PERCEPTION

[S.M.R]

PERCEPTION

THE SITUATION
​

In Washington , DC , at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes.

During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later:​

The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes:​

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes:​

A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes:​

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour:​

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $200 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social
experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.

This experiment raised several questions:

• In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?
  
• If so, do we stop to appreciate it?
  
• Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made . . .

How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?
just because of the preprogrammed MIND - the product of the dead past

 

[Twain Shakespeare]

What a sad event!
When I was in college, one of my psych professors had a Playboy centerfold pinned to the inside of the door to his classroom for a whole semester, until the day of the final. For extra credit, he asked what had been posted on the door. No one had noticed the nude.
Ouspensky had been told by Gurdjieff that most humans were robots, without free will or true awareness. Ouspensky did not believe it, until when day during the Great War, he saw a shipment of wooden legs going to front. A mathematician who worked in war planning, Ouspensky realized these legs were being sent to the Front to replace legs that had not yet been lost, but where mathematically certain to be lost by the time the replacements arrived. He was filled with horror when he realized that the only way such atrocities were mathematically predictable was if their was no free will involved, and every person in the chain of events acted in accordance to their programming without awareness of the horror before their eyes.
I do hope that if I had been present, I would have recognized the incongrous beauty, and sat entranced, even tho I loathe Bach. But I loathe being in the public spaces of America more.
Peace

 

[Vassnti]

First days of spring -- the sky
is bright blue, the sun huge and warm.
Everything's turning green.
Carrying my monk's bowl, I walk to the village
to beg for my daily meal.
The children spot me at the temple gate
and happily crowd around,
dragging to my arms till I stop.
I put my bowl on a white rock,
hang my bag on a branch.
First we braid grasses and play tug-of-war,
then we take turns singing and keeping a kick-ball in the air:
I kick the ball and they sing, they kick and I sing.
Time is forgotten, the hours fly.
People passing by point at me and laugh:
"Why are you acting like such a fool?"
I nod my head and don't answer.
I could say something, but why?
Do you want to know what's in my heart?
From the beginning of time: just this! just this!

Ryokan