Simple Interior Quotes

In art, in history man fights his fears, he wants to live forever, he is afraid of death, he wants to work with other men, he wants to live forever. He is like a child afraid of death. The child is afraid of death, of darkness, of solitude. Such simple fears behind all the elaborate constructions. Such simple fears as hunger for light, warmth, love. Such simple fears behind the elaborate constructions of art. Examine them all gently and quietly through the eyes of a boy. There is always a human being lonely, a human being afraid, a human being lost, a human being confused. Concealing and disguising his dependence, his needs, ashamed to say: I am a simple human being in a too vast and complex world. Because of all we have discovered about a leaf...it is still a leaf. Can we relate to a leaf, on a tree, in a park, a simple leaf: green, glistening, sun-bathed or wet, or turning white because the storm is coming. Like the savage, let us look at the leaf wet or shining with sun, or white with fear of the storm, or silvery in the fog, or listless in too great heat, or falling in autumn, dying, reborn each year anew. Learn from the leaf: simplicity. In spite of all we know about the leaf: its nerve structure phyllome cellular papilla parenchyma stomata venation. Keep a human relation -- leaf, man, woman, child. In tenderness. No matter how immense the world, how elaborate, how contradictory, there is always man, woman, child, and the leaf. Humanity makes everything warm and simple. Humanity...

My needs were simple. I didn't bother much with themes or felicitous phrases and skipped fine descriptions of weather, landscapes and interiors. I wanted characters I could believe in and I wanted to be made curious about what was to happen to them.

My needs were simple I didn't bother much with themes or felicitous phrases and skipped fine descriptions of weather, landscapes and interiors. I wanted characters I could believe in, and I wanted to be made curious about what was to happen to them. Generally, I preferred people to be falling in and out of love, but I didn't mind so much if they tried their hand at something else. It was vulgar to want it, but I liked someone to say 'Marry me' by the end.

Las personas somos complicadas. Hay mucho más en nuestro interior de lo que se percibe a simple vista.

Look. Folks. It's simple. If you have poor taste in decorating, don't go nuts in the entryway. Wait until your guests are inside before you spring something unusual on them.

A Tita le encantaría ser una simple semilla, no tener que dar cuentas a nadie de lo que se estaba gestando en su interior, y poder demostrarle al mundo su viente germinado sin exponerse al rechazo de la sociedad

Simple is complicated.

This gap, always there. Somehow unbridgeable, whether it's across a wide Pacific gulf of language and culture, or just a simple sentence, father to son, always distance.

Descubrí muchas cosas aquel verano, y no sólo un collar perdido. Descubrí que el Paraíso puede encontrarse en el tacto de una piel suave, que las caricias son más fuertes que los golpes, que los besos pueden hacerte volar; descubrí que había sentimientos insospechados en mi interior que se puede reír y llorar al mismo tiempo, que es tan excitante querer como ser querido; descubrí, en definitiva, algo tan simple y tan complejo, tan vulgar y tan extraordinario, tan dulce y tan amargo, como el amor.

Tell me something about yourself.” “I’d rather save the small talk.” “There’s no need to be rude, child, and believe me, I’m asking for a reason. Tell me something about yourself. Anything.” “I’m twenty-eight . . .” He rejected that one out of hand. “Something personal. Something . . . interior. Tell me something you love.” I thought about it for a long few seconds, then said, “Ralph Lauren’s summer line this year. Not the spring collection, which was way too pastel, and the winter was really crappy, all bland browns and grays. But he’s got some good fabrics this summer, kind of a hot tangerine matched with dull red. Only he skirts, though. Hiscapri pants are for shit. Pockets? Who wants pockets on capri pants? What woman in her right mind puts extra fabric on her hips?” There was a long and ringing silence. Patrick’s eyes were wide and rather frightened. He finally cleared his throat and said, “Anything else apart from fashion?” “What do you want me to say? Puppies? Fluffy kittens? Babies?” “Let’s try something simple. Your favorite food.” I rolled my eyes. “Chocolate.” Duh .

A Tita le encantaría ser una simple semilla, no tener que dar cuentas a nadie de lo que se estaba gestando en su interior, y poder mostrarle al mundo su vientre germinado sin exponerse al rechazo de la sociedad. Las semillas no tenían este tipo de problemas, sobre todo, no tenían madre a la que temer, ni miedo a que las enjuiciaran.

La vida de un hombre se divide básicamente en tres períodos. En el primero, uno ni siguiera piensa que envejecerá, ni que el tiempo pasa ni que, desde el primer día, cuando nacemos, caminamos hacia un único fin. Pasada la primera juventud, empieza el segundo período, en el que uno se da cuenta de la fragilidad de la propia vida y lo que en un principio es una simple inquietud va creciendo en el interior como un mar de dudas e incertidumbres que te acompañan durante el resto de tus días. Por último, al final de la vida se abre el tercer período, el de la aceptación de la realidad y, consecuentemente, la resignación y la espera. A lo largo de mi existencia he conocido a muchas personas que se quedaron ancladas en alguno de esos estadios y nunca lograron superarlos. Es algo terrible.

...each day I sit down in purposeful concentration to write in a notebook, some sentences on a buried truth, an unnamed reality, things that happened but are denied. It is hard to describe the stillness it takes, the difficulty of this act. It requires an almost perfect concentration which I am trying to learn and there is no way to learn it that is spelled out anywhere or so I can understand it but I have a sense that it's completely simply, on the order of being able to sit still and keep your mind dead center in you without apology or fear. I squirm after some time but it ain't boredom, it's fear of what's possible, how much you can know if you can be quiet enough and simple enough. I move around, my mind wanders, I lose the ability to take words and roll them through my brain, move with them into their interiors, feel their colors, touch what's under them, where they come from long ago and way back. I get frightened seeing what's in my own mind if words get put to it. There's a light there, it's bright, it's wide, it could make you blind if you look direct into it and so I turn away, afraid; I get frightened and I run and the only way to run is to abandon the process altogether or compromise it beyond recognition. I think about Celine sitting with his shit, for instance; I don't know why he didn't run, he should've. It's a quality you have to have of being near mad and at the same time so quiet in your heart that you could pass for a spiritual warrior; you could probably break things with the power in your mind. You got to be able to stand it, because it's a powerful and disturbing light, not something easy and kind, it comes through your head to make its way onto the page and you get fucking scared so your mind runs away, it wanders, it gets distracted, it buckles, it deserts, it takes a Goddamn freight train if it can find one, it wants calming agents and sporifics, and you mask that you are betraying the brightest and the best light you will ever see, you are betraying the mind that can be host to it... ...Your mind does stupid tricks to mask that you are betraying something of grave importance. It wanders so you won't notice that you are deserting your own life, abandoning it to triviality and garbage, how you are too fucking afraid to use your own brain for what it's for, which is to be a host to the light, to use it, to focus it; let it shine and carry the burden of what is illuminated, everything buried there; the light's scarier than anything it shows, the pure, direct experience of it in you as if your mind ain't the vegetable thing it's generally conceived to be or the nightmare thing you know it to be but a capacity you barely imagined, real; overwhelming and real, pushing you out to the edge of ecstasy and knowing and then do you fall or do you jump or do you fly?

Cross that gap and everything changes. Being on this side of it means that time becomes your enemy. You don’t grind the day—the day grinds you. With the passing of every month your embarrassment compounds, accumulates with the inevitability of a simple arithmetic truth. X is less than Y, and there’s nothing to be done about that. The daily mail bringing with it fresh dread or relief, but if the latter, only the most temporary kind, restarting the clock on the countdown to the next bill or past-due notice or collection agency call.

Ahora, mi vida interior me lleva a interpretar un simple error, un malentendido, como una catástrofe.

From the shadow length in Alexandria, the angle A can be measured. But from simple geometry (“if two parallel straight lines are transected by a third line, the alternate interior angles are equal”), angle B equals angle A. So by measuring the shadow length in Alexandria, Eratosthenes concluded that Syene was A = B = 7° away on the circumference of the Earth.

Finland is world-famous for its architects and decorators, who know how to produce beautiful effects in simple ways. On my first visit to Finland, I remember being invited into the living room of one of my host’s homes, and immediately thinking to myself, “This is the most beautiful room that I’ve ever seen!” On reflection, I then wondered why I found it so beautiful, because the room was a nearly-empty cubicle with just a few pieces of simple furniture. But the materials and form of the room, and those few pieces of furniture, were typically Finnish in their simplicity and beauty

La mejor manera de conocerse no es a través de la contemplación, sino a través de la acción. Directa y simple, diáfana, la acción te pone en contacto con tu interior en el presente y sin necesidad de tanto análisis.

Allí, en el interior de aquel universo bidimensional del juego, la vida era muy simple: 'Eres tu contra la maquina. Muévete con la mano izquierda, dispara con la derecha e intenta seguir vivo todo el tiempo que puedas'.

Let us take a limited example and compare the war machine and the state apparatus in the context of the theory of games. Let us take chess and Go, from the standpoint of game pieces, the relations between the pieces and the space involved. Chess is a game of the State, or of the court: the emperor of China played it. Chess pieces are coded; they have an internal nature and intrinsic properties from which their movements, situations, and confrontations derive. They have qualities; a knight remains a knight, a pawn a pawn, a bishop a bishop. Each is like a subject of the statement endowed with relative power, and these relative powers combine in a subject of enunciation, that is, the chess player or the game’s form of interiority. Go pieces, I contrast, are pellets, disks, simple arithmetic units, and have only an anonymous, collective, or third-person function: “It” makes a move. “It” could be a man, a woman, a louse, an elephant. Go pieces are elements of a nonsubjectified machine assemblage with no intrinsic properties, only situational ones. Thus the relations are very different in the two cases. Within their milieu of interiority, chess pieces entertain biunivocal relations with one another, and with the adversary’s pieces: their functioning is structural. One the other hand, a Go piece has only a milieu of exteriority, or extrinsic relations with nebulas or constellations, according to which it fulfills functions of insertion or situation, such as bordering, encircling, shattering. All by itself, a Go piece can destroy an entire constellation synchronically; a chess piece cannot (or can do so diachronically only). Chess is indeed a war, but an institutionalized, regulated, coded war with a front, a rear, battles. But what is proper to Go is war without battle lines, with neither confrontation nor retreat, without battles even: pure strategy, whereas chess is a semiology. Finally, the space is not at all the same: in chess, it is a question of arranging a closed space for oneself, thus going from one point to another, of occupying the maximum number of squares with the minimum number of pieces. In Go, it is a question of arraying oneself in an open space, of holding space, of maintaining the possibility of springing up at any point: the movement is not from one point to another, but becomes perpetual, without aim or destination, without departure or arrival. The “smooth” space of Go, as against the “striated” space of chess. The nomos of Go against the State of chess, nomos against polis. The difference is that chess codes and decodes space, whereas Go proceeds altogether differently, territorializing and deterritorializing it (make the outside a territory in space; consolidate that territory by the construction of a second, adjacent territory; deterritorialize the enemy by shattering his territory from within; deterritorialize oneself by renouncing, by going elsewhere…) Another justice, another movement, another space-time.

Passados dois meses de tantas histórias, comecei a pensar no sentido da solidão. Um estado interior que não depende da distância nem do isolamento, um vazio que invade as pessoas e que a simples companhia ou presença humana não podem preencher, solidão foi a única coisa que eu não senti, depois de partir. Nunca. Em momento algum. Estava, sim, atacado de uma voraz saudade. De tudo e de todos, de coisas e pessoas que há muito tempo não via. Mas a saudade às vezes faz bem ao coração. Valoriza os sentimentos, acende as esperanças e apaga as distâncias. Quem tem um amigo, mesmo que um só, não importa onde se encontre, jamais sofrerá de solidão; poderá morrer de saudades, mas não estará só.

You see what I am driving at. The mentally handicapped do not have a consciousness of power. Because of this perhaps their capacity for love is more immediate, lively and developed than that of other men. They cannot be men of ambition and action in society and so develop a capacity for friendship rather than for efficiency. They are indeed weak and easily influenced, because they confidently give themselves to others; they are simple certainly, but often with a very attractive simplicity. Their first reaction is often one of welcome and not of rejection or criticism. Full of trust, they commit themselves deeply. Who amongst us has not been moved when met by the warm welcome of our boys and girls, by their smiles, their confidence and their outstretched arms. Free from the bonds of conventional society, and of ambition, they are free, not with the ambitious freedom of reason, but with an interior freedom, that of friendship. Who has not been struck by the rightness of their judgments upon the goodness or evil of men, by their profound intuition on certain human truths, by the truth and simplicity of their nature which seeks not so much to appear to be, as to be. Living in a society where simplicity has been submerged by criticism and sometimes by hypocrisy, is it not comforting to find people who can be aware, who can marvel? Their open natures are made for communion and love.

There was the low-toned and simple voice of the human being Djuna saying: I want love. There was the voice of the artist in Djuna saying: I will create the marvelous. Why should such wishes conflict with each other, or annihilate each other?

if you stay in your imagination all the time, soon your dream doesn’t work anymore because dreams need reality as nutrients. Without nutrients, animals and plants die, and if the nourishment for your dreams runs out, the world of the dream gets smaller and smaller and eventually dies. So you need both: dream and reality, imagination and actuality. Thus you have to talk to all kinds of people, look at many kinds of plants, eat all kinds of things to make your imagination new, to keep that interior world fresh. Then your own world can expand and can grow.

the dark lady who inspired Shakespeare’s sonnets, the lady of Arosa may remain forever mysterious.” (Unfortunately, because Schrödinger had so many girlfriends and lovers in his life, as well as illegitimate children, it is impossible to determine precisely who served as the muse for this historic equation.) Over the next several months, in a remarkable series of papers, Schrödinger showed that the mysterious rules found by Niels Bohr for the hydrogen atom were simple consequences of his equation. For the first time, physicists had a detailed picture of the interior of the atom, by which one could, in principle, calculate the properties of more complex atoms, even molecules. Within months, the new quantum theory became a steamroller, obliterating many of the most puzzling questions about the atomic world, answering the greatest mysteries that had stumped scientists since the Greeks. The

There are many Christians who serve God with great purity of soul and perfect self-sacrifice in the active life….They know how to find God by devoting themselves to Him in self-sacrificing labors in which they are able to remain in His presence all day long….They lead lives of great simplicity in which they do not need to rise above the ordinary levels of vocal and affective prayer. Without realizing it, their extremely simple prayer is, for them, so deep and interior that it brings them to the threshold of contemplation. Such Christians…may reach a higher degree of sanctity than other who have been apparently favored with a deeper inner life.

There is the type of man who has great contempt for "immediacy," who tries to cultivate his interiority, base his pride on something deeper and inner, create a distance between himself and the average man. Kierkegaard calls this type of man the "introvert." He is a little more concerned with what it means to be a person, with individuality and uniqueness. He enjoys solitude and withdraws periodically to reflect, perhaps to nurse ideas about his secret self, what it might be. This, after all is said and done, is the only real problem of life, the only worthwhile occupation preoccupation of man: What is one's true talent, his secret gift, his authentic vocation? In what way is one truly unique, and how can he express this uniqueness, give it form, dedicate it to something beyond himself? How can the person take his private inner being, the great mystery that he feels at the heart of himself, his emotions, his yearnings, and use them to live more distinctively, to enrich both himself and mankind with the peculiar quality of his talent? In adolescence, most of us throb with this dilemma, expressing it either with words and thoughts or with simple numb pain and longing. But usually life suck us up into standardized activities. The social hero-system into which we are born marks out paths for our heroism, paths to which we conform, to which we shape ourselves so that we can please others, become what they expect us to be. And instead of working our inner secret we gradually cover it over and forget it, while we become purely external men, playing successfully the standardized hero-game into which we happen to fall by accident, by family connection, by reflex patriotism, ro by the simple need to eat and the urge to procreate.

A soul which listens to self, which is preoccupied with its feelings, which indulges in useless thoughts or desires, scatters its forces. It is not completely under God’s sway. Its lyre is not in tune, so that when the Master strikes it, he cannot draw forth divine harmonies; it is too human and discordant    The soul which reserves anything for self in its interior kingdom, whose powers are not all “enclosed” in God, cannot be a perfect “Praise of Glory,”. . . because it is not in unity. So that, instead of persevering in praise, in simplicity, whatever may happen, it must be continually tuning the strings of its instrument, which are all a little off key. How necessary is this blessed unity for the soul that desires to live here below the life of the blessed—that is, of simple beings, of spirits.

Admiring and a little overwhelmed by the simple opulence of the limousine’s interior, she shook snowflakes from her scarf and tresses, hoping the rare effort she had put into doing her hair was not entirely ruined. This is what you’re thinking? Not: You just got into a strange car to do some verbal sparring with a strange out-of-your-league man you’ve already tagged as dangerous? Nope. Thinking about the hair. Totally.

Carece de capacidade argumentativa, não acredita que um artigo de fé, que uma "verdade" possa ser estabelecida através de provas (suas provas são "iluminações" interiores, sensações subjetivas de felicidade e auto-afirmação, simples "provas de força"). Tal doutrina não pode contradizer: não sabe que outras doutrinas existem ou podem existir, é inteiramente incapaz de imaginar um juízo oposto... E se, porventura, o encontra, lamenta por tal "cegueira" com uma sincera compaixão - pois somente ela vê a "luz".

Se lo contaré y me creerá. Lo que más nos encanta de las cosas, es lo que ignoramos de ellas conociendo algo. Igual que las personas: lo que más nos ilusiona de ellas es lo que nos hacen sugerir. El colorido espiritual que nos dejan, es a base de un poco que nos dicen y otro poco que no nos dicen. Este misterio que creamos adentro de ellas lo apreciamos mucho porque lo creamos nosotros. Hay personas que lo dicen todo y no nos dejan crear nuestro misterio. Una excepción son las personas muy simples; nos hacen pensar que eso tan simple no son ellas y pasamos toda la vida pensando qué habrá en su interior. Yo soy de las personas que lo dicen todo y no dejan crear el misterio.

Negotiation exposes something at once simple and intricate about intimacy: that it is far better to actually know your partner’s body by becoming one with their interior selves, and you can only do this by talking to them. Far from being the stereotypical “mood killer,” sexual knowing requires discussion, requires asking questions, a lesson that I and so many others have had to learn quite painfully; the worst sexual experiences of my own life occurred, as I often say, because I did not know how to ask and did not know how to tell. For too long I thought sex had to occur in a kind of monastic, knowing silence. To do anything else would be to risk giving offence, putting myself in harm’s way, or simply ruining the atmosphere; how wrong I was.

A natureza observadora e emocionalmente determinada do espírito lunar é designada em alemão pelas palavras pertencentes à raiz Sinn, que significa meditar, ter em mente, ponderar, considerar e ser contemplativo; e também contemplação, inclinação mental, assim, como sentidos e sensual; por último, mas não menos importante, o Eigen-Sinn (vontade própria, obstinação) que os homens em geral atribuem às mulheres. A consciência matriarcal age através da circum-ambulação e da meditação. Falta-lhe o propósito do pensamento dirigido, da conclusão lógica e do juízo. Sua Ação característica é um movimento em torno de um círculo, uma contemplação (Betrachtung, uma vez interpretada por Jung como trachtigmachen, engravidar) . Não tem o objetivo direto da consciência masculina, nem o fio aguçado de sua análise. Interessa-se mais pelo significativo do que por fatos e datas, e é orientada teleologicamente mais ao crescimento orgânico do que à causalidade mecânica ou lógica. Uma vez que o processo de cognição nessa “consciência lunar“ é uma gravidez e seu produto um nascimento, um processo em que toda a personalidade participa, seu “conhecimento “não pode ser partilhado, relatado ou provado. É uma posse interior, realizada e assimilada pela personalidade, mas não facilmente discutida, porque a experiência interna que está por trás dela não se presta a uma exploração verbal adequada, e dificilmente pode ser transmitida a alguém que não tenha passado pela mesma experiência. Por essa razão, uma consciência masculina pura e simples considera o “conhecimento” da consciência matriarcal não verificável, caprichoso e místico por excelência. Esse é, de fato, no sentido positivo, o cerne da questão. É a mesma espécie de conhecimento revelado nos mistérios e no misticismo. Consiste não de verdades partilhadas mas de transformações experimentadas, portanto necessariamente só tem validade para as pessoas que passaram pela mesma experiência. Para estas, o conselho de Goethe ainda vale: Sagt es niemand, nur den Weisen, Weil die Menge gleich verhohnet (Não conte a ninguém, apenas aos sábios, porque a multidão não tarda em zombar) Isto quer dizer que as percepções de consciência matriarcal são condicionadas pela personalidade que as realiza. Não são abstratas nem desemocionalizadas, pois a consciência matriarcal conserva o vínculo com o reino do inconsciente do qual seu conhecimento brota. Suas descobertas interiores, estão, em conseqüência, em oposição direta às da consciência masculina, que consiste idealmente de conteúdos conscientes abstratos, livres de emocionalismo e possuidores de uma validade universal não afetada por fatores pessoais.

- Que ondas enormes... - exclamou Thomas Buddenbrook.- Repara como se aproximam e rebentam, se aproximam e rebentam, uma atrás da outra, sem fim, sem propósito, mecânica e desordenadamente. E, no entanto, o seu marulhar é tão tranquilizador e reconfortante, como todas as coisas simples e necessárias da vida. Aprendi a gostar cada vez mais do mar... dantes, talvez preferisse as montanhas, porque ficavam mais longe daqui. Agora já não me atraem nada. Creio que apenas sentiria medo e vergonha. É que elas são muito caprichosas, tão irregulares, tão diversas... de certeza que me iria sentir muito pequeno ao pé delas. Que espécie de pessoas serão essas que preferem a monotonia do mar? Tenho a impressão de que são as que observaram por demasiado tempo- e com demasiada profundidade- as teias do seu mundo interior e que a única coisa que exigem agora, pelo menos do mundo exterior, é simplicidade... Não se trata de comparar as escaladas audazes pela montanha com o descanso sereno na areia da praia. Adiferença reside no olhar que se dirige numa e noutra direcção. Olhos seguros, obstinados e felizes, transbordantes de iniciativa, determinação e vitalidade, erram de cume em cume, ao passo que sobre a imensidão do mar- e das ondas que, conduzidas por um fatalismo místico e hipnótico, dançam e volteiam- repousa um olhar sonhador e velado, sábio e desalentado, o olhar de quem já alguma vez espreitou as profundezas e vislumbrou o triste caos da existência... Saúde e doença, é essa a grande diferença. Intrépidos, escalamos a extraordinária diversidade das montanhas denteadas e acidentadas, das alturas que rasgam os céus, a fim de pormos à prova a nossa vitalidade, intacta ainda. Repousamos, contudo, na ampla simplicidadedo mundo exterior, quando estamos cansados do caos que reina no interior.

The American novel claims to find its unity in reducing man either to elementals or to his external reactions and to his behavior. It does not choose feelings or passions to give a detailed description of, such as we find in classic French novels. It rejects analysis and the search for a fundamental psychological motive that could explain and recapitulate the behavior of a character. This is why the unity of this novel form is only the unity of the flash of recognition. Its technique consists in describing men by their outside appearances, in their most casual actions, of reproducing, without comment, everything they say down to their repetitions, and finally by acting as if men were entirely defined by their daily automatisms. On this mechanical level men, in fact, seem exactly alike, which explains this peculiar universe in which all the characters appear interchangeable, even down to their physical peculiarities. This technique is called realistic only owing to a misapprehension. In addition to the fact that realism in art is, as we shall see, an incomprehensible idea, it is perfectly obvious that this fictitious world is not attempting a reproduction, pure and simple, of reality, but the most arbitrary form of stylization. It is born of a mutilation, and of a voluntary mutilation, performed on reality. The unity thus obtained is a degraded unity, a leveling off of human beings and of the world. It would seem that for these writers it is the inner life that deprives human actions of unity and that tears people away from one another. This is a partially legitimate suspicion. But rebellion, which is one of the sources of the art of fiction, can find satisfaction only in constructing unity on the basis of affirming this interior reality and not of denying it. To deny it totally is to refer oneself to an imaginary man.

The solidity of the building, its quite interiors, the monumental presence of its white facade in the middle of the city- in all its deliberate order and calm, the hotel underlined its separateness from its setting. Its effect was felt most keenly by the menial staff, who traveled each day from their homes in the flood-threatened outskirts of Allahabad and approached their place of work with something like awe. They looked very ill at ease in their green uniforms and were obsequiously polite with guests, calling to mind the Indians who had come to serve in the new city of Allahabad built by the British after the rude shock of the Indian Mutiny of 1857, the city whose simple colonial geography was plain from my sixth-floor hostel room, the railway tracks partitioning the congested "black town," with its minarets and temple domes, from the tree-lined grid of "white town," where for a long period no Indians, apart from servants, could appear in native dress.

La pobreza de que se habla en el Evangelio nunca es un simple fenómeno material. La pobreza puramente material no salva, aun cuando sea cierto que los más perjudicados de este mundo pueden contar de un modo especial con la bondad de Dios. Pero el corazón de los que no poseen nada puede endurecerse, envenenarse, ser malvado, estar por dentro lleno de afán de poseer, olvidando a Dios y codiciando sólo bienes materiales. Por otro lado, la pobreza de que se habla aquí tampoco es simplemente una actitud espiritual. La Iglesia, para ser comunidad de los pobres de Jesús, necesita siempre figuras capaces de grandes renuncias; necesita comunidades que le sigan, que vivan la pobreza y la sencillez, y con ello muestren la verdad de las Bienaventuranzas para despertar la conciencia de todos, a fin de que entiendan el poseer sólo como servicio y, frente a la cultura del tener, contrapongan la cultura de la libertad interior, creando así las condiciones de la justicia social.

That awkward moment when you realize you’ve lived your entire life inside of a picture.” ~Peregrine Storke~ It was raining when my mother pulled up to the simple two-level brick home. Drops of water pounded on the roof of her beat up red Toyota, the sound both ominous and comfortable, before tunneling down her windows in rivers and tiny tributaries. The damp infiltrated the interior, soaking my skin despite the vehicle surrounding us. Rain was never simple this time of year in Louisiana. It always came followed by lightning, thunder, and a myriad of warnings. Leaves blew against the windshield, still full and green from summer, and I watched as one of them stuck against the glass, the leaf’s veins prominent. I wanted to sketch the way it looked now, alone and surrounded by tears, but there was no time. “Don’t forget to call me when you get there,” Mom murmured. Her knuckles were white against the steering wheel, her lips pinched. She wouldn’t cry. Mom seldom cried, she

La exigencia de la imitación de Cristo o sea, imitar el ejemplo y llegar a ser semejantes a éste, debiera tener como objetivo el desarrollo y la elevación del hombre interior; pero el creyente superficial, que tiende a las fórmulas mecánicas, ha hecho de Cristo un objeto de culto que está fuera del hombre, al que, precisamente por la veneración, se le impide penetrar en la profundidad del alma humana y crear la integridad correspondiente al modelo que sirve de ejemplo. De esta suerte, el mediador divino se queda en una imagen exterior, mientras que el ser humano continúa siendo un fragmento intacto en lo más profundo de su naturaleza. Sí, Cristo puede ser imitado hasta la estigmatización sin que el imitador se haya ajustado ni siquiera aproximadamente al modelo y el sentido de éste. Pues no se trata sólo de una imitación pura y simple, la cual deja sin transformar a la persona, con lo que se queda en un simple artificio. Antes bien, se trata de una realización del modelo con los propios medios —Deo concedente— en la esfera de la vida individual.

The general public, however intelligent, are struck only by that which it takes little trouble to understand. They have been told that the interior of the body is something more or less like the contents of a vessel filled with wine, and that this interior is not injured — that we do not become ill, except when germs, originally created morbid, penetrate into it from without, and then become microbes. “The public do not know whether this is true; they do not even know what a microbe is, but they take it on the word of the master; they believe it because it is simple and easy to understand; they believe and they repeat that the microbe makes us ill without inquiring further, because they have not the leisure — nor, perhaps, the capacity — to probe to the depths that which they are asked to believe. –Preface to La Théorie du Microzyma, as quoted in Béchamp or Pasteur?: A Lost Chapter in the History of Biology By Ethel D. Hume on page 304 [prefaced by Pasteur: Plagiarist, Imposter: The Germ Theory Exploded By R. B. Pearson], ISBN# 978-1-46790-012-6, 2011

What tempts you, Pippa?" "I-" She hesitated. "I care a great deal for meringue." He laughed, the sound bigger and bolder than she expected. "It's true." "No doubt you do. But you may have meringue anytime you like." He stood back and indicated that she should enter the carriage. She ignored the silent command, eager to make her point. "Not so. If the cook has not made it, I cannot eat it." A smile played on his lips. "Ever-practical Pippa. If you want it, you can find it. That's my point. Surely, somewhere in London, someone will take pity upon you and satisfy your craving for meringue." Her brow furrowed. "Therefore, I am not tempted by it?" "No. You desire it. But that's not the same thing. Desire is easy. It's as simple as you wish to have meringue, and meringue is procured." He waved a hand toward the interior of the carriage but did not offer to help her up. "In." She ascended another step before turning back. The additional height brought them eye to eye. "I don't understand. What is temptation, then?" "Temptation..." He hesitated, and she found herself leaning forward, eager for this curious, unsettling lesson. "Temptation turns you. It makes you into something you never dreamed, it presses you to give up everything you ever loved, it calls you to sell your soul for one, fleeting moment." The words were low and dark and full of truth, and they hovered in the silence for a long moment, an undeniable invitation. He was close, protecting her from toppling off the block, the heat of him wrapping around her despite the cold. "It makes you ache," he whispered, and she watched the curve of his lips in the darkness. "You'll make any promise, swear any oath. For one... perfect... unsoiled taste." Oh, my. Pippa exhaled, long and reedy, nerves screaming, thoughts muddled. She closed her eyes, swallowed, forced herself back, away from him and the way he... tempted her. Why was he so calm and cool and utterly in control? Why was he not riddled with similar... feelings? He was a very frustrating man. She sighed. "That must be a tremendous meringue." A beat followed the silly, stupid words... words she wished she could take back. How ridiculous. And then he chuckled, teeth flashing in the darkness. "Indeed," he said, the words thicker and more gravelly than before.

O my God! how much I long to be the missionary of Your holy will, and to teach all men that there is nothing more easy, more attainable, more within reach, and in the power of everyone, than sanctity. How I wish that I could make them understand that just as the good and the bad thief had the same things to do and to suffer; so also two persons, one of whom is worldly and the other leading an interior and wholly spiritual life have, neither of them, anything different to do or to suffer; but that one is sanctified and attains eternal happiness by submission to Your holy will in those very things by which the other is damned because he does them to please himself, or endures them with reluctance and rebellion. This proves that it is only the heart that is different. Oh! all you that read this, it will cost you no more than to do what you are doing, to suffer what you are suffering, only act and suffer in a holy manner. It is the heart that must be changed. When I say heart, I mean will. Sanctity, then, consists in willing all that God wills for us. Yes! sanctity of heart is a simple “fiat,” a conformity of will with the will of God. What could be more easy, and who could refuse to love a will so kind and so good? Let us love it then, and this love alone will make everything in us divine.

AESTHETIC SIMPLICITY For some people simplicity is an aesthetic value, so one further sense that might be attached to the notion of simple living is a preference for an uncomplicated, uncluttered living environment. Imagine, for instance, an apartment with white walls, white trim, bare wood floors, simple wooden furniture, plain white kitchenware, white towels in the bathroom, and white blankets on the simple wooden beds. Or a house where the brick walls and overhead beams are left exposed, the furniture is rustic, and any artwork on display is clearly local and amateurish. Or a study containing nothing but a desk and a chair. All these are interiors that people deliberately create for themselves. Simplicity of this sort is not necessarily frugal. The uncluttered apartment could be in the center of Paris; the plain wooden furniture might be custom-made. Wittgenstein designed a house in Vienna for his sister Margaret characterized by austere, almost minimalist aesthetic lines, yet built with no concern for cost. But although such setups may not be cheap, they make no exhibition of expense. And the styles have symbolic significance. They bespeak sympathy with the plain, the unpretentious, the unostentatious. They connote honesty, purity, and a mind focused on essentials. In the case of country retreats, closeness to nature may also be sought and expressed.

[Magyar] had an intense dislike for terms like 'illiberal,' which focused on traits the regimes did not possess--like free media or fair elections. This he likened to trying to describe an elephant by saying that the elephant cannot fly or cannot swim--it says nothing about what the elephant actually is. Nor did he like the term 'hybrid regime,' which to him seemed like an imitation of a definition, since it failed to define what the regime was ostensibly a hybrid of. Magyar developed his own concept: the 'post-communist mafia state.' Both halves of the designation were significant: 'post-communist' because "the conditions preceding the democratic big bang have a decisive role in the formation of the system. Namely that it came about on the foundations of a communist dictatorship, as a product of the debris left by its decay." (quoting Balint Magyar) The ruling elites of post-communist states most often hail from the old nomenklatura, be it Party or secret service. But to Magyar this was not the countries' most important common feature: what mattered most was that some of these old groups evolved into structures centered around a single man who led them in wielding power. Consolidating power and resources was relatively simple because these countries had just recently had Party monopoly on power and a state monopoly on property. ... A mafia state, in Magyar's definition, was different from other states ruled by one person surrounded by a small elite. In a mafia state, the small powerful group was structured just like a family. The center of the family is the patriarch, who does not govern: "he disposes--of positions, wealth, statuses, persons." The system works like a caricature of the Communist distribution economy. The patriarch and his family have only two goals: accumulating wealth and concentrating power. The family-like structure is strictly hierarchical, and membership in it can be obtained only through birth or adoption. In Putin's case, his inner circle consisted of men with whom he grew up in the streets and judo clubs of Leningrad, the next circle included men with whom he had worked with in the KGB/FSB, and the next circle was made up of men who had worked in the St. Petersburg administration with him. Very rarely, he 'adopted' someone into the family as he did with Kholmanskikh, the head of the assembly shop, who was elevated from obscurity to a sort of third-cousin-hood. One cannot leave the family voluntarily: one can only be kicked out, disowned and disinherited. Violence and ideology, the pillars of the totalitarian state, became, in the hands of the mafia state, mere instruments. The post-communist mafia state, in Magyar's words, is an "ideology-applying regime" (while a totalitarian regime is 'ideology-driven'). A crackdown required both force and ideology. While the instruments of force---the riot police, the interior troops, and even the street-washing machines---were within arm's reach, ready to be used, ideology was less apparently available. Up until spring 2012, Putin's ideological repertoire had consisted of the word 'stability,' a lament for the loss of the Soviet empire, a steady but barely articulated restoration of the Soviet aesthetic and the myth of the Great Patriotic War, and general statements about the United States and NATO, which had cheated Russia and threatened it now. All these components had been employed during the 'preventative counter-revolution,' when the country, and especially its youth, was called upon to battle the American-inspired orange menace, which threatened stability. Putin employed the same set of images when he first responded to the protests in December. But Dugin was now arguing that this was not enough. At the end of December, Dugin published an article in which he predicted the fall of Putin if he continued to ignore the importance of ideas and history.

You will also be tempted to try to hold onto a sense of presence, to make a steady state of it. It will not work. If you are lucky, you’ll just miss the moment and be frustrated. If you are successful in holding on, things will be much worse. At some point you will discover that what you are holding is not real; it is something you yourself have contrived. You will also discover that you have been suppressing and deceiving yourself in order to keep it. . . . In trying to maintain a state, we are naturally expressing our deep desire for wakeful presence in love. But it is a wrong way of expressing it. This way becomes willful so quickly and insidiously that we lose touch with our relationship with grace . . . And grace, thank God, is not dependent upon our state of mind. Some traditions would disagree with my advice. Much of the spirituality of the early Christian desert, for example, advised using all one’s mental strength to hold onto remembrance of Christ. Some Hindu and Buddhist disciplines encourage a similar forcefulness. Such effortful concentration may have a place in monastic settings and can be helpful as a temporary mental stretch before yielding into simple presence. But I do not recommend it as a steady diet for people who live in the world of families, homes, and workplaces. I have tried it myself, and it only created great trouble for me. I became depressed and irritable inside and absolutely obnoxious around friends and family. . . . I suggest you become familiar with the feeling you have inside when you make a resolution or strive to cling to something . . . Get to know the feeling well, so that whenever you feel it you can stop what you’re doing, take a breath, relax, yield a little, and let your real self turn to the real God. . . Seek to encourage yourself instead of manipulating yourself. Cultivate your receptivity to the little interior glances instead of grasping for them. Live, love, and yearn with unbearable passion, but don’t try to make it happen and don’t try to hold on when it does happen.

- Podría comerte entera - gruñó mientras besaba un camino de deseo en su piel - . Como si fueras una jugosa fruta. Como un hombre sediento de tu sabor. Una febril necesidad ardía en su interior. La lujuria nunca había sido así para él, solo con Erinni. Ella era capaz de borrar el dolor de los recuerdos con un solo gemido, acelerarle el corazón con una simple caricia, y estremecer todo su cuerpo con un beso. (...) Dayan no pudo hacer otra cosa mas que observarla, mirar las mejillas enrojecidas, y los labios abiertos en un estrangulado jadeo de placer, mientras tiraba de su ropa interior, hasta deshacerse de ella, deslizando por fin los dedos en su miel húmeda y resbaladiza. - Erinni - Dayan jadeó su nombre mientras levantaba la cabeza del pecho. No podía controlar el deseo que sentía. Su necesidad de tocarla, tenerla, probar la dulce miel era tan perentoria que creyó que se volvería loco. Plantó un dulce camino de besos a través del pecho y el cuello, hasta llegar de nuevo a los labios. - Tan suave - gruñó contra sus labios, y después los acarició mientras introducía los dedos en el interior del mojado y terso pliegue entre sus muslos. Erinni se quedó inmovil con los ojos otra vez abiertos, y lo miraba mientras susurraba su nombre una y otra vez. Los dedos se movian con lentitud por el resbaladizo pliegue hasta rodear poco a poco el hinchado clítoris. (...) - Si, Erinni - gimió contra sus labios, aún asombrado por la ternura que ella le demostraba - Tócame, por lo que mas quieras. La necesidad de sentir sus manos sobre la piel lo asustaba y enardecía a partes iguales. Lo quería todo de ella: su cuerpo, su alma, su corazón. Y en mitad de aquel frenesí, mientras enterraba la polla en el apretado y caliente coño, se imaginó que aquello era lo más cerca que jamás estaría del paraíso. (...) Erinni lo miró a la cara, y su rostro era la imagen de la sensualidad, con los ojos oscurecidos por el deseo, hambrientos y embelesados. Pudo ver allí la necesidad y la rápida perdida de control, y le encantó. (...) Dayan la miraba, con los ojos prendidos en ella como si se sorprendiera de tenerla allí.

Lenin, therefore, begins from the firm and definite principle that the State dies as soon as the socialization of the means of production is achieved and the exploiting class has consequently been suppressed. Yet, in the same pamphlet, he ends by justifying the preservation, even after the socialization of the means of production and, without any predictable end, of the dictatorship of a revolutionary faction over the rest of the people. The pamphlet, which makes continual reference to the experiences of the Commune, flatly contradicts the contemporary federalist and anti-authoritarian ideas that produced the Commune; and it is equally opposed to the optimistic forecasts of Marx and Engels. The reason for this is clear; Lenin had not forgotten that the Commune failed. As for the means of such a surprising demonstration, they were even more simple: with each new difficulty encountered by the revolution, the State as described by Marx is endowed with a supplementary prerogative. Ten pages farther on, without any kind of transition, Lenin in effect affirms that power is necessary to crush the resistance of the exploiters "and also to direct the great mass of the population, peasantry, lower middle classes, and semi-proletariat, in the management of the socialist economy." The shift here is undeniable; the provisional State of Marx and Engels is charged with a new mission, which risks prolonging its life indefinitely. Already we can perceive the contradiction of the Stalinist regime in conflict with its official philosophy. Either this regime has realized the classless socialist society, and the maintenance of a formidable apparatus of repression is not justified in Marxist terms, or it has not realized the classless society and has therefore proved that Marxist doctrine is erroneous and, in particular, that the socialization of the means of production does not mean the disappearance of classes. Confronted with its official doctrine, the regime is forced to choose: the doctrine is false, or the regime has betrayed it. In fact, together with Nechaiev and Tkachev, it is Lassalle, the inventor of State socialism, whom Lenin has caused to triumph in Russia, to the detriment of Marx. From this moment on, the history of the interior struggles of the party, from Lenin to Stalin, is summed up in the struggle between the workers' democracy and military and bureaucratic dictatorship; in other words, between justice and expediency.

Com as próprias mãos ela deu fim à existência. Talvez fosse melhor poupar-vos dos detalhes mais dolorosos, pois os fatos lastimáveis não se desenrolaram em vossa presença. Contudo sabereis o que sofreu Jocasta, até onde eu puder forçar minha memória. Quando a infeliz transpôs a porta do seu quarto lançou-se como louca ao leito nupcial; com as duas mãos ela arrancava seus cabelos. Depois fechou as portas violentamente, chamando aos gritos Laio há tanto tempo morto, gritando pelo filho que trouxera ao mundo para matar o pai e que a destinaria a ser a mãe de filhos de seu próprio filho, se merecessem esse nome. Lamentava-se no leito mesmo onde ela havia dado à luz — dizia a infeliz — em dupla geração aquele esposo tido de seu próprio esposo e os outros filhos tidos de seu próprio filho! Como em seguida ela morreu, não sei contar. Aos gritos Édipo acorreu, mas também ele não pôde presenciar a morte da rainha. Os nossos olhos não se despregavam dele correndo como um louco em todos os sentidos, pedindo em altos brados que um de nós lhe desse logo um punhal, gritando-nos que lhe disséssemos onde se achava sua esposa (esposa não, mas a mulher de cujo seio maternal saíram ele próprio e todos os seus filhos). Em seu furor não sei que deus fê-lo encontrá-la (não foi nenhum de nós que estávamos por perto). Então, depois de dar um grito horripilante, como se alguém o conduzisse ele atirou-se de encontro à dupla porta: fez girar os gonzos, e se precipitou no interior da alcova. Pudemos ver, pendente de uma corda, a esposa; o laço retorcido ainda a estrangulava. Ao contemplar o quadro, entre urros horrorosos o desditoso rei desfez depressa o laço que a suspendia; a infeliz caiu por terra. Vimos, então, coisas terríveis. De repente o rei tirou das roupas dela uns broches de ouro que as adornavam, segurou-os firmemente e sem vacilação furou os próprios olhos, gritando que eles não seriam testemunhas nem de seus infortúnios nem de seus pecados: “nas sombras em que viverei de agora em diante”, dizia ele, “já não reconhecereis aqueles que não quero mais reconhecer!” Vociferando alucinado, ainda erguia as pálpebras e desferia novos golpes. O sangue que descia em jatos de seus olhos molhava toda a sua face, até a barba; não eram simples gotas, mas uma torrente, sanguinolenta chuva em jorros incessantes. São ele e ela os causadores desses males, e os infortúnios do marido e da mulher estão inseparavelmente entrelaçados. Ambos provaram antes a felicidade, herança antiga; hoje lhes restam só gemidos, vergonha, maldição e morte, ou, em resumo, todos os males, todos, sem faltar um só!

Segundo os Shastras tradicionais, o Mestre é para o discípulo, pai, mãe e Íshwara (que significa Senhor, representa o arquétipo e, em certo sentido é a divindade eleita para o culto particular). Numa era de contestação e irreverência, tal afirmação não é nada modesta. Hoje está na moda construir frases de efeito ou emitir conceitos que façam média com o leitor. Conceitos demagógicos para cativar a opinião pública. Entretanto, as escrituras hindus não estavam preocupadas com isso e não estavam brincando quando colocaram muito claramente a posição do Mestre e do discípulo. Sendo uma filosofia do Oriente e da antiguidade, o Yôga não faz por menos: o discípulo deve total respeito, obediência, amor e fé ao seu Mestre. Caso contrário, não tem capacidade de ser discípulo nem o direito de chamar a alguém de Mestre, conforme diz a Maitrí Upanishad: “Esta ciência absolutamente secreta só deve ser ensinada a um filho ou a um discípulo totalmente devotado ao seu Mestre”. Para aquele que não souber aprender, ninguém será um Mestre competente, já que a incompetência não estará no ensinar, mas no aprender. Para aquele que aceita as normas do discipulado, o Mestre escolhido sempre é bom, pois tal discípulo está com o siddhi do aprendizado plenamente desenvolvido e aprenderá mesmo que nada seja dito, bastando a proximidade física do Mestre, o qual atua como catalisador. Por isso é importante visitar o Mestre com freqüência. Por que a proximidade física é tão importante, se o Yôga é fundamentalmente subjetivo e domina tão espetacularmente as dimensões paranormais? É porque ocorre um fenômeno denominado nyása, uma espécie de osmose, no qual, o discípulo que reúna as qualidades indispensáveis, assimila parte do conhecimento e o poder do seu Mestre através do simples convívio. Para ele, o Mestre é um catalisador vivo da força e da sabedoria que já estavam presentes no íntimo do próprio discípulo. Esse convívio é tão mais importante na medida em que é através dele que serão realizados o Guru Sêva, o Parampará e o Kripá Guru, três das mais sagradas tradições do Yôga no que se refere às relações Mestre/discípulo. Ao escolher o seu Mestre você deve aceitá-lo, acatá-lo e reconhecê-lo definitivamente e sem reservas. Não cabe da sua parte nenhuma dúvida ou questionamento. Se você não tem essa capacidade, não está a altura de ter um Mestre e vai ficar estagnado sem aprender nada profundo, nada que seja realmente Yôga. Ao que, por outro lado, tem essa capacidade no seu mais alto grau, esse consegue aprender, mesmo à distância, pois cada vez que realizar um pújá sincero, entra em sintonia interior e o Mestre fala diretamente ao seu coração, fora do tempo e do espaço. Dessa forma, pode compensar parcialmente a falta da tão importante presença física.

How does one go on after doing such unspeakable things? It's all rather simple, really," he continued, speaking in someone else's voice. "Say to yourself, 'What things?' And it becomes clear...you are blameless. They brought it on themselves. What have they ever done for you except control your life? They tore you away from your sister; they ripped you from your home. Did you ask to be saved? No! Forget them and start over...with us, your true family, my Corcitura, my own.

Image making of any sort, from simple to complex, is the result of the neural devices that assemble maps and that later allow maps to interact so that combined images generate ever more complex sets and come to represent the universes external to the nervous system, inside and outside the organism. The distribution of maps and corresponding images is not even. The images related to the interior world are first integrated in brain-stem nuclei, although they are re-represented and expanded in a few key regions of the cerebral cortex such as the insular cortices and the cingulate cortices. The images related to the exterior world are integrated mostly in the cerebral cortex, although the superior colliculi have an integrative role as well.

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Feng Shui: The Chinese Art of Placement and Interior Design with Feng Shui,

Ya sé que mucha gente no se da cuenta de que la vida en este lugar es un juego de sombras. Sólo uno que esta muerto puede dejar la careta en el reposa-caretas. Obvimente el fuego hace que uno deba ir desnudo para no pasar más calor. Dejar el traje en el reposa-trajes. Estoy sucio, sin duchar, en mi habitación. Me siento como Pitágoras en el Hades. Pero no creo que merezca esa distinción, mas tampoco la de simple pajero. Me tomo en serio al de Samos. Ya no voy a ninguna fiesta. Me dirían que buscara a mis amigos. ¿Pero no sería eso violar la regla de que para recuperar la inmortalidad uno crea sus itinerarios de salvación en el interior y no recorriendo como ´Fernando Alonso en la Indycar 200 vueltas? ¡¡PEro es siempre la misma vuelta!! Y todo acaba mal, Fernando. Que no me den esta vida que en realidad es sombra, pues aunque tengo sed de ella, ya he aprendido que no soy muy agradecido. Y supongo que ser consciente de ello es ser un poco agradecido...a Dios, porque está claro que a las criaturas que marcan sus sombras a través de la hoguera NO.

when it comes to interior design, Zen is a true reflection of balance, peace and harmony. Even though Zen is not an official design style and does not come with a list of strict rules, it is often sought after due to its minimalism, simplicity and purity of lines. It is more of a way to arrange your home such that it creates an atmosphere that will offset the stresses and problems of your daily life.

La superficialidad podía ser su piel exterior, la que los demás veían, pero la ambición era su segunda piel, la más importante, su dermis interior, la que sustentaba todo su ser, y esa era la que realmente guiaba sus pasos. Afortunadamente, muy pocos eran capaces de atisbarla a simple vista.

The true purpose of tidying is [] to live in the most natural state possible. [] Owning only what we love and what we need is the most natural condition. By putting our house in order, we can live in our natural state. We choose those things that bring us joy and cherish what is truly precious in our lives...

Jews have grown so obsessed with Israel that the overt and covert signals of anti-Semitism beamed from the interior of the Trump campaign appeared to be disregarded by people like Adelson and Bernie Marcus, the Home Depot co-founder and Republican mega-donor who seemed wowed by candidate Trump’s solemn promise to immediately move the U.S. embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem and to back Likud’s expansive settlement policy on the West Bank. Never mind that both moves were purely symbolic: Netanyahu was going to do what he was going to do regardless of Washington’s feckless policies or the location of its ambassador. What mattered was Israel, pure and simple. It was something of a comeuppance when President Trump immediately backed off his promise of an embassy move, swiftly sent a letter to Prime Minister Netanyahu scolding him on settlements, and promised a new push for Israeli-Palestinian peace talks. But beyond leaked word that Adelson was really, really, really angry, no apologies or mea culpas were forthcoming from American Jewry. Trump did make Israel a stop on his first trip abroad—the earliest visit to the Jewish state by any American president. But before his arrival, his White House made no comment on the two Israeli-American journalists who were denied visas to follow the president into Saudi Arabia, where he happily danced with swords and his commerce secretary boasted that there had been no protestors. Once he had landed in Jerusalem, Trump did note that he “just got back from the Middle East,” a moment memorialized by Ron Dermer, Israel’s ambassador to the United States, covering his face with his hand in frustration or amazement. Trump scheduled all of fifteen minutes for a stop at Yad Vashem, Israel’s revered Holocaust memorial and museum, and in his brief remarks there—from 1:27 to 1:34 p.m.—he managed both to extol the Jewish people and let slip his cherished stereotypes: “Through persecution, oppression, death, and destruction, the Jewish people have persevered. They have thrived. They’ve become so successful in so many places.” Ever solicitous, Netanyahu thanked the president, who “in so few words said so much.” No one took note of the irony that the Holocaust survivor who greeted Trump, Margot Herschenbaum, had been rescued in 1939 by the Kindertransport, which had whisked her out of Germany and had saved thousands of other Jewish children. Refugees like Herschenbaum had been denied entry to the United States during World War II, just as Trump has steadfastly denied the entry of Syrian children fleeing war and death in their own country.

Dr. Daniel Siegel has said that the mental processes of awareness, which the yogis identified as the subtle body, can be used to meditate on our entire sphere of experience, and then to be able to distinguish the experiencer from the experience that is being had. He calls this the Wheel of Awareness, a straightforward and profound practice that guides you through meditating on your five senses; the interior sense of your body (interoception), which he calls the sixth sense; your mental activities, the seventh sense; and your sense of interconnectedness, the eighth sense. These senses exist as the rim of the wheel, where our senses meet experience. The hub of the wheel, however, is our clear, calm, receptive, open, and aware sense of being. It is our center, a center that is connected to all other centers, and perhaps where we can sense divinity within us.5

Sin embargo, ¿por qué me sigo sintiendo así? ¿Realmente está bien vivir de una manera tan simple? En mi interior deseo una vida más dinámica.

Cuando uno se da cuenta de que aquello que hizo fue malo, toma consciencia de los hechos, y es ahí donde entran el arrepentimiento y el dolor; debemos tratar estos sentimientos con mucha calma para evitar el miedo, que aparece cuando estamos aclarando nuestros problemas. Este nos lleva a preguntamos por qué hicimos lo que hicimos, y la respuesta es simple: actuamos mecánicamente, sin una reflexión consciente. En este momento recurrimos al perdón con humildad y pedimos que nos absuelvan; acudimos a otras personas para que olviden lo sucedido, pero muchas veces ignoramos lo más importante: el perdón de nosotros mismos.

Keyboard of Revolution (The Sonnet) I wrote most of my works, On broken down laptops. Perhaps that's why they work well, With this broken down world. I don't write to butter the assheads of pomposity, My duty is to till the soil of grassroots reform. That's why I feel at home creating on humble machines, The very thought of fancy devices makes my stomach turn. I once said to you, ripped jeans and twenty dollar shirt, That's how we change the world, how we build the world. Often a fancy exterior is indicative of a rotten interior, It's a simple life that facilitates a magnificent world. I don't need thousand dollar machines to cause ascension. Give me a keyboard, I'll give you revolution.

Tomemos un simple símil, y uno que esté completamente en armonía con el lenguaje de los Misterios, a lo largo de todas las edades y en todas las tierras. La vida anterior es como una planta, que completa su crecimiento, y alcanza la madurez. Entra en flor, y toda la esencia de la planta se transforma y glorifica en la flor, con coloración, forma y olor nuevos y espléndidos, todo ausente en la planta, y sin embargo formada por su esencia. Esta floración es la vida en el paraíso donde, bajo el resplandor del sol espiritual, todo lo que era mejor y más vital en el alma se transforma y se expande en una vida gloriosa, y lanza nuevos y espirituales poderes bastante ajenos para el hombre natural, y sin embargo brotando de su ser, o más bien de ese ser y alma que trabaja hacia el interior y que ha llevado al hombre mortal al mundo humano. Pero el asunto no termina con la flor; también están las semillas; y estas semillas a su debido tiempo traerán una segunda planta de naturaleza similar con la primera, y lista a su vez para estallar en una espléndida floración. Las semillas son los gérmenes materiales que descansan dentro del alma en el paraíso, y, cuando termine su momento de florecer, la traerán de vuelta a través de las puertas del nacimiento. Y la hora de sembrar y la hora de la cosecha se sucederán por siempre. También es así con la vida del hombre. Pero, como las plantas anteriores no están presentes excepto en el espíritu, en la nueva planta, así las vidas anteriores no están presentes en forma de recuerdos materiales, que pueden ser recordados tal como los acontecimientos de hace unos días o de unos meses.

Las condiciones externas de la vida de una persona siempre reflejan sus creencias interiores.

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For some, conversation comes naturally as a way to connect, but for others it's easier to unite over the sharing of activities and skills. The tip here is to dedicate space and furniture to allow these things to happen. Where can you store games so they're easily accessible? Is your table large and easy enough to clear to double up as an arena to play or make? Have you created somewhere for others to sit while you cook, and is there enough counter space for them to join in? Are your craft and gardening tools organized and ready to go? ...this space needs to be warm and inviting... could be as simple as lighting a fire, playing background music, or bringing in extra cushions and throws.

Dios]… ¡Te damos gracias porque estás ahí!… ¡En lo grande y en lo pequeño!… ¡En el trigo del corazón humano, todavía por germinar!… ¡En la dulzura de lo simple, y en la paz interior, la hija menor de la verdad!…

Pasada la primera juventud, empieza el segundo periodo, en el que uno se da cuenta de la fragilidad de la propia vida y lo que en un principio es una simple inquietud va creciendo en el interior como un mar de dudas e incertidumbres que te acompañan durante el resto de tus días.

Accepting what life gives us, even when what it offers seems like unmotivated pain, is the first step. No, it’s not simple. Indeed, it’s very complex, because it is above all an interior work.

La resistencia al Espíritu Santo —a su gracia y al esplendor de su verdad— es ese impulso propiamente demoníaco que, para no verse a sí misma, se desata en furia encarnizada contra la carne del otro. Contra este dinamismo acusatorio que no tiene piedad, la actitud interior es —paradójicamente— la acusación de sí mismo, sincera y simple, sin maquillaje y sin el ensañamiento de la culpa, la acusación de sí mismo frente a la misericordia de Dios y de la comunidad.

vez, todo estaba allí, en mi interior, todo hasta los mínimos detalles, todos los recuerdos, absolutamente todo. Sí: desde cierto punto de vista, allá la vida había sido más simple, más inequívoca. Me acordé de todo y de todos, repasando hasta a los que no me habían interesado para nada, y también a los que ya sólo existían en mis recuerdos, a todos: a Bandi Citrom, a Pietka, a Bohús, al médico y a todos los demás. Por primera vez pensé en ellos con un ligero sentimiento de reproche, de resentimiento, pero también de amor.

The answer, of course, was simple: get out there, make friends! And oh, how she wished it were that easy, but when low self-esteem was holding the megaphone for her interior monologue, it made finding the courage to step out of her comfort zone harder than she could say.

que una persona esté siempre en casa, lleve siempre la misma vida y a primera vista parezca sosegada, no significa que sea una persona simple, encerrada en sí misma y apalancada. Eso indica una mentalidad tremendamente pobre. Sin embargo, la mayoría de la gente lo cree así, cuando en realidad nuestro interior puede ampliarse hasta el infinito. Son muchos los que ni siquiera hacen el esfuerzo de imaginar el tesoro que duerme en el corazón de los demás –dijo Nishiyama.

Estamos en este mundo para aprender a amar en la escuela de Jesús. Y aprender a amar resulta muy sencillo: es saber dar gratuitamente y saber recibir gratuitamente. Sin embargo, a nosotros, a quienes el pecado nos ha vuelto bastante complicados, una cosa tan simple como ésta se nos hace muy difícil. En

Peterson remembered with a smile that the US Department of the Interior had made a thorough prediction of trends in 1937, and had missed atomic energy, computers, radar, antibiotics, and World War II. Yet they all kept on, with this simple-minded linear extrapolation that was, despite a bank of computers to refine the numbers, still merely a new way to be stupid in an expensive fashion.

Indeed, the cluster doesn’t really have an “inside”—there is no volume of space where the D0-branes bustle around. Arguably there aren’t even any D0-branes anymore, either, because they surrender their individuality and become assimilated into the collective. If you look at a cluster from the outside, what you see isn’t the outer surface of a material thing, but the end of space; and if you poke your hand into the cluster, you will not reach into its interior, for the cluster has no interior. Instead, your hand will become assimilated, too (which can’t be good for it). If you wisely refrain from touching the cluster and instead throw particles into it, you will notice that the cluster’s storage capacity depends on its area rather than on its interior volume—again, for the simple reason that it doesn’t actually have an interior volume. Space has no meaning at this level.

A passagem pelos subterrâneos do regime, o contato com o avesso do milagre eram, nestas condições, a ocasião para um aprendizado tão importante quanto inútil, pelo menos durante muitos anos. Mas, de qualquer maneira, experiência decisiva no interior da selvagem fenomenologia. Guinada. Depois dela, depois de termos ingressado no espaço da ficção oficial, passávamos para outra figura do espírito, para o delírio em cujos breus parecem comprometidas as fronteiras entre o imaginário e o real. Tudo teria sido então pura ficção? Tudo ficará por isso mesmo? A dor que continua doendo até hoje e que acabar por me matar se irrealiza, transmuda-se em simples "ocorrência" equívoca, suscetível a uma infinidade de interpretações, de versões das mais arbritrárias, embora a dor que vai me matar continue doendo, bem presente no meu corpo, ferida aberta latejando na memória. Daí a necessidade do registro rigoroso da experiência, da sua descrição, da constituição do material fenomenológico, da sua transcrição literária. Contra a ficção do Gênio Maligno oficial se impõe o minucioso relato histórico e é da boa mira neste alvo que depende o rigor do discurso.

...encontrei num livro de anatomia a fotografia de um modelo de cera do interior da orelha. Todos os canais, seios e buracos eram de matéria plena, formando sua imagem positiva.[...] ...o mundo poderia existir numa realidade mais verdadeira, numa estrutura positiva das suas cavernas, de maneira que tudo o que é furado se tornasse cheio, e os relevos atuais se transformassem em vácuos de forma idêntica, sem qualquer conteúdo, como aqueles fósseis delicados e bizarros que reproduzem na pedra os vestígios de uma conha ou de uma folha macerada ao longo das eras, deixando apenas profundamente esculpidas as impressões delicadas de seu contorno. Num mundo como esse, as pessoas cessariam de ser excrescências multicoloridas e carnosas, cheias de órgãos complexos e putrescíveis, tornando-se vácuos puros [...].Essa era, aliás, a sensação...que eu tinha...sempre que...despertava em meio a um terrível isolamento, como se as pessoas e casas ao redor se amalgamassem numa massa compacta e uniforme de uma única matéria, na qual eu existia como simples vácuo sem finalidade, locomovendo-me para lá e para cá.

Nadie ha sido hecho para llevar una vida apagada, estrecha o constreñida a un espacio reducido, sino para vivir «a sus anchas». Por el simple hecho de haber sido creado a imagen de Dios, los espacios limitados le resultan insoportables y guarda en su interior una necesidad irreprimible de absoluto e infinito. Ahí reside su grandeza y, en ocasiones, su desgracia.

el simple hecho de correr una hora todos los días, asegurándome con ello un tiempo de silencio sólo para mí, se convirtió en un hábito decisivo para mi salud mental. Al menos cuando corría no tenía que hablar con nadie ni que escuchar a nadie. Bastaba con contemplar el paisaje que me rodeaba y mirar hacia mi interior.

The crafty merchant keeps out the worst articles of his stock to offer first to buyers, to try if he can get rid of them and sell them to some simpleton. The reasons which these reformers have advanced in the preceding chapter are but tricks, as we have seen, which are used only as it were for amusement, to try whether some simple and weak brain will be content with them, and in reality, when one comes to the grapple, they confess that not the authority of the Church, nor of S. Jerome, nor of the gloss, nor of the Hebrew, is cause sufficient to receive or reject any Scripture. The following is their protestation of faith presented to the King of France by the French pretended reformers. After having placed on the list, in the third article, the books they are willing to receive, they write thus in the fourth article: “We know these books to be canonical and a most safe rule of our faith, not so much by the common accord and consent of the Church, as by the testimony and interior persuasion of the Holy Spirit, which gives us to discern them from the other ecclesiastical books.” Quitting then the field of the reasons preceding, and making for cover, they throw themselves into the interior, secret and invisible persuasion which they consider to be produced in them by the Holy Spirit.

Y es que cuando comenzamos a entender que el aprendizaje más significativo surge del interior del niño, de su propio interés y no como resultado de ningún estímulo externo, es difícil determinar hasta dónde está la línea entre darles la libertad de encontrar lo que les encanta hacer, y entre dejarlos que se pierdan de oportunidades valiosas o de completar proyectos importantes en su vida por simple desidia, flojera o falta de constancia. A veces los niños comienzan una clase o un curso muy entusiasmados, y al poco tiempo dicen que ya no quieren continuar, que ya se cansaron o que ahora les gusta otra cosa. No es fácil tener una respuesta clara para esta interrogante en cada situación que enfrentamos con nuestros niños, ya que no  existen absolutos. Cada niño es único y la intervención que necesita de sus padres es única también. No existen fórmulas ni recetas mágicas que puedan decirte el paso a paso de cómo acompañar a tus hijos en su aprendizaje. En algunas ocasiones ese cambiar de una clase a otra será parte de su desarrollo, de conocer un abanico de posibilidades, de descubrir sus propias habilidades; y en otras ocasiones tal vez tú determinarás que para el desarrollo particular de ese niño, es importante que se mantenga constante y que concluya ese ciclo en su vida. El único parámetro para saber si estás haciendo lo correcto o no, será tu intuición como papá y la solidez de la relación con tu hijo. Por

Crimen pasional en el Yashiro Hotel. Así corren los hechos por la ciudad. Pero la noticia que acapara los titulares de la tarde es la del bebé muerto por asfixia en el interior de un vehículo.Y es curioso, porque, por algún error de reporteo, por mala información o simple errata, la prensa atribuye maternidad a Melis Victoria, inmigrante de nacionalidad chilena, sobre el bebé de diez meses muerto en un vehículo Suzuki azul del año 2000, en una solitaria calle de Kamakura, Japón.

A lone figure stood in the doorway of crumbling bricks, the sun just poking its rays over the treetops. She was dressed in a simple white gown. Her hair was also white, flowing freely down over her shoulders. Her face was aged, but not overly so. She looked to be roughly sixty human years. She glanced at us and swung her arm toward the interior of the church. “Won’t you come in?

On Being Human" Angelic minds, they say, by simple intelligence Behold the Forms of nature. They discern Unerringly the Archtypes, all the verities Which mortals lack or indirectly learn. Transparent in primordial truth, unvarying, Pure Earthness and right Stonehood from their clear, High eminence are seen; unveiled, the seminal Huge Principles appear. The Tree-ness of the tree they know-the meaning of Arboreal life, how from earth's salty lap The solar beam uplifts it; all the holiness Enacted by leaves' fall and rising sap; But never an angel knows the knife-edged severance Of sun from shadow where the trees begin, The blessed cool at every pore caressing us -An angel has no skin. They see the Form of Air; but mortals breathing it Drink the whole summer down into the breast. The lavish pinks, the field new-mown, the ravishing Sea-smells, the wood-fire smoke that whispers Rest. The tremor on the rippled pool of memory That from each smell in widening circles goes, The pleasure and the pang --can angels measure it? An angel has no nose. The nourishing of life, and how it flourishes On death, and why, they utterly know; but not The hill-born, earthy spring, the dark cold bilberries. The ripe peach from the southern wall still hot Full-bellied tankards foamy-topped, the delicate Half-lyric lamb, a new loaf's billowy curves, Nor porridge, nor the tingling taste of oranges. —An angel has no nerves. Far richer they! I know the senses' witchery Guards us like air, from heavens too big to see; Imminent death to man that barb'd sublimity And dazzling edge of beauty unsheathed would be. Yet here, within this tiny, charmed interior, This parlour of the brain, their Maker shares With living men some secrets in a privacy Forever ours, not theirs.

Podemos añadir, por otra parte, que no es por simple coincidencia que haya una estrecha similitud entre las palabras “sagrado” (sacratum) y “secreto” (secretum): se trata, en ambos casos, de lo que es puesto aparte (secernere, poner aparte, de donde el participio secretum), reservado, separado del dominio profano; al igual, el lugar consagrado es llamado templum, cuya raíz tem (que se encuentra en el griego temnô, cortar, cercenar, separar, de donde temenos, recinto sagrado) expresa también la misma idea; y la “contemplación”, cuyo nombre proviene de la misma raíz, se relaciona además con esta idea por su carácter estrictamente “interior” (6).

It is not suflficient, in order to have the consciousness of a remembrance, that such or such image be reproduced by the automatic play of he association of ideas; the personal J>erception must also seize upon the image and connect it with the other remembrances, with the sensations clear or confused, exterior or interior, the ensemble of which constitutes personality. Call this operation what you will,—give it the name personification, or be satisfied with the common terms we have always employed, personal perception of the remembrances or psychological assifn-ilation of images, we must still establish its existence and make a place for it in the psychology of memory, as well as in that of the sensations. This operation is with us so simple and easy that we do not even suspect its role.

Tiene sentido que las Iglesias pujantes lean mas cuidadosas en su tratamiento hacia los nuevos creyentes que las Iglesias de comparacion. Los nuevos creyentes son, con frecuencia, los mejores misioneros verbales que tiene una iglesia. Todavia conocen a personas incredulas. Tienen un fuego en su interior que muchos creyentes de anos han Perdido. Los nuevos creyentes todavia no conocen todas las reglas religiosas. Hablan con libertad de la gracia que descubrieron. Los nuevos creyentes son el mayor recurso que to iglesia tiene para influenciar a la comunidad. Cuando las iglesias pujantes nutren y forman a los nuevos creyentes, alimentan el movimiento del evangelio.

it helpful to draw pictures or diagrams, another way to work visually with the interior life. Figure 5: Four Ways to Prepare for Desolation 1. Observe the course of thoughts. 2. Look out for false consolation. 3. Attend to vulnerabilities. 4. Seek God in your painful past. Another purpose for journaling while in consolation is the simple gathering of evidence. It is in consolation when we see things as they really are-that is, we are able to see the goodness of God's creation inside us and all around us. Our assessments of relationships, of our own strengths and gifts, and of our friendship

Esa necesidad de exteriorización es tanto más urgente cuanto más interior, profundo y concentrado es el lirismo.¿Por qué el hombre se vuelve lírico durante el sufrimiento y el amor? Porque esos dos estados, a pesar de que son diferentes por su naturaleza y su orientación, surgen de las profundidades del ser, del centro sustancial de la subjetividad, en cierto sentido. Nos volvemos líricos cuando la vida en nuestro interior palpita con un ritmo esencial. Lo que de único y específico poseemos se realiza de una manera tan expresiva que lo individual se eleva a nivel de lo universal. Las experiencias subjetivas más profundas son así mismo las más universales, por la simple razón de que alcanzan el fondo original de la 5

AT MY FIRST meditation retreat, a two-week period of silent attention to mind and body, I was amazed to find myself sitting in the dining hall with an instant judgment about each of the hundred other meditators, based on nothing besides how they looked while eating. Instinctively, I was searching out whom I liked and whom I did not: I had a comment for each one. The seemingly simple task of noting the physical sensations of the in and out breath had the unfortunate effect of revealing just how out of control my everyday mind really was. Meditation is ruthless in the way it reveals the stark reality of our day-to-day mind. We are constantly murmuring, muttering, scheming, or wondering to ourselves under our breath: comforting ourselves, in a perverse fashion, with our own silent voices. Much of our interior life is characterized by this kind of primary process, almost infantile, way of thinking: “I like this. I don’t like that. She hurt me. How can I get that? More of this, no more of that.” These emotionally tinged thoughts are our attempts to keep the pleasure principle operative. Much of our inner dialogue, rather than the “rational” secondary process that is usually associated with the thinking mind, is this constant reaction to experience by a selfish, childish protagonist. None of us has moved very far from the seven-year-old who vigilantly watches to see who got more.

A menudo la crítica del valor ha criticado las alternativas fáciles - y lo ha hecho por diferentes razones. Para ponerlo en pocas palabras: por una parte, es cierto que se puede experimentar, hasta cierto grado, formas de vida alternativas en el interior del marco capitalista. Pero la lógica capitalista tiene la tendencia de aplastar todo y transformarlo en fuente de ganancia y no va a tolerar el nacimiento de otra forma de vida. Por tanto hay que prever una fase de conflictos y de luchas. En el capitalismo, todo cuanto existe solo es considerado como una porción de valor que no conoce más que relaciones cuantitativas. La primera exigencia para una alternativa sería la de devolver su dignidad a todos los objetos que creamos, sin permitir ya su transformación en mercancías. Esto también quiere decir que no habría una forma de intercambio de las mercancías basada sobre la cantidad de trabajo. Al mismo tiempo, es necesario que todas estas nuevas formas se practiquen a la escala más grande posible. De otro modo, una fábrica autogestionada o una simple granja correrían el riesgo de tener que afirmarse en un mercado anónimo y competitivo que las sometería a las mismas exigencias de rentabilidad y ganancia que a las otras empresas. Habría que organizar, de inmediato, intercambios no mercantiles entre diferentes actividades. El fin del capitalismo no será un fin pacífico; en efecto, por todas partes aumenta la tendencia a la barbarización. Las formas postmercantiles y no bárbaras tendrán que encontrar modos de reaccionar contra la lógica mafiosa y criminal, que no cesará de difundirse. Y habrá también un aumento de la violencia, como lo vemos ya en las numerosas guerras civiles que hay en el mundo.

un amor que proceda de la coacción, del interés o de la simple satisfacción de una necesidad no merece ser llamado amor. El amor no se cobra ni se compra. El verdadero amor, y por lo tanto el amor dichoso, sólo existe entre personas que disponen libremente de ellas mismas para entregarse al otro.

Por el simple hecho de haber sido creado a imagen de Dios, los espacios limitados le resultan insoportables y guarda en su interior una necesidad irreprimible de absoluto e infinito.

Concordo em que Shakespeare não tenha sido nem Macbeth, nem Hamlet, nem Otelo; mas ele teria sido esses personagens diversos se as circunstâncias por um lado, e por outro o consentimento de sua vontade, houvessem levado ao estado de erupção violenta o que nele não passava de impulso interior. E enganar-se estranhamente sobre o papel da imaginação poética acreditar que ela compõe seus heróis com pedaços tirados aqui e ali em torno dela, como para costurar uma roupa de arlequim. Nada de vivo sairia disso. A vida não se recompõe. Ela simplesmente se deixa contemplar. A imaginação poética só pode ser uma visão completa da realidade. Se os personagens criados pelo poeta nos dão a impressão de vida, é que são o próprio poeta, o poeta multiplicado, o poeta aprofundando-se a si mesmo num esforço de observação interior tão poderoso que capta o virtual no real e retoma o que a natureza deixou nele em estado de esboço ou de simples projeto para dele fazer uma obra completa.

Struggle exposes us to the simple form of failure (the assault did not succeed), while victory exposes us to its most redoubtable form: we notice that we have won in vain, and that our victory paves the way for repetition and restoration. That, for the state, a revolution is never anything more than an intervening period. Hence the sacrificial temptations of nothingness. For a politics of emancipation, the enemy that is to be feared most is not repression at the hands of the established order. It is the interiority of nihilism, and the unbounded cruelty that can come with its emptiness. 4

dramatically, but helium gas was 10 times as expensive. Under these conditions, Dr. Eckener, a pilot whose primary concern was safety and as Director of a Company attempting to make a profit, he was forced to make a difficult decision. His discussions with American businessmen and political officials had not resulted in the helium gas he so badly wanted. On the other hand he realized, an airship without lifting gas could not fly. His own company officials believed hydrogen to be safe and they did not share the American concern nor that of Eckener. During many of the flights in 1936, U.S. Naval officials were onboard the LZ-129, to study German operating methods of using hydrogen gas. Their resulting reports concluded that hydrogen properly used, was safe and should be considered used in any new or future American airships. The building of a dream The LZ-129 was a typical design for a Zeppelin airship, only it’s size was so remarkable. The structure was primarily built of triangular girders made of Duralumin, the interior was divided by a wire braced main frame, into 16 bays, in which each held a gas cell.2 Duralumin was an alloy of aluminum and copper with traces of magnesium, manganese, iron and silicon. It had been discovered by Dr. Alfred Wilm and his assistant Ing. Jablonsky, in September 1906. Late one Saturday evening, Jablonsky had completed testing numerous pieces and was ready to go home, when Dr. Wilm entered the lab, with just one more test. To everyone’s astonishment, the test piece was harder, with only ½% more Magnesium having been added. The last train for Berlin had departed and the two men worked the through the weekend, to perfect their Duralumin. Although Dr. Wilm wanted to obtain a patent on this new metal, that so many industries so badly required, he failed to take action. By not obtaining a patent, he gave German industry the opportunity to copy. Count von Zeppelin was amongst the first to realize the value of this new material. Dr. Alfred Wilm did not achieve the wealth he so rightfully desired and passed away on a small farm in the Riesengebirge, on August 6, 1937. Dr. Wilm placed an important mark on not only Zeppelin history, but in the design of countless airplanes ever since.3 The first Zeppelin airships had been constructed of simple aluminum, which is considerably weaker, so that strength was a major problem. It was not until LZ-26, which was the only Zeppelin assembled in Frankfurt-Rebstock, that Duralumin was practically used. Designed as a passenger airship, production of it’s parts had begun, when World War One started. Suddenly, this airship was no longer needed for civilian purposes and would fulfill military requirements only marginally. In order to provide space in the Friedrichshafen Zeppelin Sheds, for newer and larger designs; the completed girders and materials were transported to Frankfurt for assembly. The ship, approx. only 1/8 the

up the pathway to the front door.  She’d called and left him a message, letting him know that she was coming, and that she’d leave the documents with the housekeeper if he wasn’t there.  Ringing the doorbell, she couldn’t stop the blush that stole up her cheeks as she remembered the last time she’d been here.  Had it really been only two days ago?  It seemed like a lot longer.  Did he still have those stockings?  Surely he’d tossed them out by now.  And no, she hadn’t dared to purchase another pair.  Not after the last debacle.  When the door opened, she was bracing herself to face Hunter once again.  Her plan was to congratulate him, just as she would any other client, hand him the champagne and the closing documents, and then leave as quickly as possible.  Just as she would all of her other clients.  They were all trying to unpack, overwhelmed with the process but excited about their new purchase.  She very seriously doubted if anything overwhelmed Hunter, but she was going to go through her routine anyway.  All of her clients deserved the same treatment, and she shouldn’t slack off with Hunter simply because…well, because he could make her feel things that… “Goodness, come in out of the heat, my dear!” the housekeeper urged, waving Kara into the cool interior.  “Mr. West is out back in the pool, but he said he was expecting you and that you’d know the way.  If he needs anything at all,” she said, as she hefted a purse onto her shoulder that Kara suspected could substitute for a suitcase, “just tell him to give me a ring.” Kara opened her mouth to stop the woman as the two of them exchanged places, the housekeeper moving to the outside even as Kara was nudged inside.  Kara went so far as to lift her hand, trying to indicate that she wanted to say something, but the efficient woman bustled out of the house, closing the front door in the process.  Kara stared at the closed door for several long moments, wondering how that had just happened.  Her plan had been simple.  Just hand over the bottle and documents, convey her congratulations and head back.  What had just happened?  Kara turned around.  It felt strange to be standing here, alone, in Hunter’s house.  She’d been here two days ago, but the house hadn’t been his.  The man now owned the house, all the furniture, and the acres of land and waterfront.  It felt much more intimate now for some reason.  Looking around, she wished that she could just leave the documents on the kitchen counter or the rough, wooden coffee table that looked perfect next to the white sofas.  Everything felt and looked clean and comfortable, exactly as she would have decorated this area.  The pops of green were vibrant and exhilarating, a perfect accompaniment to the fresh, white furniture.  With a sigh, she turned away from the alluring great room décor and searched out the man of the moment.  As she stepped past the sofas, she saw him.  In the pool.  Without any clothes on! Oh goodness, she thought with a strangled breath.  It took her several moments to realize that she needed to inhale, her breath caught in her throat as she watched the man’s bare skin, and all the muscles, and…well, all of him!  Okay, so he wasn’t naked, he was wearing a bathing suit but his broad, muscular back and those arms…they were even more ridged with muscles than she’d thought.  He was spectacular!  Never in her wildest imaginings had she pictured him that buff, but there

Escribir es uno de los sistemas más simples y más profundos para aclarar el interior de uno mismo y para dejar un recuerdo de nuestras existencias.

LA MUJER EQUIS   Una prostituta que llegó a ser la mujer más rica del mundo Hizo construir una catedral, una especie de ciudad modelo Dotada de peluquerías, fuentes de soda, ferias de distracción Dotada si no me equivoco de tumbas, dotada de árboles En cuyas ramas se podían ver pájaros ... En el interior de esa catedral se erigió su prostíbulo Que funciona viernes y sábado de once a doce A base de fuegos artificiales, a base de eunucos. ... La inteligente prostituta no conforme con esto Hizo construir un tabernáculo en el interior de ese prostíbulo Donde hizo depositar los huesos ... Cinco minutos es el mínimo, quince minutos es el máximo. La Humanidad puede esperar unos momentos. Que primero pasen los zánganos, los hijos de sí mismos Que después pasen los demás, si queda tiempo para ellos. ... Para defender esta fortaleza ella hizo construir un revólver En cuya cacha hizo grabar la siguiente máxima: «The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom». ... Mi cabellera es un simple pedazo de pan. Acto seguido ladró durante unos minutos Y de su boca salió un trozo de esmeralda Acompañado de una pequeña columna de humo. Después desapareció dejando tras de sí un papel escrito: «Yo soy el sembrador de estas tierras».   Años más tarde volví a visitar aquel recinto, Mi amiga prostituta me recibió en el subterráneo Allí leía la biblia, leía las luisíadas Empastados en una tela amarilla Se desnudó e iniciamos nuestras excavaciones.