Chartreuse thought of the
Week The Head and the Heart? “The web color chartreuse is the color precisely halfway between green and yellow, so it is 50% green and 50% yellow. It is one of the tertiary colors of the HSV color wheel, also known as the RGB color wheel. Another name for this color is chartreuse green,” (Wikipedia) What does the color chartreuse teach us about the process of making decisions? Well, step back and think for a minute. What’s the process you use when you have a decision to make? Do you come up with a long list of pros and cons? Look to what’s in your heart? A little of both? Does it depend on the nature of the decision? Do you use other criteria altogether? Ok, so what does all this have to do with the coloor chartreuse? Well, think about that too. The color chartreuse is actually a blend of yellow and green. The web color (described above), features a 50/50 mix while other shade of chartreuse lean more towards one or the other end of the spectrum. Why does that matter? In the lingo of the chakras—the body’s important energy centers, that’s important because the yellow (solar plexus third) chakra is, among other things, the chakra of the intellect, and the green (fourth) chakra emphasizes the heart. Is the connection starting to make sense now? Chartreuse—the combination of yellow and green-- serves as a reminder to take both head and heart into account when we’re making decisions. Using only one, as we’re likely to do when we want to decide quickly, gives an incomplete picture. As with the shades of chartreuse, the proportions relevant to each decision might vary. Some decisions—what is the most efficient type of energy with which to heat your house--are probably better made from the view of the intellect. Others, such as those involving love and relationships, obviously come straight from the heart. But if you think about it, some kind of integrating of yellow and green, of head and heart, generally provides us a more consistent way to go. In addition, from a different perspective, the boldness and easy visibility of chartreuse only adds to the lesson. With chartreuse so right out there in your face, isn’t that a model for how you want to be when you’re making decisions? Take risks? Put yourself out there? Be yourself? So, even if it didn’t seem initially so obvious, the color chartreuse provides an important reminder to get you thinking about the process in the first place by which you are going about making decisions and then encourages you to ask the question: what’s the relation between your head and your heart? What’s one way this week, even relative to something small, you could use this thought to make just a little bit better of a decision?
0 Comments
Card of the Month (July 2013)
Charmaine Chartreuse Kindness "I never met a person I didn't like, (tori Hartman) " How do you handle people who aren’t like you? Who have a somewhat different set of values? Who, said differently, even seem a little bit odd? The character of Charmaine chartreuse, though she was labeled the "odd" one out, was a naturally curious and friendly person. Whether by nature or by conscious choice, she herself was kindness personified. looking forward to her walks and talks with the people of her town, she gave no hint of being aware of the gossip going on behind her back. Why did she grow her nails so long? Why did she stand observing the activities around the fruit store without buying? What was she really doing up there alone in the Chartreuse Mansion, and why didn’t she change its color anyway? Charmaine’s reactions showed quite the opposite tendencies. She'd ask about the sons and daughters of clerks in stores, give an extra tip to support a young person in college, and she took the time to encourage an aspiring artist when others failed to believe in his talent. Come to find out, as the townspeople did after Charmaine's death, that she was even working hard to preserve their stories by creating some pretty wonderful pictures. And she left her home, the Chartreuse Mansion, to the local historical society. Hmm, so how do you deal with people who aren’t like you? Who have a somewhat different set of values? Who, said differently, even seem a little bit odd? The story of Charmaine Chartreuse serves as a sweet reminder that taking a chance on someone who you might at first tend to judge a little harshly might prove surprisingly rewarding. You never do know what you might learn, and a little more kindness to others might even teach you to be a little less judgmental towards yourself. The Fort That Was Never
Located in Liège, Belgium, this fort was built in 1817 by the Dutch army (the country of Belgium did not yet exist; it wasn't founded until 1830). This fort is part of the fortification line along the river Meuse which crosses Belgium. The fort was ready-and-able to house 3000 soldiers, but will unfortunately never complete its purpose to defend anything. The history of this fort is pretty interesting. It was seized by the Belgian people during the revolution in 1830 and it became a simple barracks. During World War I and World War II the fort acted as a German prison. In 1944-45 the American military took control of the fort and it was transformed into the 28th General Hospital for the US Army. The fort now stands decaying and completely obsolete. The fort entrace has changed over the years... The scars of history show on the walls of this empty fortress. While walking around you can easily read signs such as: "Rauchen verboten! (Smoking Forbidden)" or "28th General Hospital US Army" on the walls. Another interesting feature inside the pillboxes, which were put in place to defend the fort, are military paintings that haven’t been erased by time. The site is huge coming in at over 30 hectares, and the entrance is rather difficult to locate, but this place does not disappoint and is definitely worth a visit… http://www.forbidden-places.net/urban-exploration-fort-de-la-chartreuse-liege#.UfGpDyrD-P8 Chartreuse
You got the color that turns me loose Chartreuse That color just turns me loose Better than Magenta Better than Fuse You got a shade that gets rid of the blues. Chartreuse Don't you know I like big Caboose Chartreuse You know I like that big Caboose Its sure sweet, Lights my fuse Its sure sweet, Lights my fuse [Guitar Solo] Chartreuse That color just turns me loose Chartreuse You got the color that turns me loose You got the blues baby I got the juice You got the blues baby I got the juice [Outro Solo] Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused
With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from Saint Laurent goes. The bridge is cross'd, and slow we ride, Through forest, up the mountain-side. The autumnal evening darkens round, The wind is up, and drives the rain; While, hark! far down, with strangled sound Doth the Dead Guier's stream complain, Where that wet smoke, among the woods, Over his boiling cauldron broods. Swift rush the spectral vapours white Past limestone scars with ragged pines, Showing--then blotting from our sight!-- Halt--through the cloud-drift something shines! High in the valley, wet and drear, The huts of Courrerie appear. Strike leftward! cries our guide; and higher Mounts up the stony forest-way. At last the encircling trees retire; Look! through the showery twilight grey What pointed roofs are these advance?-- A palace of the Kings of France? Approach, for what we seek is here! Alight, and sparely sup, and wait For rest in this outbuilding near; Then cross the sward and reach that gate. Knock; pass the wicket! Thou art come To the Carthusians' world-famed home. The silent courts, where night and day Into their stone-carved basins cold The splashing icy fountains play-- The humid corridors behold! Where, ghostlike in the deepening night, Cowl'd forms brush by in gleaming white. The chapel, where no organ's peal Invests the stern and naked prayer-- With penitential cries they kneel And wrestle; rising then, with bare And white uplifted faces stand, Passing the Host from hand to hand; Each takes, and then his visage wan Is buried in his cowl once more. The cells!--the suffering Son of Man Upon the wall--the knee-worn floor-- And where they sleep, that wooden bed, Which shall their coffin be, when dead! The library, where tract and tome Not to feed priestly pride are there, To hymn the conquering march of Rome, Nor yet to amuse, as ours are! They paint of souls the inner strife, Their drops of blood, their death in life. The garden, overgrown--yet mild, See, fragrant herbs are flowering there! Strong children of the Alpine wild Whose culture is the brethren's care; Of human tasks their only one, And cheerful works beneath the sun. Those halls, too, destined to contain Each its own pilgrim-host of old, From England, Germany, or Spain-- All are before me! I behold The House, the Brotherhood austere! --And what am I, that I am here? For rigorous teachers seized my youth, And purged its faith, and trimm'd its fire, Show'd me the high, white star of Truth, There bade me gaze, and there aspire. Even now their whispers pierce the gloom: What dost thou in this living tomb? Forgive me, masters of the mind! At whose behest I long ago So much unlearnt, so much resign'd-- I come not here to be your foe! I seek these anchorites, not in ruth, To curse and to deny your truth; Not as their friend, or child, I speak! But as, on some far northern strand, Thinking of his own Gods, a Greek In pity and mournful awe might stand Before some fallen Runic stone-- For both were faiths, and both are gone. Wandering between two worlds, one dead, The other powerless to be born, With nowhere yet to rest my head, Like these, on earth I wait forlorn. Their faith, my tears, the world deride-- I come to shed them at their side. Oh, hide me in your gloom profound, Ye solemn seats of holy pain! Take me, cowl'd forms, and fence me round, Till I possess my soul again; Till free my thoughts before me roll, Not chafed by hourly false control! For the world cries your faith is now But a dead time's exploded dream; My melancholy, sciolists say, Is a pass'd mode, an outworn theme-- As if the world had ever had A faith, or sciolists been sad! Ah, if it be pass'd, take away, At least, the restlessness, the pain; Be man henceforth no more a prey To these out-dated stings again! The nobleness of grief is gone Ah, leave us not the fret alone! But--if you cannot give us ease-- Last of the race of them who grieve Here leave us to die out with these Last of the people who believe! Silent, while years engrave the brow; Silent--the best are silent now. Achilles ponders in his tent, The kings of modern thought are dumb, Silent they are though not content, And wait to see the future come. They have the grief men had of yore, But they contend and cry no more. Our fathers water'd with their tears This sea of time whereon we sail, Their voices were in all men's ears We pass'd within their puissant hail. Still the same ocean round us raves, But we stand mute, and watch the waves. For what avail'd it, all the noise And outcry of the former men?-- Say, have their sons achieved more joys, Say, is life lighter now than then? The sufferers died, they left their pain-- The pangs which tortured them remain. What helps it now, that Byron bore, With haughty scorn which mock'd the smart, Through Europe to the Ætolian shore The pageant of his bleeding heart? That thousands counted every groan, And Europe made his woe her own? What boots it, Shelley! that the breeze Carried thy lovely wail away, Musical through Italian trees Which fringe thy soft blue Spezzian bay? Inheritors of thy distress Have restless hearts one throb the less? Or are we easier, to have read, O Obermann! the sad, stern page, Which tells us how thou hidd'st thy head From the fierce tempest of thine age In the lone brakes of Fontainebleau, Or chalets near the Alpine snow? Ye slumber in your silent grave!-- The world, which for an idle day Grace to your mood of sadness gave, Long since hath flung her weeds away. The eternal trifler breaks your spell; But we--we learned your lore too well! Years hence, perhaps, may dawn an age, More fortunate, alas! than we, Which without hardness will be sage, And gay without frivolity. Sons of the world, oh, speed those years; But, while we wait, allow our tears! Allow them! We admire with awe The exulting thunder of your race; You give the universe your law, You triumph over time and space! Your pride of life, your tireless powers, We laud them, but they are not ours. We are like children rear'd in shade Beneath some old-world abbey wall, Forgotten in a forest-glade, And secret from the eyes of all. Deep, deep the greenwood round them waves, Their abbey, and its close of graves! But, where the road runs near the stream, Oft through the trees they catch a glance Of passing troops in the sun's beam-- Pennon, and plume, and flashing lance! Forth to the world those soldiers fare, To life, to cities, and to war! And through the wood, another way, Faint bugle-notes from far are borne, Where hunters gather, staghounds bay, Round some fair forest-lodge at morn. Gay dames are there, in sylvan green; Laughter and cries--those notes between! The banners flashing through the trees Make their blood dance and chain their eyes; That bugle-music on the breeze Arrests them with a charm'd surprise. Banner by turns and bugle woo: Ye shy recluses, follow too! O children, what do ye reply?-- 'Action and pleasure, will ye roam Through these secluded dells to cry And call us?--but too late ye come! Too late for us your call ye blow, Whose bent was taken long ago. 'Long since we pace this shadow'd nave; We watch those yellow tapers shine, Emblems of hope over the grave, In the high altar's depth divine; The organ carries to our ear Its accents of another sphere. 'Fenced early in this cloistral round Of reverie, of shade, of prayer, How should we grow in other ground? How can we flower in foreign air? --Pass, banners, pass, and bugles, cease; And leave our desert to its peace!' Matthew Arnold |
AuthorSally Archives
August 2015
Categories |