On March 20, 2014, teachers, students, and people from around the world will watch The Science of Character. The 8-minute film – made by award-winning film director Tiffany Shlain – and the live Question & Answer session that follows, will not only help you learn what character strengths you have, but how you can use those strengths to achieve a happy and meaningful life.
Anyone familiar with the Avatamsaka Sutra or Hua Yen Buddhism--in which universes are said to be suspended on each hair of the Buddha--will not be surprised by the Dalai Lama’s vision of a cyclical universe.
Red ochre, the red of fire, strength, courage, invulnerability. The color of birth and life, of the butcher and the battlefield, of hope and despair. Brown ochre, lighter than umber, darker than sienna: the color of the earth, of all things natural, of adobe and deserts, the brown skin of our tribes. Tlaxcala red: the perfect mix of ochres, red and brown. Of passion and vengeance and rage and love, glory and loss, succor and treachery. Of hope and possibility.
Wild River Review: So what do the British think of the American Revolution all these years later?
Oscar Wilde: We have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of course, language (The Canterville Ghost; 1887)
"Certainly the axis of the world shifted for me when I first went to college. In my first class, first semester, first week at Rutgers University, I was in my first class with Abena Busia, and she was teaching Song of Solomon. The axis of my world shifted and has never returned."
We drove from Istanbul through a misty veil of rain, and a stop for lunch in the Polish village of Polonezköy. The restaurant owner, fluent in Polish, whose descendants emigrated to Turkey in 1855 during the Crimean War, served us hearty bowls of a cabbage, mushroom, and meat stew. Pastry desserts were offered, but Sami suggested we wait until we got to our destination to “taste the special Black Sea baklava."
An extremely valuable addition to a very tiny, yet strong subgenre of graphic novels that tell the stories, autobiographical or imagined, of girls becoming women, women that neither society nor themselves imagined or wanted them to be.
A decade later, in May of 2012, I sat with an American friend who lives in Istanbul, at the rooftop bar of the Anemon Galata Hotel overlooking the pedestrian area in the trendy neighborhood of Beyoglu. A new city ordinance had banned restaurant tables on the sidewalks. “It is because this is where people socialize. Here, they can smoke while having drinks and dinner,” my friend explained. “And this law caused many restaurants to go out of business.”
In the late 80s I wrote a piece, The Inquisitor as Anthropologist, and I realized with some real embarrassment that notwithstanding my emotional continuity with the victims, there was also an intellectual continuity with the inquisitors. And so I tried to make sense of those two continuities including the most disturbing, which was the second.
When I was a child growing up in the Bahamas, my grandmother came to visit from Germany. One day, while we were building sandcastles on the beach, she paused to tell me about East Prussia – a place of great beauty where Trakehner horses pranced across dandelion meadows and elk herds swam in green rivers.
“Ost Preussen,” she said, with a soulful sigh.
Hearing the sadness in her voice, I glanced up sharply.