Playing Favorites Leahy

Not often I blog music, but these pieces by the Canadian family group Leahy (from Older Eyes blog) are quite refreshing!

Older Eyes

leahytooYears ago my wife Muri and I used to take a mini-vacation every Valentine’s Day.  I’d pick a place that wasn’t too far from home then search the web for things to do there: museums, concerts, tours … and, of course, restaurants.  This all stopped when our first grandson, Reed, was born on Valentine’s Day and Valentine’s Day became Reed’s Birthday.   The year before Reed was born, we spent a long weekend in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  In searching for entertainment for Saturday night, I found a group named Leahy performing at the Lensic Performing Arts Center.  I’d never heard of the group, so I navigated to their website to find that Leahy is a Canadian folk group made up entirely of family members from Lakefield, Ontario.   The eight member band features fiddle-based music that ranges from traditional jigs and reels to their own folk-rock compositions.  All the members…

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Science, Philosophy, and Schizoid Man

Here, the Crysalis encapsulates today’s problem. When natural philosophy was effectively superseded by objective science, we set off on a track that has inexorably led to today’s loss of wisdom. It won’t be easy to get back, but without wisdom how can humanity hope to survive long term?

( featured image from Blake’s Ancient of Days, by Frank Vincentz, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

The Chrysalis

Before there was something called “Science” (with a capital “S”, and which is only of relatively recent coinage) it was called “natural philosophy”. That name itself is significant because it indicates that science and philosophy were not considered separate specialist activities and departments, but a unity — the unity of the quest for knowledge with the pursuit of wisdom.


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A Hen Harrier’s Tale

Beautiful tale of a persecuted hen harrier.

Eyes in the back of my Head

wow2_filtered

Hera flew for her life, the wind buffeting her wings as they carried her through the  upland air. Terrified, confused, sad, angry, she was a mess of jumbled emotions as she fled the scene.

Returning to her chicks in the nest she’d made for them, she discovered they were all dead. They had been squashed and trampled beneath the boots of a gamekeeper. She’d screamed in anguish, looking at the bloodied bodies of her tiny brood, then had taken to the sky to get away, fast.

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