ABRACADABRA!

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abracadabra

ABRACADABRA

“By Abracadabra we signify
An infinite number of things.
‘Tis the answer to What? and How? and Why?
And Whence? and Whither?— a word whereby
The Truth (with the comfort it brings)
Is open to all who grope in night,
Crying for Wisdom’s holy light.

Whether the word is a verb or a noun
Is knowledge beyond my reach.
I only know that ’tis handed down.
From sage to sage,
From age to age—
An immortal part of speech!

Of an ancient man the tale is told
That he lived to be ten centuries old,
In a cave on a mountain side.
(True, he finally died.)
The fame of his wisdom filled the land,
For his head was bald, and you’ll understand
His beard was long and white
And his eyes uncommonly bright.

Philosophers gathered from far and near
To sit at his feet and hear and hear,
Though he never was heard
To utter a word
But “Abracadabra, abracadab,
Abracada, abracad,
Abraca, abrac, abra, ab!
‘Twas all he had,
‘Twas all they wanted to hear, and each
Made copious notes of the mystical speech,
Which they published next—
A trickle of text
In the meadow of commentary.
Mighty big books were these,
In a number, as leaves of trees;
In learning, remarkably— very!

He’s dead,
As I said,
And the books of the sages have perished,
But his wisdom is sacredly cherished.
In Abracadabra it solemnly rings,
Like an ancient bell that forever swings.
O, I love to hear
That word make clear
Humanity’s General Sense of Things.”

~ Jamrach Holobom

from THE DEVIL’S DICTIONARY by AMBROSE BIERCE, written between 1888 – 1906

_____________________________

AbierceAmbrose Gwinnett Bierce (June 24, 1842 – circa 1914) was an American editorialist, journalist, short story writer, fabulist, and satirist. He wrote the short story “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” and compiled a satirical lexicon, The Devil’s Dictionary. His vehemence as a critic, his motto “Nothing matters”, and the sardonic view of human nature that informed his work.  In 1913, Bierce traveled to Mexico to gain first-hand experience of the Mexican Revolution. While traveling with rebel troops, he disappeared without a trace.

 READ THE ENTIRE TEXT OF THE DEVIL’S DICTIONARY

CRICKET CHOIR

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If you do not already appreciate the marvel of biological engineering found in life forms on Earth, and the inherent “harmony” of the physical universe, this sound recording may give you an new perspective.

Crickets have a short life span compared to humans.  A composer by the name of Jim Wilson recorded the sound of crickets and then slowed down the recording to the relative equivalent of the human lifespan.  The crickets sound like they are singing the most beautiful chorus of a human voice choir, in perfect harmony.  Though you may think it is human voices, everything you hear in this recording is in-fact crickets themselves!

 

 This recording contains two tracks played at the same time: The first is the natural sound of crickets played at regular speed while the second is the slowed down version of crickets’ voices.

Read more http://www.trueactivist.com/gab_gallery/someone-recorded-crickets-then-slowed-down-the-track-and-it-sounds-like-people-singing/

WHISTLIN’ PAST THE GRAVEYARD

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Whistling Past The Graveyard, by Tom Waits. (Covered by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins)

“Well I come in on a night train
with an arm full of box cars
on the wings of a magpie
cross a hooligan night
and I busted up a chifforobe
way out by the cocomo
cooked up a mess a mulligan
and got into a fight.

Whistlin’ past the graveyard
steppin’ on a crack
i’m a mean motherhubbard
papa one eyes jack.

You probably seen me sleepin’
out by the railroad tracks
go on and ask the prince of darkness
what about all thet smoke
come from the stack
sometimes I kill myself a jackel
suck out all the blood
steal myself a stationwagon
drivin’ through the mud
whistlin’ past the graveyard
steppin’ on a crack
I’m mean motherhubbard
papa one-eyed jack.

I know you seen my headlights
and the honkin’ of my horn
I’m callin’ out my bloodhounds
chase the devil through the corn
last night I chugged the mississippi
now that suckers dry as a bone
born in a taxi cab
I’m never comin’ home

whistlin’ past the graveyard
steppin’ on a crack
I’m mean motherhubbard
papa one eyed jack

myeyes have seen the glory
of the drainin’ og the ditch
Ionly come to baton rouge
to find myself a witch
I’m-mona snatch me up a
couple of em every time itrains
you see a locomotive
probably thinkin’ its a train

whistlin’ past the graveyard
steppin’ on a crack
I’m a mean motherhubbard
papa one eyed jack.

what you think is the sunshine
is just a twinkle in my eye
that ring around my fingers
just the 4th of july
when I get a little bit lonesome
and a tear falls from my check
theres gonna be an ocean in
the middle of the week.

whistlin’ past the graveyard
steppin’ on a crack
i’m mean motherhubbard
papa one eyed jack

I rode into town on a night train
with an arm full of box cars
on the wings of a magpie
cross a hooligan night
i’m-ona tear me off a rainbow
and wear it for a tie
I never told the truth
so I can never tell a lie

whistlin’ past the graveyard
steppin’ on a crack
I’m mean motherhubbard
papa one eyed jack.

COMPASSION HURTS

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compassion“Compassion hurts.
When you feel connected to everything, you also feel responsible for everything. And you cannot turn away. Your destiny is bound with the destinies of others.

You must either learn to carry the universe or be crushed by it. You must grow strong enough to love the world, yet empty enough to sit down at the same table with its worst horrors.”

— Andrew Boyd —
Daily Afflictions: The agony of being connected to everything in the universe.

READ THE BOOK: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0393322815/qid=1006662488/ref=sr_11_0_1/104-0097384-0675166

VISIT THE WEBSITE:     http://www.dailyafflictions.com/visitvoid.html