Tag: …wow.

I mean “wow.” Just … wow.

Words to Bring Back (or in this case, Forth): “Wonderpiece”

– Definition: n That creation which evokes awe in the beholder.
– Used in a sentence: Have you ever heard Dr. King’s “I Have A Dream” wonderpiece in its entirety?
– Why: Though arguably a mere synonym for “art” (at least as defined by https://metaphorager.net/pithyism-5/), I like to think of this neologism as “art-PLUS.” Not all art stimulates our sense of wonder and reverence; not all oratory or music or cinema or poetry or what-have-you makes us weak-kneed with wordless appreciation. Yet we might be conceptually richer if we could point to what exemplifies art’s indefinable but very real power. Drop this word into your next deep conversation and see if it floats!

I’m In (Finally)

IT HAPPENED AS AN ALL-AT-ONCE thunderbolt moment that I wasn’t expecting, but it’s here and I can’t go back: I am now an enthusiastic and sincere convert.

Yes, it’s true. Despite my longtime denials and aspersions, the undeniable fact has overtaken me – and now, I fully, unreservedly, and happily love mayonnaise.

For years, I had a bad attitude when it came to the white stuff. “Slimy,” I called it. “Blandly WASPish,” I pooh-poohed. “That disgusting goo which defiles all that it touches,” I complained to anyone who would listen. It was in the house, yes, but used only by my copilot. I even avoided even touching the hefty glass jar with the familiar blue label, lest it somehow give me cooties.

But last month, curiosity (largely from watching Julia Child prepare her own from scratch) overcame aversion and I reached for That Condiment. I unscrewed the lid, scooped the tiniest bit on the tip of a teaspoon, brought it to my open lips, and licked experimentally.

WOW, I thought. Tangy. Salty. Rich. Flavorful. DELICIOUS! How could I have been so wrong for so long?

They say that if you try something and hate it, it’s because it wasn’t prepared properly. Mayonnaise preparation is simple: beat the dickens out of some eggs, then s-l-o-w-l-y add oil in a thin stream while you continue beating. Sprinkle a tot of mustard powder and a drizzle of vinegar (for stabilization, it’s said) and you’re prepared for feasting.

Since my conversion, I have been using it for a pre-breadcrumbing slather on Petrale sole, and as a binder in the best tuna salad I’ve ever eaten (along with anchovy paste, ground Dijon mustard, sweet relish, capers, black pepper, and a dash of thyme; an adapted recipe also courtesy of Julia Child) – and am eager for more.

So now, the question is: What are your favorite uses for this heavenly substance? Drop a comment in the space below!

“You Can’t Avoid the Void!”

IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER WHERE or when I was, beyond that it was a high place from which I felt an overwhelming urge to jump.

I felt neither depressed nor sad nor suicidal. But I did feel scared, though mostly of the compulsion. In fact, I retained an echo of those feelings, not to mention utter perplexity, until happening across a healthline.com article which told me that such compulsions are very, very common. Normal, even.

It’s known as the “Call of the Void.” (In the original French, because the French have words for everything experientially interesting, “l’appel du vide.”) In clinical terms, it’s referred to as “High-Place Phenomenon,” and can also involve other aspects of self-harm: leaping in front of a train, steering one’s car into oncoming traffic, or sticking one’s hand into a garbage disposal. Naturally, these urges are quickly suppressed. And no one quite knows why we have such episodes – they may simply be an artifact of our neurological wiring – but it seems related to anxiety: the more anxious one is, the louder the Void calls.

We humans seem to be repelled by, yet attracted to, vast emptiness: the gulfs between stars and galaxies; abyssal ocean depths; wide-open deserts; untenanted warehouses; the view from a mountaintop. (BTW, the worst vertigo I ever experienced was while [very briefly!] standing on my head atop Northern California’s Mount Diablo – I literally felt as though I was dropping into the sky. Brrr.) Perhaps such things remind us of our insignificance. Perhaps we just don’t know what to do with (or in) them. Getting lost in immensity carries a deep discomfort; it blurs the lines we draw between Is and Is-Not. And that can be downright scary.

The most important thing to do when the Void calls? Don’t answer.

A Short Course in Flabbergastery

IN HIS EPIC, THREE-VOLUME Burnham’s Celestial Handbook, the astronomer Robert Burnham, Jr., proposes the following metric:

Let one astronomical unit (the mean Earth-Sun distance) equal one inch. On that same scale, one light-year, or 63,360 astronomical units, equals one mile; in our model, that puts Alpha Centauri, our closest stellar neighbor, just over four miles away.

See how big space is? But let’s go further.

Fig. 1.

In October 2022, the James Webb Space Telescope peered 13.1 billion light-years into one tiny slice of our all-surrounding nothingness (see Fig. 1). On Burnham’s scale, that’s 78,067,190,880,000,000,000,000 miles — or roughly the distance from Earth to just beyond the boundary of interstellar space.

And if your mind is still insufficiently blown, think on this: Except for a handful of relatively close six-rayed stars, the smudges of light you see in Fig. 1 are all galaxies.

GALAXIES. Each containing hundreds of billions of stars, a good many of which are just like our Sun.

Wow. Right?

Contemplating such vasty depths may challenge our sanity. But I also think such a meditation is good for the perspective.

Because in all that unending emptiness, there is only one of each of us: unique, ephemeral, irreplaceable. Enjoy yourself if and while you can — and don’t forget to floss.

Here’s What I Know …

… AND WHEN I SAY “KNOW,” I’m not talking about “faith,” “opinion,” or “reasoned analysis,” but an intimate, visceral, experiential knowing. (Torah has a word for it — דַעַת — “da’at,” which can also refer to intimacy of the sexual variety.) So here’s what I know, in the same wordless way I know that I’m sitting at a desk typing these words to you:

1. The Universe is sentient.

2. This sentience cannot be fully described in words, including these.

3. This sentience can be directly apprehended.

4. Given this sentience’s unitary nature — as well as that every atom everywhere emerged from the Big Bang — all divisions are illusory, solely arising from the all-encompassing immediacy of our own ego-experience.

And that’s all I know. (And of course, I could be wrong.)

Any questions?

Confessions of a Sidewalk Astronomer

THERE ARE TWO TELESCOPES IN my living room, a third in a backpack in my bedroom closet, and a pair of astronomical binoculars on the bookcase near the front door.

“Why so many?” you may ask.

Easy answer: I am … obsessed. Continue reading “Confessions of a Sidewalk Astronomer”

Why Am I Still Here?

BARRING ANY UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES, I will celebrate my 62nd birthday tomorrow.

Leading me to ask: “How did THAT happen?”

As a child of the 1970s and very early ’80s, my gentle nihilism is understandable. It was a period marked by grand-scale social upheaval and the very real threat of nuclear war. Thus, many of us, instead of making plans for the future (“what future?!” we chorused with youthful cynicism), opted to revel in an increasingly tentative present. That checkered and lazy lifestyle provided a certain spice, and “no point in tomorrow” slid me into various endeavors — some pointless, others rewarding, all instructive.

But that sort of thing can only take you so far, and having arrived largely intact (save a handful of scars and surgeries) at this particular 2024 moment is to me something of a major miracle.

Regrets? A few, mostly of the self-sabotaging variety.

Joys? Many. Many and multiform.

Plans for what’s left of my future? To become, and to continue to become, more. I like to think I’m getting the hang of it.

Favicon Plugin created by Jake Ruston's Wordpress Plugins - Powered by Briefcases and r4 ds card.