The meaning of life is not to be found in a distant world of abstraction, but in paying attention to everyday happenings and details in one's life. One's perception has to be in the field of living. In contemplating where the truth may be found, it just might be right before you.
- Yuezhou Quianfeng
Friday, July 29, 2011
selections by Suchi Kumar
Can you hear the soft whispers of the ancient inner galaxies calling you home? They say "close the door of the mind. Come away with me and melt into the bliss of the soul."
* * *
Can you feel the wonderous immensity of the golden light that shines down from above, filling your heart so you can heal others with your love?
http://www.ecstaticempowerment.com/
* * *
Can you feel the wonderous immensity of the golden light that shines down from above, filling your heart so you can heal others with your love?
http://www.ecstaticempowerment.com/
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Click on the link for a great article about dairy by Donna Sonkin
Dairy: Silent Killer or Delicious, Creamy Treat?
See more about Donna at http://www.getthinforthecamera.com/
Dairy: Silent Killer or Delicious, Creamy Treat?
See more about Donna at http://www.getthinforthecamera.com/
Monday, July 25, 2011
July 25th - The Day Out of Time
Click on the link for info about July 25th, The Day Out of Time, which comes from the Mayan 13-moon calendar.
The Day Out of Time - Crystalinks
The Day Out of Time - Crystalinks
Saturday, July 2, 2011
The Body Beautiful
By Movie Actress Ingeborg Loff (1950s)
(originally published in The Body Beautiful, an American magazine, and copied in the book, Live Food Juices, by H.E. Kirschner, M.D., Copyright 1957)
You've seen me on magazine covers and in pictures. But I want you know at twenty-five no one living would have wanted my picture.
My figure was dumpy, my complexion like the bottom of a dried river. I had little watery eyes and no eye-lashes. My hair was a matted mass of colorless twine. My few acquaintances called me dull, stupid, and even a natural born idiot. The only thing that really interested me was sleeping. No man ever asked twice to take me out. I had been to a splendid school. My father and mother were wonderful people, but I had all the appearances of a scrub-woman of fifty when I was only twenty-five. I couldn't secure work of a mental order. In terrible discouragement I applied for a housekeeping position. It was with a Scandinavian doctor in New York City.
After I had worked for him a week he asked me if he could experiment with me promising that nothing would hurt me, that I was a chemical plant like everything else in Nature, and that if I would let him make me over, he would see that I was helped to the top in better ways.
It required a week of experimental work on his part before I realized that I was beginning to think and look differently. It seemed strange. He fed me special meals six times a day. I had no white bread or starch of any kind. He made me drink small drinks of [fresh] vegetable juices several times daily. Once a week I was shown before a group of doctors who were studying bio-chemistry with the doctor. They all took notes on my change in hair, color of eyes, depth of chest, greater slenderness of ankles, and they pinched my skin to note how it changed each week. I was getting a marvelous complexion. My hair was glowing, and was turning lighter with golden tints in it. I wanted to run and shout for the sheer joy of living. My finger nails, my eyebrows and lashes were growing better and developing a gloss. The fat lumps about my hips had disappeared. I lost twenty-five pounds and yet I had been eating oftener. I became fired with ambition. My mind and heart went out to new studies, new people, and I know I had never really lived before I had been analyzed by this doctor.
(originally published in The Body Beautiful, an American magazine, and copied in the book, Live Food Juices, by H.E. Kirschner, M.D., Copyright 1957)
You've seen me on magazine covers and in pictures. But I want you know at twenty-five no one living would have wanted my picture.
My figure was dumpy, my complexion like the bottom of a dried river. I had little watery eyes and no eye-lashes. My hair was a matted mass of colorless twine. My few acquaintances called me dull, stupid, and even a natural born idiot. The only thing that really interested me was sleeping. No man ever asked twice to take me out. I had been to a splendid school. My father and mother were wonderful people, but I had all the appearances of a scrub-woman of fifty when I was only twenty-five. I couldn't secure work of a mental order. In terrible discouragement I applied for a housekeeping position. It was with a Scandinavian doctor in New York City.
After I had worked for him a week he asked me if he could experiment with me promising that nothing would hurt me, that I was a chemical plant like everything else in Nature, and that if I would let him make me over, he would see that I was helped to the top in better ways.
It required a week of experimental work on his part before I realized that I was beginning to think and look differently. It seemed strange. He fed me special meals six times a day. I had no white bread or starch of any kind. He made me drink small drinks of [fresh] vegetable juices several times daily. Once a week I was shown before a group of doctors who were studying bio-chemistry with the doctor. They all took notes on my change in hair, color of eyes, depth of chest, greater slenderness of ankles, and they pinched my skin to note how it changed each week. I was getting a marvelous complexion. My hair was glowing, and was turning lighter with golden tints in it. I wanted to run and shout for the sheer joy of living. My finger nails, my eyebrows and lashes were growing better and developing a gloss. The fat lumps about my hips had disappeared. I lost twenty-five pounds and yet I had been eating oftener. I became fired with ambition. My mind and heart went out to new studies, new people, and I know I had never really lived before I had been analyzed by this doctor.
A Summer Sandwich
By Christopher Hirsheimer
(originally published as "A Messy Little Secret" in the July/August 1999 issue (No. 36) of SAVEUR magazine)
My summer sandwich is kind of a private thing. It's messy - and who wants to own up to using both butter and mayo? But if you're ever home alone one hot afternoon, try this: Thickly slice a really ripe tomato. (Big, red-blue beefsteaks are best - all flesh and juice, with not too many seeds.) Butter two thin slices of good toast, slather a thick layer of mayonnaise on both pieces, then lay on two or three tomato slices and season with a generous sprinkle of salt, the tiniest pinch of sugar, and a few good grinds of black pepper. Roll up your sleeves (or just take off your shirt), lean over the sink, and bite through the crisp buttered bread and creamy mayonnaise, and into the sweet taste of summer. Abandon yourself. And let the juice run down your arms.
(originally published as "A Messy Little Secret" in the July/August 1999 issue (No. 36) of SAVEUR magazine)
My summer sandwich is kind of a private thing. It's messy - and who wants to own up to using both butter and mayo? But if you're ever home alone one hot afternoon, try this: Thickly slice a really ripe tomato. (Big, red-blue beefsteaks are best - all flesh and juice, with not too many seeds.) Butter two thin slices of good toast, slather a thick layer of mayonnaise on both pieces, then lay on two or three tomato slices and season with a generous sprinkle of salt, the tiniest pinch of sugar, and a few good grinds of black pepper. Roll up your sleeves (or just take off your shirt), lean over the sink, and bite through the crisp buttered bread and creamy mayonnaise, and into the sweet taste of summer. Abandon yourself. And let the juice run down your arms.
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