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August 4, 2015 at 6:49 pm (This post was last modified: August 4, 2015 at 6:52 pm by Whateverist.)
(August 4, 2015 at 6:09 pm)Catholic_Lady Wrote:
(August 4, 2015 at 5:53 pm)lkingpinl Wrote: Truth.
I think the black eyed peas said it best:
"The truth is kept secret, its swept under the rug, if you never know truth, then you never know love"
True love does not exist in the absence of judgment, true love only exists in the presence of it. The words “I love you” are meaningful to you only if the person who speaks them truly knows you.
I agree with this, but would say that because of it, the 2 are 1 and the same.
The metric for truth in matters empirical can never verify the ruling of the heart. They really are equals.
I like the way cummings put it:
"While you and i have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch invents an instrument to measure Spring with?"
From his "voices to voices, lip to lip"
voices to voices, lip to lip
E.E. Cummings
voices to voices, lip to lip
i swear (to noone everyone) constitutes
undying; or whatever this and that petal confutes . . .
to exist being a peculiar form of sleep
what’s beyond logic happens beneath will;
nor can these moments be translated: i say
that even after April
by God there is no excuse for May
– bring forth your flowers and machinery: sculpture and prose
flowers guess and miss
machinery is the more accurate, yes
it delivers the goods, Heaven knows
(yet are we mindful, though not as yet awake,
of ourselves which shout and cling, being
for a little while and which easily break
in spite of the best overseeing)
i mean that the blond absence of any program
except last and always and first to live
makes unimportant what i and you believe;
not for philosophy does this rose give a damn . . .
bring on your fireworks, which are a mixed
splendor of piston and pistil; very well
provided an instant may be fixed
so that it will not rub, like any other pastel.
(While you and i have lips and voices which
are for kissing and to sing with
who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch
invents an instrument to measure Spring with? each dream nascitur, is not made . . .)
why then to Hell with that: the other; this,
since the thing perhaps is
to eat flowers and not to be afraid.
But cummings clearly would put the heart in the first position, going further than I will.
since feeling is first
since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world
my blood approves, and kisses are better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry —the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
^So unfortunate that he was probably a theist. More evidence:
down with hell and heaven
and all the religious fuss
infinity pleased our parents
one inch looks good to us
You have to understand that that this is delivered as mockery, not of atheism per se, but of people attempting to be overly rational and, as a result, becoming mechanical, less than human and finally uninteresting.
for a bad cigar is a woman but a gland is only a gland) {/hide]
Addendum. The very best introduction for any art exhibit anywhere was one he wrote for a show of his paintings in the 40's. This goes to the regard he has for "the mystery" which for him is revealed only wherever anyone is an artist. (So dated in a post modern world, but what can I say? I haven't kept up.) I think he thinks creativity comes from the heart and involves risk so that intellect cannot guarantee the result.
[hide] Art is a mystery.
A mystery is something immeasurable.
In so far as every child and woman and man may be immeasurable, art is the mystery of every man and woman and child. In so far as a human being is an artist, skies and mountains and oceans and thunderbolts and butterflies are immeasurable; and art is every mystery of nature. Nothing measurable can be alive; nothing which is not alive can be art; nothing which cannot be art is true: and everything untrue doesn’t matter a very good God damn...
since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you; wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady I swear by all flowers. Don't cry
-the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph And death i think is no parenthesis
Truth, by far. I'm not real obsessed with family, like some, whether it be my born family or any family I man (I don't). So, love is kind of...I don't know...unremarkable to me.
As well, I am developmentally impaired from my life with spina bifida. People are afraid to tell disabled folks the truth about them. It'a always "inspirational" this and "brave" that. If we do something wrong or otherwise bad, we aren't told, sometimes, and therefore grow up to do or see things incorrectly.
"For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring." - Carl Sagan
Two years ago I would have said there can be truth without love, but no real love without truth. Now I've found an exception in a rather forceful way.
The exception is dementia. If you love someone with dementia and for me right now that's both my mother-in-law and my step-father, the truth of what they believe is often irrelevant and correcting them cruel. They will believe something else in ten minutes anyway. And yet the basic personality that I know and love is remarkably durable. And my mother still loves her husband, though he's asked her who she is a couple times now, and my father-in-law still loves his wife though occasionally she accuses him of neglecting her because he doesn't kill that French rapist in the backyard hankering for her 75 year old body. I still love all of them.
If there is a god, I want to believe that there is a god. If there is not a god, I want to believe that there is no god.
(August 4, 2015 at 11:30 pm)Kitan Wrote: Wow, no one voted "Love" xD
Because Love Stinks!
Metis did though.
Anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that 'my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.'-Isaac Asimov-
(August 5, 2015 at 12:33 am)Whateverist the White Wrote:
(August 4, 2015 at 11:56 pm)Salacious B. Crumb Wrote: Because Love Stinks!
Metis did though.
So did ee cummings.
It sure seemed like it. (Thanks for sharing those poems)
And the - unfortunately he was probably a theist - thing was funny. I looked on Wiki, it says he was a unitarian and a taoist. That fool must have been high on peyote or something!
Anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that 'my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.'-Isaac Asimov-
(August 5, 2015 at 1:10 am)Salacious B. Crumb Wrote:
(August 5, 2015 at 12:33 am)Whateverist the White Wrote: So did ee cummings.
I looked on Wiki, it says he was a unitarian and a taoist.
That fits. Like I say, my sense is it isn't god belief as such that he is in favor of so much as openness to wonder that he is signing off on. I like a lot of his work.
