Orr Quotes

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle. "That's some catch, that Catch-22," he observed. "It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka agreed.

Hope is a verb with its shirtsleeves rolled up.

The plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind. It needs people who live well in their places. It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane. And these qualities have little to do with success as we have defined it.

Forget about style; worry about results.

If we’re not supposed to dance, Why all this music?

Orr had a tendency to assume that people knew what they were doing, perhaps because he generally assumed that he did not.

There are no environments where you're only going to win, because life just isn't like that.

Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. That's some catch, that catch-22.

Bee there Orr Bee A Rectangular Thyng

And yet I swear I love this earth that scars and scalds, that burns my feet. And even hell is holy.

When I was a kid," Orr replied, "I used to walk around all day with crab apples in my cheeks. One in each cheek." ... A minute passed. "Why?" [Yossarian] found himself forced to ask finally. Orr tittered triumphantly. "Because they're better than horse chestnuts... When I couldn't get crab apples," Orr continued, "I used horse chestnuts. Horse chestnuts are about the same size as crab apples and actually have a better shape, although the shape doesn't matter a bit." "Why did you walk around with crab apples in your cheeks?" Yossarian asked again. "That's what I asked." "Because they've got a better shape than horse chestnuts," Orr answered. "I just told you that." "Why," swore Yossarian at him approvingly, "you evil-eyed, mechanically aptituded, disaffiliated son of a bitch, did you walk around with anything in your cheeks?" "I didn't," Orr said, "walk around with anything in my cheeks. I walked around with crab applies in my cheeks. When I couldn't get crab apples I walked around with horse chestnuts. In my cheeks.

To me, poetry is about survival first of all. Survival of the individual self, survival of the emotional life.

She acts like she don't like you" "She doesn't like anyone" "She likes Capitan Black", Orr reminded. "That's because he treats her like dirt. Anyone can get a girl that way

One word can change your life forever. I love you I hate you Think about it

The mind and the breath are the king and queen of human consciousness".

The plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind.

Orr was not a fast reasoner. In fact, he was not a reasoner. He arrived at ideas the slow way, never skating over the clear, hard ice of logic, nor soaring on the slipstreams of imagination, but slogging, plodding along on the heavy ground of existence.

Developing better people should be the number one goal for any coach when dealing with kids. In trying to develop better people, we are going to develop more and better pros.

I was born with a knife in one hand and a wound in the other.

It takes years and maturity to make the discovery that the power of faith is nobler than the power of doubt; and that there is a celestial wisdom in the ingenuous propensity to trust, which belongs to honest and noble natures.

Oh, they're there all right," Orr had assured him about the flies in Appleby's eyes after Yossarian's fist fight in the officers' club, "although he probably doesn't even know it. That's why he can't see things as they really are." "How come he doesn't know it?" inquired Yossarian. "Because he's got flies in his eyes," Orr explained with exaggerated patience. "How can he see he's got flies in his eyes if he's got flies in his eyes?

Maybe she loved me, maybe not – who knows? Not even the gods can see into a human heart – it’s that dark.

Were we to confront our creaturehood squarely, how would we propose to educate? The answer, I think is implied in the root of the word education, educe, which means "to draw out." What needs to be drawn out is our affinity for life. That affinity needs opportunities to grow and flourish, it needs to be validated, it needs to be instructed and disciplined, and it needs to be harnessed to the goal of building humane and sustainable societies. Education that builds on our affinity for life would lead to a kind of awakening of possibilities and potentials that lie dormant and unused in the industrial-utilitarian mind. Therefore the task of education, as Dave Forman stated, is to help us 'open our souls to love this glorious, luxuriant, animated, planet.' The good news is that our own nature will help us in the process if we let it.

Writing often reveals us to ourselves, lets us name what’s important to us and what has been silent or silenced inside us.

Where would I be if not for your wild heart? I ask this not from love, but selfishly— how could I live? How could I make my art?

The important element is the way in which all things are connected. Every thought and action sends shivers of energy into the world around us, which affects all creation. Perceiving the world as a web of connectedness helps us to overcome the feelings of separation that hold us back and cloud our vision. This connection with all life increases our sense of responsability for every move, every attitude, allowing us to see clearly that each soul does indeed make a difference to the whole.

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to.

It makes far better sense to reshape ourselves to fit a finite planet than to attempt to reshape the planet to fit our infinite wants

Orr’s gods were nameless and unenvious, asking neither worship nor obedience.

As Dr. Leonard Orr has noted, the human mind behaves as if it were divided into two parts, the Thinker and the Prover. The Thinker can think about virtually anything. (...) The Prover is a much simpler mechanism. It operates on one law only: Whatever the Thinker thinks, the Prover proves. To cite a notorious example which unleashed incredible horrors earlier in this century, if the Thinker thinks that all Jews are rich, the Prover will prove it. It will find evidence that the poorest Jew in the most run-down ghetto has hidden money somewhere. Similarly, Feminists are able to believe that all men, including the starving wretches who live and sleep on the streets, are exploiting all women, including the Queen of England.

Somehow something has gone wrong with poetry in our culture. We have lost touch with its purpose and value, and in doing so, we have lost contact with essential aspects of our own emotional and spiritual lives.

Narcissism is not self-love. It's the opposite of that. It's a nagging horror that you are, deep down, unloveable. A narcissist needs the love, attention and admiration of others to survive because he or she cannot produce enough healthy self-respect to be at peace.

Nim loved the ocean because it was always there, wherever she looked and as far as she could see, but it was too huge and powerful to understand and too dangerous to

To be alive: not just the carcass / But the spark. That's crudely put, but... If we're not supposed to dance, Why all this music?

To learn by heart is to learn By hurt—grief inscribing Its wisdom in the soft tissue. Song you sing, poem you are— Finger moving, precise As a phonograph needle, Along the groove of scar.

Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle. 'That's some catch, that Catch-22,' he observed. 'It's the best there is,' Doc Daneeka agreed. Yossarian saw it clearly in all its spinning reasonableness. There was an elliptical precision about its perfect pairs of parts that was graceful and shocking, like good modern art, and at times Yossarian wasn't quite sure he saw it at all, just the way he was never quite sure about good modern art or about the flies Orr saw in Appleby's eyes. he had Orr's word to take for Appleby's eyes.

And to live only once– What if that’s not enough?

Maybe it was always simple: Loss surrounds us. Who would deny it? We ourselves are loss, are lost.

„Aleksandra egyrészt agyrázkódást szenvedett, másrészt sokkot kapott. Továbbá nem szabad megfeledkeznünk a hipotermiáról sem. Egy egészséges, ruhátlan ember a saját testhőmérsékletét még nulla fok körüli hőmérsékleten is képes egy órán át tartani. Utánanéztem, a gyilkosság éjszakáján nyolc fok volt. Aleksandra valószínűleg órákat bolyongott a szabad ég alatt, a tünetei legalábbis erre engednek következtetni. Tíz fok alatti levegőhőmérsékleten már felléphet hipotermia. Ilyenkor a szívverés lelassul, a légzés ritkul, és felületessé válik. A szervezet hőszabályozása kimerül, a testhőmérséklet folyamatosan csökken. Bágyadtság, álmosság, érzékcsalódás jelentkezik. A vérnyomás leesik. Szívritmuszavar lép fel. A bőr erei összehúzódnak, a kéz- és lábujjak, a fül, orr, az ajkak elkékülnek, elszürkülnek. Az áldozat beszéde érthetetlen lesz, tántorog, a viselkedése zavarttá, ésszerűtlenné válik.

She felt like a tiger in a cage, trying to burst free.

Orr was one of the homeliest freaks Yossarian had ever encountered, and one of the most attractive.

Orr slept. He dreamed. There was no rub.

Orr hasn't got brains enough to be unhappy.

One of my wise teachers, Dr. William F. Orr, told me, “There is only one thing evil cannot stand and that is forgiveness.

Mr. Orr: "Lord of a thousand worlds am I, And I reign since time began; And night and day, in cyclic sway, Shall pass while their deeds I scan. Yet time shall cease, ere I find release, For I am the Soul of Man.

I love when the environmentalist David Orr says, “The planet does not need more ‘successful people.’ The planet desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of all kinds. It needs people to live well in their places. It needs people with moral courage willing to join the struggle to make the world habitable and humane, and these qualities have little to do with success as our culture defines it.

The human mind is a product of the Pleistocene age, shaped by wildness that has all but disappeared. If we complete the destruction of nature, we will have succeeded in cutting ourselves off from the source of sanity itself. Hermetically sealed amidst our creations and bereft of those of the Creation, the world then will reflect only the demented image of the mind imprisoned within itself. Can the mind doting on itself and its creations be sane?

An idea is a gift, a finished project is turning that gift into a book by making yourself write even when you don't want to. There is no such thing as a block of time to write. You have to carve time from a busy day. Elaine L. Orr

Why,' swore Yossarian at him approvingly, 'you evil-eyed, mechanically-aptituded, disaffiliated son of a -----, did you walk around with anything in your cheeks?' 'I didn't,' Orr said, 'walk around with anything in my cheeks. I walked around with crab apples in my cheeks. When I couldn't get crab apples, I walked around with horse chestnuts. In my cheeks.

Time is only the river of memory.

Her eye and my ‘I’: Her gazing Creates me.

There was no established procedure for evasive action. All you needed was fear, and Yossarian had plenty of that, more fear than Orr or Hungry Joe, more fear even than Dunbar, who had resigned himself submissively to the idea that he must die someday

Fred's question: 'Dr. Orr, what is one little word that would wipe out evil?' 'Fred, it's 'forgiveness,' ' his mentor said without hesitation. 'The only thing that evil cannot stand is forgiveness. It simply disintegrates in the presence of forgiveness.

Always remember that those who are closest to you will be affected by your dreams. Somewhere along the way, they will undoubtedly have to sacrifice something in order to help you realize your goals.

In Poetry as Survival, Gregory Orr asks the survivor’s questions about violence: How could I have been that close and not been destroyed by it? Why was I spared?—questions that can initiate in a writer the quest for meaning and purpose. “But this quest born out of trauma doesn’t simply lead the survivor forward,” he writes. “First it leads him or her backward, back to the scene of the trauma where the struggle must take place with the demon or angel who incarnates the mystery of violence and the mystery of rebirth and transformation.” He is referring to Lorca’s idea of duende: a demon that drives an artist, causing trouble or pain and an acute awareness of death. Of the demon’s effect on an artist’s work, Lorca wrote: “In trying to heal the wound that never heals lies the strangeness.

Those wise ones who see that the consciousness within them is the same consciousness within all beings, attain peace. -THE KATHA UPANISHAD

For he that expects nothing shall not be disappointed, but he that expects much - if he lives and uses that in hand day by day – shall be full to running over. -EDGAR CAYCE I

As the incorporation of every moment of its experience, every influence of its contextual heritage and environment, a soul is the presence of its complete past.

I want to study The book of the world: Every vanishing page.

The way the word sinks into the deep snow of the page

The end justifies the means. But what if there never is an end? All we have is means. Orr

I know you are worried. You are right to be so, Tah-li, but life does not always allow us to walk on trails made by others. Sometimes we have to be the ones to clear the way.

George Orr stayed in Portland because he had always lived there and because he had no reason to believe that life anywhere else would be better, or different.

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle. “That’s some catch, that Catch-22,” he observed. “It’s the best there is,” Doc Daneeka agreed.

The way we see the world is not actually the world in itself. What we see is our idea of it. The truth is, we have no notion of what the world is other than through the veils of our perception.

Mike Cabral’s task force came to believe that John Orr was responsible for the vast majority of all the arsons they were studying, and by way of unverifiable proof, they pointed to the astounding statistic that showed a 90 percent drop in brush-fire activity since his arrest. In the county foothill area, brush fires had averaged sixty-seven a year clear back to 1981. After his arrest the average had dropped to one per year.

it’s not necessarily helpful to talk about poetry as if it were a device to be assembled or a religious experience to be undergone. Rather, it would be useful to talk about poetry as if it were, for example, Belgium

Pagan deity is never super-natural; existing within nature, as nature, both human and nonhuman nature, the gods are the darkness, the vibrance, the hunger, that we not only witness around us but experience within us. The gods are the cry for justice, the tug of trade, the belly-kick of loss, the bond with the land and with kin that are relayed again and again in the tales of our people and heritage, tales we daily observe in others and feel inside ourselves. The Pagan understanding of deity is therefore not wholly objective; he may acknowledge the existence of any or all gods, but each Pagan’s relationship with his gods is fuelled by his own critically subjective and visceral experience of those forces.

They were frisky, eager and exuberant, and they had all been friends in the States. They were plainly unthinkable. They were noisy, overconfident, empty-headed kids of twenty-one. They had gone to college and were engaged to pretty, clean girls whose pictures were already standing on the rough cement mantelpiece of Orr's fireplace. They had ridden in speedboats and played tennis. They had been horseback riding. One had once been to bed with an older woman. They knew the same poeple in different parts of the country and had gone to school with each other's cousins.

...He was irritable with Orr, who had found two crab apples somewhere and walked with them in his cheeks until Yossarian spied them there and made him take them out. Then Orr found two horse chestnuts somewhere and slipped those in until Yossarian detected them and snapped at him again to take the crab apples out of his mouth. Orr grinned and replied that they were not crab apples but horse chestnuts and that they were not in his mouth but in his hands, but Yossarian was not able to understand a single word he said because of the horse chestnuts in his mouth and made him take them out anyway.

Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn’t really crazy.” There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to.

In the desert you always need water,' [Selethen] told [Horace]. 'A wise traveller never goes past a chance to refill his water skins.' 'Is there nowhere else they could do this?' Halt asked. Selethen tapped another mark into the sand with his dagger. 'There are the Orr-San Wells, he said. 'They're smaller and not as reliable.

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.

There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and he could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.

James Orr put it well: “He who with his whole heart believes in Jesus as the Son of God is thereby committed to much else besides. He is committed to a view of God, to a view of man, to a view of sin, to a view of Redemption, to a view of the purpose of God in creation and history, to a view of human destiny found only in Christianity.

When I was a kid, I used to walk around all day with crab apples in my cheeks. One in each cheek.” I threw the book down. It was impossible to read anything with a guy like Orr around you. “Why?” I finally asked. “Because they’re better than horse chestnuts,” he answered with a twinge of triumph in his voice. “Why’d you walk around with crab apples in your cheeks? That’s what I asked,” I said, glaring at him. He didn’t notice, of course. He was still pacing around the room. “When I couldn’t get crab apples, I used horse chestnuts. They’re about the same size and actually have a better shape, though the shape don’t matter much. Who belongsa this?” He was holding the hunting knife from the mosquito-net bar by the dead man in our tent. That guy Orr’d pick up anything. I told him it was the dead man’s. So he chucked it backwards, and it landed three inches away from the dead man’s head. If Old Orr had better aim, it probably woulda killed the guy, if he weren’t already dead. “Why did you walk around with anything in your cheeks?” I was losing my patience now. You always lose your patience when you’re talking with a guy like Orr. “I didn’t walk around with anything in my cheeks. I walked around with crab apples in my cheeks, and when I couldn’t get crab apples I used horse chestnuts. In my cheeks. One in each cheek.” “Why?” “Because I wanted…

The planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind.

Passion is a key word for any athlete, regardless of the sport. It’s important in any profession, for that matter.

That is wrong, Tah-li. Your spirit can not soar if its wings are clipped.

Hope is a verb with the sleeves rolled up.

They were taught to be technicians, not thinkers, in a culture that is long on know-how and short on know-why.

Csak egy csapda volt, és ez a 22-es csapdája volt, amely leszögezte, hogy bárki, aki közvetlen és valóságos veszélyben saját biztonságára gondol, az a döntésre képes elme természetes működéséről tesz bizonyságot. Orr őrült, tehát le lehet szerelni. Csak annyit kell tennie, hogy kéri a leszerelését, de ha kéri a leszerelését, akkor már nem lehet őrült, és további bevetésekre küldhető. Orr lehet őrült, ha további bevetésekre megy, és lehet egészséges, ha nem megy. Ha egészséges, akkor viszont mennie kell. Ha megy, akkor őrült, és nem kell mennie; de ha nem akar menni, akkor egészséges, és mennie kell. Yossariant mélységesen megrendítette a 22-es zárótételének abszolút egyszerűsége, és tisztelettel füttyentett. – Ez ám a csapda, ez a 22-es – jegyezte meg.

Sure there’s a catch,’ Doc Daneeka replied. ‘Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn’t really crazy.’ There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one’s own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn’t, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn’t have to; but if he didn’t want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.

when poets go back by way of memory and imagination to past traumas to engage or re-engage them, then those poets are taking control—are shaping and ordering and asserting power over the hurtful events. In lyric poems, they’re both telling the story from their point of view and also shaping the experience into an order (the poem) that shows they have power over what (in the past) overpowered them.

the worth of education must now be measured against the standards of decency and human survival-the issues now looming so large before us in the twenty-first century. It is not education, but education of a certain kind, that will save us.

The wild is an integral part of who we are as children. Without pausing to consider what or where or how, we gather herbs and flowers, old apples and rose hips, shiny pebbles and dead spiders, poems, tears and raindrops, putting each treasured thing into the cauldron of our souls. We stir our bucket of mud as if it were, every one, a bucket of chocolate cake to be mixed for the baking. Little witches, hag children, we dance our wildness, not afraid of not knowing. But there comes a time when the kiss of acceptance is delayed until the mud is washed from our knees, the chocolate from our faces. Putting down our wooden spoon with a new uncertainty, setting aside our magical wand, we learn another system of values based on familiarity, on avoiding threat and rejection. We are told it is all in the nature of growing up. But it isn't so. Walking forward and facing the shadows, stumbling on fears like litter in the alleyways of our minds, we can find the confidence again. We can let go of the clutter of our creative stagnation, abandoning the chaos of misplaced and outdated assumptions that have been our protection. Then beyond the half light and shadows, we can slip into the dark and find ourselves in a world where horizons stretch forever. Once more we can acknowledge a reality that is unlimited finding our true self, a wild spirit, free and eager to explore the extent of our potential, free to dance like fireflies, free to be the drum, free to love absolutely with every cell of our being, or lie in the grass watching stars and bats and dreams wander by. We can live inspired, stirring the darkness of the cauldron within our souls, the source, the womb temple of our true creativity, brilliant, untamed

In the seventeenth century, John Locke spoke of tolerance. Asking, ‘Where is the man that has incontestable evidence of the truth of all he holds?’ he asserted that nobody could ever be sure of what is true. How do we have the right, then, to proclaim our own infallible truth or judge others’ ideas as right or wrong? Once again Locke’s words support a fundamental concept within modern *Pagan thought, and one here that allows a circle of Pagans to gather together to share prayers of reverence and respect in ceremony, a Wiccan devotee of Demeter who sees her as one aspect of the Great Goddess she calls Isis, beside a Druid polytheist who lives in the service of his god Gwyn ap Nydd, a Witch who is a priestess of the horse goddess Epona, an animist honouring a power she calls Darkness, a Heathen who has struck a good deal with Odin, and a chaos magician who thinks they’re all completely mad, himself honouring the power that seethes within the patterns of all life. The harmony that allows them to stand in ceremony together comes from that acknowledgement that there is no one truth that can be shared. Each individual has questioned, studied, explored, experienced life and made choices of belief that are uniquely personal.

Each night, I knelt on a marble slab and scrubbed at the blood. I scrubbed for years and still it was there. But tonight the bones in my feet begin to burn. I stand up and start walking, and the slab appears under my feet with each step, a white road only as long as your body.

– Orr é doido? – Sem dúvida. – Pode dá-lo por incapaz? – Claro que posso. Mas primeiro tem de me pedir. Faz parte do regulamento. – Então, porque não lhe pede? – Porque é doido. Só um lunático continuaria a participar em missões de combate depois de escapar por uma unha negra tantas vezes. Com certeza que posso dá-lo combate não está realmente doido. (...) Havia apenas um ardil e era o Artigo 22, o qual especificava que a preocupação de um homem pela sua própria segurança perante perigos reais e imediatos constituía o resultado do funcionamento de uma mente racional.

Call me old-fashioned, but when I was growing up, and especially playing sports, we learned that you don’t throw someone under the bus. Mind you, I have no problem sharing the truth when it comes to a particular topic or event, as you are about to see. But telling the truth and piling on are two different things entirely.

I saw her as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. This beautiful woman with a gigantic smile on her face was just about bouncing up and down despite the orthopedic boot she had on her foot as she waved me into a parking space. I felt like I’d been hit in the gut. She took my breath away. She was dressed in workout clothes, her long brown hair softly framing her face, and she just glowed. I composed myself and got out of the car. She was standing with Paul Orr, the radio host I was there to meet. Local press had become fairly routine for me at this point, so I hadn’t really given it much thought when I agreed to be a guest on the afternoon drive-time show for WZZK. But I had no idea I’d meet her.

Incommunicable. Language used for communication with individual-persons will not contain other forms of relationship. Jor Jor.” The right hand, a great, greenish, flipperlike extremity, came forward in a slow and perhaps tentative fashion. “Tiua’k Ennbe Ennbe.” Orr shook hands with it. It stood immobile, apparently regarding him, though no eyes were visible inside the dark-tinted, vapor-filled headpiece. If it was a headpiece. Was there in fact any substantial form within that green carapace, that mighty armor? He didn’t know. He felt, however, completely at ease with Tiua’k Ennbe Ennbe. “I don’t suppose,” he said, on impulse again, “that you ever knew anyone named Lelache?” “Lelache. No. Do you seek Lelache.” “I have lost Lelache.” “Crossings in mist,” the

The deer carcass hangs from a rafter. Wrapped in blankets, a boy keeps watch from a pile of loose hay. Then he sleeps and dreams about a death that is coming: Inside him, there are small bones scattered in a field among burdocks and dead grass. He will spend his life walking there, gathering the bones together. Pigeons rustle in the eaves. At his feet, the German shepherd snaps its jaws in its sleep.

Round-bottomed, soft-bellied, irrational, magical, too caring, too carefree, proudly demanding, unfettered by dependence, sexually unashamed, hairy, hungry, unpredictable, silently present, intangibly distant, ceaselessly gossipy, alarmingly uninhibited, seething with potential, incomprehensible, altogether unfathomable, dangerous and deliciously powerful, she is the hag. She bleeds. She laughs so hard her belly shakes, she snorts and farts. She is the dark side of woman, the inside, the raw side beneath the surface skin we are taught so well to cleanse and tone and remedy with paint. She is the woman whose self-expression is not quite under control. Mysterious, intuitive, emotional, curvaceous, lustful, needy, selfish, natural and free, she is the me we long to - but know we shouldn’t - reveal. Feeling

You mean there's a catch?" "Sure there's a catch," Doc Daneeka replied. "Catch-22. Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy." There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane then he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle. "That's some catch, that Catch-22," he observed. "It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka agreed.

Exploring all I could find, often with reckless dedication, I devoured the philosophies and theologies of animistic and shamanistic traditions. Hungrily I began learning: how to feel connection with the wind and the waves, how to hear the songs of the land and the stories of the ancestors, how to dissolve into darkness and ride the thermals of light. Slowly I discovered how these traditions are still alive, not just in lands that, with a mix of disquiet and envy, Western cultures call primitive and uncivilized. Returning to the islands of my ancestors, with wonder and relief, I found animistic religions in the rolling hills and flowering gardens of Britain. To my surprise and delight, I found too that here my passion for science was as nurtured as my soul’s artistic creativity. There was nothing in quantum physics or molecular biology, or the theories of the physiology of consciousness that could negate my growing understanding and experience of sanctity. I found the power of reason here, naturally inherent within the language of a religion.

- Kad sam bio klinac – odvrati Orr – hodao sam po cijeli dan s divljim jabukama u ustima. S po jednom ispod svakog obraza. Yossarian odloži torbicu iz koje je počeo vaditi toaletne potrepštine, pa se sumnjičavo sav ukruti. Prođe jedna minuta. - A zašto? – nije mogao da najposlije ne zapita. Orr se slavodobitno naceri. - Zato što su bolje nego divlje kestenje – odgovori. Orr je klečao na podu šatora. Radio je bez predaha, rastavljao ventil, pomno rasprostirao sve sićušne djeliće, brojio ih i onda beskonačno proučavao svaki pojedini od njih, kao da nikad u životu nije vidio ništa ni približno slično, pa onda ponovo sastavljao cijeli mali mehanizam, pa opet, i opet, i opet, i opet, a da nije ni najmanje gubio strpljenje ni zanimanje, niti pokazivao znakove umora ni namjeru da ikad završi posao. Yossarian ga je promatrao kako se bakće, i bio je uvjeren da će biti prisiljen da ga ubije s predumišljajem ako ne bude prestao. Pogled mu pade na lovački nož koji je mrtvac objesio iznad okvira mreže protiv komaraca onoga dana kad je stigao. Nož je visio uz mrtvačevu praznu kožnu futrolu iz koje je Havermayer ukrao revolver. - Kad nisam mogao doći do divljih jabuka – nastavi Orr – uzimao sam divlje kestenove. Divlji kestenovi su otprilike iste veličine kao divlje jabuke i zapravo imaju bolji oblik, iako oblik nije uopće važan. - A zašto si nosio divlje jabuke u ustima? – upita ga iznova Yossarian. – To sam te pitao. - Zato što imaju bolji oblik nego divlji kestenovi – odgovori Orr – Upravo sam ti to sad rekao. - A zašto si ti – opsova Yossarian i zadivljeno – zlopogleđo, odrode i kučkin sine sa sklonošću za tehniku, nosio bilo šta u ustima? - Ja nisam nosio bilo šta u ustima – reče Orr – Ja sam nosio divlje jabuke u ustima. Kad nisam imao divlje jabuke, nosio sam divlje kestenove. U ustima. Orr se kesio. Yossarian odluči da šuti i šutio je. Orr je čekao. Yossarian je čekao dulje. - Po jedan ispod svakog obraza – reče Orr. - Zašto? Orr to jedva dočeka. - Kako zašto? Yossarian odmahnu glavom smješkajući se i ne hoteći dalje govoriti. - Nešto je čudno na ovom ventilu – razmišljaše Orr naglas. - Šta to? – priupita Yossarian. - Zato što sam htio… Yossarian je već znao. - Isuse Kriste! Zašto si htio… - … Da imam obraze kao jabuke. - … Da imaš obraze kao jabuke? – pripita Yossarian. - Htio sam da imam obraze kao jabuke – ponovi Orr. – Još dok sam bio klinac, htio sam da jednom imam obraze kao jabuke, pa sam odlučio da radim na tome dok ih ne dobijem, i bogami sam radio dok ih nisam dobio, a eto vidiš kako sam to postigao, noseći divlje jabuke u ustima po cijele dane. On se ponovo naceri. – Po jednu ispod svakog obraza. - A zašto si htio da imaš obraze kao jabuke? - Nisam ja htio da imam obraze kao jabuke – reče Orr. – Ja sam htio da imam velike obraze. Nije mi bilo toliko stalo do boje, samo sam htio da budu veliki. Radio sam na tome baš kao oni luđaci o kojima pišu u novinama kako po cijele dane stišću gumene lopte samo zato da ojačaju ruke. Zapravo sam i ja bio jedan od tih luđaka. I ja sam po cijele dane nosio u rukama lopte. - Zašto? - Kako zašto? - Zašto si po cijele dane nosio u rukama lopte? - Zato što su lopte… - poče Orr. - … Bolje nego divlje jabuke? Orr odmahnu glavom smijuckajući se. - Ja sam to radio zato da sačuvam svoj dobar glas, ako me tko uhvati kako nosim divlje jabuke u ustima. Kad sam imao lopte u rukama, mogao sam poricati da u ustima imam divlje jabuke. Kad god bi me tko zapitao zašto nosim u ustima divlje jabuke, samo bih otvorio šake i pokazao da nosim gumene lopte, a ne divlje jabuke, i da su mi u rukama, a ne u ustima. To je dobar izgovor. Ali nisam nikad znao jesam li ga jasno izložio, jer te ljudi prilično teško razumiju kad govoriš sa dvije divlje jabuke u ustima.

I’m not trying to tell anyone not to watch TV, but if you’ve ever spent a long winter afternoon playing shinny with the whole neighborhood, or a summer evening playing softball with anyone who shows up at the diamond, you will know that kids who don’t have the chance to organize themselves and solve their own problems and feel the exhilaration of sport for its own sake are missing out on something irreplaceable. In those days, we rarely waited for an adult to organize our social time or sports experiences. We took that upon ourselves. We were the ones who decided which game to play, where to play it, when to assemble, and who would be on whose team.

I saw her as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. This beautiful woman with a gigantic smile on her face was just about bouncing up and down despite the orthopedic boot she had on her foot as she waved me into a parking space. I felt like I’d been hit in the gut. She took my breath away. She was dressed in workout clothes, her long brown hair softly framing her face, and she just glowed. I composed myself and got out of the car. She was standing with Paul Orr, the radio host I was there to meet. Local press had become fairly routine for me at this point, so I hadn’t really given it much thought when I agreed to be a guest on the afternoon drive-time show for WZZK. But I had no idea I’d meet her. Paul reached out his hand and introduced himself. And without waiting to be introduced she whipped out her hand and said, “Hi! I’m Jamie Boyd!” And right away she was talking a mile a minute. She was so chipper I couldn’t help but smile. I was like that little dog in Looney Toons who is always following the big bulldog around shouting, “What are we going to do today, Spike?” She was adorable. She started firing off questions, one of which really caught my attention. “So you were in the Army? What was your MOS?” she asked. Now, MOS is a military term most civilians have never heard. It stands for Military Occupational Specialty. It’s basically military code for “job.” So instead of just asking me what my job was in the Army, she knew enough to specifically ask me what my MOS was. I was impressed. “Eleven Bravo. Were you in?” I replied. “Nope! But I’ve thought about it. I still think one day I will join the Army.” We followed Paul inside and as he set things up and got ready for his show, Jamie and I talked nonstop. She, too, was really into fitness. She was dressed and ready for the gym and told me she was about to leave to get in a quick workout before her shift on-air. “Yeah, I have the shift after Paul Orr. The seven-to-midnight show. I call it the Jammin’ with Jamie Show. People call in and I’ll ask them if they’re cryin’, laughin’, lovin’, or leavin’.” I couldn’t believe how into this girl I was, and we’d only been talking for twenty minutes. I was also dressed in gym clothes, because I’d been to the gym earlier. She looked down and saw the rubber bracelet around my wrist. “Is that an ‘I Am Second’ bracelet? I have one of those!” she said as she held up her wrist with the band that means, “I am second after Jesus.” “No, this is my own bracelet with my motto, ‘Train like a Machine,’ on it. Just my little self-motivator. I have some in my car. I’d love to give you one.” “Well, actually, I am about to leave. I have to go work out before my shift,” she reminded me. “You can have this one. Take it off my wrist. This one will be worth more someday because I’ve been sweating in it,” I joked. She laughed and took it off my wrist. We kept chatting and she told me she had wanted to do an obstacle course race for a long time. Then Paul interrupted our conversation and gently reminded Jamie he had a show to do. He and I needed to start our interview. She laughed some more and smiled her way out the door.

We probably all had the dream, back then, that one day our talent would take us to the big time, and there was nothing wrong with dreaming that dream. That’s what fuels every game of shinny or back-lot baseball in the world. Of course, as you move along in your hockey career, reality begins to set in for most people. The dream begins to slowly fade away with the understanding that you will probably never be playing under the bright lights. But that’s beside the point—that’s not what childhood games are about, anyway. The life lessons we learned about competing remained with us even into adulthood. The types of competitions you engage in as an adult might be different from those you participated in when you were a child, but the rules from childhood still apply. What you learn on the frozen bays and ball fields doesn’t become less relevant, no matter where you end up.