Definition #134 Already Naked

Steve Jobs

Steve Jobs

Today is the birthday of Steve Jobs, born in San Francisco (1955) to two University of Wisconsin graduate students who placed him for adoption. Clara and Paul Jobs, an accountant and a machinist, adopted him when he was still a baby. Growing up, Jobs and his father would tinker with electronics in the garage.

He dropped out of college after a semester, went to India in search of spiritual enlightenment, returned a devout Buddhist, experimented with LSD, and then got a job with a video game maker, where he was in charge of designing circuit board for one of the company’s games. In 1976, at the age of 21, he co-founded Apple Computers, and less than a decade later, Apple unveiled the Macintosh computer. It was the first small computer to catch on with the public that used a graphical user interface, or GUI (sometimes pronounced “gooey”), where people could simply click on icons instead of typing in precise text commands.

The graphic user interface revolutionized computers, and it’s on almost all computers today. It’s on a whole lot of other devices as well, like fancy vending machines and digital household appliances and photocopying machines and airport check-in kiosks. And graphical user interface is what’s used with iPods, another of Apple’s wildly successful products.

Jobs was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2003. He opted for a variety of alternative treatments, but eventually — in 2004 — he underwent surgery to remove the tumor. His health began to decline in 2009. He was 56.

Jobs once said, “Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

Definition #133 NOW

Kaviinabox

Kavi in his box

Geneen Roth:
“but the truth was that sweetness and quiet and stillness weren’t as compelling as angst, drama and the chatter of discontent.
I mean, seriously: “now” just wasn’t sexy or appealing. It didn’t hold promises of splashy parades with cymbals and drums and opera singers thrashing about. The naked now, the one without frills, the one that was always here, just wasn’t as interesting as what could be. What should be. What I wanted to be. I was enthralled, as the Buddhist teacher Choygam Trungpa described it, with the process of “putting make-up on space.”

Finally, and this is going to sound a bit more linear than it actually was or is, love pierced the trance. I realized I wanted something more than I wanted to keep walking through the airports of my mind. I wanted to be here. For the purpling of sunsets and the clanking of dishes. For the soft way my husband’s hand feels in mine. I wanted to breathe when I breathed and eat when I ate. I wanted to live in and through my body, not my mind. And, not only did I realize I wanted that, I knew without a doubt that I already was that. Am that.

It’s not a done deal over here, however. The pull of my thoughts is still strong, but the love for this moment is stronger. The pull of drama still compels me, but the love for showing up where I am is bigger. Nothing can compete with the love of this life blazing in and through me, which, along with the depth of night-sky stillness, also includes outrageous laughter, salted chocolate and occasional swoops of sadness.

Every time I find myself wandering away, I bring myself back to what I love: to this very moment, these exact sensations, this coolness on the surface of my right arm, the sound of a single bird cheeping, the low thrum of the heater. I take one conscious breath and return to where the feast is: here. And when I do — when thoughts drop away and the one I refer to as “I” disappears — what remains is contentment itself. And it is enough.”

Definition #132 violet and yellow

FullSizeRender 2

complimentary

yellow forward-violet fades

candle burns for young!

Definition #130 The Four Freedoms

Norman Rockwell The Four Freedoms freedom of speech freedom of worship freedom from want freedom from fear

Norman Rockwell
The Four Freedoms
freedom of speech
freedom of worship
freedom from want
freedom from fear

Norman Rockwell The Problem we all live with

Norman Rockwell
The Problem we all live with

every poet knows:

move on with artwork, style, hues:

freedom of taste reigns!

Definition #129 1600 voices

kids_greatwolf

chirping children sing!

fill the halls, waves, circuous

snakes spitting water!

Definition # 128 (Jeanne from Queens) That Smile

From my face to Annika's 2015

From my face to Annika’s
2015

Self-confidence walks

grins ear to ear knowingly:

“My clan, my kin, folks!

Definition #127 ( Jeanne From Queens) February

Margaret Atwood and I agree...

Margaret Atwood and I agree…

February

by Margaret Atwood

Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It’s his
way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am
He’ll think of something. He settles
on my chest, breathing his breath
of burped-up meat and musty sofas,
purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat,
not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door,
declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory,
which are what will finish us off
in the long run. Some cat owners around here
should snip a few testicles. If we wise
hominids were sensible, we’d do that too,
or eat our young, like sharks.
But it’s love that does us in. Over and over
Again, He shoots, he scores! and famine
crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing
eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits
thirty below, and the pollution pours
out of our chimneys to keep us warm.
February, month of despair,
with a skewered heart in the centre.
I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries
with a splash of vinegar.
Cat, enough of your greedy whining
and your small pink bumhole.
Off my face! You’re the life principle,
more or less, so get going
on a little optimism around here.
Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.

“February” by Margaret Atwood, from Morning in the Burned House. © Houghton Mifflin, 1996. Reprinted with permission.

Definition #126 (Jeanne from Queens) Below Zero

frozen faces don't smile

frozen faces don’t smile

frozen muscles crack

smile pierces cold cheeks and eyes

warm breath dispels frost

Definition #125 Jeanne from Queens- Ingenuity

astounding humans

astounding humans

initiative

epiphanies upturning

ingenuity

Definition #124 Jeanne fromQueens (Valentine’s Day)

Owen's Wedding Day Lake Pleasant, NH

Owen’s Wedding Day
Lake Pleasant, NH

OLD Valentine’s Day

was bloody, gory, lewd, crass;

NEW: spiritual!

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