The Miracle of Human Creation

 The Miracle of Human Creation.
We have spend a lot of time chasing fame and material wealth. Maybe we need sometime thinking about our existence and the reason of our Being here on this Earth. Take time to watch this video. We ourselves is an work of Art. God's Work of Art. The marvelous Design as one is UNIQUE and can never be a Copy nor Duplicated. That single cell which had the same structure as all the cells in your body now, came from the union of your mother's egg cell and your father's sperm cell and contains the dna and genes from many generations before them.. our Ancestors.
Give thanks for our Existence.

 From
 Facebook page of Anthony Kong

कुछ सपनों को जो पंख दिए

कुछ सपनों को जो पंख दिए,

वो खुले आसमान में उड़ने लगे,
बादलों की छांव मिले,
तो कभी तारों की महफिल सजी।
नरम-नरम हवा के पालनों में पलने लगे,
कोरे-कोरे ये सपने रंगों से खेलने लगे,
सुनहरी धूप की धागों से एक नया जहाँ बुनते हुए,
बिखरे-बिखरे यह सपने अपने-आप में ही सिमटने लगे।
लम्बी-लम्बी राहों पर नन्हें-नन्हें कुछ कदम,
मासूम यह सपने मंज़िल की तलाश में चल पड़े.
दीपक की लौ में सूरज की रोशनी नहीं मिली,
तो थककर यह सपने उसी लौ में जलने लगे।
वक्त आगे निकल गया, सपने पीछे छूट गए,
कुछ ठहर गए, कुछ टूट गए, कुछ खुद पर ही हंसने लगे,
ज़िन्दगी के दांव में, खुद ज़िन्दगी को हार के,
अब इन अधूरे सपनो के सौदे होने लगे।
चलते-चलते खो गये, अपनी ही धड़कन से दूर हो गए,
पीछे मुड़े तो दिखा कहानी बनके बिकता अपना ही चहरा,
फिर भी रुका नहीं सांसों और धड़कनों का यह सुस्त कारवां
क्यूंकि टिमटिमा रहा था अभी भी एक सपना सितारा बन के।................

From fb status:Vinay Darji

The Essence Of Science Explained In 63 Seconds

Here it is, in a nutshell: The logic of science boiled down to one, essential idea. It comes from Richard Feynman, one of the great scientists of the 20th century, who wrote it on the blackboard during a class at Cornell in 1964.

Think about what he's saying. Science is our way of describing — as best we can — how the world works. The world, it is presumed, works perfectly well without us. Our thinking about it makes no important difference. It is out there, being the world. We are locked in, busy in our minds. And when our minds make a guess about what's happening out there, if we put our guess to the test, and we don't get the results we expect, as Feynman says, there can be only one conclusion: we're wrong.
The world knows. Our minds guess. In any contest between the two, The World Out There wins. It doesn't matter, Feynman tells the class, "how smart you are, who made the guess, or what his name is, if it disagrees with the experiment, it is wrong."
  This view is based on an almost sacred belief that the ways of the world are unshakeable, ordered by laws that have no moods, no variance, that what's "Out There" has no mind. And that we, creatures of imagination, colored by our ability to tell stories, to predict, to empathize, to remember — that we are a separate domain, creatures different from the order around us. We live, full of mind, in a mindless place. The world, says the great poet Wislawa Szymborska, is "inhuman." It doesn't work on hope, or beauty or dreams. It just...is.

View with a Grain of Sand

We call it a grain of sand,
but it calls itself neither grain nor sand.
It does just fine without a name,
whether general, particular,
permanent, passing,
incorrect or apt.
Our glance, our touch mean nothing to it.
It doesn't feel itself seen and touched.
and that it fell on the windowsill
is only our experience, not its.
For it, it is no different from falling on anything else
with no assurance that it has finished falling
or that it is falling still.
The window has a wonderful view of a lake,
but the view doesn't view itself.
It exists in this world,
colorless, shapeless,
soundless, odorless, and painless.
The lake's floor exists floorlessly,
And its shore exists shorelssly.
Its water feels itself neither wet nor dry
and its waves to themselves are neither singular nor plural.
They splash deaf to their own noise
on pebbles neither large nor small.
And all this beneath a sky by nature skyless
in which the sun sets without setting at all
and hides without hiding behind an unminding cloud.
The wind ruffles it, its only reason being
that it blows
A second passes.
A second second.
A third.
But they're three seconds only for us.
Time has passed like a courier with urgent news
but that's just our simile.
The character is invented, his haste is make-believe
his news inhuman.

---

Thanks to Maria Popova and her blog "Brainpickings" for noticing the Feynman moment.


Source: obert Krulwich www.pnr.org