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Category Archives: mysteries

In Memory of Einstein on the occasion of his 100th birthday

In my after life, my photon of light Chose space by a brilliant sun And danced a dance, A long long dance That was glorious, glorious fun – A poem by Gil Galloway in 1979 MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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Can great art be seen through a lens???

Of course I can’t know, but I imagine that in old Europe, in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, life happened on multiple levels. There was the everyday where most people lived, their time filled with the humdrum of their

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Does it take imagination to be a Christian?

I recently spent three weeks in Italy. I’d planned to write about it, I even have a post ready to go. But yesterday, a friend of mine died and his leaving meant that my world lost one more of its

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Orange butterflies dancing in my garden

All summer orange butterflies have danced around my garden. They weren’t Monarchs. Everyone hopes for those, but they didn’t have the black patterned etchings of the Monarch. Nor did they fly like Monarchs. Monarchs fly in a more leisurely manner.

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Our love affair with life

The great affair, the love affair with life, is to live as variously as possible, to groom one’s curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day. Where there is no risk, the

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Asking for the ridiculous

“What I am asking for is really very ridiculous. Oh Lord, I am saying, at present I am a cheese, make me a mystic, immediately. But then God can do that — make mystics out of cheeses.” Flannery O’Connor prayed

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International relations. Or – a troglodyte lost in the internet

There are times—so many times—when I feel at a loss, not firmly fastened, just bewildered. I’m sure I’m not alone. As for example, the other day I discovered I had been hacked, and badly. I thought it was just me

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Death stops time

In the June issue of Harper’s magazine, Geoff Dyer writes about the pictures photographer Chloe Dewe Mathews has taken of places where people died in World War I. Some are battlefields marked by graves or monuments. But they’re also of

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In the sunset of dissolution …

In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine. I don’t know why but a year or two ago, I copied this sentence in a notebook. It comes from “The Unbearable Lightness of

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Is deceit worse than murder?

Last Saturday I was watching the HD version of the Met’s Cosi Fan Tutti (“So do they all”), a lovely opera for those who like Mozart’s music. The opera is a farce, full of the confusion of disguise and lost

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