent domain powers, villagers raced to build tall towers on their land so as to maximize the square footage of the residential space. But before they could cash in, real estate prices had risen to the point where even the government could no longer afford to pay compensation. These hastily erected buildings remain like historical ruins, witnesses to history.

I at once went towards the cinema, but before I could enter the door opened from the inside and I was standing before the Living Buddha. Conquering my surprise I bowed deeply and handed him the scarf. He took it in his left hand and with an impulsive gesture blessed me with his right. It seemed less like the ceremonial laying-on of hands than an impetuous expression of feeling on the part of a boy who had at last got his way. In the theatre three abbots were waiting with bowed heads—the guardians of His Holiness. I knew them all well and did not fail to observe how coldly they returned my greeting. They certainly did not approve of this intrusion into their domain, but they had not dared openly to oppose the will of the Dalai Lama.

In the cybernetic universe where everything is calculable, can't Evil in the sense of disorder and chaos slip into and penetrate the integral reality of the network? Isn't that what hackers do for example? Accidents are involved, certainly. Paul Virilio speaks of this much better than I can. But what I am saying is of another order: it is unpredictable. It is power turning against itself. It is not necessarily the apocalypse but it is a disaster in the sense of a form made irrepressible regardless of the will of the actors and their negative actions or sabotage. Certainly, many negative things can happen to the system, but it will always be an objective or objectal negativity related to the technology itself, not a symbolic irruption. I am afraid that this game remains internal to integral reality. Perhaps there are some who can penetrate the cracks in this cybernetic universe? I must say that I do not know the internal rules of the game for this world, and I do not have the means to play it. This is not a philosophical or moral disavowal or prejudice on my part. It is just that I am situated somewhere else and I cannot do otherwise. From the outside, I can see that everything works and that the machine allows everything to function. Let us allow that system to proceed normally - or abnormally- until it runs its course; let us leave to the machine what belongs to the machine without trying to humanize it or make it an anthropoid object. For me, I will always have an empty, perfectly nonfunctional and therefore free space where I can express my thoughts. Once the machine has exhausted all of its functions, I slip into what is left, without trying to judge or condemn it. Judgment is foreign to the radicality of thought. This thinking has nothing scientific, analytic or even critical about it, since those aspects are now all regulated by machines. And maybe a new spacetime domain for thought is now opening?

Why do you allow these men who are in power to rob you step by step, openly and in secret, of one domain of your rights after another, until one day nothing, nothing at all will be left but a mechanised state system presided over by criminals and drunks? Is your spirit already so crushed by abuse that you forget it is your right - or rather, your moral duty - to eliminate this system? - 3rd Leaflet of the White Rose

Autumn Psalm A full year passed (the seasons keep me honest) since I last noticed this same commotion. Who knew God was an abstract expressionist? I’m asking myself—the very question I asked last year, staring out at this array of racing colors, then set in motion by the chance invasion of a Steller’s jay. Is this what people mean by speed of light? My usually levelheaded mulberry tree hurling arrows everywhere in sight— its bow: the out-of-control Virginia creeper my friends say I should do something about, whose vermilion went at least a full shade deeper at the provocation of the upstart blue, the leaves (half green, half gold) suddenly hyper in savage competition with that red and blue— tohubohu returned, in living color. Kandinsky: where were you when I needed you? My attempted poem would lie fallow a year; I was so busy focusing on the desert’s stinginess with everything but rumor. No place even for the spectrum’s introverts— rose, olive, gray—no pigment at all— and certainly no room for shameless braggarts like the ones that barge in here every fall and make me feel like an unredeemed failure even more emphatically than usual. And here they are again, their fleet allure still more urgent this time—the desert’s gone; I’m through with it, want something fuller— why shouldn’t a person have a little fun, some utterly unnecessary extravagance? Which was—at least I think it was—God’s plan when He set up (such things are never left to chance) that one split-second assignation with genuine, no-kidding-around omnipotence what, for lack of better words, I’m calling vision. You breathe in, and, for once, there’s something there. Just when you thought you’d learned some resignation, there’s real resistance in the nearby air until the entire universe is swayed. Even that desert of yours isn’t quite so bare and God’s not nonexistent; He’s just been waylaid by a host of what no one could’ve foreseen. He’s got plans for you: this red-gold-green parade is actually a fairly detailed outline. David never needed one, but he’s long dead and God could use a little recognition. He promises. It won’t go to His head and if you praise Him properly (an autumn psalm! Why didn’t I think of that?) you’ll have it made. But while it’s true that my Virginia creeper praises Him, its palms and fingers crimson with applause, that the local breeze is weaving Him a diadem, inspecting my tree’s uncut gold for flaws, I came to talk about the way that violet-blue sprang the greens and reds and yellows into action: actual motion. I swear it’s true though I’m not sure I ever took it in. Now I’d be prepared, if some magician flew into my field of vision, to realign that dazzle out my window yet again. It’s not likely, but I’m keeping my eyes open though I still wouldn’t be able to explain precisely what happened to these vines, these trees. It isn’t available in my tradition. For this, I would have to be Chinese, Wang Wei, to be precise, on a mountain, autumn rain converging on the trees, a cassia flower nearby, a cloud, a pine, washerwomen heading home for the day, my senses and the mountain so entirely in tune that when my stroke of blue arrives, I’m ready. Though there is no rain here: the air’s shot through with gold on golden leaves. Wang Wei’s so giddy he’s calling back the dead: Li Bai! Du Fu! Guys! You’ve got to see this—autumn sun! They’re suddenly hell-bent on learning Hebrew in order to get inside the celebration, which explains how they wound up where they are in my university library’s squashed domain. Poor guys, it was Hebrew they were looking for, but they ended up across the aisle from Yiddish— some Library of Congress cataloger’s sense of humor: the world’s calmest characters and its most skittish squinting at each other, head to head, all silently intoning some version of kaddish. Part 1

The brown ant had already forgotten its home. To the twilight Earth and the stars that were just coming out, the span of time may have been negligible, but, for the ant, it was eons. In days now forgotten, its world had been overturned. Soil had taken flight, leaving a broad and deep chasm, and then soil had come crashing down to fill it back in. At one end of the disturbed earth stood a lone black formation. Such things happened frequently throughout this vast domain, the soil flying away and returning, chasms opening up and being filled, and rock formations appearing like visible markers of each catastrophic change. Under the setting sun, the ant and hundreds of its brethren had carried off the surviving queen to establish a new empire. Its return visit was only a chance passing while searching for food.