Ari Siletz

Ari

I so want to categorize self sacrifice as another one of our disfunctional cultural mandates.  

Ps.  Your question may take me off course plus I don't readily know the answer but now that you have posed the question I am curious :-).

Casablanca

Butterflies or moths?

If you were selling "self sacrifice" which one would you choose to model? 

This one is fabulous!

As always, this blog was not only very informative but also the satire in it, is excellent!

Thank you Ari jon for another splendid text.

We are waiting for more.

English moth-light, and falcon prey

Parthenon, glad you enjoyed the mathematical connection to an old puzzle of Persian love. The falcon hunting pattern you bring up is fascinating.  Maybe for evey life taken by the candle there's a a falcon that takes it back at the center of the equiangular spiral.  One more reason to call it "the miraculous spiral."

Like a moth to a flame

(can't figure out the format issue, apologies!)


A moth dances with fire and light

Then it is in there…and still.

We dance with fire but never step in.


A moth is chasing its destiny

As we are running from ours

Into the same circles as ever.


Come to the light, to the fire

Let it burn you to a cinder

Taking your karmic body


A guru is like the fire

Transforming you to light,

What’s left is charred ashes


Perhaps the moth knows

The fire it seeks is enlightenment

All else is illusion


We seek our gurus in Temples

In Churches, Mosques and Holy Places

The moth ENTERS its heart


There is Fire where we fear

And Light where we know

The Fire is our Light.


The truth is always in love

Find it where you can

Then let it burn you.


The pathway to yourself

Is through your resistances

Through your hopes and dreams


Once burnt like a moth

What is there to fear?

Only the looking down


On the ashes you have left

Behind you as guides

To those who seek the Light


It is through Fire

The moth knows

Like a moth to a flame I go.


Arun Deva, Yoga Teacher
 
(off I go to sleep :)

Mary Oliver's Moths

(couldn't fall asleep before reading this)

There’s a kind of white moth,

I don’t know what kind,

that glimmersby mid-May in the forest,

just as the pink mocassin flowersare rising.

If you notice anything,

it leads you to notice

more and more.

And anyway I was so full of energy.

I was always running around,

looking at this and that.

If I stopped the pain was unbearable.

If I stopped and thought,

maybe the world can’t be saved,

the pain was unbearable.

Finally, I noticed enough.

All around me in the forest the white moths floated.

How long do they live, fluttering in and out of the shadows?

You aren’t much, I said one day to my reflection

in a green pond, and grinned.

The wings of the moths catch the sunlight

and burn so brightly.

At night, sometimes, they slip between the pink lobes of the moccasin flowers

and lie there until dawn,

motionlessin those dark halls of honey.

nature repeats itself

Ari, a very clever application of equiangular spiral ( the blue spiral in your drawing) to the age old riddle of parvaneh and sham. 

It turns out that falcons also follow this very same spiral path when attacking their prey ( gazing at prey at the center of the spiral, same position as the sham). Because the angel of the equiangular spiral is about 40 degrees, this fixes the falcon's vision at 40 degrees with respect to pray where their vision is the sharpest.

I have yet to hear of a falcon sacrificing his life for the love of a sham !! 

Henry Miller

"What remained then of that indistinguishable world from which I awakened one morning full of tender wounds that had been so skillfully stanched in the night? The face of the one I had loved and lost! Una Gifford. Not the Una I had known, but a Una whom years of pain and separation had magnified into a frightening loveliness. Her face had become like a heavy flower caught in darkness; it seemed transfixed by its own suffused glow. All those memories of her which I had jealously preserved and which had been lightly tamped down, like fine tobacco under the finger of a pipe smoker, had suddenly brought about a spontaneously combustible beautification. The pallor of her skin was heightened by the marble glow which the smoldering embers of memory awakened. The head turned slowly on the almost indistinguishable
stem. The lips were parted in thirst; they were extraordinarily vivid and vulnerable. It seemed like the detached head of a dreamer seeking with eyes sealed to receive the hungry lips of one summoned from some remote place. And, like the convolutions of exotic plants which writhe and lash in the night, our lips with endless searching finally met, closed and sealed the wound which until then had bled unceasingly. It was a kiss that drowned the memory of pain; it stanched and healed the wound."
-- Sexus, Henry Miller

بسیار جالب بود

سپاس،

beautiful verses!

Some replies to the non-poetic part of the blog:

Faramarz: navigation in migratory insects such as moths still has puzzles. As this paper shows the moon theory described in this blog is only part of the picture.

Mehrban: Unfair how our poets ignore the shaaparak. The ugly creature makes the sacrifice for love and the handsome parvaneh gets the credit. No verses that I know of that point out this Cyrano injustice that has been going on for centuries.

Back to poetry:

Found this interesting anti-sham' verse that may come in handy during post break-up bitterness:

شمع گيرم كه پس از كشتن   پروانه گريست         قاتل   از    گريه    بي    جا   گنهش پاك نشد

صابر همداني

 died in the 1950s I think    

من اگر سوزنده شمعم ، تو همان پروانه ای

در صف مه پیکران، تو برتر و یکدانه ای
در میان لعبتان ، افسونگر و جانانه ای
آن قد و بالای تو سازد قیامت ها به پا
قامت تو ، هر قیامت را کند افسانه ای
شعله ی عشقت تمام روح و ایمانم گرفت
من اگر سوزنده شمعم ، تو همان پروانه ای
گفته ای ، سال دگر باشی دوباره پیش من
چشم بر راه تو بودن ، گشته رسم و کیش من
من ندانم ، کی فرو پاشد ز هم ابر فراق
حلقه های بوسه ، مانده بر لبم پر اشتیاق
لرزه ها دارد دلم هر دم ، که هستی در سفر
از خدا خواهم،  مصون دارد ترا از هر خطر

دكتر منوچهر سعا دت نوری 
//iranian.com/main/blog/m-saadat-noury-28

بهتر آنکه ضدِ پروانه , همراهی آری کنم

دورِ شمعِ خانه ام پروانه نیست
به ایوان می روم
شب اینجا پوستی ندارد
پس که را من نوازش کنم ؟
شاید امشب جای آنکه من شاعری کنم
بهتر آنکه ضدِ پروانه , همراهی آری کنم

شمع دانی به دم مرگ به پروانه چه گفت

شمع دانی به دم مرگ به پروانه چه گفت
گفت ای عاشق ديوانه فراموش شوی
سوخت پروانه ولی خوب جوابش را داد
گفت طولی نکشد تو نيز خاموش شوی

پروين اعتصامی

دیوانه بود این دل

Ari

I am conflicted in my respect for your knowledge of physics and my observations of butterflies, flies and mosquitoes in nature! I have yet to see a butterfly or a regular fly that walks or flies in a straight line! Actually, they tend to move around in random directions until they find something that they like. But here is a nice song

اینهم شعر  دیوانه بود این دل از استاد عباس مرپویا، روحش شاد 

از این جهان، تنها خدا داده مرا رنجی دگر، تو
پس کی شود قلبم رها از دام  این غمهای دنیا

آخر چرا با درد و غم دل  آشنا شد
دیوانه بود این دل
دیوانه بود این دل، چرا دیوانه تر شد

چون مرغکی بی بال و پر تنهای تنها
در سینه ی  سرد فراموشی رها شد

دیوانه بود این دل
دیوانه بود این دل، چرا دیوانه تر شد

آخر دلم، پژمرده شد، افسرده شد
چون شاخه ای افتاده  در دامان آتش
در شعله سوزنده ی غمها فنا شد

دیوانه بود این دل
دیوانه بود این دل، چرا دیوانه تر شد

آخر دلم، پژمرده شد، افسرده شد
چون شاخه ای افتاده  در دامان آتش
در شعله سوزنده ی غمها فنا شد

دیوانه بود این دل
دیوانه بود این دل، چرا دیوانه تر شد

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZaM2HsDpjU&feature=related 

آری جان، ۳ فکر خدمت شما

اول این که بلاگ خیلی‌ جالبی‌ نوشتی‌.

دومیش رو مهربان خیلی‌ قشنگ نوشته.

سوم این که، غریزهٔ کاماکازی حشره به ذهنم اومد. خیام (رو تعبیر می‌کنم):

امروز تو را دسترس فردا نیست

و اندیشهٔ فردات به جز سودا نیست

زی مکن این دم ار دلت بیدار است

کین باقی‌ عمر را بقا پیدا نیست

hope to come back with more useful/hopeful material 

گرد آن شمع طرب می‌سوختم پروانه‌وار

یاد ایامی که در گلشن فغانی داشتم

در میان لاله و گل آشیانی داشتم

گرد آن شمع طرب می‌سوختم پروانه‌وار

پای آن سرو روان اشک روانی داشتم

Very Intere sting!

I always learn something new by reading your blogs.

I also enjoyed immensely your article on "Salt Farm" the other day!

...

هم دل‌ سوخته ایم و هم ساز شکسته !

---

من آن شمعم که از سرتابه پا پیوسته می سوزم
من آن گویای خاموشم که لب که از شکوه می دوزم

من آن شمعم که از سرتابه پا پیوسته می سوزم
من آن گویای خاموشم که لب از شکوه می دوزم

من آن مرغ اسیرم ، ناگزیرم ، ناگزیرم
برای تو بخوانم ، تا بمیرم ، تا بمیرم

من آن یک مشت خاکم ، پاک پاکم ، پاک پاکم
برای واقعیت ها هلاکم ، من هلاکم

شمعم و با هواپسی ، ز عشق تو شعله می کشم
طفلم و گریه می کنم ، منتظر نوازشم
طفلم و گریه می کنم ، منتظر نوازشم

ارادتمند شما..

شراب قرمز.

پاسخ اینکه بیچاره راه را گم کرده و خودرا از نفهمی به سوختن می‌ده

Plus how many butterflies have you seen around the candle, aren't they all moths anyway :-).   Thanks Ari! Great blog. 

داره وحشتم ور میداره...

همیشه از خدا خواستم، قبل از اینکه بیشتر از اینا کودن و خرفت بشم
منو از دنیا ببره. بلاگا دارن یه جورایی میشن که من دارم یواش یواش  فقط،
مال  "قورمه سبزی" رو میفهمم.

Never increase, beyond what is necessary, the number of entities required to explain anything.

Ari jan, so now if I write about "shaam va parvaneh",...

Dear Ari, So now if I write about shaam and parvaneh, a commentator will write on my blog that issue is just about angle and light. So what is subject of your next blog? saghi is not such a nice lady. She is ... I can't tell. But seriously, fun blog. Thanks. I like the picture too.