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We feed the world

Posted on Aug 2nd, 2006 by Christian : Shadow worker Christian
An impressive film, that deals with the origin of our food here in europe (Austria, Germany):



The most impressive quote for me was from Jean Ziegler: A child that in hunger dies today is murdered.
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Tagged with: food, movie

Volver

Posted on Aug 12th, 2006 by Christian : Shadow worker Christian

Some zaadzsters discussed, if Scarlett Johansson is w00t: but if you watched this movie, you have to realize that Penelope Cruz is w00t too, or??

The great spanish director Pedro Almodovar made a lovely homage on the “female universe” with an great acting Penélope Cruz. It remembered me a bit to the movie 8 femmes.


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Millenium Development Goals

Posted on Aug 13th, 2006 by Christian : Shadow worker Christian
One_kopie
The XVI. International AIDS Conference is taking place in Toronto. The combat against AIDS and other major diseases is Nr. 6 of eight Millenium Development Goals (MDG) of the UN.

There is also a campaign i want to mention in conjunction with the MDG:
The ONE Campaign: This campaign deals with the MDG Nr. 1: Eradicate extreme poverty and hunger.
love and peace






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Tagged with: One, Bono, Aids, Sarah McLachlan, UN, MDG

I love trees

Posted on Aug 24th, 2006 by Christian : Shadow worker Christian
Tree_mosaic___flickr
Hermann Hesse wrote 1918 about trees:

"For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

     Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

     A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

     A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

     When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

     A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

     So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness."

I totally agree with him.



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