Paul P Kane

Love & Chaos

[Krishnamurti @JK_KFI]

“The mind can be free only when it is completely still. Though it has problems, innumerable urges, conflicts, ambitions, if—through self-knowledge, through watching itself without acceptance or condemnation—the mind is choicelessly aware of its own process, then out of that awareness there comes an astonishing silence, a quietness of the mind in which there is no movement of any kind.

It is only then that the mind is free because it is no longer desiring anything; it is no longer seeking; it is no longer pursuing a goal, an ideal—which are all the projections of a conditioned mind.

And if you ever come to that understanding, in which there can be no self-deception, then you will find that there is a possibility of the coming into being of that extraordinary thing called creativity. Then only can the mind realize that which is measureless, which may be called God, truth, or what you will—the word has very little meaning.

You may be socially prosperous, you may have innumerable possessions, cars, houses, refrigerators, superficial peace, but unless that which is measureless comes into being, there will always be sorrow. Freeing the mind from conditioning is the ending of sorrow.”

— Krishnamurti
From "As One Is"

[Paul Kane @PaulKaneShadow]

In loving memory of our son David, please give to this worthy cause if you’re able ❤️

https://t.co/0kxJ590ghT

[Paul Kane @PaulKaneShadow]

Working our way through S2.

[Fascinating @fasc1nate]

On December 23, 2023, 45-year-old Amanda Richmond Rogers jumped into an icy Alaskan river to rescue her dog, Groot, who had fallen in.

Tragically, she never resurfaced, and despite rescue efforts, she remained missing.

In late March 2024, four months after her disappearance, her body was found, still clutching the dog she had tried to save.

The most haunting photos ever taken: https://t.co/POrqRRccxc

[The Extreme Football Enthusiast @ExtremeFootbal4]

yeah but could he do it on a cold, rainy night in Stoke?

[Clinton Baptiste @realclintonb]

Who wants to come on my new podcast The Clinton Baptiste Show?
Please send me an mp3 of your spooky story and we can speak to you on zoom on Tuesday afternoon 23rd June. Go on. [email protected]

[w Brian * @wearyprovo]

Had to bid my wee buddy (Alfie) a last farewell this morning 💔😢 collapsed with a massive seizure at 5am this morning 🙈 he came too slightly & enough for him to recognise us all saying goodbye 💔 in his favourite wee corner on his favourite blanket * very peacfull 🙏🐕‍🦺💚

[Scotdrone @scotdrone]

Incredible scenes at the Kelpies today in Falkirk as piper Neil Clark bravely scaled one of them and played the bagpipes from the mouth of Baron to help raise money for the charity Maggie’s who support people with cancer at their centres across the country. #kelpies #falkirk

[Clive Ward @CliveWardauthor]

I could never really be friends with or spend any personal time with someone who doesn't immediately know the answer to this question. Sorry, but there it is. Not negotiable.

[HerodotusWave @HerodotusWave]

The Zhongshuge Bookstore located in Shenzhen, China.

[LeoDaVinciWave @LeoDaVinciWave]

The iconic spiral staircase designed by architect Albert Lafon for the Musée Gustave Moreau in Paris

[Krishnamurti @K__Quotes]

Introducing The Krishnamurti Collection, a new podcast featuring full-length recordings from the Foundation’s archives.

180+ talks and conversations already available. Listen free: https://t.co/td6UR62avs

Consider helping our visibility with a review on Apple Podcasts.

[Mario Nawfal @MarioNawfal]

In 1851, physicist Léon Foucault hung a pendulum from the ceiling of the Panthéon in Paris and proved the Earth was rotating, just by watching it swing.

No satellites or computers needed. Just a weight on a wire.

[Papa Woof und Krampus und Bleaken @woofknight]

His phone number was in the book.
It was 1957. Oliver Hardy had died in August. Stan Laurel was sixty-seven years old. He was living in a small two-bedroom apartment at the Oceana on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica. He had moved there after his last divorce because the rent was reasonable and it was within walking distance of the beach.
He had been Hardy's partner for thirty years. They had made over a hundred films together. They had been the most famous comedy duo in the world. They had not been wealthy — they had made most of their films for Hal Roach Studios on contracts that gave them almost nothing in residuals — and by the 1950s they had been living on personal appearance tours and what was left of their savings.
Hardy had a stroke in 1956. He had lost the ability to speak. Stan had visited him every week at his home in North Hollywood. He had sat by the bed and talked. Hardy could not answer. Stan had talked anyway.
Hardy died in August 1957. He weighed a hundred and forty pounds at the end. He had been three hundred at his peak.
Stan was too sick to attend the funeral.
He had been having his own health problems for years. A stroke of his own in 1955. Diabetes. He could no longer travel. The doctor had told him to stay in Santa Monica and rest.
He stayed.
He did not stop working. He could not. He had been writing comedy material for forty years, and he did not know how to do anything else, and the work was the thing that kept him from sitting in the apartment looking at the wall.
He wrote sketches for younger comedians. He answered fan mail. He kept his phone number listed in the Santa Monica directory under his own name. Anyone who wanted to call him could.
The fans started calling.
They started writing. They started showing up at the door. Word had gotten out, somehow, that the apartment number was easy to find. Tourists who had grown up watching the films would knock on the door of 849 Franklin Street, and Stan would open it.
He invited them in.
Every single one of them. For eight years.
He sat in his living room and talked to anyone who came. He served them tea. He showed them photographs from the films. He answered questions. He did his small thumb-in-the-tie gesture that he had done at the end of every film. He laughed at his own jokes and theirs.
He did not have an assistant. He did not have a secretary. He did not have security. He had his second wife, Ida, who made coffee and brought out cake. He did the rest himself.
He did this for hundreds of people.
Filmmakers who would later become famous — Dick Van Dyke, Jerry Lewis, Marcel Marceau, Peter Sellers, the writer Larry Harmon — came to the apartment because they had heard the door was open. So did tourists from Iowa. So did salesmen from Toronto. So did teenagers from Glendale who had ridden the bus across town. He gave them all the same hour.
Dick Van Dyke later said that Stan Laurel had taught him everything he had ever learned about comedy. He said he had gone to that apartment three times in five years. The first time, Stan had sat with him for four hours.
In 1961, Stan was given a special Academy Award for his contribution to comedy. He could not travel to the ceremony. Danny Kaye accepted on his behalf and read a short speech Stan had written. The speech ended with one line, which Stan had insisted on.
The line was: I wish my partner could share this with me. He was the funnier of the two of us.
Stan kept the Oscar on a bookshelf in the apartment. He showed it to fans when they asked. He let them hold it. He told them which year it was for. He never said it had been awarded to him alone. He always said it was for the two of them.
He died in February 1965. He was seventy-four. Heart attack. He had been resting in his armchair in the apartment. The nurse who was attending him in his last weeks had stepped into the kitchen. When she came back, he was gone.
His last words, spoken to the nurse minutes before, were about skiing. He had said he would rather be skiing. She had asked him if he liked to ski. He had said no, he had never skied in his life, but he would rather be doing that than what he was doing.
Then he laughed.
Then he died.
Dick Van Dyke gave the eulogy at the funeral. He said one line that became famous in comedy circles afterward. He said: a man like Stan Laurel doesn't really die. The thing he made is the thing that survives him.
The phone number in the Santa Monica directory was removed by Ida the week after the funeral. She kept the apartment for another two years. Fans still came to the door. She told them, kindly, that Stan was gone.
Some of them had not known.
She invited them in for tea anyway. She showed them the photographs. She told them stories. She did this for two years before she could bear to move out.
Some people, in the last act of their life, keep the door open to anyone who knocks, because they have nothing left to give but their time, and they discover, surprisingly, that their time is the only thing anyone had ever really wanted from them

[LeoDaVinciWave @LeoDaVinciWave]

Mid-19th century English Winfield rocking chair.

[Hesse Philosophy @HermannHessed]

“Why do you want a purpose for living? - Live.

Living is its own purpose.”

— J. KRISHNAMURTI

[Mr PitBull Stories @MrPitbull07]

Sandra Bullock held her Oscar in her hands as she thanked her husband from the stage. It was March 7, 2010, at the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood. She was 45 years old and was capping 25 years of her career with the award for Best Actress.
With a trembling voice, she said she had never known what it meant to have someone by her side, and she thanked him for teaching her that. The audience burst into applause. It seemed like the perfect ending.
But it wasn’t.
During those five years of marriage, Jesse James had cheated on her multiple times. While she was filming the movie that would earn her the Oscar, he was carrying on parallel relationships. She suspected nothing.
There was another detail, too, that had remained hidden.
At home, a three-month-old baby was waiting for them. His name was Louis. The adoption had not yet been finalized, and they had decided not to make it public until the end of awards season. So, between interviews and red carpets, Sandra would return each evening to a newborn and a man who was lying to her.
Ten days later, everything came out.
A model sold her story to a tabloid: an eleven-month affair with Jesse. Within hours, more testimonies, messages, and photographs surfaced. The betrayal became public in a brutal way.
Sandra found herself alone, with a newly arrived child and a marriage that was over.
She left the house immediately. She took Louis with her. She filed for divorce within a few weeks and completed the adoption as a single mother. To journalists seeking a reaction, she said only that her priority was protecting the first year of her child’s life.
Then she disappeared.
For months, she stayed out of the spotlight. No interviews, no statements. She focused on her son. In 2015, she adopted a daughter, Laila, without fanfare.
Later, she met Bryan Randall, a photographer. He was not part of the entertainment world. He stayed by her side and that of her children. Their relationship lasted for years, away from public attention.
In 2020, Bryan was diagnosed with ALS. They chose not to speak about it publicly. Sandra cared for him until the end. Bryan died on August 5, 2023, at the age of 57.
After the divorce, Sandra continued raising her children and living away from media exposure. Today, she is 60 years old.

[Being Scottish @BeingScots]

May the 4th be with you 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿✨

[Massimo @Rainmaker1973]

If you're having a bad day, here's the exact moment that Charlie Brown adopted Snoopy 75 years ago.

[Ryan Holiday @RyanHoliday]

Must-Read Philosophy Books With Philosopher Inger Kuin