oneross · December 18, 2022 20:35
diff --git a/SidewaysLookAtTime.txt b/SidewaysLookAtTime.txt
 When I was younger, Time was punctuated by rhythmic recurrences; ice-cream when the raspberries were ripe, picking blueberries, and that one week when the the scent of honeysuckle was overpowering.  The Navy taught me a different sense of Time...

 ### Silence:
 I camped a lot throughout high school... I was lucky enough to meet Aaron and Pat, and our shared love of things romantic and natural made us natural companions. Countless camping trips, but most prized were the three day or longer trips... On the standard overnight trip, I woke to an alarm clock, either early or late, met friends, drove to the park, and hit the trail. The next morning was a little magical, waking when it was the right time to wake, warming the bones beside the fire, but around noon so called real-time kicked in, driving us to break camp and make passage back to the cars and the "real-world". Longer trips provided the precious padding to allow the blossoming of the_middle_day... a day in which sun, shadow, hunger, and whimsy were the only measure to be found... a day when watches and thoughts of schedules were as alien as a green sky. We were lucky and romantic enough to get that feeling on lots of occasions, sometimes only for minutes at a time at the East Rim overlook (where Einstein was proven right and the sense of space changed my sense of time), but being in the magical medeaterra-bardothodol from sleep to sleep did something special to the soul...

 ### Circadian Rhythms:
 ?

 ### Cicada:
 A group of cicadas who are all on the same seasonal cycle is a brood. The genus name for American cicadas is Magicada spp, and and most have cycles ranging from thirteen years in the south to seventeen years in the north. The dog-day cicadas, often erroneously referred to as annual cicadas, have a cycle between two and five years, though broods generally overlap such that some appear every summer. Unlike the periodical cicadas, whose wings display orange veins, the dog-day cicadas generally display green veinage and are larger than their more reticent cousins, who notably prefer maple, oak, hickory, beech, ash, dogwood, hawthorn, magnolia, willow, apple, peach, cherry, pear, Rose of Sharon, rose, raspberry, grape, black-eyed Susan, hollies, spirea, rhododendron, viburnum, junipers, and arborvitae for ovoposition. Dogs or cats who consume large numbers of cicadas may become constipated. I remember finding cicada molt-husks outside my mother's parents' house in Kentucky...  My grandfather, who lied about his age and claimed himself a year younger so that he could join the Marines at 30(as infantry, damn-it, even though he had a masters degree, was a school-teacher, and had eidetic memory and an IQ in the 200 range, all because he hated pretense even more than he hated the Japs), who lost the hearing in his right ear to a bullet ricochette inches away on a Pacific Island, who slept in a separate bed from his twelve-year-younger wife because most nights he was plagued by nightmares of the War and thus found himself smoking a single cigarette beside the old coal stove, was a botanist, a farmer, and a scholar, a complex simple-man who saved his cigarette butts in a five gallon bucket, letting it fill with rain water and steep so that he could spread it around his strawberries and corn to keep the pests away, who taught me to find Indian Clay deposits ("always next to sandstone buttes, usually out of the shadows (that is, to the south)") to make "shrunken head pottery", to whittle a whirley-gig, to cross-pollinate flowers with a five cent paint brush.  At 5'6", he always claimed to be like "a dime in a pocket full of pennies".  He would save his wife's used panty-hose, those with runs, and was somewhere between MacGyver and DaVinci in their utilization: with two or three always in pocket, hey would use the nylons as twine, as spring in toys with rotating parts, as a sieve in which to purify Indian Clay, or as a sling in which to carry terrapins; at his funeral, a family member commented that he should be in death as he was in life and placed a pair of nylons in his breast pocket.  As he was dying and passed in and out of lucidity, he commented once with apparent sincerity that he wanted his head to be cryogenically preserved, drawing silence and panic from all present before he broke into laughter which lapsed into an emphysemic coughing fit that subsided into sleep from which he never fully awakened before passing into G-d's gentle hands.  I alone of the grand-kids called him "New Dad", and remember his short, thick, calloused fingers giving first aid to my playtime cuts, making perfect paper airplanes, painting coloring book pictures that were reactive to relative humidity, and wielding a pollen brush with amazing precision on absurdly diminutive stamen to teach his grandson how to cross-pollinate, and I miss him. Either thirteen or seventeen years after birth, the larval nymphs crawl from the ground and molt, giving up the protective husk of youth for the flight and song of short, sweet adulthood (a seemingly perfect antithesis for humanity, no?). In Ohio, Brood X emerged in 2004, Brood XIV will emerge in 2008, Brood V in 2016, and Brood VIII in 2017.

 ### Seahorse:
 Hippocampus whitei are monogamous and mate only during the full moon, for reasons that have nothing to do with KJV and have everything to do with ORS (Operational Sex Ratio). Studies reveal that for other populations of seahorses, in which the number of potential suitable mates is much higher, monogamy does not emerge. For most species, after gamete fertilization the female H. spp. transfers the embryos to the fertilizing male who carries them through gestation.

 ### Atharva Veda:
 The Hindi word ab means both water and now (oddly enough, the word whiskey emerges from the Gaelic Uisce Beatha, "oo-es-kuh bvay-dthuh", becoming "oo-es-kay-bah", becomming "oo-es-keeb-uh", becomming "oo-es-kib", becomming "oo-ees-key", becomming "whiskey", and originally meaning "water (Uisce) of life (Beada)". The Sanskrit Atharva Veda speaks of a timeless, overflowing vessel placed above the river of Time, the vessel itself time-less and eternal but forever replenished from it's source and replenishing the river of Time below. What a fitting parallel to Ein Sof, the perfect, formless Void which gives rise to all space and spacial relations. As with Ein, so with Ab.

 ### GMT:
 Historically, as Jay Griffiths points out in A Sideways Look at Time, the time and the sea are linked by the invention of clockwork accurate enough to discover longitude by measuring the procession of the sun, a breakthrough that allowed the colonization of the world by the British.  The truth is simply thus: they were lucky enough to have the largest Navy when Progress produced the clock of longitudnal accuracy (much as the United States was lucky enough to possess the largest economy, as measured by population and natural resources, when the tank was made and the atom was split).
	When I was younger, Time was punctuated by rhythmic recurrences; ice-cream when the raspberries were ripe, picking blueberries, and that one week when the the scent of honeysuckle was overpowering. The Navy taught me a different sense of Time...

	### Silence:
	I camped a lot throughout high school... I was lucky enough to meet Aaron and Pat, and our shared love of things romantic and natural made us natural companions. Countless camping trips, but most prized were the three day or longer trips... On the standard overnight trip, I woke to an alarm clock, either early or late, met friends, drove to the park, and hit the trail. The next morning was a little magical, waking when it was the right time to wake, warming the bones beside the fire, but around noon so called real-time kicked in, driving us to break camp and make passage back to the cars and the "real-world". Longer trips provided the precious padding to allow the blossoming of the_middle_day... a day in which sun, shadow, hunger, and whimsy were the only measure to be found... a day when watches and thoughts of schedules were as alien as a green sky. We were lucky and romantic enough to get that feeling on lots of occasions, sometimes only for minutes at a time at the East Rim overlook (where Einstein was proven right and the sense of space changed my sense of time), but being in the magical medeaterra-bardothodol from sleep to sleep did something special to the soul...

	### Circadian Rhythms:
	?

	### Cicada:
	A group of cicadas who are all on the same seasonal cycle is a brood. The genus name for American cicadas is Magicada spp, and and most have cycles ranging from thirteen years in the south to seventeen years in the north. The dog-day cicadas, often erroneously referred to as annual cicadas, have a cycle between two and five years, though broods generally overlap such that some appear every summer. Unlike the periodical cicadas, whose wings display orange veins, the dog-day cicadas generally display green veinage and are larger than their more reticent cousins, who notably prefer maple, oak, hickory, beech, ash, dogwood, hawthorn, magnolia, willow, apple, peach, cherry, pear, Rose of Sharon, rose, raspberry, grape, black-eyed Susan, hollies, spirea, rhododendron, viburnum, junipers, and arborvitae for ovoposition. Dogs or cats who consume large numbers of cicadas may become constipated. I remember finding cicada molt-husks outside my mother's parents' house in Kentucky... My grandfather, who lied about his age and claimed himself a year younger so that he could join the Marines at 30(as infantry, damn-it, even though he had a masters degree, was a school-teacher, and had eidetic memory and an IQ in the 200 range, all because he hated pretense even more than he hated the Japs), who lost the hearing in his right ear to a bullet ricochette inches away on a Pacific Island, who slept in a separate bed from his twelve-year-younger wife because most nights he was plagued by nightmares of the War and thus found himself smoking a single cigarette beside the old coal stove, was a botanist, a farmer, and a scholar, a complex simple-man who saved his cigarette butts in a five gallon bucket, letting it fill with rain water and steep so that he could spread it around his strawberries and corn to keep the pests away, who taught me to find Indian Clay deposits ("always next to sandstone buttes, usually out of the shadows (that is, to the south)") to make "shrunken head pottery", to whittle a whirley-gig, to cross-pollinate flowers with a five cent paint brush. At 5'6", he always claimed to be like "a dime in a pocket full of pennies". He would save his wife's used panty-hose, those with runs, and was somewhere between MacGyver and DaVinci in their utilization: with two or three always in pocket, hey would use the nylons as twine, as spring in toys with rotating parts, as a sieve in which to purify Indian Clay, or as a sling in which to carry terrapins; at his funeral, a family member commented that he should be in death as he was in life and placed a pair of nylons in his breast pocket. As he was dying and passed in and out of lucidity, he commented once with apparent sincerity that he wanted his head to be cryogenically preserved, drawing silence and panic from all present before he broke into laughter which lapsed into an emphysemic coughing fit that subsided into sleep from which he never fully awakened before passing into G-d's gentle hands. I alone of the grand-kids called him "New Dad", and remember his short, thick, calloused fingers giving first aid to my playtime cuts, making perfect paper airplanes, painting coloring book pictures that were reactive to relative humidity, and wielding a pollen brush with amazing precision on absurdly diminutive stamen to teach his grandson how to cross-pollinate, and I miss him. Either thirteen or seventeen years after birth, the larval nymphs crawl from the ground and molt, giving up the protective husk of youth for the flight and song of short, sweet adulthood (a seemingly perfect antithesis for humanity, no?). In Ohio, Brood X emerged in 2004, Brood XIV will emerge in 2008, Brood V in 2016, and Brood VIII in 2017.

	### Seahorse:
	Hippocampus whitei are monogamous and mate only during the full moon, for reasons that have nothing to do with KJV and have everything to do with ORS (Operational Sex Ratio). Studies reveal that for other populations of seahorses, in which the number of potential suitable mates is much higher, monogamy does not emerge. For most species, after gamete fertilization the female H. spp. transfers the embryos to the fertilizing male who carries them through gestation.

	### Atharva Veda:
	The Hindi word ab means both water and now (oddly enough, the word whiskey emerges from the Gaelic Uisce Beatha, "oo-es-kuh bvay-dthuh", becoming "oo-es-kay-bah", becomming "oo-es-keeb-uh", becomming "oo-es-kib", becomming "oo-ees-key", becomming "whiskey", and originally meaning "water (Uisce) of life (Beada)". The Sanskrit Atharva Veda speaks of a timeless, overflowing vessel placed above the river of Time, the vessel itself time-less and eternal but forever replenished from it's source and replenishing the river of Time below. What a fitting parallel to Ein Sof, the perfect, formless Void which gives rise to all space and spacial relations. As with Ein, so with Ab.

	### GMT:
	Historically, as Jay Griffiths points out in A Sideways Look at Time, the time and the sea are linked by the invention of clockwork accurate enough to discover longitude by measuring the procession of the sun, a breakthrough that allowed the colonization of the world by the British. The truth is simply thus: they were lucky enough to have the largest Navy when Progress produced the clock of longitudnal accuracy (much as the United States was lucky enough to possess the largest economy, as measured by population and natural resources, when the tank was made and the atom was split).