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#1816 - Wednesday, June 2, 2004 - Editor: Jerry

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  • Jerry Katz
    #1816 - Wednesday, June 2, 2004 - Editor: Jerry Highlights Home Page and Archive: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm Letter to the Editors: Click Reply ,
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      #1816 - Wednesday, June 2, 2004 - Editor: Jerry
       

      Highlights Home Page and Archive: http://nonduality.com/hlhome.htm
       
      Letter to the Editors: Click 'Reply', compose your message, and 'Send'. All the editors will see your letter.

      If this email was forwarded to you and you would like to receive the Nondual Highlights each day, please visit http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights


      This issue features beat poetry from a site discovered by Mary Bianco -- http://www.levity.com/digaland/celestial/ -- called Celestial Homework. The last piece is a recent newspaper article on music thanatology. Somehow I think all these selections come together to form a wholly poetic issue, at least to my way of seeing things.
      --Jerry
       
       

       

       
      The Bells
      by Edgar Allan Poe
       
      I
      Hear the sledges with the bells --
      Silver bells!
      What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
      How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
      In the icy air of night!
      While the stars that oversprinkle
      All the heavens, seem to twinkle
      With a crystalline delight;
      Keeping time, time, time,
      In a sort of Runic rhyme,
      To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
      From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
      Bells, bells, bells --
      From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
       
      II
      Hear the mellow wedding bells,
      Golden bells!
      What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
      Through the balmy air of night
      How they ring out their delight!
      From the molten-golden notes,
      And an in tune,
      What a liquid ditty floats
      To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
      On the moon!
      Oh, from out the sounding cells,
      What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
      How it swells!
      How it dwells
      On the Future! how it tells
      Of the rapture that impels
      To the swinging and the ringing
      Of the bells, bells, bells,
      Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
      Bells, bells, bells --
      To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
       
      III
      Hear the loud alarum bells --
      Brazen bells!
      What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
      In the startled ear of night
      How they scream out their affright!
      Too much horrified to speak,
      They can only shriek, shriek,
      Out of tune,
      In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
      In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
      Leaping higher, higher, higher,
      With a desperate desire,
      And a resolute endeavor,
      Now–now to sit or never,
      By the side of the pale-faced moon.
      Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
      What a tale their terror tells
      Of Despair!
      How they clang, and clash, and roar!
      What a horror they outpour
      On the bosom of the palpitating air!
      Yet the ear it fully knows,
      By the twanging,
      And the clanging,
      How the danger ebbs and flows:
      Yet the ear distinctly tells,
      In the jangling,
      And the wrangling,
      How the danger sinks and swells,
      By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells --
      Of the bells --
      Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
      Bells, bells, bells --
      In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
       
      IV
      Hear the tolling of the bells --
      Iron Bells!
      What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
      In the silence of the night,
      How we shiver with affright
      At the melancholy menace of their tone!
      For every sound that floats
      From the rust within their throats
      Is a groan.
      And the people–ah, the people --
      They that dwell up in the steeple,
      All Alone
      And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
      In that muffled monotone,
      Feel a glory in so rolling
      On the human heart a stone --
      They are neither man nor woman --
      They are neither brute nor human --
      They are Ghouls:
      And their king it is who tolls;
      And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
      Rolls
      A paean from the bells!
      And his merry bosom swells
      With the paean of the bells!
      And he dances, and he yells;
      Keeping time, time, time,
      In a sort of Runic rhyme,
      To the paean of the bells --
      Of the bells:
      Keeping time, time, time,
      In a sort of Runic rhyme,
      To the throbbing of the bells --
      Of the bells, bells, bells --
      To the sobbing of the bells;
      Keeping time, time, time,
      As he knells, knells, knells,
      In a happy Runic rhyme,
      To the rolling of the bells --
      Of the bells, bells, bells:
      To the tolling of the bells,
      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells --
      Bells, bells, bells --
      To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
       
       
       

       
       
       
      Regalia in Immediate Demand !
      by Philip Whalen
       
      Necklace of human bones
      Cup a silver-mounted cranium
      Thigh-bone trumpets
      A skull drum
       
      Dear President Nixon, you are welcome in Lhasa!
      And where is dear Mr Edgar Hoover?
       
         19:IV:67

       
       

       
       
       
      A Poem for Trapped Things
      by John Wieners
       
      This morning with a blue flame burning
      this thing wings its way in.
      Wind shakes the edges of its yellow being.
      Gasping for breath.
      Living for the instant.
      Climbing up the black border of the window.
      Why do you want out.
      I sit in pain.
      A red robe amid debris.
      You bend and climb, extending antennae.
       
      I know the butterfly is my soul
      grown weak from battle.
       
      A Giant fan on the back of
                        a beetle.
      A caterpillar chrysalis that seeks
      a new home apart from this room.
       
      And will disappear from sight
      at the pulling of invisible strings.
      Yet so tenuous, so fine
        this thing is, I am
        sitting on the hard bed, we could
                 vanish from sight like the puff
                    off an invisible cigarette.
      Furred chest, ragged silk under
           wings beating against the glass
       
           no one will open.
       
      The blue diamonds on your back
      are too beautiful to do
                 away with.
      I watch you
           all morning
                 long.
      With my hand over my mouth.
       
       


       
       
       
      Antonin Artaud

      One can speak of the good mental health of Van Gogh who, in his whole adult life, cooked only one of his hands and did nothing else except once to cut off his left ear,
        in a world in which every day one eats vagina cooked in green sauce or penis of newborn child whipped and beaten to a pulp,
        just as it is when plucked from the sex of its mother.
        And this is not an image, but a fact abundantly and daily repeated and cultivated throughout the world.
        And this, however delirious this statement may seem, is how modern life maintains its old atmosphere of debauchery, anarchy, disorder, delirium, derangement, chronic insanity, bourgeois inertia, psychic anomaly (for it is not man but the world which has become abnormal), deliberate dishonesty and notorious hypocrisy, stingy contempt for everything that shows breeding.
        insistence on an entire order based on the fulfillment of a primitive injustice, in short, of organized crime.
        Things are going badly because sick consciousness has a vested interest right now in not recovering from its sickness.   This is why a tainted society has invented psychiatry to defend itself against the investigations of certain superior intellects whose faculties of divination would be troublesome.
        ...In comparison with the lucidity of Van Gogh, which is a dynamic force, psychiatry is no better than a den of apes who are themselves obsessed and persecuted and who possess nothing to mitigate the most appalling states of anguish and human suffocation but a ridiculous terminology,
        worthy product of their damaged brains.

      An excerpt from "Van Gogh: The Man Suicided by Society," originally published in Paris, in 1947.

       


       

      I Know A Man
      Robert Creeley

       As I sd to my
      friend, because I am
      always talking,--John, I

      sd, which was not his
      name, the darkness sur-
      rounds us, what

      can we do against
      it, or else, shall we &
      why not, buy a goddamn big car,

      drive, he sd, for
      christ's sake, look
      out where yr going.


       


       

       
      `Music vigils' seek to comfort the dying
       
      At bedside in hospices and homes, harpists play
      melodies intended to ease patients' pain and
      stress in their last days
       
      By Lisa Black Tribune staff reporter
      Published June 2, 2004
       
      After checking Bernadine Weiner's pulse,
      breathing pattern and temperature, the two
      harpists set up their instruments on either side
      of the woman's bed.
       
      Delicate but deliberate, the music played by
      Margaret Pasquesi and Tony Pederson drew tears
      from family members who sat in Weiner's hospice
      room in Skokie.
       
      "She was clearly touched," said Jeff Weiner,
      whose 78-year-old mother is dying of pulmonary
      fibrosis. It was the first time in days, he said,
      that he had seen her lucid and smiling.
       
      It's not unusual for a patient to die while
      Pasquesi and Pederson perform one of their
      death-bed "music vigils."
       
      Trained to ease the pain and emotional stress of
      dying, the harpists recently kept playing as the
      family of a woman at Rush North Shore Medical
      Center came to the realization that their loved
      one had passed away, Pederson said.
       
      "Her breaths were shallower and shorter," he
      said. "The music got bigger and more expansive.
      There was more freedom. The son, he gave me a
      really big hug afterward."
       
      Known as music-thanatology, the work of harpists
      such as Pasquesi and Pederson is the latest
      service offered by hospices responding to an
      increasing demand for end-of-life care.
       
      There are only 50 practitioners in the world,
      three of whom work in the Chicago area, according
      to the movement's founder, who chose the name
      based on the Greek term for death, thanatos.
       
      "This is about families and communities, and
      respecting them in their entirety," said Dr.
      Martha Twaddle, medical director of Palliative
      CareCenter & Hospice of the North Shore, which
      pays Pasquesi and Pederson a salary for their
      full-time jobs. "This brings that sacredness to
      it. You are not just a medical procedure."
       
      Paged by a doctor as death approaches, Pasquesi,
      33, and Pederson, 34, perform as many as three
      vigils a day, using music they improvise to ease
      specific symptoms and relax patients.
       
      After checking the patient's pulse and breathing
      pattern, they set up their harps on either side
      of the bed, usually as family members watch and
      wait. Although some people die as the harpists
      play their delicate, slowly paced music, it's
      more common for death to come hours or even days
      later, the musicians say.
       
      Study is under way
       
      The first study of the effects of
      music-thanatology is under way at Sacred Heart
      Medical Center in Spokane, Wash., and hospice
      operators say they have witnessed the impact
      harpists can have on the lives of patients.
       
      The founder of music-thanatology, Therese
      Schroeder-Sheker, who grew up in Des Plaines,
      oversaw the certification of all 50 graduates of
      her school, the Chalice of Repose, formerly
      located in Missoula, Mont. Starting next year,
      she plans to offer a certification program for
      music-thanatology at the Catholic University of
      America in Washington, D.C.
       
      Schroeder-Sheker said she began developing
      music-thanatology more than 30 years ago, while
      working in a Denver nursing home, where she was
      disturbed by the suffering of people who died
      alone.
       
      She said she realized the soothing effects of
      music when she held an elderly man in her arms
      and noticed how his frantic breathing relaxed as
      she sang Gregorian chants to him. Using her
      musical background, she drew inspiration for
      music-thanatology from the spiritual and
      medicinal traditions of reformed Benedictine
      monks who founded a monastery in Cluny, France,
      in the 10th Century.
       
      "The spirituality of the work and the intimacy of
      the work is so powerful," said Schroeder-Sheker,
      of Mt. Angel, Ore. "My humility has grown
      tremendously from seeing and understanding how
      tender people really are, how vulnerable people
      really are."
       
      At Chalice of Repose, her students learned about
      human anatomy and physiology, death and dying,
      the spiritual journey and medieval theology.
       
      Pasquesi and Pederson are among the few Chalice
      graduates who work as a team, a practice
      encouraged by the school as a way to surround the
      patient with music.
       
      Pederson enrolled at the Chalice of Repose after
      he saw the calming effect music-thanatologists
      had on patients at a nursing home where he
      worked.
       
      Pasquesi, a former "punk rock girl" from the
      North Shore, said she learned about
      music-thanatology from a TV news show. "What I
      heard was beauty, and I saw that music had an
      impact on the body," said Pasquesi, who sang with
      a jazz band while working on her master's degree
      in interdisciplinary arts at Columbia College in
      Chicago. "I knew I needed to contact them."
       
      In the past year, Pasquesi and Pederson have
      provided 569 vigils, packing their harps in their
      Toyota Corolla hatchback after being paged. Most
      take place at nursing homes or at Palliative
      CareCenter's hospice unit at Rush North Shore
      Medical Center in Skokie. Other vigils are held
      in private homes.
       
      The couple consider their job not so much a
      performance as a prescription targeting specific
      problems. Sometimes that means playing the same
      notes over and over, reflecting the patient's
      breathing or helping encourage a change in
      respiration.
       
      Vigils can last hours
       
      Their vigils, which can also include melodic
      singing or humming, last from 30 minutes to
      several hours.
       
      Often the patients are unresponsive or begin the
      session crying out in pain; some fall asleep.
       
      The harp is the best instrument for their work,
      music-thanatologists say, because of its
      versatility, allowing for pleasant sounds that
      don't have to follow a melody or traditional
      rhythm. The patient may also be soothed by the
      harp's wood frame and the motion of the harpist's
      hands plucking and stroking the strings.
       
      Dr. Joshua Hauser, a physician at Northwestern
      Memorial Hospital and an instructor who teaches
      end-of-life care, said there is a need for fresh
      approaches to deal with the dying.
       
      "Part of palliative care is thinking creatively
      and broadly about what might help people, and
      that can be things around art or music or other
      innovative approaches," Hauser said. "One also
      wants to understand if they work and study them."
       
      In the study of music-thanatology at Sacred Heart
      Medical Center, data is being collected on up to
      300 people served by the harpists, said Sharon
      Murfin, a former faculty member of Chalice of
      Repose.
       
      The study will try to measure patients'
      physiological and emotional changes, said Murfin.
      The music-thanatologists will provide reports on
      the patients before and after the vigils.
       
      Music-thanatology is part of the broader world of
      music therapy, an established health-care
      profession in which music is used to help
      patients cope with disease or disabilities.
      Music-thanatologists earn an average annual
      salary of $40,000 to $45,000, according to the
      Music-Thanatology Association International based
      in Eugene, Ore.
       
      However, unlike traditional music therapists,
      music-thanatologists work only with the dying.
      They undergo different training and usually don't
      counsel patients or families on grief, or play
      songs familiar to their clients.
       
      While health insurance does not cover
      music-thanatology, music therapy costs are
      reimbursed about 20 percent of the time,
      according to the American Music Therapy
      Association in Silver Spring, Md.
       
      People who have watched the harpists say they are
      sold on its benefits.
       
      Pasquesi and Pederson have visited Louise Leding,
      85, every week since October at her daughter's
      Kildeer home. Leding, who has dementia, cannot
      communicate or move."She is entranced," said her
      daughter, Lisa Battin, who said her mother always
      stares intently at Pasquesi as she plays.
       
      Pasquesi said she has learned much about life,
      and death.
       
      "I used to feel like I knew what an after-life
      would be like," she said. "I have learned, I have
      no clue. I do know that, at death, everyone is
      all right. They're taken care of."
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