Tag Archives: Travel

Control of rodent motor cortex with an optical neural interface

6 Aug psychodelic blades of glass

Control of rodent motor cortex with an optical neural interface.

The beam of blue light down the canal!
Once upon a time, not that long ago, I visualized the energy of someone meditating on the idea of time. What I saw captivated me, humbling my breath to a silent standstill in awe of the wonder. The sensation and visualization of that experience entered my waking unconscious in a lucid dream, that I drew and wrote about at lengths upon waking. I must have written 3 or 4 poems circumscribing to the best of my ability what that experience was. The heart of the matter was a ribbed tunnel, a round blue sound, a beam of peace, neon, blue and infinite.
I read the linked article above and I cannot help but consider the connection between the blue light beam canal and what came to me during a visualization.

Make the Road by Walking [Menahan Street Band]

1 Aug Menahan Street Band

Make the Road by Walking [Menahan Street Band]
Songs from the House of Soul

Under the Bridge

31 Jul

Portland, OR

The City of Roses

Under the Bridge

What Keeps Me Up at Night

28 Jul Who Shrugged Altlas

Featured Image: “Her Morning Truth” by BeMused by Design 2010©

Plinky Prompt of the day asks me: what keeps me up at night? What doesn’t–where to begin…

What keep me up at night?

Curiosity. Patience while allowing the unconscious to give insight while I’m unguarded on the unresolved and unbalanced gaps in my individuation and integrity of character.

A recent quandary: Who shrugged Atlas?

Powered by Plinky

Her Morning Elegance [Oren Lavie]

28 Jul

Two years ago,  a friend sat me down and played the Her Morning Elegance video by Oren Lavie, posted below. From time to time, this video calls to me; time and time again, I am freshly fascinated with the artistic uniqueness of the video: go to Her Morning Elegance online Gallery to view the video broken apart to its 2096 still frames at http://www.hmegallery.com

Moreover, every time I watch I am surprised with the familiarity of it all–because I do agree with my friend: there is something about this song and video that strangely and profoundly reminds me of myself.

Her Morning Elegance [Oren Lavie] Lyrics

Sun been down for days

A pretty flower in a vase

A slipper by the fireplace

A cello lying in its case

Soon she’s down the stairs

Her morning elegance she wears

The sound of water makes her dream

Awoken by a cloud of steam

She pours a daydream in a cup

A spoon of sugar sweetens up

And She fights for her life

As she puts on her coat

And she fights for her life on the train

She looks at the rain

As it pours

And she fights for her life

As she goes in a store

With a thought she has caught

By a thread

She pays for the bread

And She goes…

Nobody knows

Sun been down for days

A winter melody she plays

The thunder makes her contemplate

She hears a noise behind the gate

Perhaps a letter with a dove

Perhaps a stranger she could love

And She fights for her life

As she puts on her coat

And she fights for her life on the train

She looks at the rain

As it pours

And she fights for her life

As she goes in a store

With a thought she has caught

By a thread

She pays for the bread

And She goes…

Nobody knows

And She fights for her life

As she puts on her coat

And she fights for her life on the train

She looks at the rain

As it pours

And she fights for her life

Where people are pleasently strange

And counting the change

And She goes…

Nobody knows

Wait To You See Me Smile [Alicia Keys]

27 Jul

Listen to Track #05 from Alicia Keys’ 2009 album, The Element of Freedom. I give this advice as the song is repeating and purling up the tides of sleep.

Interfaith Report Blurbs

25 Jul

BeMused by Design Graphic Collection 2010©

We are all so interdependent today, we cannot escape the consequences of others actions. And interdependence is a law of nature, not of individuality.

We are all made of star dust. We are all fashioned from the same substance. We are not so separated or so individual as we once thought.

Dream Journal [Free Write]

24 Jul Global Light

7:36 a.m.

Scratching the surface of sleep: with the crescent of a mind, and waxing subjectivity by the by the breath, sleep stage #1 ushers the unconscious into the scenery of my minds’ eye.

I absolves into a removed viewer, leagues under the sea. Deep water, like deep space, appears black. Black as the underbelly of a weathered hand coated in oil, where only the crease and motions of sweeping lines remain self-reflective. Under the sea, these lines were the echoing treads of small fish. The Fins waving like flags in the wind, sent ripples that danced in coordination. Half-aware, half analyzing possible meaning, my phantom dream right hand began to throb: a pulsating ache combined with a hollow whistling of my joints–the chilly sensation of cold, dry wind rustling through the emptiness of an abandoned attic. Until this point “I” had no “body”;”I” could not be located.

My grandmother was sleeping upstairs directly above me, and she thinks her hand is broken. She is not typically one to make a fuss or complain, so I know her right hand is in a lot of pain. In my dream, I saw the fish of my grandma and watched the echoing treads make their way and splash into me, and I felt another pang in my right hand. Dream empathy of the unconscious.

Dream Journal Free Write

22 Jul

Dream Journal Free Write

Last night I had a dream epiphany.

Over the course of my life, and underlying theme and realization across dreams is the appearance of a pen with red ink.

During my dream, I realized I was realizing this in a dream when I lifted the veil of dream illusion and saw a pen with red ink was writing it out. This scared the crap out of me. I felt like a puppet, where I was controlled unbeknownst to me throughout the course of my dream when I really focused ( and I still believe this to be true because it is true the pen with red ink is all over my waking sleep). My dream analysis in my dream is this was a split of my personality. The red ink pen was interpreted like a student. It is my self-criticism writing and expressing my deviations from ideal. Upon waking and reflecting on this dream, however, the God-fearing the epiphany inspired in me and puppetry sensation and what I saw was a glimpse at the predestination predetermination fate and collective unconscious level.

Before I feel asleep I was thinking about synchronicity: Carl Jung’s theory of acausal parallelism.

After the red ink dream.

Play this song while you read about the second dream. I listened to it on repeat yesterday, and when I turned it back on again today, the colors and spirit of the song bled into the same residual sentiment of my dream.

Bigger Than My Body [John Mayer, Heavier Things, 2003}

Dream #2: A narrative type of dream, again like two night ago, it stuck me as unusual because it was in the first person and a narrative.  The first dream of the night latent with symbols and thinking outside myself is more my typical dream. Or perhaps, the type of dream I awake with a memory of experiencing for that very reason. Regardless, my narrative dream:

Valentines Day. I was at the bay of a large body of water, a river I am supposing because of the bridge that crossed it was in the distance. A very foggy and cool crispy day, and yet, the sky was cloudless. Dreary grey February. Many people, my family and other city folk who filled the spaces, were hanging out at the bay. There was a sky writer. Valentines day. There was already some writing in the sky from one love to another, and seemingly out of nowhere, another daring  sky writer appeared. He wrote in humongous capital letters, dropping  hundreds of feet to assert the message in perfect script. He was writing my name: E. M. I. L…..suddenly, the earlier letters fogged together and he started to finish the name he was actually writing: Elana. The last letter was A. He plunged down from the top going to make the bottom line, and BOOM! The plane ignited on fire and exploded in front of all of the waterfront onlookers.  The planes torpedoed into the river and the pilot, tangled in his own parachute, splashed along with the smoldering hunk of metal and propellers.

One moment later, he appeared. Walking out of the water like his legs grew the length to match its depth, be began walking towards the shore, unscathed. I ran and rushed to meet him, asking if he needed anything, an ambulance, anything. A long procession of children carrying memorial plane scraps in two single filed lines were walking behind him (where did they come from?) and a posse of people from the sky writing company brushed me off:” Silly girl, we have procedure for this you know, he is fine, just an accident, and did you see the form of those letters, he almost finished, Perfect!” They were women and men with blonde hair and those cell phone that attach to your face hands free in grey formal business attire. I watched the process of children following them arise from the river, and I awoke.

BeMused by Design [Graphic Showcase]

21 Jul

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Harmony of Dissonance

18 Jul

My Mandala: Listening Inside For Melody from Ripping

Space/Timelessness

6 Jun

Einstein on Space/Timelessness PDF

Einstein’s work and theories used the scientific method in geometry and argument. Einstein’s genius rests on building a paradoxical pedestal, using the scientific method to pivot and push back into science its opposite force. Through blocking or unifying Space-Time from the scientific dissection of Space and Time, and blocking Time and its tenses into one elastic and relative perception and perspective, Einstein rightfully earns his place as a man who punctuates the making of History.

In short, science is the drawing of lines, and Einstein bent the lines to form one unified circle, one packet of energy, one universal flowering, one motion moving and accelerating towards the speed of light…

I have Einstein on my mind, and am gulping Einstein’s legacy as quickly as my understanding allows through podcasts, NOVA videos and articles. The link above is one article I found particularly helpful in the alchemy of my understanding of [The Special] Theory of Relativity.

~BeMused

Vocabulary

29 May

A number of terms are used to describe art that is loosely understood as “outside” of official culture. Definitions of these terms vary, and there are areas of overlap between them. The editors of Raw Vision, a leading journal in the field, suggest that “Whatever views we have about the value of controversy itself, it is important to sustain creative discussion by way of an agreed vocabulary”. Consequently they lament the use of “outsider artist” to refer to almost any untrained artist. “It is not enough to be untrained, clumsy or naïve. Outsider Art is virtually synonymous with Art Brut in both spirit and meaning, to that rarity of art produced by those who do not know its name.”

  • Art Brut: literally translated from French means “raw art”; ‘Raw’ in that it has not been through the ‘cooking’ process: the art world of art schools, galleries, museums. Originally art by psychotic individuals who existed almost completely outside culture and society. Strictly speaking it refers only to the Collection de l’Art Brut.
  • Folk art: Folk art originally suggested crafts and decorative skills associated with peasant communities in Europe – though presumably it could equally apply to any indigenous culture. It has broadened to include any product of practical craftsmanship and decorative skill – everything from chain-saw animals to hub-cap buildings. A key distinction between folk and outsider art is that folk art typically embodies traditional forms and social values, where outsider art stands in some marginal relationship to society’s mainstream.
  • Intuitive artVisionary artRaw Vision Magazine’s preferred general terms for outsider art. It describes them as deliberate umbrella terms. However, Visionary Art unlike other definitions here can often refer to the subject matter of the works, which includes images of a spiritual or religious nature. Intuitive art is probably the most general term available. Intuit: The Center for Intuitive and Outsider Art based in Chicago operates a museum dedicated to the study and exhibition of intuitive and outsider art. The American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore, Maryland is dedicated to the collection and display of visionary art.
  • Marginal art/Art singulier: Essentially the same as Neue Invention; refers to artists on the margins of the art world.
  • Naïve art: Another term commonly applied to untrained artists who aspire to “normal” artistic status, i.e. they have a much more conscious interaction with the mainstream art world than do outsider artists.
  • Neuve Invention: Used to describe artists who, although marginal, have some interaction with mainstream culture. They may be doing art part-time for instance. The expression was coined by Dubuffet too; strictly speaking it refers only to a special part of the Collection de l’Art Brut.
  • Visionary environments: Buildings and sculpture parks built by visionary artists – range from decorated houses, to large areas incorporating a large number of individual sculptures with a tightly associated theme. Examples include Watts Towersby Simon RodiaBuddha Park and Sala Keoku by Bunleua Sulilat, and The Palais Ideal by Ferdinand Cheval.

Photo Ring

28 May

Banana Flash- Widgets – PhotoRing.

Interim Dream Journal

27 May

Lucid. Gradually, Lucid.

The dream began through my eyes in first person narrative and I died.

Dying and reawakening was confusing because when I came back to (from a coma in the hospital), I remembered being dead and through trying to reconnect and capture the memory of my death, I began to a crew all meta-cognitive functions while still in my dream. My perspective shifted from first person to their person, where I saw my body, had seamless access to the thought inside that body that were simultaneously flowing in my mind, but I was a soul and had no finger to point at lack of body. I relived the scene of my death. I was lucid and I knew it.

The dream felt like a thousand years long. I chose to relive the scene of my death and the aftermath of the hospital and then revisit the scene of my death again to face my fears of going back.

The dream took me to the ocean. There was a log floating in the middle of the ocean where we (self, brother, and people who I have and do care about, past) were swimming and splashing and playing. People started to leap on top of the floating log and shuffle across, jumping before it vanished into the vanishing horizon’s drop off. I was alive and loving the admiration of wide sparkling eyes  and up turned heads and the balance, speed, fearlessness and courage I challenged the task of the log with. Glowing, the admiration made me feel capable and I believed in my ability to soar. I went fast and fast across the lumber, saw there was an end to the horizon and while all the voices were shouting cautionary warning at me, I leapt and everything faded to black. Eternity. I vanished. I dissolved, I absolved, I dissipated, Everything I was and Nowhere and in no time I was particles drifting and humming on a melody with the ocean mist blowing where I desired, I was peaceful and peace.

I awoke in my drea in a hospital bed. My brother mom and dad were around me and I was confused and tired and in pain and like the IV attached to my arm, I gained memory slowly like dripping nutrients. They said I had been out for a long time and had gotten a concussion jumping over the edge of the oceans horizon. I said that’s not what happened, I had died and came back and jumped into the darkness and I floated. We returned to the scene of the incident, and I got back in the water. At this point I knew that I was dreaming and I relived the memory of my death (the dream repeated with meta-cognitive function and perspective). I was lucid and chose to stay in the scene and investigate its depth and beauty from all angles. I was in the ocean, just having awaken from a coma, and thought about why I came back here if I could go anywhere. I thought about the admiration for me courage that the others gave to me. I beamed. I loved that feeling, again. I relived it, again. I thought about the feeling of challenging borders and limits and the adventure f fearlessness against the body. I thrived and glowed. I was back for that, again. Is this ego Is this alive? whatever it was, I love that feeling, and I will chase it until the day I die. In the ocean again it was more difficult to swim as my limbs were weak. I called out for help and attention and there was a system of friend to support me and bring me to a boey. One person checked my legs to see if they were tired from treading water. They were not. I had reaffirmed my ability to continue on. I reached the horizon again and looked at it from al angels. My brother was there with me, beside me, the entire time. This time I saw that jumping over the edge may kill my body but I would not die. I exhaled salty ocean air and inhaled from sunshine. I awoke.

Edit: Walking home in the rain today. A red crack of a black light burst and ripped through the scene of for a millisecond, the illusion of the world, gray, bleak, wetness and slabs of cement sided with forrest and flowers, drained and disappeared. I look around me for passing cars or some easy explanation for the glitch. Answer sounded in rolling thunder about ten seconds after I begged the curious question. Like a jolt,  forgotten fragments of the above dream revived their vision and reclaimed life from the hallows of buried memory. They go as follow: there were three distinct bodies of water in my dream. A) a swimming pool, where a girl I casually know shared her swim teams challenge, how she had to tread water for four hours after the race in order to be an elite racer on her swim team. B) the aquatics center I played in as a kid, with huge slides and pseudo-tidal waves and C) The Ocean, where my first attempt upon recording the dream narrative began.

Lucid Ocean Dreamer

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