The Psychological Beatitudes
Stop prioritizing.
Stop prioritizing.
Reverence, serenity, and compassion, courtesy of a mushroom? Well, what would be wrong with that? Humans are a broken species. Negative emotions wired into us for survival have run amok in times we call civilized, and now we hunt, or at least hurt, one another. It would be lovely to think we could all meditate our way to wholeness. But why not speed the process?
However you interpreted the American dream, it was all that held us together.
Or how the father of taxonomy persuaded the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences to organize a hunt for mermaids.
Brilliant, he admits to an “almost delusional level of self-confidence.” Will we pay for his recklessness?
“Haunting” is the first word that comes to mind. The melody’s ghost lingered, changing the very air. The Gymnopédies, a word I now know means “Three Nude Dances,” were indeed bare: simple, vulnerable, tender, wistful, melancholy.
Mary Poppins' umbrella was all about Sufi mysticism, and a Bulgarian umbrella will kill you.
Want to grow old gracefully? Less striving, more love.
Do these people not know that now is now is now is NOW?
How do we stay plugged into a society that is fast losing any moral compass—and keep our own?
I am not sure which would appall my mother more: “dip chiller” to name her receptacle for delicate, extravagant shrimp, or me asking an artificial intelligence to remind me what she taught me.
This island is extraordinary, and indifferent to that fact. The past is alive wherever you turn, though with few historic markers and little protection. Artifacts, ruins, and human remains have been tossed aside, laid claim to, or layered over, yet they refuse to be erased.