There is a time in the span of civilizations when creative energy and the human spirit are wholly, if briefly focused. When this occurs culture in all its manifestations reaches its zenith. The moment passes; civilizations decline, only to be replaced by others. This process of life appears cyclic. Communities become tribes, turn into nations and become empires which, like suns, radiate their energy to the limits of their power, then decay and finally vanish, leaving behind only traces. This cycle, which may continue until our sun–or our planet–fails us..
[from back of Time Zone/by Sätty]
Happy Friday! A large entry for today, featuring the art of Sätty, the poetry of Wang Wei, and the wisdom of Soren Kierkegaard..
Please check out the radio as well, as it is humming along quite nicely!
Enjoy!
Gwyllm
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What Is On The Menu:
The Linkage
Massive Attack – Butterfly Caught
The Silent Temple
The Gates of Paradise
Soren Kierkegaard Quotes
On The Mountain: Wang Wei’s Poetry
Art: Sätty
I first became aware of Satty in late 1966 (I believe). I found a poster of his that I admired greatly in a head shop. I saved my money up, and eventually bought it. It was of a Moire Pattern with a boat of collaged men and women from various ages spiraling down into eternity… A lost craft, a ship of possible fools, embarking on the infinite journey. It was there on the wall for many of my early inner-journeys, I wish I still had that poster, it sticks to this day in my head.
Sätty was the first collage/montage artist that moved me. He still does. The artwork for this edition comes from the only, ONLY site on the web that has any amount of his work. It boggles my mind how his work could be lost like this. You have probably seen his work… in various publications including Terence McKenna’s books (Terence was a true fan!). It seems fantastic that his work goes unmentioned and un-noted.
Satty was, and is an original. He certainly helped shape my art impulses, and I still get excited when I find his works. I certainly cherish the bits I have, but these were a struggle to find…
He died in 1982, falling off a ladder while being drunk/high. He was on the edge of publishing some vital new works, and sadly this never came to fruition.
The collage work that I have included aren’t my favourites, but what is available at the present. Still, I am grateful that they are still there to be seen, but for how long? Please check out Wilfred Sätty at Zpub.com. If you like his work, let them know. Maybe a homage to Sätty will help bring his art back to the light of day…
-Gwyllm
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The Linkage:
Rise of man theory out by 400,000 years
Buried ‘aliens’ are really tree trunks
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okay, I have read my fair share of books written by P.D. James over the years, but I had no idea about this one until I just saw the film that was made from it.
The film really an amazing bit of work; dark, very dark but with a message that is so timely. It makes you think about borders, artificial limits, and what passes for democracy, and human rights. There seems to be a dearth of those last two components, and it seems that everything around them is driven at this point by fear.
The film was riveting but the real joy for me was the commentary and interviews afterwards. Truly, if you get a chance please see this. Yes, the film rubs your face in it. But what is shown on the film is going on in the world. There is much hope and humanity in this film. I recommend it, and be aware it is a rough ride.
– Gwyllm
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Massive Attack – Butterfly Caught
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The Silent Temple
Shoichi was a one-eyed teacher of Zen, sparkling with enlightenment. He taught his disciples in Tofuku temple.
Day and night the whole temple stood in silence. There was no sound at all.
Even the reciting of sutras was abolished by the teacher. His pupils had nothing to do but meditate.
When the master passed away, an old neighbor heard the ringing of bells and the recitation of sutras. Then she knew Shoichi had gone.
—
The Gates of Paradise
A soldier named Nobushige came to Hakuin, and asked: “Is there really a paradise and a hell?”
“Who are you?” inquired Hakuin.
“I am a samurai,” the warrior replied.
“You, a soldier!” exclaimed Hakuin. “What kind of ruler would have you as his guard? Your face looks like that of a beggar.”
Nobushige became so angry that he began to draw his sword, but Hakuin continued: “So you have a sword! Your weapon is probably much too dull to cut off my head.”
As Nobushige drew his sword Hakuin remarked: “Here open the gates of hell!”
At these words the samurai, perceiving the master’s discipline, sheathed his sword and bowed.
“Here open the gates of paradise,” said Hakuin.
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Soren Kierkegaard Quotes:
A man who as a physical being is always turned toward the outside, thinking that his happiness lies outside him, finally turns inward and discovers that the source is within him.
Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.
At the bottom of enmity between strangers lies indifference.
Be that self which one truly is.
Because of its tremendous solemnity death is the light in which great passions, both good and bad, become transparent, no longer limited by outward appearances.
Boredom is the root of all evil – the despairing refusal to be oneself.
Concepts, like individuals, have their histories and are just as incapable of withstanding the ravages of time as are individuals. But in and through all this they retain a kind of homesickness for the scenes of their childhood.
Don’t forget to love yourself.
During the first period of a man’s life the greatest danger is not to take the risk.
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On The Mountain: Wang Wei’s Poetry
Mount Zhongnan
The Tai Yi peak
is near the capital of Heaven.
Its range stretches
all the way to the coast.
As I look back,
the white clouds are close in.
As I look close up,
the blue mists suddenly disappear.
The middle ridge divides into
two ever-changing sceneries.
On dark or clear days
each valley has a different view.
Wanting to put up
at some one’s place for the night,
I ask a woodcutter
on the other side of the stream.
——
Thanking Associate Prefect Zhang
I prefer to live a quiet life
in my later years.
Indifferent I am to
all mundane affairs.
A long-range plan
is not in my thought.
Returning to my old woods
was the only thing I sought.
The pine wind
blows loose my sash;
The mountain moon
shines on my lute.
You ask about
the ultimate truth of life.
The fishermen’s song
drifts deep above the shore.
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Birds Calling in the Ravine
I’m idle, as osmanthus flowers fall,
This quiet night in spring, the hill is empty.
The moon comes out and startles the birds on the hill,
They don’t stop calling in the spring ravine.
—
Returning to Songshan Mountain
The limpid river runs between the bushes,
The horse and cart are moving idly on.
The water flows as if with a mind of its own,
At dusk, the birds return to perch together.
The desolate town is faced by an ancient ferry,
The setting sun now fills the autumn hills.
And far below high Songshan’s tumbling ridges,
Returning home, I close the door for now..
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