Last night, I was asked what the tuning of a violin is. I blanked and it took me a while to figure it out. It's pretty sad when the basics slip after seeking mastery of an instrument for many years. Kind of the same as asking a math major what addition is or an English major what a noun is, and them being unable to answer on the fly.
This story is not all bad. In an exercise of curiousity, I tried to remember the tone of an A note ("note" and "tone" have the same letters but mixed up... weird) and hum it. The A is the tuning string of a violin- the first thing you learn how to play and the first note played before every performance. A few guesses later, I had found something that sounded right and matched it up with the piano app on my iphone. Spot on! I suppose something is still ingrained in there. It's certainly not perfect pitch, but perhaps best described as tonal memory. Happens.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Yogging:
I know I have been given a gift that I do not utilize.
My senior year of high school I began to run once a week. My dad would wake me up super early to run the 2 mile route he had run every morning for as long as I could remember. The first month was pretty rough for me, as it usually goes when getting physically active, but after that it didn't take long for me to smoke my dad and my siblings without the need to catch my second wind. My frame is naturally not useful for heavy lifting, or quickness, or balance even. Efficiency is more fitting.
Spring of sophomore year I tried to start up running once again, after my ever present slothness put an end to any exercise shortly after I was on my own at school. I think the catalyst was the objective to get in shape to endure a backpacking trip, which I believe I was successful at that. Anyway, I tried to find people who would run with me to help keep me consistent, but with little avail. So I went solo, mostly out from North Campus down to the Chapel courtyard where I could spend some time meditating before jogging back. Of course, that fell off quickly for the same reasons previously cited and since then I can count on one hand the number of times I've run (that's over the past 4 years). Sad, I know.
With my lungs probably shrunken now to the size of prunes, my arteries thoroughly clogged with the gloriousness of unhealthy foods, and my ever wavering mental determination- I dread trying to start up running again. It would be a painful, yet good thing for me. I hope that by thinking about it enough, I can guilt myself into doing it. I guess that's the sort of motivation I need.
My senior year of high school I began to run once a week. My dad would wake me up super early to run the 2 mile route he had run every morning for as long as I could remember. The first month was pretty rough for me, as it usually goes when getting physically active, but after that it didn't take long for me to smoke my dad and my siblings without the need to catch my second wind. My frame is naturally not useful for heavy lifting, or quickness, or balance even. Efficiency is more fitting.
Spring of sophomore year I tried to start up running once again, after my ever present slothness put an end to any exercise shortly after I was on my own at school. I think the catalyst was the objective to get in shape to endure a backpacking trip, which I believe I was successful at that. Anyway, I tried to find people who would run with me to help keep me consistent, but with little avail. So I went solo, mostly out from North Campus down to the Chapel courtyard where I could spend some time meditating before jogging back. Of course, that fell off quickly for the same reasons previously cited and since then I can count on one hand the number of times I've run (that's over the past 4 years). Sad, I know.
With my lungs probably shrunken now to the size of prunes, my arteries thoroughly clogged with the gloriousness of unhealthy foods, and my ever wavering mental determination- I dread trying to start up running again. It would be a painful, yet good thing for me. I hope that by thinking about it enough, I can guilt myself into doing it. I guess that's the sort of motivation I need.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Clockwork:
Meditations:
That which is pressing. That which is observed. That which is understood. That which must be let go.
For most of the time the world is out of focus. Everything around me is less real or consequential, as if the edges of things become blurry and the colors dull. Instead I am caught in my head where there is this buzz- not because of the gears turning or thoughts flying around, but because there is numbness and a lack of clear orientation.
On occassion I will break out of this fog for a few moments. As if thinking clearly and deliberately also results in me being able to notice the fine features of the royal blue pen that sits on my desk, along with the rest of the world around me. It is simply imagined that focus is clarity.
I think most people experience the opposite where they see the present for the most part instead of having a near permanent overlay of this false reality stew, cooked up from dwelling in the past and dreaming of some future. I do not necessarily envy their vision, since the present is not all that matters. I do wish I could break through the clouds to see the sun more often.
That which is pressing. That which is observed. That which is understood. That which must be let go.
For most of the time the world is out of focus. Everything around me is less real or consequential, as if the edges of things become blurry and the colors dull. Instead I am caught in my head where there is this buzz- not because of the gears turning or thoughts flying around, but because there is numbness and a lack of clear orientation.
On occassion I will break out of this fog for a few moments. As if thinking clearly and deliberately also results in me being able to notice the fine features of the royal blue pen that sits on my desk, along with the rest of the world around me. It is simply imagined that focus is clarity.
I think most people experience the opposite where they see the present for the most part instead of having a near permanent overlay of this false reality stew, cooked up from dwelling in the past and dreaming of some future. I do not necessarily envy their vision, since the present is not all that matters. I do wish I could break through the clouds to see the sun more often.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Mirrors:
Consider your former self. How far back do you think you could go such that he/she would be able to recognize well your current self? I mean not just in the physical sense, but in the holistic sense of what defines you as a person. For me, I think myself from about four years ago wouldn't have too much trouble understanding who I am and who I have become. Much more prior to that I think would be a stretch. Myself from one year ago? I think if we blindfolded ourselves and spun around ten times, neither of us would be able to discern any difference.
It's funny. I think if I were to ask the people around me how much I have evolved or grown, they would argue differently and say that perhaps the change has not been drastic, but certainly something they have perceived one way or another. The case most likely stands for everybody, since self perception is inherently so diluted by us being with ourselves all the time. So what does any of this mean? I don't know.
It's funny. I think if I were to ask the people around me how much I have evolved or grown, they would argue differently and say that perhaps the change has not been drastic, but certainly something they have perceived one way or another. The case most likely stands for everybody, since self perception is inherently so diluted by us being with ourselves all the time. So what does any of this mean? I don't know.
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