The log of John

Purple prose

John Gillespie — Tue, 17 Jul 2007 20:23:31

It’s been a long time between drinks. A long time between my posts. And by way of apology for my inactivity, I have quite the chalice to quench your thirst. More drown it completely in fact, in a gallon of purple prose.

Yes, I do have another web dairy now—67 posts and counting at A Sensitivity to Things —writing more than enough to keep me busy, but time was found recently for a longer piece, a story about the beginning of high school many years ago, about the end of my childhood, about how I found my child self once more by finding meditation:

I remember my last night of childhood clearly. It was the last day of the summer holidays, last day of the month of January, beginning of the hottest time of year in New Zealand, the time of the year that school begins. Tomorrow was the first day of high school. Tomorrow my childhood would end.

Perhaps the slowly growing sense of desperation, unarticulated fear clawing at edge of heart was an unconscious sense of impending death. I certainly couldn’t see living in my future. Here in the very height of summer, amidst late-setting nights and balmy, humid days, the winter of my life would begin.

You might be wondering where the phrase “long time between drinks” comes from—or wondering what it means. It’s origin appears to be American, from some time in the 1800s, and it refers to a long time between meetings or activity. There is no one definitive source for its first appearance, but the following post Civil War tale whet my fancy:

There's a lovely story about a meeting of the governors of the two states during Reconstruction, and it turns on this question: What did the governor of South Carolina say to the governor of North Carolina? Gov. James Orr reputedly said to Jonathan Worth, “The governor of South Carolina feels constrained to say to the governor of North Carolina, that in these military cabinet counsels, there is a mighty long time between drinks.”

You might also be wondering where all the melodrama and heightened prose in my writing comes from? I’ll let you know when I work it out myself.

What matter age?

John Gillespie — Sat, 19 May 2007 23:24:53

In a recent charming, illumining anecdote, Age Does Not Matter, Sumangali wrote:

“Age does not matter. At seventy-five Sri Chinmoy is proving that to me. Through his life of meditation and self-transcendence he shows me that perhaps I am not as limited as I think. I hope to continue forgetting how old I really am. I hope to feel amused, rather than bound, if I do happen to remember, and grateful to Sri Chinmoy, especially if others find it funny too.”

I can relate to these sentiments in so many ways.

At 13 and in my first year in High School, I would at times be mistaken for 16 or older, not because of my size—most definitely not—but my attitude and demeanour. I was overly serious and “adult,” something of an grown up trapped in a child’s body, and for the most part related to my elders better than my peers. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing unless it is making you miserable—it was and then some.

Now at all of 32 I find age to be a bit of a joke. I still can’t believe I am in my thirties—now at the point where I have to stop and think to remember my age—and for most of my twenties could not believe I was not a teen. This is only because of meditation.

With the regular practise of meditation—in which I am certainly no expert, but hopefully an advertisement for—and its slow-dawning felicitation to experience life in the ever present, eternal now, I again feel as I did before those forgettable, teen-aged years—like a child, and myself once more.

Suvarnabhumi—Golden Land

John Gillespie — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 00:41:54

Hazy, sun-warmed memories from a recent trip to Thailand

Sunset in Cha-Am

My mind was last to get the joke as always; made at its own expense by heart, gentle laughter the first sign that something had escaped its gaze. Yes, I am running after several days not, the reasons for which prove absurd as soon as I leave my Cha-Am, Thailand beach-front hotel.

Leaving the resort village, township of tourist convenience and the music was there—I would recall this later clearly by memory—but side of the road loud speakers and their radio tune made no impression to mind still speaking, thoughts turning wildly at the start of the run.

Running, running... breath yet to catch my legs, legs yet to catch my head, head still insisting body is ten years younger and two minutes per mile faster, but body knows and protests loudly the truth proud mind resists.

Half past five in the evening; work is finished for locals, holidays continue for tourists, sun is setting for all but only just—there is light yet for dinner in road-side shacks come restaurants, old men sitting where they have sat all day, every day, watching young men and women pass to the places where only the young go; light yet for watching the sun set, or for running, and joy—sun heated air warming overworked lungs. Suriya, lord of the sky still holds dominion outside air-conditioned, water by the bottle hotel.

Read more: Beneath golden, setting sun

A response to “A Devoted Heart”

John Gillespie — Mon, 19 Feb 2007 21:27:53

Subarata

A passing reflection on friendship...

I was touched reading Jogyata's short story for his wife's birthday: A Devoted Heart; it seemed on the 7th anniversary of her passing she was still very much in his thoughts.

He was so very hollow when it happened all those years ago. They were always “Jogyata and Subarata,” joined by ‘and’ rather than ‘or,’ by heart as well as conjunction—a partnership in it's truest sense. It seemed as though a part of him had been ripped away, and of course in a sense it had. For a while he was ghost-like, like only half a man, yet he took on the responsibilities of another one and a half stoically—at least outwardly so—running a national meditation centre that they had always run together. The story wasn't supposed to end with just Clyde, but when God is the author it seems endings are flexible things...

Read more: Passing reflection

James K. Baxter: New Zealand's greatest poet

John Gillespie — Sun, 18 Feb 2007 19:25:39

James K. Baxter

I've just written a new biography for PoetSeers.org on James K. Baxter (1926-72), my favourite New Zealand poet and also the most critically acclaimed.

James K. Baxter is unusual among the great modern poets in that he was also a God-lover; his life-long wrestling with religion and self-identity the cause of his enduring popularity and ongoing controversy.

Baxter struggled his entire life he to find his true calling, experimenting with academia, Jungian psychology, Anglicanism, native Maori spirituality, Buddhism and Catholicism before producing his own unique amalgamation; instructed in a dream to form a spiritual community in the small Maori settlement of Jerusalem, the down and out, poor, destitute and helpless came to join him upon the banks of the Wanganui River, where he also wrote some of his best poetry.

No discussion of James K. Baxter would be complete without mentioning his best known poem, written when he was only eighteen:

High Country Weather

Alone we are born
And die alone:
Yet see the red-gold cirrus
Over snow-mountain shine.

Upon the upland road
Ride easy stranger:
Surrender to the sky
Your heart of anger.

Read the bio: James K. Baxter: New Zealand's Greatest Poet

Note: for those who notice such things, the ‘cross-hairs’ on his photograph are actually crop marks—in the good old days before computers, a sub-editor or typesetter would manually draw crop marks on the part of a photograph they wished to publish. I'm guessing they were deliberately cutting off his fashionably messy haircut.

Recently overheard in Madal Bal

John Gillespie — Sat, 10 Feb 2007 07:15:03

Madal Bal, Auckland, N.Z. Is that a new logo?

Madal Bal, an international chain of giftware stores of Swiss origin recently opened its doors for the first time here in New Zealand, a small shop on Auckland’s Takapuna beach managed by Budhsamudra, also known as the seller of fantastic tales on Radio Sri Chinmoy’s Inspiration-Sounds —and one of my flatmates.

As we ate pizza this evening: $6.95 a pie, no-coupon permanent special won out of court by litigious “kosher” housemate, we swapped tales of customers; admittedly his were more fantastic, seeing as how I now mostly work from home, although one of these days I will commit a few stories to paper from my many years as a “Postal Delivery Officer.”

(Here's a quick one for starters—anyone who thinks that something written on a postcard is private is insane—all postie’s read postcards, and in fact love them—they’re a highlight of a mostly mundane job, and good ones get shared around the office before being delivered!)

Pictures of Turkey

John Gillespie — Fri, 09 Feb 2007 03:36:41

Termessos theatre

It is over a month ago now that I was in Turkey, a Christmas vacation with fellow students of Sri Chinmoy, spiritual darshan in the land where West meets East, Levi's meet prayer mats, amateur photographer meets spectacular scenery—myself the former and Antalya the later—ancient Mediterranean city of heaven-reaching mountains and endless beaches, and not a few tourists.

The following are a series of image galleries from Antalya, Turkey; sights from the city itself, beaches and mountains, and a visit to the ancient mountain-top ruins of Termessos, an eagle's nest 1500m above the city which Alexander the Great chose to bypass rather than invade in 333BC.

Recently posted on Turkey:

The Mysterious Bloom by Sumangali
Reluctant popstar: story of a visit to a Turkish barber
Photos of Antalya at richardpettinger.com
Topkapi - Istanbul by Sharani

O Captain! My Captain!

John Gillespie — Thu, 01 Feb 2007 09:34:53

Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman’s status as poetic innovator and father to American verse is undisputed today, but while alive he enjoyed little public acclaim and only minor distribution—and much notoriety. Public and chattering classes aside, Whitman was critically acclaimed right from debut; Ralph Waldo Emerson, so-called “father of American literature” wrote to the poet personally upon receipt of Leaves of Grass, proclaiming “I greet you at the beginning of a great career,” and later described Whitman’s poetry as “a remarkable mixture of the Bhagvat Ghita and the New York Herald.”

Lauded and republished around the world—especially so in England—Whitman never saw a broad appeal or readership at home—the main subject of and intended audience for the majority of his poetry—albeit in a single poem which, ironically, the poet himself thought very little of: O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring.

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red!

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

Mono no aware: the Japanese beauty aesthetic

John Gillespie — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 01:27:44

Meaning literally "a sensitivity to things," mono no aware is a concept describing the essence of Japanese culture, invented by the Japanese literary and linguistic scholar scholar Motoori Norinaga in the eighteenth century, and remains the central artistic imperative in Japan to this day. The phrase is derived from the word aware, which in Heian Japan meant sensitivity or sadness, and the word mono, meaning things, and describes beauty as an awareness of the transience of all things, and a gentle sadness at their passing. It can also be translated as the "ah-ness" of things, of life, and love.

Mono no aware gave name to an aesthetic that already existed in Japanese art, music and poetry, the source of which can be traced directly to the introduction of Zen Buddhism in the twelfth century, a spiritual philosophy and practise which profoundly influenced all aspects of Japanese culture, but especially art and religion. The fleeting nature of beauty described by mono no aware derives from the three states of existence in Buddhist philosophy: unsatisfactoriness, impersonality, and most importantly in this context, impermanence.

According to mono no aware, a falling or wilting autumn flower is more beautiful than one in full bloom; a fading sound more beautiful than one clearly heard; the moon partially clouded more appealing than full. The sakura or cherry blossom tree is the epitome of this conception of beauty; the flowers of the most famous variety, somei yoshino, nearly pure white tinged with a subtle pale pink, bloom and then fall within a single week. The subject of a thousand poems and a national icon, the cherry blossom tree embodies beauty as a transient experience.

The Tale of Genji: The world's first novel

John Gillespie — Sat, 27 Jan 2007 08:27:44

Written by the Japanese noblewoman Murasaki Shikibu in the early eleventh century, The Tale of Genji is a classic work of Japanese literature concerning the son of a Japanese emperor, his romantic life and the customs of aristocratic society at the time. Called alternatively the world's first novel, the first modern novel or the first novel to be considered a classic; precisely which is a matter of debate by those who make a living debating such things. Nobel Prize winning novelist Yasunari Kawabata named The Tale of Genji "the highest pinnacle of Japanese literature. Even down to our day there has not been a piece of fiction to compare with it."

The Tale of Genji was written for Japanese women of the yokibito, or aristocracy, and possesses many of the elements found in novels today: a central character, major and minor characters, well-developed characterisation, psychological insight, complexity, sequential events taking place upon a timeline based upon the central character's lifetime. Rather than using a plot, events just happen and characters evolve simply by growing older, much as in real life. The internal consistency of Genji is a notable feature, and evidence of Murasaki's skill; all characters age in relation to each other, and relationships between them remain consistent throughout chapters.

Ninjas assisting police in the UK

John Gillespie — Thu, 11 Jan 2007 23:31:21

"Man carrying a sword"

Masked, sword-wielding ninjas are now assisting police in their duties in the United Kingdom. Or at least that seems to be the case according to this news story.

Police hunting mystery swordsman

Police on Tyneside are seeking a man carrying a sword who came to the aid of plain clothes officers during a burglary attempt.

The officers were threatened by a man with a knife after they discovered armed men trying to break into a house in Laygate, South Shields.

Another man armed with a samurai sword appeared and attacked the man with the knife, before leaving the scene.

Three men have been charged with aggravated burglary.

One faces an additional charge of attempted wounding with intent to resist arrest.

Original story at: news.bbc.co.uk

Reading Whitman writing Emerson

John Gillespie — Thu, 11 Jan 2007 05:52:16

By Emerson’s Grave

May 6, ’82.—We stand by Emerson’s new-made grave without sadness—indeed a solemn joy and faith, almost hauteur—our soul-benison no mere

“Warrior, rest, thy task is done,”

for one beyond the warriors of the world lies surely symboll’d here. A just man, poised on himself, all-loving, all-inclosing, and same and clear as the sun. Nor does it seem so much Emerson himself we are here to honor—it is conscience, simplicity, culture, humanity’s attributes at their best, yet applicable if need be to average affairs, and eligible to all. So used are we to suppose a heroic death can only come from out of battle or storm, or mighty personal contest, or amid dramatic incidents or danger, (have we not been taught so for ages by all the plays and poems?) that few even of those who most sympathizingly mourn Emerson’s late departure will fully appreciate the ripen’d grandeur of that event, with its play of calm and fitness, like evening light on the sea.

How I shall henceforth dwell on the blessed hours when, not long since, I saw that benignant face, the clear eyes, the silently smiling mouth, the form yet upright in its great age—to the very last, with so much spring and cheeriness, and such an absence of decrepitude, that even the term venerable hardly seem’d fitting.

Perhaps the life now rounded and completed in its mortal development, and which nothing can change or harm more, has its most illustrious halo, not in its splendid intellectual or esthetic products, but as forming in its entirety one of the few, (alas! how few!) perfect and flawless excuses for being, of the entire literary class.

We can say, as Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg, It is not we who come to consecrate the dead—we reverently come to receive, if so it may be, some consecration to ourselves and daily work from him.

--Walt Whitman, Specimen Days

Turning Japanese

John Gillespie — Wed, 10 Jan 2007 18:14:19

I think I may just finally have got Japan out of my system, in a writing sense at least, although it took some months and 2,000 words of on and off scribbling, initial impressions jotted down upon leaving back in July finally expanded into a full-blown article. Or over-blown, you be the judge, this my fourth feature on the Land of the Rising Sun, inspired by a trip there that was only seven days long. Not to say that I have actually tired of this particular subject, or likely ever will—just run out of material, a very good excuse for a can't-come-soon-enough return...

My Japanese brother

A visit to a Zen monastery in Japan, meeting with a monk, more similarities than meet the eye.

Hotel Mets, Ofuna, Japan. On the outskirts of Tokyo, a city that begins and then never seems to end. I am here on a whirlwind, week long visit with Sri Chinmoy and students, sharing a room with a friend already awake before dawn, his the unusual habit of beginning the day with a coffee. And I do mean beginning—before hitting the shower and immediately after hitting the bedside floor. Thoughtfully, hotels in Japan cater for the most extreme caffeine addiction, machines vending blackest gold located conveniently on every floor. And pretty much everywhere else for that matter.

In other places you might call this commercial opportunism. Like in my country, where ATMs are more prevalent on street corners than police officers; the cynic would reply that they are more profitable to run. I will happily admit that my glasses are green-tea tinted, but will argue from more than just a position of Nihon-bias that not everything in Japan runs to a profit motive; like the incense imbued atmosphere of a Shinto shrine, the air here is thick with a culture of sacrifice and service.

Read more: My Japanese brother

Sri Chinmoy on Japan

In The Heart Of The Sky: one of a series of salutations to Japan by Sri Chinmoy, from the book My Salutation to Japan.

We quit!

John Gillespie — Wed, 10 Jan 2007 16:52:46

Working in cafés is no joke, even if the pay may sometimes be...

Apple iPhone released today

John Gillespie — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 17:44:22

iPhone

The Apple iPhone

The Apple iPhone was released today. Yes, that's "phone" as in cellphone, and "i" as in iPod. Much anticipated and wildly rumoured, the countdown officially starts now as to how I long I will be able to resist before getting one. I lasted two years before buying my first iPod, a Third Generation model with touch sensitive buttons and black and white display, a resistance based on an initially dismissive attitude towards the product that I now am completely unable to place; I have upgraded I don't know how many times, proud owner of a 5G 60GB iPod able to play offerings from both Radio Sri Chinmoy AND Sri Chinmoy TV.

Here is an overview of the iPhone's features. Links to photos and articles are below.

Features

11.6 millimetres thick
3.5-inch 480 x 320 touchscreen display (with multi-touch support and a proximity sensor to turn off the sensor when it's close to your face)
2 megapixel cam
4GB or 8 GB of storage
Bluetooth with EDR and A2DP
WiFi that automatically engages when in range
quadband GSM radio with EDGE
it RUNS OS X with support for Widgets, Google Maps, and Safari, and iTunes
a partnership with Yahoo will allow free push IMAP email
5 hours of battery life quoted for talk or video; a full 16 hours in music mode

Chinese coffee

John Gillespie — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 16:07:34

A new article on a surreal visit to a Chinese coffee shop, made even less believable by a brochure gained.

"Experience Mocha!" it demands, and obeisance is mine, weak-willed and supine in the face of advertorial command, a surrendered slave to caffeine's seductive call, writ large as headline on front-of-counter brochure. So experience I do, like there was ever a possibility that I would not, tourist hardly accidental in a franchised coffee shop, Qingdao, China, where an extra-large mocha is served with time and care disproportionate to the value purchased, by staff in Santa hats, seasonal cheer worn yet fitting not here in the decidedly secular People's Republic.

I have lost my will and gained much blood sugar, but still have a semblance of increasingly agitated wits; my attention hyperactive turns in circles to the written instigator of my downfall—counter-side brochure with hypnotic headline I am still chanting inside:

"Experience Mocha... experience mocha..."

Read more: Experience mocha

Lines

John Gillespie — Tue, 09 Jan 2007 02:34:51

Hopefully funny without knowledge of "iteration" and "conditional loops"...

Republished with due appreciation here.

The familiar and the familial

John Gillespie — Mon, 08 Jan 2007 19:19:12

Bushman (and Grandmother)

The progeny of family's prodigious—twelve siblings on my mother's side, six on my father's—it should be of little surprise that I have a few stories "in-house", reflective musing on a random gathering of souls unwieldy and profuse. Catholic on both sides, the similarities between families end at Vatican II: my father, sole male bastion in a Canadian household of five sisters, became a Tai Chi instructor and studied meditation under an Indian guru; my mother, the only religious sibling of all twelve, narrowly dodged a New Zealand convent as a teenager, then embraced a very broad form of Christianity in later years, working overseas as a missionary and believing in reincarnation.

The first fruitful offering of family tree plagiarised and plundered is a tale of a mysterious uncle, a New Zealand bushman of wild habitation and reputation, whose sagely, intuitive advice proved to be presciently exact.

Read more: Things my Uncle taught me (with apologies to Sumangali for title brazenly lifted).

Reflections from a higher plane?

John Gillespie — Sun, 07 Jan 2007 19:58:22

Down to Earth

The final part of a series of observations, imaginings and happenings on a recent globe spanning flight.

While the previous parts of this intercontinental journey were all written (and occur) mid-air, or at least in travel lounges mid-flight, the final part see me very much back on earth, and it could be said on a somewhat lower plane (that's plane as in "plain"), for it concerns a bus trip taken in London, and the more than just eccentric English characters encountered en-route.

Whether fate or otherwise, my arrival in London from Frankfurt sees me miss the connecting bus from Heathrow to Gatwick by five minutes. On board the next scheduled service a full hour later, a fellow passenger with a Cockney accent announces to no-one in particular that "You can travel half-way around the world, yet the last few miles in London always take the longest." I agree with him, although his truism is equally valid in sometimes sleepy New Zealand, where the bus companies are owned by the very same British operator.

The journey isn't made any shorter by a woman near the rear of the bus, sharing with us all in far more volume than necessary a particularly colourful cellphone conversation. A neighbouring passenger, a middle-aged man with what resembles fatherly indignation at an ill-mannered off-spring, is less than appreciative, and tells her as much when the conversation finally finishes.

Reflections from a higher plane pt.6

John Gillespie — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 17:33:26

Travel anecdotes and notes

Into the heavens

A series of observations, imaginings and happenings on a recent globe spanning flight.

God bless the Germans! Real knives and forks, and finally, twenty hours since I left God's own, real food, where "Lacto Ovo" is more Ovo than lack—an actually appetising pasta meal and a real bread roll. The German air hostess with equine familiarity is back to serve my meal, and sternly orders rather than asks the man in front of me to straighten his seat, giving me a fighting chance of eating without an accident in this oversized tin can. I am beginning to think that I would like Germany a lot more than I once thought.

Unlike my previous flight, I am not distracted whilst seasoning my main course, and avoid an unpalatably hot dusting of pepper which burning hunger could not broach.

I am almost tempted to take the cutlery home, not as table implements but art, for I rather like the well-designed Lufthansa logo embossed prominently on each stem. I am reminded of a craze many years back for stealing BMW and Mercedes logos from the hood of cars, status symbols reinvented as coveted neckwear.

The computer generated play

John Gillespie — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 17:41:11

Brainstorming. Please, not Russian dancing!

The following is a play written by myself and performed by members of the Vasudeva Service web team. It makes absolutely no pretensions to being high art, or even art for that matter, but is hopefully just a little bit funny, despite all of the in-jokes.

The computer generated play is the very first play I have ever written, and was scripted rather hurriedly during spare moments grabbed over the course of two days, following Sri Chinmoy asking Priyadarshan and members of the Vasudeva Service web team to perform in front of him and his students.

Without a single pretension to being high art, or even particularly good (that would be here), it was instead meant to be a humourous, self-referential and highly self-deprecating attempt by a group of self-proclaimed computer nerds —almost to a man vehement non-actors—to give others a little joy at their own expense—and maybe even enjoy themselves?

Lines are kept as simple as possible, and were often delivered in fashion even simpler, and there was no blocking out or movement during the play to speak of, to compensate for which I intended the dialogue to be delivered seated, even in front of laptops, a point on which I was overruled. Also in aid of simplicity, all actors "played" themselves, and much of the (intended) humour is based on self-referential situational observations (Dhayni sells coconuts in real life, Dhyani and Atmasamarpan are both skilled programmers, and we all really were in something of a panic about performing—especially when one member initially proposed we either do Russian dancing or sing Beethoven's Silent Night in German).

Read more: The computer generated play

Reflections from a higher plane pt.5

John Gillespie — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 16:29:54

Travel anecdotes and notes

Aspiration-flight

A series of observations, imaginings and happenings on a recent globe spanning flight.

Flying Lufthansa from Hong Kong to Frankfurt, I am squeezed against a window in coach, as I was previously on Air New Zealand now half a day previously, seat half invaded by a man seemingly oblivious to my personal space or comfort, even though I am more than confident it would be I who would win any prospective arm wrestling contest, on the basis of our respective builds alone. I am fuming inwardly, not at this seat-jacker mind you—par for the course in economy class, and relatively minor on the scale of discomfort compared to the time I crossed the entire Pacific ocean next to a famous rugby player's even larger first cousin—rather I am angry because I have 'Gold Status' on this particular airline, and aside from the expectation I should be treated like landed gentry, if not royalty, space permitting the inside seat should have be blocked off, as it has been in rows front and behind. Perhaps, and this is a common thread in my life to date, I am being taught another lesson about privilege and its appreciation due.

Pride swallowed, I await my hard to swallow "special" meal, title ironic of course. Despite my aristocratic pretensions, I wouldn't dream of making a fuss about such a small matter, and remind myself of the special purpose for which I am making this journey: a trip to see meditation teacher Sri Chinmoy —my real frequent flyer reward.

Reflections from a higher plane pt.4

John Gillespie — Sat, 30 Dec 2006 15:29:59

Travel anecdotes and notes

Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian

A series of observations, imaginings and happenings on a recent globe spanning flight.

Still in Hong Kong—but only just—I pass a book store on my way to the departure gate. It is called 'Relay', as proclaimed by floor to ceiling signage—a western style franchise, one of several in this wing of the airport alone. I can't get over the fact that the name really doesn't match the trade, meaning presumably lost in translation in some Hong Kong ad agency. My sense of the absurd aside, I am drawn inside by pressing need for long-haul distraction.

Passing by books of politics and righteous causes which I now avoid rather than avidly read, I end up in Asian Literature and Biography, my eye drawn of its own volition towards a familiar name on a large, bright book spine centre shelf— Alan Spence. I know this name not as an author but fellow student of Sri Chinmoy, a fact confirmed on the inside back cover, naming him leader of the Sri Chinmoy Meditation Centre in Edinburgh. Not in disagreement with his profession, or this particular practise of it—five minutes before I was only dimly aware that he was a published author, and am now more than impressed—I am instead drawn one shelf down to a Nobel Literature Prize winner, Gao Xingjian, and his book Soul Mountain.

Sweets?

John Gillespie — Sat, 30 Dec 2006 13:49:00

Corner shop, Crowley, Oxford.

From Oxford to Iceland

John Gillespie — Thu, 28 Dec 2006 10:57:59

Lost in Oxford

If you were to dig a hole through the world from New Zealand you would end up in England. I took a route more circuitous than subterranean—24 hours of flight and several weeks spent in Turkey, but I am now here in what was once called the "Mother Country," a day and a night in Oxford before returning home.

"Right, right and then left," my English host instructs me, directions to the nearest cash machine and shopping centre in suburban Cowley. "There's quite a big shopping centre there, and a co-op where you can get healthy food and snacks."

"Brilliant" I think to myself—healthy junk-food, the best of both worlds, and exactly what I am after. Extra layer of clothing donned, I depart into the biting chill, dark falling already at four in the afternoon.

The first right turn was simple enough, but with the next and then left I am pretty sure I am heading astray. In deference to my hosts' knowledge of these foreign streets, I persist on prescribed course despite misgivings, up suburban hillside, past Christmas decorated houses leaking steam and cheer two days past use-by date, a graveyard in between. And on towards a dead end.

Read more: From Oxford to Iceland

The twenty best things ever said—by anyone

John Gillespie — Mon, 25 Dec 2006 06:49:39

Thomas Jefferson

As published recently elsewhere, here is a list of the twenty best things ever said—by anyone. Originally a list of twenty-five, I whittled it down to twenty, adding my own personal favourite at number one. The order is arbitrary otherwise.

I'm pretty sure that this list could be improved greatly—for example it pains me to include a saying by L.B.J., although number 13 has a suitable response to this sentiment—so feel free to add alternative quotes as comments.

20. If two men agree on everything, you may be sure that one of them is doing the thinking.
-- Lyndon Baines Johnson (1908-1973)

19. It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no God. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.
-- Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826)

18. To give pleasure to a single heart by a single act is better than a thousand heads bowing in prayer.
-- Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948)

17. When I get a little money, I buy books; and if any is left, I buy food and clothes.
-- Desiderius Erasmus (1465-1536)

16. It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows.
-- Epictetus (c.55-c.135)

Sighted in public

John Gillespie — Sun, 24 Dec 2006 07:49:08

Four members of the Vasudeva Service web team were sighted in public together recently, as seen in this snapped from a balcony in secret photograph. They were (clockwise from top): Priyadarshan, myself, Atmasamarpan (website unknown) and Richard.

The photo also catches one member in the act of drinking coffee, a drink he had quite publicly forsworn for the last three months. And strangely there isn't a single computer in sight...

The contributor of the rings

John Gillespie — Sat, 23 Dec 2006 14:03:08

Resemblance?

I submitted my very first article to Inspiration-Letters the other day, a forum for inspired writers here at the Sri Chinmoy Centre site. Although something of a closet writer for a while, I have until now never been asked to submit an article to this forum, and thus have been forced, nursing bruised pride and wounded ego, to tell people repeatedly and without prompting, "Yes, but I was published in New Zealand's largest magazine a few years ago you know." Less than convincing air of indifference aside, I was in truth all the time waiting for the call from the Inspiration-Letters editor.

The article was a 2,700 word "when-will-it-end?" behemoth, signal of self-indulgence perhaps, but inspiration was the true intention. The assigned topic for this (yet to be published) issue was "Extreme Sports and Adventure," and knowing of no sports more extreme than early morning jogging I went with "Adventure," although subverting it somewhat to own writerly interest: about myself as usual, my favourite topic of all.

I just now received a reply from the Inspiration-Letters editor, an acknowledgment of receipt, and quite unexpectedly (and generously), a comparison of myself to Tolkein—influence of hobbit and elves detected quite by surprise in my epic-sized rambling.

Read more: The contributor of the rings

What I still want for Christmas

John Gillespie — Tue, 19 Dec 2006 11:08:50

Now but six days prior, I'm still rather keen on the Blendtec Total Blender for Christmas. However, if included, I think I'll keep the iPod, rather than juice it. Or give it to some poor mp3 deprived orphan...

Reflections from a higher plane pt.3

John Gillespie — Mon, 11 Dec 2006 10:19:50

Travel anecdotes and notes

Gate 41

A series of observations, imaginings and happenings on a recent globe spanning flight.

Gate 41, South Terminal of Hong Kong Airport. I am awaiting the departure of Lufthansa Flight 739 to Frankfurt, Germany.

The gate is manned by airline workers of Chinese nationality, locals presumably in the employ of this international carrier. Two in particular catch my attention, young women more school girl than official, as though selected by a teacher for a very unusual job. Shuffling shyly from aisle to aisle, their task is to announce the boarding of seats 50 and over, but in print rather than word—they have a sign pre-made specially for this purpose. The sign should need only a single person for the holding, but the second girl assists the first, reversing it to change the language displayed, pointing her in the right direction, answering questions from the puzzled German passengers, taken aback by this most unusual form of public announcement.

Although this boarding lounge procession is very cute, in the charming way of so many things in Asia, it is from a practical point of view a most peculiar sight, and my trained for maximum efficiency Western mind is quite unable fathom why they do not make use of the public address.

In fact no announcements are made out loud today, and I am left, aside from amused, to conclude that here in the people-rich People's Republic, sheer numbers of people are the efficiency. With a total population well into seven figures, one surmises that labour does not need to be maximised, rather uses found for all of its employ.

Reflections from a higher plane pt.2

John Gillespie — Mon, 11 Dec 2006 09:42:05

Travel anecdotes and notes

Airline lounges have their perks...

A series of observations, imaginings and happenings on a recent globe spanning flight.

When I travel, which is often, I am fortunate enough to enjoy the comforts of member-only airline lounges. Rather than being evidence of my wealth—a state of which, against my insistence, I am often mistaken—the reality is that traveling the globe—asides from depleting wealth—accrues air miles, sufficient quantities of which bestows privileges like seating upgrades, impressive looking plastic cards, the appearance of wealth (already covered) and lounge membership.

Airline lounges usually exist in the exclusive upper floors of airport departure areas, and are guarded by signs saying "Members only" on the outside, boarding pass checks on the inside. If you are unfamiliar with these refined heights, I can assure you that you are missing very little—I personally can leave the insufferable air of self-styed exclusivity you must dodge to secure the free crackers, a suffocating atmosphere—unlike smoking—yet to be banished. I defiantly wear my trainers and casual traveling clothes in the face of this, the disapproving stare medicine for the remnants of my pride and vanity.

Reflections from a higher plane pt.1

John Gillespie — Sat, 09 Dec 2006 04:44:36

Travel anecdotes and notes

Towards the light

A series of observations, imaginings and happenings on a recent globe spanning flight.

The flight from Hong Kong to Frankfurt is with Lufthansa, the German carrier. Why I am flying Deutsch air, some considerable distance from my intended destination, is a long story perhaps tedious in the explaining; for now it is enough to say that I am content in the experience of a new culture, albeit a highly pressurised, climate-controlled, stratospheric version of such.

Twelve hours distant from my first visit to Germany, I don't need a Nietzschean insight to tell me that our Lufthansa air hostess represents everything great about this strangely familiar Fatherland. Equine nose, features plain in a way that is dignified rather than ordinary, and a manner no nonsense and all business, she is the very portrait of a genuine politeness and sincerity that, to me at least, is highly refreshing.

She is also the mirror image of a former workmate—a project manager who would chase down errant details and deliver jobs perfectly to deadline, all efficiency and politeness, never straying from the task at hand. I often used to reflect, with no small admiration, how German in manner she was.

I enjoy encounters with character, German or otherwise, wherever I find it—it is refreshing, inspiring even. One is reminded that you do not have to be a conscious traveler of life's spiritual road to understand it's laws, and benefit from doing so.

Technical support

John Gillespie — Sat, 02 Dec 2006 08:28:31

Easy as child's play?

I have an occasional role as member of a technical support team for a rather large website. Normally it is a relatively undemanding task, and luckily enough, for the questions asked are generally simple enough to give me the appearance of being knowledgeable, an impression sometimes different from the reality.

Over the last couple of days I received a series of help requests from a user completely at a loss over a very simple feature of this website's content management system, and try as I might, every attempt to explain it's proper use led not to clarification but confusion, an ever spiraling maelstrom of misapprehension in which issue became plural and then profusion, molehill into mountain to quite humourous effect.

The poor user in question being a very good sport, I am sure will not mind me sharing our written exchange—and my amusement—their identity hidden to prevent embarrassment already present becoming public.

Read more: Technical support

What I want for Christmas

John Gillespie — Fri, 01 Dec 2006 13:27:09

I've never really been satisfied with other blenders. They never fully mix your protein powder; they get bogged down making homemade hummus. But this one looks like it will do the trick—meet the Blendtec Total Blender. That's total as in total-warfare, and answers the question always first to my lips: "But will it blend?"

From Objects of desire for folks who appreciate the application of science to the problem of cool", where the blender that just cannot be stopped narrowly tops "Fishloft", "MacGyver Watch" and "Flying Alarm Clock" on my must have for Christmas wish-list.

Actual English subtitles used in films made in Hong Kong

John Gillespie — Fri, 01 Dec 2006 04:20:51

Beware! Your bones are going to be disconnected.

I am damn unsatisfied to be killed in this way.
Fatty, you with your thick face have hurt my instep.
Gun wounds again?
A normal person wouldn't steal pituitaries.
Damn, I'll burn you into a BBQ chicken!
Who gave you the nerve to get killed here?
Quiet or I'll blow your throat up.
You always use violence. I should've ordered glutinous rice chicken.
I'll fire aimlessly if you don't come out!
You daring lousy guy.
Beat him out of recognizable shape!
I got knife scars more than the number of your leg's hair!
Beware! Your bones are going to be disconnected.
The bullets inside are very hot. Why do I feel so cold?
How can you use my intestines as a gift?

Overheard on the subway

John Gillespie — Wed, 29 Nov 2006 22:53:27

Description not direction

I have fond memories of traveling the subways in New York, strangely enough for an experience most people endure at best—dirt and grime, psychotic fellow travelers ever suspiciously eyed but never directly stared, street beggars with 99c mini-screwdrivers sets or just torrents of abuse to exchange for your patronage or otherwise, and bored, drowsy fellow travelers doing their best to avoid all of the above.

New York for me is almost a second home. I travel there twice a year—sometimes three—to attend Celebrations with Sri Chinmoy, large international gatherings of his students staged around the commemoration of special occasions, occasions of shared happiness and brotherly togetherness for all of us, spiritual progress as well.

For me, traveling the subway in New York, a noisy ride on the F-train for the hour long trip to Manhattan for shopping, and sometimes a very occasional trip with friends to the kind of expensive restaurant or café you would never go to back home, is a from where to where juxtaposition between the otherworldly bliss of hours spent in meditation with an underground encounter with humanity in all its aspects—the lowest to the highest, poorest and richest, seated together in a rattling, metal-cage; and yet perhaps a gap not so far, seated in body but spirit still somewhere else, wrapped within an iPod-cocooned bubble of meditative calm, there is some truth to the claim that meditation has no use if not practised in the here and now.

The following are conversations overheard by fellow passengers of the New York Metropolitan Transportation Authority system, instantly familiar to anyone who has had the "pleasure" of it's service.

13 things that do not make sense

John Gillespie — Mon, 27 Nov 2006 16:08:26

Taking a long hard look at Einstein

Without a sense of mystery, the world around us would be just plain boring in my opinion. Sure it's nice to walk in the park or smell the roses, but to me it is the play of infinity in the finite, the hidden import and meaning behind things that really brings them to life. And what greater mystery in life than our reason for being and source of our identity?

Science, never afraid to be called a curmudgeon, normally hates to enter the realm of the metaphysical, but NewScientistSpace has composed a list of 13 things that do not make sense, a confounding compendium of observations of our world and the universe around us, observations which, and maybe I am drawing a rather long bow, hint at the fact that there is more going on here than that which meets the physical eye.

Here is a summary of the list, touching upon mysteries such as dark matter, the placebo effect, homeopathy and life on Mars, mysteries which are covered in depth at space.newscientist.com

Christchurch Centre on TV

John Gillespie — Mon, 27 Nov 2006 13:40:57

Meditation at the Christchurch Sri Chinmoy Centre

While television itself normally gives me a sharp pain in the head, a national network here in New Zealand recently did a feature on headaches, and guess who they turned to for the only solution to pain in the brain I would wholeheartedly recommend? The Christchurch Sri Chinmoy Centre. Lights, camera, incense...

View the feature: Christchurch Centre on TV (28.3mb, 5:41)

Artistic use of a MacBook Pro

John Gillespie — Sat, 25 Nov 2006 22:37:34

Who would have thought? The sudden motion sensor feature in the MacBook Pro can be used to artistic effect!

Not Italian for soulful

John Gillespie — Wed, 22 Nov 2006 19:13:16

Italian women perform the haka

There was recently a storm in a teacup here in New Zealand over the appropriation of our haka—a Maori war dance considered in some contexts to be sacred—to advertise an Italian motor vehicle.

While there is some evidence of "haka-fatigue" in this nation, with the performance of the iconic dance at any and all sporting occasions eliciting the suggestion that it's value is being cheapened via overuse, the misappropriation of a quote "national treasure" was a cause for national unity in enmity recently, dissenting cries of "Who cares?" aside.

In a country where there has been considerable contention over the issue of women's speaking privileges on maraes (rough translation: speaking house)—witness the debate several years back over our female Prime Minister being denied the right to speak on a marae —the notion of Italian women performing the sacred war dance was a bridge too far, and to say the talk-back lines and newsprint ran torrid with consternation at the "Miss" appropriation would be an understatement.

A pale blue dot

John Gillespie — Thu, 23 Nov 2006 19:55:04

A beautiful space

I did a university paper in astronomy way back when, more because of an affinity for the vastness and mystery of our night-sky than a liking of physics—or for that matter anything else remotely mathematical. Of course I got far more of the latter than the former: the mundane practicalities of "matter", and it's arcane but definitely not mystical workings. And the passage of light through space, and its refraction and reflection, some of which "rationally unsound" people have the temerity to call beautiful.

It was anything but what you might call magical. A subject which the artistically inclined write best forgotten, angst-ridden poems about during their formative years—I didn't actually, but I'm sure you know the stereotype—except with every single drop of the poetry, and angst, removed.

The very first point of order in my first astronomy class, right after the professor introduced himself, was to confirm that for the next semester this class would be on the subject of astronomy, not astrology, and were anyone interested in the latter, now might be a good time to head for the door...

Read more: A pale blue dot

20 funniest analogies collected by high school English teachers

John Gillespie — Thu, 23 Nov 2006 16:45:24

Exams. Who needs them?

Doing the information superhighway rounds at the moment is a collection of "funniest analogies", apparently collected from actual high school essays by English teachers, for their own amusement.

Whether true or not, these are so bad as to be good, and funnier than one could possibly write, occasional moment of genius aside, on purpose.

Incidentally, one day I will write about my patented the-day-before-only exam study technique. Passing is guaranteed, but maybe not excellence...

In no particular order:

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

It's Wellington's fault

John Gillespie — Wed, 22 Nov 2006 17:29:05

Wellington, earthquake capital of the world

Wellington, capital of New Zealand and home for almost all of my years, is famous for being one of the most windy cities in the world, and also one of the most earthquake prone, situated on the very juncture between the restless Pacific and Australian tectonic plates. Unlike Aucklanders to the north, likely to be woken by a passing truck, or anything greater than a passing breeze, the average Wellingtonian fails to register anything less than the "Big One", as they call it, a magnitude 7 or greater on the Richter scale upheaval expected every one hundred and fifty years, and in the Harbour Capital, now officially overdue.

"Is it the Big One, do you think?", a Wellingtonian will question out loud, during an earthquake.

"No, the roof hasn't come down yet, so we seem to be o.k."

The last major earthquake occurred on 23 January 1855, a kind of Happy Birthday present on the day of the fifteenth anniversary of the founding of Wellington, and measured a massive 8.2 on the Richter scale. It is worth noting at this point that the Richter scale, invented as a measure of earthquake magnitude in 1935 by Charles Richter of the California Institute of Technology, is logarithmic, meaning that, and I did look this up, each whole number increase in magnitude represents a tenfold increase in measured amplitude, and as an estimate of energy, about 31 times more energy than the preceding whole number value.

Read more: It's Wellington's fault

Hayley Westenra sings "God Defend New Zealand"

John Gillespie — Sat, 18 Nov 2006 18:20:11

Hayley Westenra sings "God Defend New Zealand"

In something of a beauty and the beast moment, New Zealand's world acclaimed teen aged singer Hayley Westenra took the spotlight at a rugby test this morning, quite magnificently singing "God Defend New Zealand" before a match played between New Zealand's world acclaimed All Blacks and the French Les Blues at the Stade de France, Paris. Her pure, angelic voice is really something to behold, even if not a New Zealander blinded by teary national pride, and a from-heaven-to-hell counterpoint to the 80 minutes of brutality interspersed with touches of sublime skill that followed it definitely was.

For the record, New Zealand won the game 23-11, and soulful singing was the winner on the day.

View the video

Hayley Westenra sings God Defend New Zealand (12.3mb, 2:17)

German lessons

John Gillespie — Sat, 18 Nov 2006 06:03:10

Stop smiling!

"There are three things in life you must learn", my Swiss-German friend confides to me, suddenly serious.

Or rather, more serious than usual, as the distance between easy and hard-going is, in his particular case, shorter than a trip across the Elbe.

To compound cultural stereotypes further, he is more German than Swiss, well-meaning but with a Bismarckian bluntness in manner.

To my German readers, let me by way of immediate reparation admit that I am on occasion mistaken for being German. Which I mean as a compliment! Complete strangers, presumably secure in my apparent Germanic character, have more than on one occasion started conversations with me in "Deutsch". Very funny indeed to my definitely not German sense of humour (I don't get cabaret either), which on occasion perpetuates itself through barked sideways commands in gatherings of my inexplicably kindred non-countrymen ("stille!"), amusement gained in watching them snap to sudden attention. "Ja, ist es verrückt!"

To borrow a maxim from the public relations industry, they say bad press is better than no press. Intrigued at the thought of three hither-to unknown life-lessons, I'm a glutton for attention, and all ears.

Read more: German lessons

No free lunch

John Gillespie — Thu, 16 Nov 2006 00:08:28

No dishes to wash

It is said that in life there is no such thing as a free lunch. One must pay ones dues, do the hard yards, go the distance and earn your stripes—to coin, deposit and take out a mortgage on a cliché or four.

To compound maxims further, from time to time every rule admits of an exception, a paragraph finishing sub-clause that, when noticed, makes life the pleasing, indeterminate swirl of chance and contradictory possibility any on-the-edge exponent of meditation truly rejoices in.

Synchronicity, chance and the unexpected all combined recently, not for a free lunch but rather free drinks—a round on the house on the occasion of a birthday, here in the Sri Chinmoy Centre.

The unforeseen hand of thirst-quenching fortune was met at Café Epic, a suitably named location for the celebration of a "Soul's Day", the term we students of Sri Chinmoy use for a birthday, signifying a day not only of celebration, but commemoration of the soul's promise to God, made at the beginning of our earthly sojourn.

Read more: No free lunch

Ancient mysteries

John Gillespie — Tue, 14 Nov 2006 23:08:10

Forgotten cultures

A recent post in a sister-blog on the stone mysteries of southern England—the ancient, awe-full wonders of Stonehenge and Avebury—has been chipping away at my memory recently, and, seeing as I am incapable (for which there is a bullet-pointed list of personally applicable reasons) of writing about the topic of quantum physics, I shall follow this chalk-etched lead instead—a kind of Puppy Powers Revisited yet again, jumping on the bandwagon act of flattery by appropriation I suppose.

Here in New Zealand there is much to be proud of—clean air, clear skies and crystal waters, all so abundant that we take them for granted. We are much like children this respect, blissfully ignorant still of limitation in life, and it often takes a trip beyond the shores of "God's Own" to bring the realisation that, in the words of comedian and Kiwi cultural icon John Clarke, "We don't know how lucky we are, mate."

Did I say clear skies? Let me qualify that, for I meant free of pollution. The name for New Zealand in Maori, our indigenous Tangata Whenua or "People of the Land", is Aotearoa—the "Land of the Long White Cloud", and although assigned by a culture in general more poetic in these matters than my own, it has in this case a quite literal meaning. In Auckland, my home city and inspiration for the Crowded House song Four Seasons in One Day, the clouds are never far away.

Read more: Ancient mysteries

Teacher knows best?

John Gillespie — Tue, 14 Nov 2006 02:16:20

Obey the teacher

Despite trying as hard as possible not to follow in the parental footsteps—my mother is a home economics teacher, my father an instructor of Tai Chi—there is, for better or worse, something of a teacher in me. Call it genes, an inherited from I don't quite know where sense of patience when explaining things, or just being quite the know-it-all, it seems I am in spite of myself mysteriously suited to the role. Mysteriously, because my parentally garnered inside knowledge has taught me at least one thing—taking up teaching professionally would be sheer insanity!

I am reminded at this point of a maxim common but worth repeating. It is said that the truly wise are wise only in the knowledge of how little they truly know. Let's just say, wise or only partially, my meditation practise reminds me of this knowledge every day.

In my job, or rather former job, I reached a senior level, which meant it was actually in my employment description to help out and train juniors, keeping an eye on their work and showing them how they might do something a better way. Quite the power trip it was not, because no matter how knowledgeable the teacher—an open question in my case—you need receptivity in your pupils, and those who are less experienced, less knowledgeable, and in particular of wounded pride, sometimes aren't. In saying that, people were usually glad to be helped, especially when the help is given without haughtiness, impatience or over-complication (I do try on all three counts), but I should admit that every now and then there was a "pupil" to whom I deliberately neglected my contracted responsibilities.

Read more: Teacher knows best?

Thomas Sugrue: There is a River

John Gillespie — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 08:18:23

There is a River

There is a River: The Story of Edgar Cayce. By Thomas Sugrue

I should begin with something of a disclaimer: this is more than just a book review—it is backstory to myself as well, for Thomas Sugrue's There is a River holds a very special place in my life. While I can trace my awakening to spirituality after the fact to a wide variety of preparatory life events and circumstances, it was this account of life story of Edgar Cayce that introduced me to meditation, the soul's journey and God-realisation. I now practise the first, am continuing the second, and, come hell or high-water, rather keen to reach the third.

I had been meaning to learn about Edgar Cayce for many years before reading this book. I first came across his name at age 12, in a book about the lost continent of Atlantis, a particularly strong childhood fascination of mine. He was mentioned only in passing, quoted as giving the approximate date for the sinking of Atlantis—circa 10,000 B.C. "How on earth could he know that?" I thought. I asked my mother about him and got an elliptical answer—"I'll tell you about him when you're older". Red rag to a bull in my particular case, but the next trip to the city library turned up only a single book which always happened to be out. In these pre-internet times the subject slowly slipped my mind.

Read more: Thomas Sugrue: There is a River

Spaceship design

John Gillespie — Sat, 04 Nov 2006 17:08:15

Design studio or spaceship?

I finished a short-term contract with a prestigious design company the other day. In truth it was the best place I have worked at, in a freelance career only several months old. The floor to ceiling white decor, equally at home in meditation centre or spaceship, was an added bonus, but as in every workplace, the environment is made more by the people than the furnishings, and in this case they were relaxed and friendly, quite obviously capable.

For the first time in my career I am told, if you have to choose between doing something fast and doing it to the highest standard, choose the latter. Which is music to my casuistic ears! A bane of the contemporary design industry is that with computerisation, a job that once took a week is now expected in a day. Ask anyone who has been around more than twenty years and they will tell you this. But this company is a strategy firm, not just a design house, of a higher stratosphere where the thinking behind identity and marketing gets done. I am guessing their fantastic hourly rates give them a dimension of time and breathing space unknown in the lower realms.

Read more: Spaceship design

Return to puppy power

John Gillespie — Sat, 28 Oct 2006 23:51:40

Who's a good boy?

Much as I hate to be chasing the bumper of a fast moving band wagon, two recent articles by writers of extraordinary ability have forced pen to doggy paw, in an under-qualified, smallest dog on the block imitation, rather than emulation, of their superlative-silencing awe.

You once wouldn't have seen me writing perhaps more than a sentence on the topic of dogs, and that sentence would have probably been in tone indifferent and somewhat aloof. But a funny thing happened when I entered the spiritual life—I turned from a "cat person" to a "dog person" with devotion.

I knew a person once who insisted that you could divide all people into these two categories—wearers of either canine or feline coloured fur. This person was most definitely of the dog persuasion, and took some satisfaction in pronouncing, after I declared my like of cats, and with something of a knowing smirk, that yes, they had deduced that already. They just missed a flying claw...

Read more: Return to puppy power

The World by Ibid

John Gillespie — Fri, 27 Oct 2006 21:35:31

"Beethoven wrote music even though he was deaf. He was so deaf he wrote loud music. He took long walks in the forest even when everyone was calling for him. Beethoven expired in 1827 and later died of this."

I have just been laughing out loud at this and other funny exam answers by students reprinted at richardpettinger.com, a website maintained by a friend who is also an economics teacher. Being of a liberal disposition I don't hold the latter against the former...

Believe it or not I once also marked exams. Well sort of. My mother is a high school home economics teacher, and once took on national year end exam marking to supplement her income. At the age of twelve I earned myself twenty dollars (a fortune!) going, one at at time, through dreadfully dull questions about baking agents and kitchen safety procedures, and then checking all of the marked totals. It was at this point that I knew that I wouldn't be following professionally in the maternal footsteps.

Read more: The World by Ibid

Paris syndrome

John Gillespie — Fri, 27 Oct 2006 05:33:01

C'est beau!

It's not everyday that my love of things Asian and my amazement for things absurd can be painted together in less than broad strokes. But they appeared side by side in finely kerned newsprint recently—a Reuters news story so fantastic I doubt I could have imagined it.

It seems that doctors, ever in search of new conditions to justify their expertise, have coined a new syndrome. Wait for it, visiting Paris can make you ill!

To it's fans, Paris is a haven of creativity and culture, the birthplace of artistic and intellectual movements such as the theatre of the absurd, deconstruction philosophy and the cinema of poetic realism. Points of evidence for it's detractors as well by the way...

It is said that one man's heaven is another man's hell, and for an increasing number of Japanese tourists, the trip of a lifetime to the French capital has become akin to a living Dantean nightmare.

"Around a dozen Japanese tourists a year need psychological treatment after visiting Paris as the reality of unfriendly locals and scruffy streets clashes with their expectations, a newspaper reported on Sunday."

Read more: Paris syndrome

Airport anxiety

John Gillespie — Sun, 15 Oct 2006 06:26:59

Computer, coffee & creativity—not necessarily in that order

Almost home. Not that I don't regret to be leaving Japan—in fact completely the opposite. This country has just made the top of my "All time favourite-places that I have visited and would like to be born in next lifetime" list. Not a long list to be honest, but a list probably in need of a shorter title.

There is always an end to everything in life, and responsibilities' voice tells me that I have a job and numerous commitments to return to. And besides, I am fast running out of money.

I get off the free hotel bus at Terminal 2 of Tokyo's Narita Airport. Or should I say "de-bus", for I am at an international airport, and here only Japanese and American English are understood. Call me a crank, but one of these days I will refuse to leave my seat when I am asked to "de-plane"...

Read more: Airport anxiety

The log of John

Purple prose

What matter age?

Suvarnabhumi—Golden Land

A response to “A Devoted Heart”

James K. Baxter: New Zealand's greatest poet

Recently overheard in Madal Bal

Pictures of Turkey

Recently posted on Turkey:

O Captain! My Captain!

Mono no aware: the Japanese beauty aesthetic

The Tale of Genji: The world's first novel

Ninjas assisting police in the UK

Police hunting mystery swordsman

Reading Whitman writing Emerson

Turning Japanese

My Japanese brother

Other stories about Japan

Sri Chinmoy on Japan

We quit!

Apple iPhone released today

Features

Links

Chinese coffee

Lines

The familiar and the familial

Reflections from a higher plane?

Reflections from a higher plane pt.6

Travel anecdotes and notes

The computer generated play

Reflections from a higher plane pt.5

Travel anecdotes and notes

Reflections from a higher plane pt.4

Travel anecdotes and notes

Sweets?

From Oxford to Iceland

The twenty best things ever said—by anyone

Sighted in public

The contributor of the rings

What I still want for Christmas

Reflections from a higher plane pt.3

Travel anecdotes and notes

Reflections from a higher plane pt.2

Travel anecdotes and notes

Reflections from a higher plane pt.1

Travel anecdotes and notes

Technical support

What I want for Christmas

Actual English subtitles used in films made in Hong Kong

Overheard on the subway

13 things that do not make sense

Christchurch Centre on TV

Related links:

Artistic use of a MacBook Pro

Not Italian for soulful

A pale blue dot

20 funniest analogies collected by high school English teachers

It's Wellington's fault

Hayley Westenra sings "God Defend New Zealand"

View the video

German lessons

No free lunch

Ancient mysteries

Teacher knows best?

Thomas Sugrue: There is a River

There is a River: The Story of Edgar Cayce. By Thomas Sugrue

Spaceship design

Return to puppy power

The World by Ibid

Paris syndrome

Airport anxiety