Facets of a Diamond – Blog
The ultimate test of every act of creativity: Does it help you to enthusiastically, passionately, whole-heartedly and gratefully Embrace all your life? This, I believe, is the basic Purpose of all the arts—and thus should be the basic Intention of every artist.
What do I mean by “Embrace”? The word is derived from the Greek brakhion,
Throughout the ages music has been associated with mothering. The first sounds the baby hears are those of his mother – her breathing, her pulse and of course her voice transmitted to him through his watery environment. He is in a sea of pulsation, all generated by the mother.
In the outer
I believe if a person could spend his whole waking time being aware of his hara – as is taught in some Eastern religions – his life would be so different. He’d always have his own identity. No-one could push him off course. Nothing would really affect him, and all his negativities would be superficial.
And
The basic problem of all existence, the root cause of all human suffering, is alienation from the mother. She was the whole world to us – the source of all love, and the cause of all distress. Reconciliation with her, the grateful reunion, is the task of life. This is the way, the only way,
So many people complain, “But I did the affirmation. I can’t understand why the problem is still there!” If the affirmation is performed in a desultory manner, the effect will be quite short-lived—in fact, it may not even transpire. We must remember that it is not the repeating of
“Composing,” the composer proclaimed, “is creating within restraints.” And I did hear it right: restraints!
I have always believed that more restraints mean less creativity. Creativity comes from the Muse, and It must be free to express Itself into the world, for Its Song is ever of love. But there are
It has been said that muscles have memories. And no muscles have more memories than the external muscles that control the tongue. Every negative emotion that has afflicted us throughout our lives, it seems, is held in those muscles – every cry of anguish, every sob of
Lenny, the giant of a man in Steinbeck’s novel Of Mice and Men had a pet mouse that he kept in his pocket. Although he loved it – or apparently loved it – he stroked it to death. He was loving but not tender.
Dan was the same. He obviously loved his wife and had
When I was six I was admitted to hospital extremely ill, not thought to live.
I vividly recall my mother waving good-bye to me through the glass screen. (I must have been in an isolation unit.)
Then she hurriedly turned away to hide her tears, but I knew. And then she was