Fatigued as I am, I thought it might be one opportunity to get to the crux of the most recent blogs; besides, I am leaving soon for AZ to visit Daniel and so probably won't be going on line much untill after Oct. 4, FYI.
To finish up about the dove/coat. The point which I hope is getting through is that no one would mistake a dovecote for a dove! The two are related but not the same thing at all. I thought some of the pictures of elaborate gingerbread dove dwellings were interesting but not so arresting as the doves who might live there, and the level of complexity of a single dove is far above the most Rube Goldbergian birdhouse imaginable. The latter is designed and built and put outside by a man. The former is a product of a far more powerful complexity than we who put up houses--even of worship-- can comprehend.
How much more absurd must it be to confuse the Person of Jesus with a church building, plus minus congregation/organization! We cannot compare the Person of Christ with any other person, assumption, presupposition, system, theology, philosophy or especially the many religious and political movements and theories we have gotten going.
Vladmir of "Waiting for Godot" asks his friend Estragon: "Surely you're not comparing yourself with Christ!!!???" To which Estragon wails,"All my life I've compared myself to him!!!" The results speak for themselves. If we merely compare ourselves with Him and sit on it, as do the two tramps in this play, we end at a malign stasis; a state which fascinated Beckett but one which he would not allow for himself. Doesn't pay the bills y'know......write on!
Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote a collection of essays about great men of history. After it was published, someone asked him why he didn't include Jesus Christ; to which he replied, (my paraphrase), "Jesus is not a mere man."
Sometimes it takes a pagan view from outside of our religious boilerplate to reveal that we, our emperorships, have no clothes. "No man ever spoke like this man!" Comparing ourselves to Christ will only lead to despair, as will merely emulating Christ, as in that sad, incomplete, and man-centered phrase, "WWJD?". Anything we will do but come to Christ on a personal and vulnerable and needy level i.e., the way we actually are. We prefer our culture, our morals and ethics hand-made, and our imperatives at our level--but still in the endgame impossible since no one lives up to their own values, much less those of society, much less to those imperatives of God which are made simple enough for a child to follow and for intellectuals and judges to completely miss and abjure.
On the other hand, as far as philosophy, I am not saying anything not already said by perfectly competent philosophers such as Kirkegaard or writers like Muggeridge, O'Connor, and Percy. Yet I am continually amazed at how secular (or religious) people, very intelligent otherwise, completely miss their main points. I have a collection of essays about Percy that doesn't even mention God, much less Christ! If there's any doubt, read their interviews and their letters of the authors themselves and eschew mere commentary.
To balance this out, no one should construe the above to mean that religion and/or politics and/or philosophies of men are useless. They do hold society together, and far more lives have been saved than burned by having some guidelines instead of chaos, with which the French continue to experiment ! So the controversies that erupt among us like sore boils on Job do serve a practical purpose, just as they did for Job in spite of coming right out of the pit of hell! We do not know what will come of these conflicts; but one thing I do notice is that Job himself never figured any of this out. And when he did face his Creator, suddenly he had nothing to say!
Hence I am quite convinced that very little of what I have written here will make any difference one, five, or ten years from now: "Well, that passed the time!" "But it would have passed anyway." (Estragon) "Yes; (hesitates) but not so quickly!"
But if even one of those 3 one-sentence statements about Christ is true--everything will burn and be forgotten except that. So this is worth spending some time and attention on a rather important matter, albeit one that if we manipulate or control it to please ourselves, we will never move from theories about friendship to friendship itself. We will be as stuck as the tramps in the play, with our faux-faith intact but rotting in the barn.
All have faith; all have religion; all have commitments and appetites; no one can escape politics, esp. not his own.
But as Calvin said while contemplating his Dad's hammer, "The temptation to misuse these things is terrific!" Let us not abuse Christ by telling him he is a liar i.e. subsumable under man - made categories or imperatives. Why not do the one simple thing He asks--meet him on the road to Emmaus on His terms; even if it takes some time for our eyes to be opened;and know Him; "as if for the first time." -TSE
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
THE MAIN THING IS...NOT A THING ATALL
Answer: a dovecote is a painted dove.
(question-see previous post )
This is but the beginning of sorrows...
I am breaking up what follows simply because it is so hard for people to read dense text; but also I want to KEEP THE MAIN THING THE MAIN THING, at least once.
It is far less than clear to me (or to thee as I suspect) as to God's reason for encouraging me to continue this blog. But I will say that when I am clearest, people don't like it. I must also be in debt to Dennis again for taking a second look at my Emperor's clothes closet--I was wondering how long it would be before anyone challenged me on this; but like "iron sharpens iron", it helps to take the clarity challenge--seriously. So let me be serious for a few paragraphs.
**********************************************************
For those who may have come in late, Dennis took me to task for introducing the religio-political axis again, and not being philosophical enough--and I can be both, indeed! Too much so, "O yes"
This comment was sparked by 3 very short notes--not original with me by the way--saying that Jesus is "all in all" even though the details of this are just what we need and not a speck more; --but much less than we demand. If we half understood what we have already been given-- with much more clarity than the human mind can stomach or apprehend....
But, as with the observations on the doves, I got these three observations brought to my mind "on the road" and they stuck to me well after the journey-- something which most of my thoughts do not survive. The first ("everyone will disappoint you but Jesus") was actually something said by a physician friend who graduated from Johns Hopkins and then took off doing all the things I had well enough been afraid to do. But this borrowed discovery gives me freedom from having to change people, if you draw this out to its corollaries. Most of us are very lame at logical extensions, as Descartes often pointed out, irritably.
However, I must point out that exactly where I departed most from religion and politics, I am accused of failing my stated purpose. "How can such things be!?"
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Again this is not original with me (what's original with me is not very original, either) I have never made a systematic study of logic. But the idea of a "category mistake" is a crucial one because it is being used ever more than ever in the present day, with predictably sad results.
Back to the rock/Rock illustration from last week--as it was explained to me, in far fewer words, to put God and a rock on the same plane, is like saying that a food tastes "yellow" or "green" (Green could suggest any thing from mint to brussels sprouts to a place in Wisconsin) To say that as green is to the eye, so is mint to the tongue, is a poetic device employed in literature, not in any logical categorical sequence. We are then talking about two different sensory systems, even though they belong to the same body. This is the source of a lot of the "guilty by association" mistakes we make, sometimes deliberately, which is at the heart of the religio-political axes currently being ground in our country.
(It is amusing to me how political people accuse others of different persuasions of telling us "half truths". Heck, yes! That's actually a lot more than can or should be granted to any one of us! Either side, or any side, speaker included, would be be excellent if we were one-tenth of one percent right--Einstein's estimate.
Put both parties together and you get the whole truth and nothing but? Make me LOL!!
Is philosophy worth more than politics? Not according to Sartre! But O I digress.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Next up: some examples. Hint: the dove is to the dovecote as Christ is to the church.
Happy Isaiah 53 Day!!!
(question-see previous post )
This is but the beginning of sorrows...
I am breaking up what follows simply because it is so hard for people to read dense text; but also I want to KEEP THE MAIN THING THE MAIN THING, at least once.
It is far less than clear to me (or to thee as I suspect) as to God's reason for encouraging me to continue this blog. But I will say that when I am clearest, people don't like it. I must also be in debt to Dennis again for taking a second look at my Emperor's clothes closet--I was wondering how long it would be before anyone challenged me on this; but like "iron sharpens iron", it helps to take the clarity challenge--seriously. So let me be serious for a few paragraphs.
**********************************************************
For those who may have come in late, Dennis took me to task for introducing the religio-political axis again, and not being philosophical enough--and I can be both, indeed! Too much so, "O yes"
This comment was sparked by 3 very short notes--not original with me by the way--saying that Jesus is "all in all" even though the details of this are just what we need and not a speck more; --but much less than we demand. If we half understood what we have already been given-- with much more clarity than the human mind can stomach or apprehend....
But, as with the observations on the doves, I got these three observations brought to my mind "on the road" and they stuck to me well after the journey-- something which most of my thoughts do not survive. The first ("everyone will disappoint you but Jesus") was actually something said by a physician friend who graduated from Johns Hopkins and then took off doing all the things I had well enough been afraid to do. But this borrowed discovery gives me freedom from having to change people, if you draw this out to its corollaries. Most of us are very lame at logical extensions, as Descartes often pointed out, irritably.
However, I must point out that exactly where I departed most from religion and politics, I am accused of failing my stated purpose. "How can such things be!?"
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Again this is not original with me (what's original with me is not very original, either) I have never made a systematic study of logic. But the idea of a "category mistake" is a crucial one because it is being used ever more than ever in the present day, with predictably sad results.
Back to the rock/Rock illustration from last week--as it was explained to me, in far fewer words, to put God and a rock on the same plane, is like saying that a food tastes "yellow" or "green" (Green could suggest any thing from mint to brussels sprouts to a place in Wisconsin) To say that as green is to the eye, so is mint to the tongue, is a poetic device employed in literature, not in any logical categorical sequence. We are then talking about two different sensory systems, even though they belong to the same body. This is the source of a lot of the "guilty by association" mistakes we make, sometimes deliberately, which is at the heart of the religio-political axes currently being ground in our country.
(It is amusing to me how political people accuse others of different persuasions of telling us "half truths". Heck, yes! That's actually a lot more than can or should be granted to any one of us! Either side, or any side, speaker included, would be be excellent if we were one-tenth of one percent right--Einstein's estimate.
Put both parties together and you get the whole truth and nothing but? Make me LOL!!
Is philosophy worth more than politics? Not according to Sartre! But O I digress.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Next up: some examples. Hint: the dove is to the dovecote as Christ is to the church.
Happy Isaiah 53 Day!!!
Doves in flight--odd or evening?
What's the difference between a dove and a dovecote?
As I was running to the 3 sycamores today, I saw more doves on the wires than I have ever seen in one place. Like all non-raptor birds, as I ran they would fly a couple of poles down, then again, and again before finally giving up and going somewhere I can't get close to them. It did indeed induce a sense of peace, as doves are known to do--and they were entirely silent in their flight.
But it brought to mind that words are not the same as communication, and communication has a subset called clarity. Silence speaks louder than words oftimes, less is more, etc.
So I must in a way repent of "many words" in many contexts, and a stream of consciousness approach foisted on my friends, like Dennis who observed that I (I wasn't trying Dennis, honestly) was pretty hard to follow. (not really intended either) But I take take no comfort in what I might say, "Well, that's just the way I am." uttered with the utter confidence of a prophet, implying the corollary, "And I'm agonna stay that way too!"
(Hint: never tell God what you will never do)
I think my "style" is just that; and like one of the many old shoes that I am loathe to give up because it's so comfortable. In fact, I would say my style is quite out of style because it reeks of nostalgia for my childhood, and has many obscure and sometimes pleasant associations that are frankly opaque to even my closest friends. It is, at times, "sentimental existentialism"--which sounds oxymoronic, but is actually the primary existentialism of our time--meaning now, and world-wide.
God does not do nostalgia.
"Here the MS breaks off", and toad tracks begin. ("O bloody 'ell!)
As I was running to the 3 sycamores today, I saw more doves on the wires than I have ever seen in one place. Like all non-raptor birds, as I ran they would fly a couple of poles down, then again, and again before finally giving up and going somewhere I can't get close to them. It did indeed induce a sense of peace, as doves are known to do--and they were entirely silent in their flight.
But it brought to mind that words are not the same as communication, and communication has a subset called clarity. Silence speaks louder than words oftimes, less is more, etc.
So I must in a way repent of "many words" in many contexts, and a stream of consciousness approach foisted on my friends, like Dennis who observed that I (I wasn't trying Dennis, honestly) was pretty hard to follow. (not really intended either) But I take take no comfort in what I might say, "Well, that's just the way I am." uttered with the utter confidence of a prophet, implying the corollary, "And I'm agonna stay that way too!"
(Hint: never tell God what you will never do)
I think my "style" is just that; and like one of the many old shoes that I am loathe to give up because it's so comfortable. In fact, I would say my style is quite out of style because it reeks of nostalgia for my childhood, and has many obscure and sometimes pleasant associations that are frankly opaque to even my closest friends. It is, at times, "sentimental existentialism"--which sounds oxymoronic, but is actually the primary existentialism of our time--meaning now, and world-wide.
God does not do nostalgia.
"Here the MS breaks off", and toad tracks begin. ("O bloody 'ell!)
Friday, September 17, 2010
ERRATA, BY CATEGORY
This Just In:
"However, another poem written in 1948, "In Praise of Limestone," implies that while there is an ongoing tension between agape and eros, there is also the possibility of a reconciliation between the two. The poem's opening evokes Auden's 1930 love poems with its focus on a rough limestone landscape that appeals to "we, the inconstant ones". In the poem's schema the characteristics of a landscape reflect a certain type of person , such that the average "inconstant ones" appreciate the limestone landscape because, although it is solid rock, it also, "dissolves in water" so that,"beneath,/ a secret system of caves and conduits" permeates it. Both landscape and lover play at permanence but are subject to transience and change. Other types of people appreciate other landscapes, so the "saints-to-be" prefer the "granite wastes" because they are solid and constant, and the "Intendant Caesars" prefer clays and gravels because of their malleability. But there are still others, whom the poet calls "the really reckless"....
"and a packet o' gravel please." -Mandy
Except for that last irrelevant and irreverent remark, the rest is from a paper that just came out in "Christianity and Literature" called "Turn her desperate longing to love":W.H. Auden, Denis de Rougemont, and Lyric Love Poetry", by Stephen J Schuler. Or just Steve as he is known around these parts; or, alternatively, "Rogue Cheddar".
I am thinking in particular about that insulting phrase, "We, the inconstant ones"--there is evidence of course that limestone creations such as giant stalagmites and stalactites (ground and ceiling you see) can be formed and deformed very rapidly. So that the calcium deposits on my faucet and my clay "watering worm" are not exactly among the "permanent things" (Eliot/Russell Kirk)
Even so----What do you mean, "inconstant," W.H.? Speak for yourself!! I tithe on mint, cumin, dill, cilantro, and pumpkins !!! So. Am I too full of holes and tunnels? Swiss, not All-American?
I mean--I'm a man of constant sorrow. How then am I inconstant?
This goes back, indirectly, to yesterday's post. The responses were excellent. But the solution to the riddle is not necessarily theo-logical but just logical. It is called a "category mistake" ; in which I, for the sake of argument--or rather, winning an argument, place two things in the same category and one of them doesn't belong, even though I wish it did; and if I do realize my mistake, I hope no one notices. These are not usually intentional but mostly subliminal; we hope however that the conflating of things that are not exactly bedfellows, or of the subsumable with the unsubsumable stuff, will win the day; however, that's about all one can hope to win....
By the way, "conflate" can mean to amalgamate--but equally often may mean, "confuse."
courtesy of:"Confuse-a-Cat, LTD."
"However, another poem written in 1948, "In Praise of Limestone," implies that while there is an ongoing tension between agape and eros, there is also the possibility of a reconciliation between the two. The poem's opening evokes Auden's 1930 love poems with its focus on a rough limestone landscape that appeals to "we, the inconstant ones". In the poem's schema the characteristics of a landscape reflect a certain type of person , such that the average "inconstant ones" appreciate the limestone landscape because, although it is solid rock, it also, "dissolves in water" so that,"beneath,/ a secret system of caves and conduits" permeates it. Both landscape and lover play at permanence but are subject to transience and change. Other types of people appreciate other landscapes, so the "saints-to-be" prefer the "granite wastes" because they are solid and constant, and the "Intendant Caesars" prefer clays and gravels because of their malleability. But there are still others, whom the poet calls "the really reckless"....
"and a packet o' gravel please." -Mandy
Except for that last irrelevant and irreverent remark, the rest is from a paper that just came out in "Christianity and Literature" called "Turn her desperate longing to love":W.H. Auden, Denis de Rougemont, and Lyric Love Poetry", by Stephen J Schuler. Or just Steve as he is known around these parts; or, alternatively, "Rogue Cheddar".
I am thinking in particular about that insulting phrase, "We, the inconstant ones"--there is evidence of course that limestone creations such as giant stalagmites and stalactites (ground and ceiling you see) can be formed and deformed very rapidly. So that the calcium deposits on my faucet and my clay "watering worm" are not exactly among the "permanent things" (Eliot/Russell Kirk)
Even so----What do you mean, "inconstant," W.H.? Speak for yourself!! I tithe on mint, cumin, dill, cilantro, and pumpkins !!! So. Am I too full of holes and tunnels? Swiss, not All-American?
I mean--I'm a man of constant sorrow. How then am I inconstant?
This goes back, indirectly, to yesterday's post. The responses were excellent. But the solution to the riddle is not necessarily theo-logical but just logical. It is called a "category mistake" ; in which I, for the sake of argument--or rather, winning an argument, place two things in the same category and one of them doesn't belong, even though I wish it did; and if I do realize my mistake, I hope no one notices. These are not usually intentional but mostly subliminal; we hope however that the conflating of things that are not exactly bedfellows, or of the subsumable with the unsubsumable stuff, will win the day; however, that's about all one can hope to win....
By the way, "conflate" can mean to amalgamate--but equally often may mean, "confuse."
courtesy of:"Confuse-a-Cat, LTD."
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
What's the problem...
....with this question:
"Can GOD create a rock too heavy for him to lift?"
Incidentally this question was raised by a Mendota teacher to his 5th grade class...are ye smarter than a fifth-grade teacher?
"Can GOD create a rock too heavy for him to lift?"
Incidentally this question was raised by a Mendota teacher to his 5th grade class...are ye smarter than a fifth-grade teacher?
Saturday, September 11, 2010
EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING LEADS TO DEATH
.
.
!!!
EVEN JESUS (DEATH I)
EXCEPT JESUS (DEATH II
"I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE...")
(I + II =III)
.
!!!
EVEN JESUS (DEATH I)
EXCEPT JESUS (DEATH II
"I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE...")
(I + II =III)
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Erratum Magnificum, mea culpa....
From William Faulkner, "The Sound and the Fury":
"I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field reveals to a man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools."
This came to me at work, unsolicited--like most of them--by Email from a scientific site which comes up as an article about the effects of 20 minutes of hypoxemia (low oxygen in the blood) and is under the rubric of "Tech Support" Now it all makes sense; but I'll have to make it up as I go 'long.
Now it is true indeed that we should not waste our breath; that much we will assume for the moment. Faulkner, "Count No Account" did keep on breathing until his last breath, in spite of his many "faux faulks".
And it is true that the effect of hypoxemia is usually bad, as perceived by those of us who value our breathing parts very much. Parting would be such sorrow! But it is also true that not only hypoxemia but anoxemia, like gravity, will get us in the (proximate) end. So why bother with artificial ventilators, which is the apparent opposite of the point of the scientific article? Zounds, sounds like another scientist at the end of his tether, like HG Wells.
The dialogues of Beckett reflect that of Faulkner and--why not?--postmodern "science": "No use struggling." "No use wriggling." "One is what one is." "Nothing to be done about it." But Frank Zappa still sang about it-why so? (Is it a reflex, like the gastrocolic?)
I suppose this is why philosophers don't get much funding; while artists are "idols" and the successful artist can be one of the richest people in the world. (George Soros thinks he is a philosopher--but he sure didn't earn that kind of money in philo-sophistics. But doesn't it appear that Faulkner equates esp. political philosophers in the same category as fools? Sartre would, no question-- yet the proles must rebel, even so! That is, absurd.
What caused me to expound on this theme is the irony that, as soon as I finished my comments on "The Plague" it came to me through the BBC that English hospitals are now seeing staph infections from the third world resistant to ALL antibiotics. So we may be, worst case scenario, on the cusp of another Dark Age, even darker than the last one. And it may take more than the Irish--even or esp. Beckett and Joyce and Yeats et all--to save civilization this time around. Yea, tho I walk through the valley of shadow of death, the hands of our still primitive sciences may yet also be tied. This is the struggle to which Camus semi-hopefully referred, somewhat like the end of "The War of the Worlds"-- which did not end there but vaulted irrationally beyond Design to chaos, "The World at the end of its Tether." Actually it was Wells at the end of his exceedingly short tether but...
"Let it pass, let it pass...."
"It would have passed anyway." "Yes; but not so quickly!" --Waiting for Godot.
But wait! There's more....either deadly more or Dudley Moore, we shall see, won't we, Didi?
(They do not move.)
"I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field reveals to a man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools."
This came to me at work, unsolicited--like most of them--by Email from a scientific site which comes up as an article about the effects of 20 minutes of hypoxemia (low oxygen in the blood) and is under the rubric of "Tech Support" Now it all makes sense; but I'll have to make it up as I go 'long.
Now it is true indeed that we should not waste our breath; that much we will assume for the moment. Faulkner, "Count No Account" did keep on breathing until his last breath, in spite of his many "faux faulks".
And it is true that the effect of hypoxemia is usually bad, as perceived by those of us who value our breathing parts very much. Parting would be such sorrow! But it is also true that not only hypoxemia but anoxemia, like gravity, will get us in the (proximate) end. So why bother with artificial ventilators, which is the apparent opposite of the point of the scientific article? Zounds, sounds like another scientist at the end of his tether, like HG Wells.
The dialogues of Beckett reflect that of Faulkner and--why not?--postmodern "science": "No use struggling." "No use wriggling." "One is what one is." "Nothing to be done about it." But Frank Zappa still sang about it-why so? (Is it a reflex, like the gastrocolic?)
I suppose this is why philosophers don't get much funding; while artists are "idols" and the successful artist can be one of the richest people in the world. (George Soros thinks he is a philosopher--but he sure didn't earn that kind of money in philo-sophistics. But doesn't it appear that Faulkner equates esp. political philosophers in the same category as fools? Sartre would, no question-- yet the proles must rebel, even so! That is, absurd.
What caused me to expound on this theme is the irony that, as soon as I finished my comments on "The Plague" it came to me through the BBC that English hospitals are now seeing staph infections from the third world resistant to ALL antibiotics. So we may be, worst case scenario, on the cusp of another Dark Age, even darker than the last one. And it may take more than the Irish--even or esp. Beckett and Joyce and Yeats et all--to save civilization this time around. Yea, tho I walk through the valley of shadow of death, the hands of our still primitive sciences may yet also be tied. This is the struggle to which Camus semi-hopefully referred, somewhat like the end of "The War of the Worlds"-- which did not end there but vaulted irrationally beyond Design to chaos, "The World at the end of its Tether." Actually it was Wells at the end of his exceedingly short tether but...
"Let it pass, let it pass...."
"It would have passed anyway." "Yes; but not so quickly!" --Waiting for Godot.
But wait! There's more....either deadly more or Dudley Moore, we shall see, won't we, Didi?
(They do not move.)
SOZO THERE!!! GUTEN HEALTH SCIENCES TO YOU, MEINE FREUNDE
I suppose a holyday is as good a time as any; and better than most; to try to finish my chronicles of medical school. Since no one has commented on these, they may only be of interest to me--but it would help if I could bring some closure to the project.
On July 24, I ended by commenting that I was doing independent study for a semester while waiting for the fall entry into U of I. The reason for doing so is that at that time one could take the same test everyone took at the end of the first year, on the "basic sciences," such as physiology and anatomy. Fortunately as I said no cadavers were harmed in the making of this medical student--but fortunately also for me, the test was entirely written. I have some natural test-taking abilities so this was on my side--but I also buckled down.
But after all that preparation, I missed the test! I went on my previously described vacation, but in planning it, Andrea used a German calendar--which she did all the time--to plan our time off. But it was a week late! I was enjoying Vera Cruz while the test was being given. So I returned to Chicago to be shocked into the reality that the time of testing was over, and so I flunked not just a little, but 100%!
This falls into that category of awful dreams wherein you can't remember your locker number, your teacher's name, your homeroom etc. And when the test is passed out, you realize you studied the wrong book or even the wrong subject, or didn't study anything at all. Anybody besides me had these "traums"? The German word for dream seems to fit here, in the sense of traum-a.
Except this was all too real.
So I started the first year of medical school--again-- comforting myself coldly with the idea that I would still learn new stuff, and would have Medical Boards Part One, the test of fear that is done at the end of the second year, down cold. But still I felt that I had largely done my first year abroad in vain. (But I did learn my Spanish and have been using it ever since--such that about one third of my patients are Hispanic--another unforeseen benefit.)
And as one TNY cartoonist famously said, "And here a miracle occurs.........."
One of the first courses I started was the one that couldn't even be offered in my school in Mexico, due to poor finances of the students and of the school, to wit, Histology, the study of normal cell structure. U of I did provide a very heavy microscope and prepared slides which I would lug around Chicago like unto Will Smith in "The Pursuit of Happyness" with his portable bone density machine. And as in the movie, I felt like FAILURE was written all over me and the dumb microscope.
After a month or 6 weeks of this, there came a surprise announcement that the first year test, the one I missed, would be offered again! Now, I had not said a thing; I was far too ashamed of my/our error to even "traum" of asking the authorities of the biggest medical school in the USA to allow me a "make-up exam." But apparently a few other students had missed the exam, and petitioned the Schulmeister to re-offer the exam, which they then did! Probably they either had better excuses, maybe illness, or maybe they just made something up. It reminds me of Charlie Brown on his pitcher's mound when Lucy conveniently reminds him that he is a hypocrite, as is everyone else (excepting herself, the queen of Crab): She said, "You're no different than anyone else, Charlie Brown." To the which (witch?) our glum hero replies, "Yes, I am! At least I feel guilty about it !"
But this is what happened, when I took the test: I found that there were a lot of photomicrophographs of clusters of organ-specific cells on the test! Thanks to my Dad, I had some experience with doing actual photomicrographs of amoebas, a freshman biology project which co$$t him a lot of money in those days!
It was a few more weeks before we got back our scores. The deal was, if a student answered at least 50% of the test questions correctly, s/he could go right on to the second year. Guess what I scored?
51%!!!!!
Now from a learning standpoint this was perhaps not the best thing to happen to me--but in point of fact, had I not gone to the second year, I would not have interned with my friend Steve Humowiecki and hence I might never have met, much less married, Flo. This alone would have been enough to endure any prior or subsequent humiliations, "as it is this day."
Oh, it's all a coincidence, right!? (depending on one's grid of understanding and a priori assumptions) But had I not been humbled enough to have to go back and repeat everything, I would never have ;earned any histology--a small yet huge gap in my education--and I certainly would not have gone over the 50% mark.
Did I pray about this? Not that I recall--I wouldn't have known how--that came later when I faced even more viscerally grueling attacks--but even when I did, I only prayed the segments of the Lord's Prayer than I could remember. Those prayers were, frankly, not answered; at least not in the way I wanted or could have anticipated. But ultimately and slowly I learned that God is gracious enough to give us what we need--even if it takes years of apparent silence--and not what we want. Thank God.
I like to write, obviously; but never in my strangest "traumen" could I have made up such a thing as the above. Art imitates life--because life is a lot more prodigal (generous) and profuse and inimitable and interesting than the most elaborate fantasy ever. Taking on idol #2, Science has no explanatory power in any individual cases such as these because it is based on statistics and probability. If sciencia would stop trying to be the theory, nay, fact; as we are now told; of everything, we would be somewhat better off--yet our basic problems would not be altered at all. Bring down one idol, men will put 2 in its place, as happened eventually in the saga of the golden calves; so is it to this day.
I realize that this may seem overlong but as the song says, "the half of which has never yet been told." I have left out numerous details which are apropos to the subject and my experiences, which all seem to fit together seamlessly in hindsight, and you know what they say: "Hindsight is 20/20." Sozo!!!
(questions always welcome "'round these parts")
On July 24, I ended by commenting that I was doing independent study for a semester while waiting for the fall entry into U of I. The reason for doing so is that at that time one could take the same test everyone took at the end of the first year, on the "basic sciences," such as physiology and anatomy. Fortunately as I said no cadavers were harmed in the making of this medical student--but fortunately also for me, the test was entirely written. I have some natural test-taking abilities so this was on my side--but I also buckled down.
But after all that preparation, I missed the test! I went on my previously described vacation, but in planning it, Andrea used a German calendar--which she did all the time--to plan our time off. But it was a week late! I was enjoying Vera Cruz while the test was being given. So I returned to Chicago to be shocked into the reality that the time of testing was over, and so I flunked not just a little, but 100%!
This falls into that category of awful dreams wherein you can't remember your locker number, your teacher's name, your homeroom etc. And when the test is passed out, you realize you studied the wrong book or even the wrong subject, or didn't study anything at all. Anybody besides me had these "traums"? The German word for dream seems to fit here, in the sense of traum-a.
Except this was all too real.
So I started the first year of medical school--again-- comforting myself coldly with the idea that I would still learn new stuff, and would have Medical Boards Part One, the test of fear that is done at the end of the second year, down cold. But still I felt that I had largely done my first year abroad in vain. (But I did learn my Spanish and have been using it ever since--such that about one third of my patients are Hispanic--another unforeseen benefit.)
And as one TNY cartoonist famously said, "And here a miracle occurs.........."
One of the first courses I started was the one that couldn't even be offered in my school in Mexico, due to poor finances of the students and of the school, to wit, Histology, the study of normal cell structure. U of I did provide a very heavy microscope and prepared slides which I would lug around Chicago like unto Will Smith in "The Pursuit of Happyness" with his portable bone density machine. And as in the movie, I felt like FAILURE was written all over me and the dumb microscope.
After a month or 6 weeks of this, there came a surprise announcement that the first year test, the one I missed, would be offered again! Now, I had not said a thing; I was far too ashamed of my/our error to even "traum" of asking the authorities of the biggest medical school in the USA to allow me a "make-up exam." But apparently a few other students had missed the exam, and petitioned the Schulmeister to re-offer the exam, which they then did! Probably they either had better excuses, maybe illness, or maybe they just made something up. It reminds me of Charlie Brown on his pitcher's mound when Lucy conveniently reminds him that he is a hypocrite, as is everyone else (excepting herself, the queen of Crab): She said, "You're no different than anyone else, Charlie Brown." To the which (witch?) our glum hero replies, "Yes, I am! At least I feel guilty about it !"
But this is what happened, when I took the test: I found that there were a lot of photomicrophographs of clusters of organ-specific cells on the test! Thanks to my Dad, I had some experience with doing actual photomicrographs of amoebas, a freshman biology project which co$$t him a lot of money in those days!
It was a few more weeks before we got back our scores. The deal was, if a student answered at least 50% of the test questions correctly, s/he could go right on to the second year. Guess what I scored?
51%!!!!!
Now from a learning standpoint this was perhaps not the best thing to happen to me--but in point of fact, had I not gone to the second year, I would not have interned with my friend Steve Humowiecki and hence I might never have met, much less married, Flo. This alone would have been enough to endure any prior or subsequent humiliations, "as it is this day."
Oh, it's all a coincidence, right!? (depending on one's grid of understanding and a priori assumptions) But had I not been humbled enough to have to go back and repeat everything, I would never have ;earned any histology--a small yet huge gap in my education--and I certainly would not have gone over the 50% mark.
Did I pray about this? Not that I recall--I wouldn't have known how--that came later when I faced even more viscerally grueling attacks--but even when I did, I only prayed the segments of the Lord's Prayer than I could remember. Those prayers were, frankly, not answered; at least not in the way I wanted or could have anticipated. But ultimately and slowly I learned that God is gracious enough to give us what we need--even if it takes years of apparent silence--and not what we want. Thank God.
I like to write, obviously; but never in my strangest "traumen" could I have made up such a thing as the above. Art imitates life--because life is a lot more prodigal (generous) and profuse and inimitable and interesting than the most elaborate fantasy ever. Taking on idol #2, Science has no explanatory power in any individual cases such as these because it is based on statistics and probability. If sciencia would stop trying to be the theory, nay, fact; as we are now told; of everything, we would be somewhat better off--yet our basic problems would not be altered at all. Bring down one idol, men will put 2 in its place, as happened eventually in the saga of the golden calves; so is it to this day.
I realize that this may seem overlong but as the song says, "the half of which has never yet been told." I have left out numerous details which are apropos to the subject and my experiences, which all seem to fit together seamlessly in hindsight, and you know what they say: "Hindsight is 20/20." Sozo!!!
(questions always welcome "'round these parts")
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Hoc THIS!! Add THAT!!
Seemingly random thoughts. Post hoc ergo propter hoc. One thought upon another-but does one thought invariably lead specifically to the next one?
Does it appear to us that ad hoc propositions lead to post hoc fallacies? Like I just did in the previous sentence?
We like to take credit for things we enjoy and want for ourselves or our loved ones. Which brings to mind Thoreau--paraphrased: "If I knew there was a person coming to my house with the express purpose of doing me a good deed, I should run for my life!"
I think this is more of an issue for famous people who have second thoughts about their fan base. To me this was always amusing but mostly theoretical! Loneliness is really more the problem for most people, and the thing we flee the most, eh Eleanor Big Oil Rig Bee?
Thurber cartoon: irritated-looking woman ice skating, speaking to a man in a sled hitched to 6 basset hounds: "I said,'The hounds of spring are on winter's traces, but let it pass, let it pass!'" Needless to say, no matter how you try to "trace"--harness for those of you not used to archaic usages--even an infinite numbers of basset hounds (horrors!!!) you will find yourself sitting on the ice until it melts, and then what? That's what!!!
This would be typical committee work. Apolitical action committee--o don't we wish!--accomplishment.
When I think about it, this kind of thinking--ad hoc to post hoc dys-logic--is far more common than mere logic. For instance, did you know that ugly defendants are at least 22% more likely to be found guilty by the average jury, than the good-lookin' among us? Bless their hearts.
(Better get my teeth straightened--alls I wants for Christmess id I mean iz....)
Science is supposed to help us out here. But did you know that my old girlfriend was accepted by Chicago Medical School on the basis of her cute photo? So,like, I really, really trust science to be honest forthright and objective.
It turns out that Western science has become really creative and thus turned in on itself as well as going about upside down. Science has been hitched to so many absurd wagons, it has caught wagon disease! At this point in spite of many real accomplishments, science and health so called have been caught up in the entertainment industry. The cover of "Discover" magazine has the same come-on format as Glamor magazine, without the girlie picture, in its place being some galaxy or other. One reader did bring them to task about the hype/blurb far exceeding the content; but I find that many of the "science" numbers are this way. Especially via the Internet--and the next day, you can't even find the article; I think they broadcast it to Alpha Centauri immediately.
There is a lawsuit underway against Big Oil in Louisiana--about the Big Spill, right? No, about the oil companies causing Katrina to be more ferocious than usual! This is in legal limbo because all the judges are afraid to make a decision!!
(please see the article about the appalling appointment of Frances Collins, the Genome Project go-to guy, to head of the NIH, in the current TNY. Collins has expressed doubts about medicine being changed by knowing more about your risk factors. People pay little enough to the ones they already know about. And designer drugs? To fit your lil' ol' DNA? Who is gonna pay for that, in our wildest dreams?. If you think Viagra is expensive at ten dollars a pill; already I am being forced to read about relatively ineffective drugs for cancer that cost ten grand a pop! Goombye insurance!!)
These of course are Issues (about tissues and don' u cry, baby) whose causation is a matter of history; but dimly seen and interpreted through ad hoc glasses by post hoc reasoning at best. More later about them, and about the difference between disease and dysease. Hint:at least one of them is good fer ya! Stay cheerful, the best is yet to come (perhaps)!
Does it appear to us that ad hoc propositions lead to post hoc fallacies? Like I just did in the previous sentence?
We like to take credit for things we enjoy and want for ourselves or our loved ones. Which brings to mind Thoreau--paraphrased: "If I knew there was a person coming to my house with the express purpose of doing me a good deed, I should run for my life!"
I think this is more of an issue for famous people who have second thoughts about their fan base. To me this was always amusing but mostly theoretical! Loneliness is really more the problem for most people, and the thing we flee the most, eh Eleanor Big Oil Rig Bee?
Thurber cartoon: irritated-looking woman ice skating, speaking to a man in a sled hitched to 6 basset hounds: "I said,'The hounds of spring are on winter's traces, but let it pass, let it pass!'" Needless to say, no matter how you try to "trace"--harness for those of you not used to archaic usages--even an infinite numbers of basset hounds (horrors!!!) you will find yourself sitting on the ice until it melts, and then what? That's what!!!
This would be typical committee work. Apolitical action committee--o don't we wish!--accomplishment.
When I think about it, this kind of thinking--ad hoc to post hoc dys-logic--is far more common than mere logic. For instance, did you know that ugly defendants are at least 22% more likely to be found guilty by the average jury, than the good-lookin' among us? Bless their hearts.
(Better get my teeth straightened--alls I wants for Christmess id I mean iz....)
Science is supposed to help us out here. But did you know that my old girlfriend was accepted by Chicago Medical School on the basis of her cute photo? So,like, I really, really trust science to be honest forthright and objective.
It turns out that Western science has become really creative and thus turned in on itself as well as going about upside down. Science has been hitched to so many absurd wagons, it has caught wagon disease! At this point in spite of many real accomplishments, science and health so called have been caught up in the entertainment industry. The cover of "Discover" magazine has the same come-on format as Glamor magazine, without the girlie picture, in its place being some galaxy or other. One reader did bring them to task about the hype/blurb far exceeding the content; but I find that many of the "science" numbers are this way. Especially via the Internet--and the next day, you can't even find the article; I think they broadcast it to Alpha Centauri immediately.
There is a lawsuit underway against Big Oil in Louisiana--about the Big Spill, right? No, about the oil companies causing Katrina to be more ferocious than usual! This is in legal limbo because all the judges are afraid to make a decision!!
(please see the article about the appalling appointment of Frances Collins, the Genome Project go-to guy, to head of the NIH, in the current TNY. Collins has expressed doubts about medicine being changed by knowing more about your risk factors. People pay little enough to the ones they already know about. And designer drugs? To fit your lil' ol' DNA? Who is gonna pay for that, in our wildest dreams?. If you think Viagra is expensive at ten dollars a pill; already I am being forced to read about relatively ineffective drugs for cancer that cost ten grand a pop! Goombye insurance!!)
These of course are Issues (about tissues and don' u cry, baby) whose causation is a matter of history; but dimly seen and interpreted through ad hoc glasses by post hoc reasoning at best. More later about them, and about the difference between disease and dysease. Hint:at least one of them is good fer ya! Stay cheerful, the best is yet to come (perhaps)!
Thursday, September 2, 2010
9-1-10 Dashboard Confessional II
For all those who were concerned about my "history of present illness", as we in the biz say, I thank you all for your "thoughts and prayers." I am still struggling a bit but will see an ENT Friday and hope to find some new gambit to make these minor league plagues (more agues than plagues- don't worry it's not contagious!) less disabling. But as the 3 Hebrew kids would say, "But if not............"
On another but related theme, as long as I am speaking of dis-ease, please allow me to be a bit transparent, even though I risk offense. I was very impressed yesterday by the article by Dr. Oliver Sacks in the most recent TNY about his own malady, which probably accounts in part for his intense interest as a neurologist and as a great writer, for unusual brain-based syndromes, in his case something called prosopagnosia, the inability to recognize faces, sometimes even very familiar ones. But please note that he was not willing to share this information until recently, when he became personally sure that it was a congenital syndrome and not subject to alteration by mere will power. I greatly urge the reader to access this article!
My problem, and the problem most people will readily confess to, is an inability to remember names and/or connect them to faces, esp. when it is appropriate and important to recall them, i.e. in the grocery aisle!
There should be a name for this, eh, Dennis, my research bud?
Greater illnesses than these are those of a spiritual nature, because they do not affect just a few people but all of us, in varying proportions. For my purposes today I speak of the related malaisii of jealousy, resentment, and the base problem of pride. Some of my readers may be able to relate, and some perhaps not.
Most of you know that I have struggled with the roll (drums, please) of music in my life, in particular in my spiritual life, since for the last 30 years, I have been part of many worship teams at several churches. The problem has been two-fold: while drumming I am concentrating on technique not God; secondly, that immediately means that I "do my own thing," i.e. showboating; hopefully everyone knows what that means; but if not, by it I mean cramming in every trick and lick and riff that occurs to me at that moment, and not really being even a team player--which should be a warning sign for every musician who has trouble submitting to the team and its leader. The third problem is that I have been increasingly aware of the problem, but literally unable to do anything about it, as if when I played the worst in me would rush to the fore and take over automatically;while there have been a few breakthroughs lately, due to an excellent and kind worship leader, Gary Marini, for the most part the adage, "simplify, simplify,simplify" has been in my mind but not in my heart or will.
There's no way to shorten this, sorry, but I will tell you that I semi-voluntarily resigned as chief drummer to allow some younger men to take over; thirty years should be enoough, right? In the secul/art world they won't accapt you if you are over 30 and that's when I just got started! The level of acceptance, personally and musically, in the churches I have been privileged to serve, has been high indeed! Especially when one considers that I have been playing musically "in the flesh" for almost all of those decades, and as a Pharisee to boot;as previously described here. Talk about tolerance! "There it is then."
But the other part of my resignation sans "resignation" was the fact that, because of my defaulting on relationships and being unsubsumable and frankly incorrigible as a music person, the sad fact is that I exhausted the deep well of tolerance at long last, and was rejected from the team. Ever since, I have had problems entering in to worship without jealousy and resentment in my heart. On the other hand, since I wasn't really worshipping on stage either, jealousy merely replaced pride and a kind of addiction to drumming, so I was no further along by resigning; in fact the true motives of my heart were now duly dragged into the light, though I was loathe to admit it even to myself, much less to anyone else. And I didn't have the luxury of blaming my brain or heredity as Oliver Sacks has; 'tis really a matter of "habits of the heart"; bad ones, that is!!
But what has happened to the good is that, through a men's group on Tuesday mornings, I ended up forming a real friendship with Gary--who is impossible not to like-- by going out to breakfast afterwards and talking not just about music but about everything, so to speak. I recall when Gary first arrived as music leader and a new Christian, I proposed we go to lunch; but my plan was to "tell him how it is" with worship teams. To share, so to speak, my 30 years of experience, interpreted through my negativity. Thank YOU LORD he did not take me up on that! I was the one that needed to learn from him as the leader of a secular band, Selby Street, for many years.
I finally got to the point recently wherein I began to wholistically accept the fact that my function on the worship team was to be a friend and a support to Gary, who is doing a job as leader which is much,much, much harder than it looks! This did not clear up my feelings on the matter, however! I was still convinced that ageism, my "race card", was the main problem, not me or my rotten attitude!
But I did finally get around to asking God to do what I was unable to do, that is, to break my mental chains of addiction every bit as bad as Marley's chains of material addictions (the ghost; I don't know about Bob) , in the last analysis made acutely painful due to my own injured pride and unjustifiable addiction to my Sunday morning "fix" i.e. addiction to being on stage and to the sound of the drums itself. My prayer was to get through just one worship service without resentment, just to focus on Him, not on anything or anyone else--which after all is the whole point of doing it at all!!!
God did it! but not without some irony--we don't usually do old songs, since that style is unfamiliar to most younger musicians and is also, frankly, harder than it looks! No excuse-- but-- at the very point when I felt totally surrendered with joy restored, the team began to play, "Victory in Jesus" For the first time I actually felt the victory!
The irony of this is that, years ago, this was my "signature song" in which I would really "cut loose" as it is a great song to do in the shuffle style to which I would add jazz stylings. This song was a particular point of pride to me, as I had it down pat to the very last and least beats.
So what happened? This is not yet known to Gary, but the very next Tues/yest, he was asking me to play in Sept; not as a replacement for the regular younger drummer in absentia, but just spontaneously with no urging from me. Coincidence? I think, not so!! God knows our hearts, and He certainly knows when and if, "I surrender all!!!"
On another but related theme, as long as I am speaking of dis-ease, please allow me to be a bit transparent, even though I risk offense. I was very impressed yesterday by the article by Dr. Oliver Sacks in the most recent TNY about his own malady, which probably accounts in part for his intense interest as a neurologist and as a great writer, for unusual brain-based syndromes, in his case something called prosopagnosia, the inability to recognize faces, sometimes even very familiar ones. But please note that he was not willing to share this information until recently, when he became personally sure that it was a congenital syndrome and not subject to alteration by mere will power. I greatly urge the reader to access this article!
My problem, and the problem most people will readily confess to, is an inability to remember names and/or connect them to faces, esp. when it is appropriate and important to recall them, i.e. in the grocery aisle!
There should be a name for this, eh, Dennis, my research bud?
Greater illnesses than these are those of a spiritual nature, because they do not affect just a few people but all of us, in varying proportions. For my purposes today I speak of the related malaisii of jealousy, resentment, and the base problem of pride. Some of my readers may be able to relate, and some perhaps not.
Most of you know that I have struggled with the roll (drums, please) of music in my life, in particular in my spiritual life, since for the last 30 years, I have been part of many worship teams at several churches. The problem has been two-fold: while drumming I am concentrating on technique not God; secondly, that immediately means that I "do my own thing," i.e. showboating; hopefully everyone knows what that means; but if not, by it I mean cramming in every trick and lick and riff that occurs to me at that moment, and not really being even a team player--which should be a warning sign for every musician who has trouble submitting to the team and its leader. The third problem is that I have been increasingly aware of the problem, but literally unable to do anything about it, as if when I played the worst in me would rush to the fore and take over automatically;while there have been a few breakthroughs lately, due to an excellent and kind worship leader, Gary Marini, for the most part the adage, "simplify, simplify,simplify" has been in my mind but not in my heart or will.
There's no way to shorten this, sorry, but I will tell you that I semi-voluntarily resigned as chief drummer to allow some younger men to take over; thirty years should be enoough, right? In the secul/art world they won't accapt you if you are over 30 and that's when I just got started! The level of acceptance, personally and musically, in the churches I have been privileged to serve, has been high indeed! Especially when one considers that I have been playing musically "in the flesh" for almost all of those decades, and as a Pharisee to boot;as previously described here. Talk about tolerance! "There it is then."
But the other part of my resignation sans "resignation" was the fact that, because of my defaulting on relationships and being unsubsumable and frankly incorrigible as a music person, the sad fact is that I exhausted the deep well of tolerance at long last, and was rejected from the team. Ever since, I have had problems entering in to worship without jealousy and resentment in my heart. On the other hand, since I wasn't really worshipping on stage either, jealousy merely replaced pride and a kind of addiction to drumming, so I was no further along by resigning; in fact the true motives of my heart were now duly dragged into the light, though I was loathe to admit it even to myself, much less to anyone else. And I didn't have the luxury of blaming my brain or heredity as Oliver Sacks has; 'tis really a matter of "habits of the heart"; bad ones, that is!!
But what has happened to the good is that, through a men's group on Tuesday mornings, I ended up forming a real friendship with Gary--who is impossible not to like-- by going out to breakfast afterwards and talking not just about music but about everything, so to speak. I recall when Gary first arrived as music leader and a new Christian, I proposed we go to lunch; but my plan was to "tell him how it is" with worship teams. To share, so to speak, my 30 years of experience, interpreted through my negativity. Thank YOU LORD he did not take me up on that! I was the one that needed to learn from him as the leader of a secular band, Selby Street, for many years.
I finally got to the point recently wherein I began to wholistically accept the fact that my function on the worship team was to be a friend and a support to Gary, who is doing a job as leader which is much,much, much harder than it looks! This did not clear up my feelings on the matter, however! I was still convinced that ageism, my "race card", was the main problem, not me or my rotten attitude!
But I did finally get around to asking God to do what I was unable to do, that is, to break my mental chains of addiction every bit as bad as Marley's chains of material addictions (the ghost; I don't know about Bob) , in the last analysis made acutely painful due to my own injured pride and unjustifiable addiction to my Sunday morning "fix" i.e. addiction to being on stage and to the sound of the drums itself. My prayer was to get through just one worship service without resentment, just to focus on Him, not on anything or anyone else--which after all is the whole point of doing it at all!!!
God did it! but not without some irony--we don't usually do old songs, since that style is unfamiliar to most younger musicians and is also, frankly, harder than it looks! No excuse-- but-- at the very point when I felt totally surrendered with joy restored, the team began to play, "Victory in Jesus" For the first time I actually felt the victory!
The irony of this is that, years ago, this was my "signature song" in which I would really "cut loose" as it is a great song to do in the shuffle style to which I would add jazz stylings. This song was a particular point of pride to me, as I had it down pat to the very last and least beats.
So what happened? This is not yet known to Gary, but the very next Tues/yest, he was asking me to play in Sept; not as a replacement for the regular younger drummer in absentia, but just spontaneously with no urging from me. Coincidence? I think, not so!! God knows our hearts, and He certainly knows when and if, "I surrender all!!!"
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