Category Archives: contemplation

The Longest Week.

contemplation, Deep Thoughts, human behavior, philosophy, psychology, relationships, sociology, Uncategorized

Today was the eighth day.

Jehovah’d created the whole world in six, and the next day rested.

She was worn out.

Age made time move faster, she’d been told. But, she believed otherwise. State of mind, that’s what governed time. The degree to which mind attended to detail across the hours determined how quickly they were perceived to move. That, and resistance, the force designed to provoke action.

Back in the day she’d committed every waking minute, including those spent asleep, to action. Forty five of these, unassigned to task, was a vacation. Add to that the fertility cycle, applied to a body in constant motion, and you got what made a whole day take eons to end. That, and resistance, the force designed to prevent progress.

Now, she’d made every moment of these eight days deliberate. Wariness, the state of awareness heightened by foreboding expectation. She had to monitor her mind, across time now; it had become her adversary.

That, and resistance, the force with the capacity to frustrate.

Her thoughts always in charge, these days had been consumed by them. Intricate; hyper-conscious; fixated. Not on a single subject, but the juxtaposition of two. Then, convergence. Dissonance.

Thoughts driving action, she’d become skittish. Intent upon fulfilling predictable patterns, obligations, but determined to move through the newer resistance.

The two subjects were seemingly opposed. One, give; the other, take.

Each carried their own assigned actions. Were they mutually exclusive? Should she give or, instead, take?

Her existence had become about these questions, more poignantly now than ever before.

Notions of reciprocation having dissolved with a decaying fantasy, she was left only with the task of defining need. Her own.

If she continued to give, would doing so provide inherent satisfaction? Whence would the signal to take arise? If she chose instead to pursue the latter, would there be anything there to receive?

Would that the source of either be singular; but, historically, she hadn’t been so blessed.

Eight days hence, the decision to choose remained.

Thank God for the first day of another week.

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Copyright 9/4/22 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose thoughts these are and whose name appears above this line. No copying, in whole, part, or by translation. Sharing by blog link, exclusively. Thank you for thinking, first.

littlebarefeetblog.com

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By Name.

contemplation, coronavirus, creative writing, healing, human behavior, medicine, musicians, personal testimony, psychology, relationships, sociology, Uncategorized, , , , , , , ,

People might ask how it is that I never believe what others say, about somebody, until I’ve either heard or spoken with that person.

I think it’s because of 1999.

Don’t worry; that story is already chronicled, in a piece called No Excuse. Yes; after seven years of continuous avocational compulsion To Write, although this may be the first week I’ve actually listened to my Christopher Parkening duo CD all the way through, in print we’ve reached the blog recycle stage.

It takes having been the subject of public slander.

Once you realize that entire chunks of multiple demographics believe you to be the aggressive perpetrator of your own fleshly failings, you discover that what people say about anybody is forever tainted.

Tainted, by rumor, innuendo, the men who manage and their ladies who lunch about the lives of those to whom they only aspire.

Once you endure, first acutely and then forever, false characterization of your very self by remote strangers, you learn. You learn an even stranger magnanimity, a broadly stroking latitude, a prisoner’s forgiving heart.

And again, even this will be subject to the panel of self-assigned scrutinizers, those who remember or think they do, as if your very act of acceptance is an indictment.

To the world, your judgment is warped, your worth relegated, your life to know its place.

This is how, therefore, I came to actually hear Pierre Kory, MD speak about his bedside Emergency Room treatment of actively infected covid patients. To most paying him any attention at all, he’s right up there with RFK Jr on the list of those condemned to the social trash heap. But, I’ve been listening to him talk every week for several months, live online, along with his colleagues in the fight. And, just yesterday, he replied to my direct email. If we met in an airport, we could say Hello like old college buddies.

I listen to Richard Fleming, too. And, Dr. Mobeen Syed. And, Suzanne Somers.

If you don’t hear people, first hand, you won’t get their testimonies. And, personal testimony isn’t reserved for court. It’s what we are.

Anymore, the personal testimony of those who really do have our health and vitality at heart, while they still breathe air, are waiting to be heard.

Go, find them, and sit at their feet. It’s the way Jesus’ disciples learned the Gospel. They didn’t wait for somebody else to tell it to them. Granted, that Gospel has endured endless iteration, but we wouldn’t have the Good News at all were it not for those who listened, first hand.

Thanks to the wonder of audio technology, Christopher Parkening repeats his Recuerdos de la Alhambra as many times as I request him. I wasn’t there when he first recorded the piece, circa 1993; but, returning to a time when who I was had not yet been defined by those who still don’t know, I meet and revisit him, through his music.

People might say I know him, by name.

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Copyright 8/22/22 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose name is real and appears above this line. No copying, translating, or quoting without sharing the blog link, directly. Thank you for your first hand attention.

littlebarefeetblog.com

“Down the [ Black ] Rabbit Hole.”

arts education, contemplation, musicians, scientific theory, sociology, sucking helium, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

No. This is not a piece about race.

Or, critical race theory.

But, it is about a theory.

According to physicist James Beacham of The Royal Institution, we in our solar system could be living as a singularity in the middle of a black hole.

And, what keeps him awake at night is the question of how we can prove it.

Are ya still with me?

I’m not a scientist; I’m an artist. So, my ego really gravitates (npi) toward the idea of being a singularity. Hah.

Singularity. A density of infinite value.

The rest of me asks all the same questions posed by Beacham. How do we define gravity? We post menopausal women have some history defying it but, people, how do we know it’s true? And, as for black holes, how do THEY happen and why have we, up until this point at least, considered them so formidable?

The artist in me enjoys the image of being rapidly sucked away by something, only to disappear from observable sight. So does the residual, imaginary thrill seeker only willing to fancy such a feeling; after birth trauma compressed my cranium, any possibility of expressing such a gene was relegated to dormant right up there with math applications. But, I digress.

Apparently, it’s about how much matter is compressed, and then a nod to size. Black holes are incredibly massive, infinite amounts of the stuff, and their comparative size isn’t relevant; Beacham says there is one, in our solar system, about as big as a Delicious apple. But, as long as there is another large enough to contain “us”, we could conceivably exist as sustainable life within it as a singularity and, if so, infinitely?

Singularity. Oh; and, “event horizon” – the edge of the black hole, the point of no return. As a veteran stage performing musician who will always recall that tenuous moment right before the audience’s receiving applause, I strongly relate to both of these concepts. But, really understanding them requires some pretty high level math skills and, well, that’s where either I float in the ether or get pulled down by gravity. Gravity is the only bit I understand, experientially of course, with no ability to define it. Sigh. To digress, yet again…

But, Beacham says the theorists are captivated by wonder. Are these black holes actually capable of birthing other universes? Is the one in our solar system ready to go into labor? What about force fields?

If you continued reading this assuming you’d actually learn something practical, I’ll leave that conclusion with your notions; I’m a woman so, historically, we absorb new concepts via metaphor and analogy. The center of a black hole, the singularity, reminds me of the eye of the hurricane. Strange, quiet serenity, while all around is pure torque. In my final third of life, I rather like the idea of spending mine in that kind of locus.

The rest are striving toward proof.

I’m aiming for the core, and I’ll race ya.

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Copyright 6/26/22 littlebarefeetblog.com Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. Sharing by blog link, exclusively; no copying, in whole or part, including translation. Thank you for acknowledging originality.