What is the essence of a photograph? What it is? Or what it is of?
Pineapple essence: I made a copy of the photograph of the Intellectual Pineapple wearing glasses and reading The Toilers of the Sea. I wanted to make a funny birthday card for Colin. I had to load it on to a memory stick and walk to Officeworks and get it printed out. I was glad the girl who printed it didn't see what it was. Next I took it home and stuck it on a card. Then I had to think of something to say to make it funny. And I couldn't. Because Colin may not have read The Toilers of the Sea.
Baby essence: Claire asked me to send her some photos of Chris as a baby. I guess she wanted to see if he looked like Ben. Or if Ben looked like him, since Chris came first. I found the old photo album and picked out three black and white ones. In two of them I was holding Chris and in the third one Allan was. We looked so young I fell in love with us.
More pineapple essence: This week's pineapple from the Central Market wouldn't stand up. It had no firm basis to stand on. I was trying to think of a personality for it, for the photograph. I decided it looked like a voter. So I placed it next to the front page of the Independent Weekly, as though it were looking at the headline, "What Did He Know and When Did He Know It?" which refers to the Treasurer Kevin Foley. The pineapple looked smugly indignant. I called the pineapple Indignant Liberal Pineapple, and loaded it on to my Facebook. I fear the pineapple now, for we are yet to eat it.
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Friday, July 2, 2010
Monday, September 21, 2009
Kisa Gotami
How does the Buddha's Mustard Seed Parable go? asked Jesus. You'd better tell me, if you think it's so good.
It's a lot more complex than yours, I said. There's a rich man whose gold and silver turns to ashes. He's understandably upset. A wise friend tells him to go to the market place and set up his ashes and pretend to trade with them.
I like this story, said Jesus. It's funny.
Yes, that's what you think now, but listen. People ask him why he has ashes for sale. He tells them, these are my riches. The people think he's gone nuts. A poor young orphan girl called Kisa Gotami passes his stall and asks him why he has silver and gold for sale. He says, please hand me some of it. When she does, the ashes have turned back into gold.
Great story, said Jesus, but what about the Mustard Seeds?
Be patient, I'm getting to that part now. Well, the rich man sees that this girl has an eye for the true value of things...
What! cried Jesus.
.....and he marries her to his son.
Oh, I see, said Jesus.
Jesus, I said. Do shut up. This part is only of minor relevance.
I think you'll find it isn't, he said, looking wise. If I know anything about parables, he added.
I decided not to answer that, but pressed on.
Anyway, Kisa Gotami has a baby, and some time later it dies.
Oh, I know what's going to happen next, said Jesus.
No you don't, I said. She's very distraught, and runs around to all the neighbours asking for medicine.
Ha! said Jesus. But the baby's dead.
That's what the neighbours say. They think she's gone nuts.
You see! said Jesus triumphantly. The parallel with the first part of the story!
Oh yes. You're quite right. Thanks for pointing it out, I said. Now, one of the neighbours tells her to go and see the Buddha, because he might be able to help.
Jesus looked a bit put out. The Buddha puts himself into his own parable, he said. That doesn't seem right. Did I ever do that?
I don't think so, I said
No, it's unconventional, said Jesus. Still, there's nothing wrong with being unconventional.
True, I agreed. So, the girl goes to see the Buddha, and asks him for medicine that will cure her baby. And he says, bring me a handful of mustard seed.
At last, says Jesus. I suppose he's going to do a miracle.
No, stop second-guessing! He says that the mustard seed must be taken from a house where no one has lost a child, husband, parent or friend.
Well! said Jesus, this is either amazingly cruel or the Buddha has something further up his sleeve.
He hasn't, I said. Kisa Gotami goes from house to house with her dead baby and eventually realises that death is common to all. Then she buries her baby, goes back to the Buddha and takes refuge in him, finding comfort in the Dharma, and the path to enlightenment.
The cheek of it! exclaimed Jesus.
It's a lot more complex than yours, I said. There's a rich man whose gold and silver turns to ashes. He's understandably upset. A wise friend tells him to go to the market place and set up his ashes and pretend to trade with them.
I like this story, said Jesus. It's funny.
Yes, that's what you think now, but listen. People ask him why he has ashes for sale. He tells them, these are my riches. The people think he's gone nuts. A poor young orphan girl called Kisa Gotami passes his stall and asks him why he has silver and gold for sale. He says, please hand me some of it. When she does, the ashes have turned back into gold.
Great story, said Jesus, but what about the Mustard Seeds?
Be patient, I'm getting to that part now. Well, the rich man sees that this girl has an eye for the true value of things...
What! cried Jesus.
.....and he marries her to his son.
Oh, I see, said Jesus.
Jesus, I said. Do shut up. This part is only of minor relevance.
I think you'll find it isn't, he said, looking wise. If I know anything about parables, he added.
I decided not to answer that, but pressed on.
Anyway, Kisa Gotami has a baby, and some time later it dies.
Oh, I know what's going to happen next, said Jesus.
No you don't, I said. She's very distraught, and runs around to all the neighbours asking for medicine.
Ha! said Jesus. But the baby's dead.
That's what the neighbours say. They think she's gone nuts.
You see! said Jesus triumphantly. The parallel with the first part of the story!
Oh yes. You're quite right. Thanks for pointing it out, I said. Now, one of the neighbours tells her to go and see the Buddha, because he might be able to help.
Jesus looked a bit put out. The Buddha puts himself into his own parable, he said. That doesn't seem right. Did I ever do that?
I don't think so, I said
No, it's unconventional, said Jesus. Still, there's nothing wrong with being unconventional.
True, I agreed. So, the girl goes to see the Buddha, and asks him for medicine that will cure her baby. And he says, bring me a handful of mustard seed.
At last, says Jesus. I suppose he's going to do a miracle.
No, stop second-guessing! He says that the mustard seed must be taken from a house where no one has lost a child, husband, parent or friend.
Well! said Jesus, this is either amazingly cruel or the Buddha has something further up his sleeve.
He hasn't, I said. Kisa Gotami goes from house to house with her dead baby and eventually realises that death is common to all. Then she buries her baby, goes back to the Buddha and takes refuge in him, finding comfort in the Dharma, and the path to enlightenment.
The cheek of it! exclaimed Jesus.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Part 3 : My Life In Bed
When I was a baby I slept upstairs. Every night before being put to bed I was carried around the room to say goodnight to all my toys and pictures. Goodnight Dinah Duck, Goodnight Freddy Frog, Goodnight Naughty Monkey Christopher. This was how I learned the art of procrastination.
At eleven I had for a short time a bedroom to myself with a double bed. On top of the bed was a rose pink feather quilt, embroidered in silk, which had belonged to my grandmother. Under this quilt I read the one and only Biggles book I was ever to read in my life. I did not like Biggles, nor understand him, but I read the book with a sense of discovering an alien world. This was how I learned the thrill of breaking intellectual boundaries.
As a teenager I had the middle bedroom in a row of three at the back of the house, opening onto a terrace. It was not as nice as it sounds. The lock on the door to the terrace was unreliable and sometimes I heard strange noises at night. One night I was alone in the house and I heard heavy breathing outside. I didn't do anything, but lay in a state of terror while the man breathed heavily for what seemed like hours out there on the terrace. Later I concluded that since I was still alive it had probably been a possum. This was how I learned that those films in which a defenceless young woman is drawn to discover the source of a mysterious sound are unrealistic.
When I was thirty I slept in a campervan for several months with my family. We were on holiday travelling through France, Italy and Greece, and the sleeping arrangements were necessarily precise. The 2 boys slept in tiny hammocks which could only be set up once the table had been folded away. Once they were asleep, we had to perform a series of manoeuvres to set up our double bed in the cabin. This included blowing up by mouth a double lilo. Sleeping on a double lilo taught me many practical lessons in physics.
In the nineties we lived in a large old house on Coolibah Avenue. The main bedroom had an off white shagpile carpet, a ceiling rose, and cracks in the walls which expanded and contracted with the seasons. In this bedroom I experienced the worst toothache I ever had in my entire life. I dealt with it by taking sips of cold water every 5 minutes for the duration of the night. I learned nothing from this, but was soon to learn that root canal work is expensive.
Now I have an elegant bedroom with a bay window that looks out on to the front garden and the road. There is an Animal Hospital on the corner and sometimes I hear the sorowful yelping of dogs. We are close enough to the main road to also hear the wailings of ambulances and fire engines and the rumbling of buses. On the other corner is a MacDonalds Restaurant. It stays open quite late and sometimes I hear at night the sounds of people squabbling over a hamburger. You might expect all these things to have taught me a greater sense of compassion.
They haven't.
At eleven I had for a short time a bedroom to myself with a double bed. On top of the bed was a rose pink feather quilt, embroidered in silk, which had belonged to my grandmother. Under this quilt I read the one and only Biggles book I was ever to read in my life. I did not like Biggles, nor understand him, but I read the book with a sense of discovering an alien world. This was how I learned the thrill of breaking intellectual boundaries.
As a teenager I had the middle bedroom in a row of three at the back of the house, opening onto a terrace. It was not as nice as it sounds. The lock on the door to the terrace was unreliable and sometimes I heard strange noises at night. One night I was alone in the house and I heard heavy breathing outside. I didn't do anything, but lay in a state of terror while the man breathed heavily for what seemed like hours out there on the terrace. Later I concluded that since I was still alive it had probably been a possum. This was how I learned that those films in which a defenceless young woman is drawn to discover the source of a mysterious sound are unrealistic.
When I was thirty I slept in a campervan for several months with my family. We were on holiday travelling through France, Italy and Greece, and the sleeping arrangements were necessarily precise. The 2 boys slept in tiny hammocks which could only be set up once the table had been folded away. Once they were asleep, we had to perform a series of manoeuvres to set up our double bed in the cabin. This included blowing up by mouth a double lilo. Sleeping on a double lilo taught me many practical lessons in physics.
In the nineties we lived in a large old house on Coolibah Avenue. The main bedroom had an off white shagpile carpet, a ceiling rose, and cracks in the walls which expanded and contracted with the seasons. In this bedroom I experienced the worst toothache I ever had in my entire life. I dealt with it by taking sips of cold water every 5 minutes for the duration of the night. I learned nothing from this, but was soon to learn that root canal work is expensive.
Now I have an elegant bedroom with a bay window that looks out on to the front garden and the road. There is an Animal Hospital on the corner and sometimes I hear the sorowful yelping of dogs. We are close enough to the main road to also hear the wailings of ambulances and fire engines and the rumbling of buses. On the other corner is a MacDonalds Restaurant. It stays open quite late and sometimes I hear at night the sounds of people squabbling over a hamburger. You might expect all these things to have taught me a greater sense of compassion.
They haven't.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Compelling
Compulsory? said Pliny the Elder. Didn't you mean compelling?
No, I meant compulsory. People stopped in their tracks on the pavement. There were people pointing excitedly on seats. A man stopped in front of us and told us that dolphins were amazing creatures. I remember thinking, What am I doing here?
Very existential, remarked Pliny. Do I take it you are not really fond of dolphins?
Not overly, I replied. No more than of tuna. I remember reading once that dolphins were
capable of being rather nasty. Or was it whales?
No, said Pliny, dolphins do sometimes behave badly. I have heard that they kill porpoises and even sometimes kill their own young.
Chacun a son gout, I said philosophically, but the thing is, I wasn't pleased to realise that I felt under a compulsion to stop and watch it play, or try to catch its dinner, or whatever it was doing.
Free will is an illusion, said Pliny, wisely. I have been reading your library book, 13 Things That Don't Make Sense, and one of the Things is free will. They've discovered that our brain gives out readiness signals a good half second before we make a conscious decision to act.
Yes, it makes sense, I said. Otherwise how would we ever get out of bed in the morning? But on the other hand, I wasn't totally convinced that this wipes out free will. It may just be a combination of habit and our brain's efficiency. I'd like to see them test it on a baby.
Good point, said Pliny. By the way, where is that book? I was looking for it this morning.
Oh sorry, I had to take it back to the library, it was overdue.
Couldn't you get an extension?
No, they wouldn't let me, it had already been reserved by someone else.
No, I meant compulsory. People stopped in their tracks on the pavement. There were people pointing excitedly on seats. A man stopped in front of us and told us that dolphins were amazing creatures. I remember thinking, What am I doing here?
Very existential, remarked Pliny. Do I take it you are not really fond of dolphins?
Not overly, I replied. No more than of tuna. I remember reading once that dolphins were
capable of being rather nasty. Or was it whales?
No, said Pliny, dolphins do sometimes behave badly. I have heard that they kill porpoises and even sometimes kill their own young.
Chacun a son gout, I said philosophically, but the thing is, I wasn't pleased to realise that I felt under a compulsion to stop and watch it play, or try to catch its dinner, or whatever it was doing.
Free will is an illusion, said Pliny, wisely. I have been reading your library book, 13 Things That Don't Make Sense, and one of the Things is free will. They've discovered that our brain gives out readiness signals a good half second before we make a conscious decision to act.
Yes, it makes sense, I said. Otherwise how would we ever get out of bed in the morning? But on the other hand, I wasn't totally convinced that this wipes out free will. It may just be a combination of habit and our brain's efficiency. I'd like to see them test it on a baby.
Good point, said Pliny. By the way, where is that book? I was looking for it this morning.
Oh sorry, I had to take it back to the library, it was overdue.
Couldn't you get an extension?
No, they wouldn't let me, it had already been reserved by someone else.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
