Ese pensar no tiene nada que ver con enredarse en una maraña de debates internos que reclaman conclusión. Ese pensar tiene un sentido más budista, si se quiere. No está hecho de palabras, no tiene conceptos. Es apenas contemplación, comunicación, emoción, en ese orden. La naturaleza, las personas, los hechos son los que vienen a tu encuentro. Despacio. Sin aviso.

Es como pasar de pispear las noticias en Internet a máxima velocidad, a sumergirse en la minuciosa lectura de cada uno de los párrafos de un libro, entregándose a un mundo extraño que, sin embargo, nos conecta de inmediato con lo más primario de nuestra persona.

Muchos reconocerán de qué hablo: cuántas veces hace falta alejarse en el espacio (y por qué no, también en el tiempo) para identificar lo esencial, casi siempre eclipsado por el cumplimiento del deber que, a menudo, ni recordamos quién nos impuso.

Recuerdo una noche caminando por la playa, bajo la luz de la luna, done las revelaciones vienen solas, aunque no se las busque. Caminábamos bajo un cielo con cientos de estrellas de distintos tamaños y brillos. De pronto, una estrella fugaz cruzó con lentitud, de punta a punta, el cielo redondo, abriéndose paso entre soles lejanos. Todos vimos, mudos, el trayecto entero de la estrella. Cuando desapareció en el horizonte nos miramos a los ojos, al unísono. El perro también lo hizo. Nadie lo dijo, pero lo pensamos: éramos seres afortunados de compartir ese momento mágico, único e irrepetible en el cosmos.

Se nota que extraño a Miramar, y los paseos por las playas en Mar del Sur y Reta...

I suppose one could characterize Agnosticism as a “belief system” in the sense that Science is a belief system. But it is based on Reason, rather than on the superstition or mysticism that defines conventional organized religions.

I think it is a basic misunderstanding of religious people to classify the rationale of those who don’t believe in their Gods as a “belief system.” Whereas some devout religious folks are willing to die in suicide bombings to stick up for their God-of-choice, we agnostics are slightly less hardcore about our worldview. Answering the question of God’s existence holds a much lower priority for agnostics than it does for theists. We look at it the way one might look at the unsolved mystery of whether or not aliens exist. If you do not believe in extraterrestrial life forms, would you define yourself according to that non-belief? Probably not. The issue cannot be answered one way or the other, so you recognize that your position is an Opinion, and that those who say aliens do exist simply hold an opposing Opinion. For alien-believers to lash out at alien-skeptics (or vice versa) is pointless, as the truth is impossible to know without first traveling to each of the trillions upon trillions of solar systems in the universe.

However, those who believe that extraterrestrial life currently thrives on the Moon can and should be refuted; reason and logic have debunked such theories by providing scientific evidence to the contrary. Those who believe in life on the moon subscribe to a “belief system.”

As with the belief that aliens live on Mars, evidence that Jesus is the son of God cannot be found in any book that respects Logic and relies on Reason to reach its conclusions.

Yes, there is the Bible. There is also the Torah and the Qu’ran. Each, by itself, presents a case for a particular deity. But in order to Believe in Jesus or Allah, one must privilege their religious texts over all other books. That requires being hostile toward enlightened scientific proof, such as archaeological and geological findings that Earth was not created a mere 6,000 years ago, or biological evidence that Jonah could not have survived for three days living inside a fish’s stomach. To be a Christian, one must believe that, at its core, the Bible is a more reliable source of knowledge than all other books combined, because God wrote it. That is a “leap of faith.” And it is faith—not reason—that allows one to make excuses on God’s behalf when inexplicably horrific events like the cyclone in Miramar or the Chinese earthquake cost hundreds of thousands of human lives. So the typical Christian, unable to justify God’s complicity to prevent such horrors, simply concludes that they are part of “God’s plan” and that mortal humans are too stupid to understand it.

That is a Leap of Faith, based on a Belief System. If we apply the worldly gifts of enlightened thinking, the only logical conclusion is that not enough evidence exists to prove or disprove His existence. With regard to the Bible being the word of God, or even a reliable authority on how to live our lives, reason overwhelmingly suggests otherwise.

breakfast at miramar hotel as prepared by Raquel and Margret. they ran the kitchen when i was there and kept me well fed. so i've got some fried yellow plantains, scrambled eggs and tomatoes and some hot chocalate
Miramar Hotel - Calle 10, 59-1C @ Avenida 2 santa marta colombia

I just got to San Diego this past Thursday. I officially check into my new duty station all this week (I hear its a long process) but I got my new barracks room already (which is quite nice & cozy). I was so excited to be in southern Cal, I already did quite a bit of exploring of the San Diego area this weekend (namely the Hillcrest region)!! For weeks before I came I read about Hillcrest as the great bastion of gayness. I even corresponded with a young fella' who lives in Hillcrest over MySpace to find out when/where I should go. I ended up in a bar on Saturday night, alone, and feeling like a complete fish out of water. That could be because I've never been to a gay bar, so my nerves were shot and I felt like every last eyeball was glaring my way. Needless to say I had a great time and even met a stud who I suspect is a Marine or Sailor. 

--In the back of my mind I was hoping to get a shared barracks room with more than one bunk. There's nothing like sharing a room with two stud Marines who have no idea your fantasizing about them sexually, watching their every move as they undress morning and night-day after day. I've shared a shower with a few Marines before when we were in a rush after PT. It's good times and I was really hoping the fun would continue. Alas, I was given a private room with no one to check out but myself. The bathroom is private also, so there will be no peeking *damn it*. I briefly met the Marine who lives next door (who shares the bathroom with me). At first sight he was nothing special, but he came over a few hrs later to give me an extra key. I opened my door to his knock and was in shock. His body is nothing short of amazing. There he was, standing at my doorstep in the tiniest of shorts, no shirt, some little flip flops, and a fresh buzz cut (the best part). Words cant describe. ;-) I dream of drunken nights ahead....

Trust me, for those of you who think nothing goes on between "Straight" Marines, your WRONG!! I've seen so much homo erotic shit go down it's a shock I haven't had my cherry popped by a Jar-Head yet. In time my friends, in time! I better get off to bed, but check tomorrow, I want to tell you how my first "gay bar" experience went. 

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It was done for What Now, on Sunday. The quality and camera angle doesn't quite do the scariness of the destruction justice, but I thought you might be interested to check out what my TKD instructor can do with a sore shoulder.

(note to self, stop answering back in class.) (Actually I'm pretty sure I don't answer back.) (Most of the time anyway.)

More info here: http://miramartkd.wellington.net.nz/

Guillermo del toro

Originally uploaded by Foro Mexicano de la Cultura

Yeah, not content to having Peter Jackson living down the street from me, I will soon also be neighbour to Guillermo Del Toro! He's moving to NZ for four years to film two Hobbit movies and will most likely live here on the Miramar Peninsula.

I've never actually met Peter Jackson though I believe he was in my place of work once when I wasn't there. In fact even though there are always plenty of movie stars around this area, I've never actually seen any. Any that I knew anyway!

at the beach, life is different..time doesn't move hour to hour but mood to moment. we live by the currents and plan by the tides...and follow the sun.. - courtesy bumper sticker in facebook...

Here's my first ever attempt at a stereo photo. (crosseyed stereo - how to view)

And here's two more I took.

flying low

gone fishin'

www.910Homes.net

www.McKenzieSellsHomes.com

Lots of fabulous links for Jacksonville, Onslow County and the surrounding areas.  Cool local businesses, restaurants, things to do with your kiddos and more (and the usual stuff like the local paper, school links, etc.).

Miramar Taekwon-Do is a member of the International Taekwon-Do Federation, and this particular club is the second oldest in New Zealand. They spice up the punching and kicking and blocking bits with a hefty dose of theory, and a holistic approach to learning the art (they even swear an oath at the beginning of each class.)

I actually really enjoyed myself, despite the nervousness of being the newbie, and the weirdness of what I was asking my body to do (especially after 3 years of gym-brand kickboxing.)

I noticed some pretty BIG differences to what I had been practicing. In kickboxing your centre of balance seems to be more forward and you tend to fight more straight on, whereas in Taekwon-Do they take a wider stance with more of an angle to their bodies, and the centre of balance is more centre. (Because that makes sense right?!)

At the gym we've been doing a roundhouse kick, jabs, hooks, uppercuts and bodyshots. Last night we did a few jab-type punches, which were sufficiently different to have me feeling slightly awkward, and five or six different kicks which completely threw me off balance. I haven't felt awkward kicking or throwing a punch for a year now, so its a change. It'll be good for me.

Plus now I need to learn how to kick higher than my own head. I saw a 4th dan black belt do it, and I've decided I need to know that - because what a party trick, right?!

So far I've learnt that a punch or a kick in Taekwon-Do is rarely a one step movement like it is in kickboxing. There seems to be a whole heap of intermediate movements, and how you get to the end point of the punch is just as important as the bang it makes there (although, yes, the bang is pretty cool.)

Also? I've never thought of kickboxing as a standstill kind of thing, but compared to some of the movement involved in Taekwondo I'm wondering how the hell I missed it before.

All in all it's not a replacement for kickboxing. Taekwon-Do is a whole new thing, and one I can see myself getting fairly obsessed about.

... that the smell in my room is reminiscent of wet dog mould.

... that our automatic rent payment enjoys pushing the boundaries and answering back to authority.

... that our washing machine taps spray a fine mist of water into the tub whenever we do a cold wash.

... that Miramar is where the parties are. Except on our street.

... that Miramar Tae Kwon do could probably be re-named: Quite Near Miramar Tae Kwon do.

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Dear Mum/ Dad/ Landlord/ Flatmates/ Boyfriend,

I promise not to buy a kitten, but let the records show that I'd like that one very much. Even though I know I can't have him. *sigh*

-Shannon

Aquí van algunas fotos.

Make a postcard - it's easy!

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HAZ CLICK AQUI

Because I was there early I encountered a bus that I had never met before - the 24. The reassuring Digital Display announced that this bus was heading to the railway station near work, and the lady driver gave me a big grin as I flashed my shiny gold pass. In short, this morning was going my way.

Or at least it was until the bus took a smooth right instead of heading straight down Miramar Avenue and into town. I still wasn't too concerned. The sun was shining, and I was running early.

Then the bus took another right. We were now heading in the exact opposite direction to my work, and up a windy road that I was pretty sure wasn't built with the number 24 bus in mind. The large number 24 bus.

I was beginning to have the first few stabs of panic when we burst through the residential housing. There was the most amazing view of the bay behind Miramar (Karaka bay? Does that even exist? Am I making it up?)

The bus wound around the ridge surrounding Miramar alternating between sweeping views down into the town, and ocean views of the water surrounding us. We ended up sneaking through the back parking lot of Wellington Prison (huh, there's a prison up the top of Miramar... Who knew?) and then winding back down the hill through big scrubby pine trees.

Then when we finally hit ground level, we didn't take the usual residential route to the city. Instead we meandered around the bays looking at beaches and competing with the bikers and runners for road space.

When we had run out of roads around the waters edge we swept back into town to do the CBD drop offs. When it was my turn I almost wanted to stay and do it all again in reverse.

I ended up being 30 minutes late to work. I'm not even sorry.

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Me resulta imposible pasar mucho tiempo sin recorrer la costa de Valldemossa y Deià. Es una verdadera necesidad espiritual, un rito. No me cabe la menor duda que este rincón de Mallorca posee magia, la percibí desde mi primera visita y nunca se extingue.

Una breve caminata y me asomo por el majestuoso mirador archiducal des Tudons, disimulado en un frondoso bosque. La luz matinal del invierno que incide en esta escena es perfecta.

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Miramar, vergel de manantiales, olivos y pinos centerarios. Sombras y murmuros de un glorioso pasado. Colgada en un balcón encima del mar, brilla con luz propia gracias a su ilustre pasado, cargado de mitos e historia. Adquirida por el archiduque Luís Salvador de Austria en 1870, miembro de la corte austrohúngara y enamorado de la isla, se obsesionó en reconstruír el Miramar del mallorquín más universal -Ramón Llull- fundador de la finca hace 732 años. La mansión, capilla, caminos, jardines y rotonda se integran deliciosamente en uno de los paisajes más sugestivos de todo el Mediterráneo.
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Miramar, con la península de la Foradada al fondo.
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Canon EOS 5D • Canon 24-105 @ 92mm • 1/60 seg • f9.5 • Iso 100 • Captura en Raw • Ajustes en Photoshop CS3

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... that our house is where the seventies were born, lived, and died?

... that some bosses will give you a half day off to do an impromptu move?

... that lino floors and orange walls make footprints echo like gunshots?

... that some moving companies see a confirmed 1pm start time as a more flexible general agreement.

... that Miramar is where the chocolate fish became the chocolate frog, and tucked itself into the Palmers Garden Center?

... that Miramar supports two pizza companies, a sports bar, and a dodgy looking Thai restaurant that some people swear by?

... that some boyfriends will buy you a monthly bus pass on IOU becase they know you're worried about all the travelling you're going to have to do before payday comes again.

Uno tocaba la guitarra, muy bien porque era de conservatorio, primero nos mostró que había aprendido mucho, o mejor dicho los amigos le pidieron que nos muestre, y después tocó algo de Sumo, entre otras cosas.

Pronto, no sé cómo, salió el tema de la cantidad de policía que había en la noche de Miramar y uno de mis amigos lo relacionó con la violación y asesinato de una chica el año anterior. Entonces el Pocha, rapado, uno de nuestros anfitriones, un chico que se levantaba a la mañana y se hacía mates con vino, y una de las personas más agradables y simpáticas que se pueden encontrar a los veinte años, antes que dejara embarazada a una chica que conoció en ese u otro viaje y se retiró de una vez del rito de esas vacaciones compartidas con su amigo Esteban (de hecho, no mucho después, Esteban dejaba embarazada a la hermana del Pocha, así que se habrán retirado de común acuerdo o seguirán yendo juntos, con sus familias), El Pocha apuraba el tinto cerca de la ventana, comentó que habían conocido a esa chica, que eran bastante amigos porque hacía tiempo que venían a Miramar y la encontraban siempre.

Dejó claro que ver la foto en televisión lo había asombrado. Nosotros, tontos, quisimos saber cómo era la chica, si era fácil o no como para dejarse seducir por desconocidos. Esteban, que tenía bastante pinta y la dosis de gracia que a las mujeres les gusta, preguntó a sus amigos, como si nos estuviera perdonando la vida, si sabían cómo era él con las mujeres. Los amigos asintieron riéndose y Estaban afirmó que la chica era muy tranquila, nunca había aceptado ni siquiera un beso.

Afuera brillaban las estrellas y dilemas y cuestiones que nada tenían que ver con nosotros se nos cruzaron, es fácil encontrar la ensoñación y el miedo en la noche, más en el medio del campo y con una ventana abierta a la oscuridad, donde mucho más allá, se ven las luces de los autos como perdidas pero que avanzan con curiosa intermitencia.

Se comentaba que los asesinos de la chica eran policías. No sé si ya fueron enjuiciados o si el caso quedó impune. Ahí sentado, de repente, creí escuchar el murmullo lejano de los pensamientos del asesino o asesinos, un murmullo evasivo, distante, tal vez intemporal, pero tan real como los yuyos que crecen en el mismo lugar del vivero donde encontraron el cuerpo de la chica.

Más tarde nos olvidamos del tema, se contaron otras anécdotas (en una Esteban y el Pocha iban al amanecer con cuchillos y palos a vengarse de unos pájaros que los habían atacado en la ruta cuando volvían de un bar) y después salimos a dar una vuelta.

A.F