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ferine(from Algernon Blackwood’s A Prisoner In Fairyland, pages 124-125):
"What is star-stuff really then?" she asked.
"The primordial substance of the universe," he answered solemnly, no whit ashamed of his inaccuracy.
"But what does it do, I mean, and why is it good for people to have it in them -- on them -- whatever it is?" she inquired.
"It gives sympathy and insight; it’s so awfully subtle and delicate," he answered. "A little of it travels down on every ray and soaks down into you. It makes you feel inclined to stick to other people and understand them. That’s sympathy."
"But sympathy," the other went on, "is no good without insight -- which means seeing things as others see them -- from inside. That’s insight --"
"Inside sight," she corrected him.
"That’s it. You see, the first stuff that existed in the universe was this star-stuff -- nebulae. Having nothing else to stick to, it stuck to itself, and so got thicker. I whirled in vortices. It grew together in sympathy, for sympathy brings together. It whirled and twirled round itself till it got at last into solid round bodies -- worlds -- stars. It passed, that is, from mere dreaming into action. And when the rays soak into you, they change your dreaming into action. You feel the desire to do things -- for others."
"The instant a sweet thought in born in your mind,” he continued, “the heavenly stables send their starry messengers to harness it for use. A ray, perhaps, from mighty Sirius picks it out of your heart at birth."
"Then what I think is known -- like that -- all over the place?" Jimbo asked. He held himself very straight indeed.
"Everywhere," replied Cousin Henry gravely. "The stars flash your thoughts over the whole universe. None are ever lost. Sooner or later they appear in visible shape. Some one, for instance, must have thought this flower long ago" -- he stooped and picked a blue hepatica at their feet -- "or it couldn’t be growing here now."
"Then I shall always think enormous and tremendous things -- "
"The best is to think kind little sweet things about other people," suggested the other. "You see the results quicker then."
This has led me to recognize that allowing myself to digest others' journals, forums, and websites that anger me, amuse me in a cynical way, depress me--is tantamount to self-harm.
Staying informed on the changing of subjects important to me weren't, and aren't, worth becoming emotionally tortured over. Remaining true to myself and to others, and discussing nature and what's integral to me with those who care, empathize, or sympathize, is all that matters. It's not the changing--viewed as progression by some, degression by some, and something altogether new and without history to some--that's important or integral to me; it's the subject, which often gets muddled or lost in translation, in terminology, in sigils and flashy clothing, in pricey jewelry and misleading books, in gurus who mean well but lose themselves in the complex web of their own hype. Change is not bad or good. Change is, ironically, a constant. If the subject is changing constantly with no stable core, the subject looses cohesion and becomes something it never was.
"What is star-stuff really then?" she asked.
"The primordial substance of the universe," he answered solemnly, no whit ashamed of his inaccuracy.
"But what does it do, I mean, and why is it good for people to have it in them -- on them -- whatever it is?" she inquired.
"It gives sympathy and insight; it’s so awfully subtle and delicate," he answered. "A little of it travels down on every ray and soaks down into you. It makes you feel inclined to stick to other people and understand them. That’s sympathy."
"But sympathy," the other went on, "is no good without insight -- which means seeing things as others see them -- from inside. That’s insight --"
"Inside sight," she corrected him.
"That’s it. You see, the first stuff that existed in the universe was this star-stuff -- nebulae. Having nothing else to stick to, it stuck to itself, and so got thicker. I whirled in vortices. It grew together in sympathy, for sympathy brings together. It whirled and twirled round itself till it got at last into solid round bodies -- worlds -- stars. It passed, that is, from mere dreaming into action. And when the rays soak into you, they change your dreaming into action. You feel the desire to do things -- for others."
"The instant a sweet thought in born in your mind,” he continued, “the heavenly stables send their starry messengers to harness it for use. A ray, perhaps, from mighty Sirius picks it out of your heart at birth."
"Then what I think is known -- like that -- all over the place?" Jimbo asked. He held himself very straight indeed.
"Everywhere," replied Cousin Henry gravely. "The stars flash your thoughts over the whole universe. None are ever lost. Sooner or later they appear in visible shape. Some one, for instance, must have thought this flower long ago" -- he stooped and picked a blue hepatica at their feet -- "or it couldn’t be growing here now."
"Then I shall always think enormous and tremendous things -- "
"The best is to think kind little sweet things about other people," suggested the other. "You see the results quicker then."
This has led me to recognize that allowing myself to digest others' journals, forums, and websites that anger me, amuse me in a cynical way, depress me--is tantamount to self-harm.
Staying informed on the changing of subjects important to me weren't, and aren't, worth becoming emotionally tortured over. Remaining true to myself and to others, and discussing nature and what's integral to me with those who care, empathize, or sympathize, is all that matters. It's not the changing--viewed as progression by some, degression by some, and something altogether new and without history to some--that's important or integral to me; it's the subject, which often gets muddled or lost in translation, in terminology, in sigils and flashy clothing, in pricey jewelry and misleading books, in gurus who mean well but lose themselves in the complex web of their own hype. Change is not bad or good. Change is, ironically, a constant. If the subject is changing constantly with no stable core, the subject looses cohesion and becomes something it never was.
