“The Bushmen in the Kalahari Desert talk about the two “hungers”. There is the Great Hunger and there is the Little Hunger. The Little Hunger wants food for the belly; but the Great Hunger, the greatest hunger of all, is the hunger for meaning...
There is ultimately only one thing that makes human beings deeply and profoundly bitter, and that is to have thrust upon them a life without meaning.
There is nothing wrong in searching for happiness. But of far more comfort to the soul is something greater than happiness or unhappiness, and that is meaning. Because meaning transfigures all. Once what you are doing has for you meaning, it is irrelevant whether you’re happy or unhappy. You are content - you are not alone in your Spirit - you belong.”
― Laurens van der Post
#2 . . .
A Letter From Beyond the Edge : The Shaman’s Song
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am the bone-dance between birth’s first yell and
Death’s fingersnap.
I am that noise between the skin of my hand and the
#1 . . .
“The Bushmen in the Kalahari Desert talk about the two “hungers”. There is the Great Hunger and there is the Little Hunger. The Little Hunger wants food for the belly; but the Great Hunger, the greatest hunger of all, is the hunger for meaning...
There is ultimately only one thing that makes human beings deeply and profoundly bitter, and that is to have thrust upon them a life without meaning.
There is nothing wrong in searching for happiness. But of far more comfort to the soul is something greater than happiness or unhappiness, and that is meaning. Because meaning transfigures all. Once what you are doing has for you meaning, it is irrelevant whether you’re happy or unhappy. You are content - you are not alone in your Spirit - you belong.”
― Laurens van der Post
#2 . . .
A Letter From Beyond the Edge : The Shaman’s Song
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am the bone-dance between birth’s first yell and
Death’s fingersnap.
I am that noise between the skin of my hand and the
Skin of the drum.
I have sailed over the edge
Of my flat Earth.
I have stepped over my own corpse each
Insurrection of my rebel soul.
At night, I am the he-owl flown to hunt among the
Stones of the moon.
© JSI 2012
Wow