“Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.”—Mahatma Gandhi (via thresca) (via quote-book)
You know that girl who all the guys like, but they’re too scared to say it because she’s so great? Yeah, I want to be her. She’s not popular because she’s slutty or rude or because she’s drop-dead gorgeous. People like her because she’s one of those people you just like being around. She talks to everyone and tries not to say bad things about people and stands up for people she doesn’t even know. She cares about the world and the environment and she has the most beautiful smile in the world because it’s genuine. She cares about people. She’s friends with all the guys and girls and always seems to know just what to say. She shares her opinions, but never in a hurtful way and she says just enough to still leave people wondering. She makes people smile. She walks with confidence and dresses how she feels that day, sometimes happy and sometimes sad, sometimes classy and sometimes with her hair a mess without any makeup. She has everyone captivated, but she doesn’t notice because she never looks at herself long enough. She’s too busy focusing on important things like the future and her friends and making things better.
you know those pictures that float around tumblr, being re-blogged again and again, those ones that everybody seems to connect with or get something from? the person who found those pictures to post onto their tumblr first may have spent a while searching for that picture. maybe not that particular one, but they were looking for something to convey their mood, their feelings at the time. maybe they were inspired by some music that happened to be playing in the background. maybe it was a quote they saw on their dashboard that they wanted to visualize. they still managed to look through the hundreds of thousands of pages of photography from around the world and pick that one to supplement their soul for the moment. they don’t do it so everyone else can have something to be inspired by, they do it for themselves. it’s their journal. the picture is liked by everyone else because they feel that same connectedness, though maybe not the same emotion, towards the ambience or composition, or even the subject. a few people re-blog it, allowing more people to see it, and the chain continues until over 20, over 50, over 100 people have found something in this photo that they can identify with. the person who originally posted it is happy they could share this little piece of inspiration that could tie into so many others’ lives. the re-blogs are like thank yous, gratitude for finding such a wonderful piece. other people find this person’s tumblr by way of the link under the photo with the name of their journal and even more gratitude and inspiration is passed around by finding new people to follow for more connections and identifications. it’s a big circle of sharing, and everyone is included. this is something everyone wants to be a part of, both online and offline, and if one photo can do this, imagine what a smile, a hug, or a compliment can do.
…One of my favorite tales of healing, found in Hermann Hesse’s Magister Ludi, involves Joseph and Dion, two renowned healers, who lived in biblical times. Though both were highly effective, they worked in different ways. The younger healer, Joseph, healed through quiet, inspired listening. Pilgrims trusted Joseph. Suffering and anxiety poured into his ears vanished like water on the desert sand and penitents left his presence emptied and calmed. On the other hand, Dion, the older healer, actively confronted those who sought his help. He divined their unconfessed sins. He was a great judge, chastiser, scolder, and rectifier, and he healed through active intervention. Treating the penitents as children, he gave advice, punished by assigning penance, ordered pilgrimages and marriages, and compelled enemies to make up.
The two healers never met, and they worked as rivals for many years until Joseph grew spiritually ill, fell into dark despair, and was assailed with ideas of self-destruction. Unable to heal himself with his own therapeutic methods, he set out on a journey to the south to seek help from Dion.
On his pilgrimage, Joseph rested one evening at an oasis, where he fell into a conversation with an older traveler. When Joseph described the purpose and destination of his pilgrimage, the traveler offered himself as a guide to assist in the search for Dion. Later, in the midst of their long journey together the old traveler revealed his identity to Joseph. Mirabile dictu: he himself was Dion — the very man Joseph sought.
Without hesitation Dion invited his younger, despairing rival into his home, where they lived and worked together for many years. Dion first asked Joseph to be a servant. Later he elevated him to a student and, finally, to full colleagueship. Years later, Dion fell ill and on his deathbed called his young colleague to him in order to hear a confession. He spoke of Joseph’s earlier terrible illness and his journey to old Dion to plead for help. He spoke of how Joseph had felt it was a miracle that his fellow traveler and guide turned out to be Dion himself.
Now that he was dying, the hour had come, Dion told Joseph, to break his silence about that miracle. Dion confessed that at the time it had seemed a miracle to him as well, for he, too, had fallen into despair. He, too, felt empty and spiritually dead and, unable to help himself, had set off on a journey to seek help. On the very night that they had met at the oasis he was on a pilgrimage to a famous healer named Joseph.
HESSE’S TALE HAS always moved me in a preternatural way. It strikes me as a deeply illuminating statement about giving and receiving help, about honesty and duplicity, and about the relationship between healer and patient. The two men received powerful help but in very different ways. The younger healer was nurtured, nursed, taught, mentored, and parented. The older healer, on the other hand, was helped through serving another, through obtaining a disciple from whom he received filial love, respect, and salve for his isolation.
But now, reconsidering the story, I question whether these two wounded healers could not have been of even more service to one another. Perhaps they missed the opportunity for something deeper, more authentic, more powerfully mutative. Perhaps the real therapy occurred at the deathbed scene, when they moved into honesty with the revelation that they were fellow travelers, both simply human, all too human. The twenty years of secrecy, helpful as they were, may have obstructed and prevented a more profound kind of help. What might have happened if Dion’s deathbed confession had occurred twenty years earlier, if healer and seeker had joined together in facing the questions that have no answers?
All of this echoes Rilke’s letters to a young poet in which he advises, “Have patience with everything unresolved and try to love the questions themselves.” I would add: “Try to love the questioners as well.”
(all excerpts taken from Dr Irvin Yalom’s wonderful book, The Gift of Therapy)
“Perfectionism is a phobia of mistake-making,” said Jeff Szymanski, executive director of the Obsessive Compulsive Foundation, which is based in Boston. “It is the feeling that ‘If I make a mistake, it will be catastrophic.’ “
Striving for perfection is fine, said Smith College psychology professor Randy Frost, a leading researcher on perfectionism. The issue is how you interpret your own inevitable mistakes and failings. Do they make you feel bad about yourself in a global sense? Does a missed shot in tennis make you slam your racket to the ground? Do you think anything less than 100 percent might as well be zero?
Graphic design is the most ubiquitous of all the arts. It responds to needs at once personal and public, embraces concerns both economic and ergonomic, and is informed by many disciplines, including art and architecture, philosophy and ethics, literature and language, science and politics and performance.
Graphic design is everywhere, touching everything we do, everything we see, everything we buy: we see it on billboards and in Bibles, on taxi receipts and on websites, on birth certificates and on gift certificates, on the folded circulars inside jars of aspirin and on the thick pages of children’s chubby board books.
Graphic design is the boldly directional arrows on street signs and the blurred, frenetic typography on the title sequence to E.R. It is the bright green logo for the New York Jets and the monochromatic front page of the Wall Street Journal. It is hang-tags in clothing stores, postage stamps and food packaging, fascist propaganda posters and brainless junk mail.
Graphic design is complex combinations of words and pictures, numbers and charts, photographs and illustrations that, in order to succeed, demands the clear thinking of a particularly thoughtful individual who can orchestrate these elements so they all add up to something distinctive, or useful, or playful, or surprising, or subversive or somehow memorable.
Graphic design is a popular art and a practical art, an applied art and an ancient art. Simply put, it is the art of visualizing ideas.”
“Depression, like love, trades in clichés, and it is difficult to speak of it without lapsing into the rhetoric of saccharine pop tunes; it is so vivid when it is experienced that the notion that others have known anything similar seems altogether implausible.”—Andrew Solomonk