sfondo di spiaggia e sale visto dall'alto

inhale, exhale

Inspirations and inspirations.

Everything that nourishes the body and mind

The Songlines, Bruce Chatwin

It was believed that each totemic ancestor, in his journey across the country, had scattered a trail of words and musical notes in his footsteps, and that these Dreamtracks remained on the earth as 'communication routes' between the most distant tribes. "A song," he said, "is both a map and an antenna. If you knew it, you could always find your way." […] "The whole of Australia could, at least in theory, be read like a score. There was not a rock or stream, one might say, that had not been sung or could not be sung. Perhaps the best way to understand the Songlines was to think of a plate of spaghetti, each of which is a verse from so many Iliads and Odysseys—a tangle of paths where each "episode" is readable in geological terms. "By 'episode' do you mean 'sacred place'?" I asked him. “Exactly.” “Places like the ones you’re mapping for the railroad?” “Let’s put it this way,” he replied. “Anywhere in the bush you can point to a feature of the landscape.”

“THE EARTH MUST FIRST EXIST AS A MENTAL CONCEPT.
THEN IT HAS TO BE SINGED. ONLY THEN CAN IT BE SAID THAT IT EXISTS.”

It was believed that each totemic ancestor, in his journey across the land, had scattered a trail of words and musical notes in his footsteps, and that these Dreamtracks remained on the earth as 'communication routes' between the most distant tribes. "A song," he said, "acts simultaneously as a map and an antenna. If you knew it, you could always find your way."

Thought Forms, Annie Besant, 1904

“THE WORLD OF COLORS CANNOT BE DOMINATED BY THE INTELLECT;
WE MUST UNDERSTAND THIS REALITY WITH FEELING.” RUDOLF STEINER

The vast majority of those who look at the picture have a consciousness limited to three dimensions, and moreover have not the slightest idea of that inner world, with all its splendor of light and color, to which thought-forms belong.

Man, the Thinker, is clothed in a body composed of innumerable combinations of subtle matter from the mental plane; this body is more or less refined in its component parts, more or less organized for the performance of its functions, according to the degree of intellectual development reached by the individual himself. The mental body is an organ of marvelous beauty; the delicacy and rapidity of movement of the particles of which it is composed give it the appearance of an iridescent light full of life; as the intellect evolves, pursuing ever purer and more sublime purposes and interests, this beauty becomes a truly transcendental radiance.

Shiawase: WA The Japanese way to harmony

Over the years, you discover that happiness isn't something you find, that it's not owed anything, that it's actually something you create, like time, like a family. It's a project, made of post-it notes, commitments to others and to yourself, forced pauses, brief bursts of energy.

Happiness requires skill, like blades that must be sharpened throughout life. Constant practice, that's what it is. Yes, happiness requires skill. "Skill not only in the sense of the ability to contain—because there's no doubt that a certain space is needed within oneself before planting a new seed—but "skill" also in the sense of the ability to handle it, manage it, maintain it.

It's a constant maintenance exercise, the joy.

JALALUDDIN RUMI

Far beyond ideas
right or wrong
there is a field.

I'll wait for you over there.

Rumi,

13th century

Cleaning the House - Marina Abramović

The title refers to Marina Abramovic's idea that the body is like a home.
This workshop challenges the physical and mental limits of the body, forcing it to respond and reconnect to its environment, a method for increasing awareness and deepening self-understanding.

https://mai.art/cth2019

COLLECTIVE PRACTICE

The workshop fosters sensory community through group practice and the reduction of body stimulants. Through its conditions and rigor, the group generates energetic exchanges through simple human contact. Like its previous function, the workshop encourages introspection, and the body reaches a state of clarity.

This immense not knowing

two cups of tea seen from above on an orange background and brushes

I would like to write something like the cup of tea that Tibetans prepare when you leave.

Because you're already coming back, because someone is waiting for you.

Chandra Candiani, This Immense Not Knowing

TREE SUTRA

Si credeva che ogni antenato totemico, nel suo viaggio per tutto il paese, avesse sparso sulle proprie orme una scia di parole e note musicali, e che queste Piste del Sogno fossero rimaste sulla terra come ‘vie di comunicazione’ fra le tribù più lontane. “Un canto” disse, “fa contemporaneamente da mappa e da antenna. A patto di conoscerlo, sapevi sempre trovare la strada.” […] “L’Australia intera poteva, almeno in teoria, essere letta come uno spartito. Non c’era roccia o ruscello, si può dire, che non fosse stato cantato o che non potesse essere cantato. Forse il modo migliore di capire le Vie dei Canti era di pensare a un piatto di spaghetti ciascuno dei quali è un verso di tante Iliadi e Odissee –un intrico di percorsi dove ogni «episodio» è leggibile in termini geologici. «Con “episodio” intendi “luogo sacro”?» gli domandai. «Esatto». «Luoghi come quelli di cui stai facendo la mappa per la ferrovia?». «Mettiamola così» rispose. «Ovunque nel bush puoi indicare un elemento del paesag

Every meditator's cushion is his bodhi tree—enlightenment, awakening—at the foot of which the Buddha gained profound awareness. We must love it not because of dogma, or a moral or ethical imperative, or a religious precept. We must love it and trust it, for it is certain that, meditating on it amidst pain, ecstasy, and compassion, it will project you before the cinema of your flowing, migratory existence. In meditation, you will observe your shame, your lies, your weaknesses. Everything you are but intend to hide. But at a certain point, that cushion will disappear because it will be you, body and mind together, who will become the bodhi tree—or rather, bodhi itself."

Tiziano Fratus