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daisyamerica llc is a publishing house whose purpose is to help and nurture creative artists across all disciplines find the maximum audience for their work. It exists to publish and promote the work of artists whose work reflects core energy known as kundalini, paramchaitanya, rhu, ruach or in Christian terminology, the Holy Spirit. It is informed by the teachings of H.H. Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi, the greatest spiritual personality, who gave en masse Self-realization spontaneously and effortlessly and whose mission was to emancipate the whole of humanity in preparation for the coming Age of Aquarius, the Age of Satya Yuga.

How to use Twitter to best effect

Alan Wherry

"damonhowick@outlook.com" <damonhowick@outlook.com>

December 18th 2014

Firstly, and forgive me if I cause offense, but before we connected on Twitter I had absolutely no idea who you were; but during our conversation you made some extraordinarily intelligent remarks and this caused an immense amount of intrigue to build in my mind. Following on from our conversation I decided to look further into your professional background and your achievements in the publishing world are simply outstanding. Forbes magazine described you as “the powerful and gregarious sales director at Penguin Books” – Has Keidi Keating had such magnificent acknowledgement during her working life? No she has not. 

That said, I think that although her content is absolutely dreadful, she does know how to build a following. But does this mean she knows how to increase the levels of interactivity on her account? The simple answer is no. She is one of thousands, if not millions of prolific tweeters who still fail to convert masses of followers into higher levels of interactivity and the fundamental reason for this is that they do not care who they follow, so long as the other Twitter user follows them back. Another failing of tweeters such as her is that they are tweeting on a far too regular basis and without realising, they are devaluing the power of their opinion. I.e. In reality, do you pay as much attention to someone who constantly talks as you would to someone who generally only pops up when they have something meaningful to say? Personally speaking I tend to get rather fed up if someone constantly dominates a conversation with meaningless spout, and given that Twitter is essentially one gigantic conversation, it is important to place emphasis on ‘quality over quantity’. Hence why I am attaining more ‘favourites’ and ‘re-tweets’ than the woman in question, even though she has 4x as many followers as I do. 

With regards to your own Twitter marketing campaign; I believe that due to your admirable modesty, you are losing out on a lot of followers. You have had a career which most professionals can only dream of having; yet when I go on your Twitter profile I have absolutely no idea about this. By undertaking a small amount of research into your career, it has become apparent to me that you are in a period of diversification; moving away from the corporate publishing industry towards your own ideals. From our conversations I can offer sincerity in saying that I feel privileged to have been able to speak with such an insightful person such as yourself; it was only due to my own research that I realised what a magnificent career you have had. In my opinion, you need to (if only for a short while) focus on your personal achievements in the publishing industry and post perhaps two or three thoughtful, witty and snappy tweets per day; rather than what others, such as Keidi Keating are doing. The reason for this is simple; when someone visits her profile, they see an enormous amount of tweets and generally ignore the vast amount of them; largely because they are virtually all the same. On my profile however, you can scroll down and see that I discuss a much wider spectrum of topics, and therefore people are interested. The problem is, because Twitter is saturated with the likes of Keidi, everyone has a full Twitter feed and your tweets will rarely be seen on the home page by other Twitter followers. Now then, how to build a following and improve interactivity? This part is simpler than most people imagine and if carried out efficiently it should only take up approximately ten minutes of your day. 

Okay, so firstly I would like you to go on this website (http://tweepi.com/auth/login) and select the option of ‘Login via Twitter’. 

Once you have done this, various options will become available to you and once you have had some experience of using this website it will become incredibly easy to use. For now though, I would like you to select the option of ‘Follow Followers’ and once loaded, type in another Twitter user’s name (someone who has similar interests to yourself) – perhaps given that is your first time it would be sensible to use my Twitter name (@DamonHowick). 

Select ‘start following’ and this will bring you onto another screen.

Once you are on here, what I would suggest you do, is ‘sort’ the users based on when they did their last tweet (making sure that the user at the top is latest person to make a tweet). 

Once sorted, I would simply like you to simply select ‘follow’ on all of the users shown on this initial page – stopping once their last tweet is more than one day ago. 

Then simply go onto the next page and repeat this process until you are no longer allowed to follow any more users. Obviously this will mean that you are following a lot more people than are following you but this is fine, most of them will follow you back, and the next day those who have not followed you back, you will need to unfollow them – this is an extremely quick process. 

Simply go onto the ‘dashboard’ of the website, then select the option of ‘flush’ and unfollow absolutely everyone who does not follow you back; apart from those who you genuinely want to be following; these users will generally be on your last page.•    Simply repeat these processes on a daily basis and you will notice an extraordinary increase in not only the amount of followers you have, but also the amount people who are interacting with your page.

However, I feel that before you begin this process you will need to make some very slight alterations to your bio; placing further emphasis on your achievements in the publishing industry. I.e. Instead of merely stating ‘publisher’ I would suggest something like, ‘world-renowned publisher’ – simply because that is what you are. Although you are clearly an incredibly modest individual, unfortunately in the World of Twitter it seems that to be successful, you need to be somewhat egotistical within your bio – otherwise no-one will take notice. 

Any questions, please feel free to ask. 

Kind Regards, 

Damon Howick

Hi Damon - I never ever take offense, even when it's nasty, malevolent, vindictive and false. I refuse to be a puppet, dangling at the end of someone else's string. And, of course, I've had all of these. One of the things that growing up in my part of East Belfast prepared me for was the ability to deal with hostility, and I had a lot of practice, it was dealing with love that I found harder to handle, not having much of it in my childhood once I left the house.

You are quite right in what you say however. Humility often comes at a high price in this world, and a price I've always been willing to pay. For what matters most is what one thinks of oneself. I assure you that at the very time the material world thought highest of me, that was when I was at my most unhappy and depressed, truly a lost soul. The truth is I was depressed more or less, all the time from the age of 14 to 47. And I've never been depressed since, indeed, when I sense it coming, I know how to correct it, such is the power of Sahaja Yoga Meditation.

The achievements you refer to are as close to irrelevant, and meaningless to me as makes no difference. For I am no longer that person just as you are no longer the person you were aged ten. People hang on to their pasts, especially as they get older, possibly because there's a lot more of it than the future for them, I've never dwelt in the past nor in the future, neither exist in any reality, if you think about it, one is myth, the other a mental projection.

However I completely take your point on my profile and will act on the advice you so generously give here. 

I don't normally share these thoughts with anyone it seems they may be possibly of some value to you.

When I was a young salesman, working for Procter and Gamble, in south east London, the Old Kent Road area, some old Jewish wholesalers would take me on one side and teach me things that proved immensely valuable to me over the years, I asked one why he taught me and he said, "Because you listen, are willing to learn, most people aren't." And just recently I read a quote from Leonardo da Vinci, "Some can see, some can see when shown, some can't see."

By the way, If you're interested, I can tell you how to climb to the top of any hierarchy in a telephone call, I've always felt more comfortable at the top, than at the bottom and it's much more fun too.

Huge thanks

Alan

 

Where did the name Vishesh Dharshane come from?

Alan Wherry

---------- Forwarded message ----------

From: Ashish Pradhan <pradhana123@gmail.com>

Date: Mon, Apr 14, 2014 at 11:20 AM

Subject: Re: Marathi names

To: Alan Wherry <alanwherry@me.com>

Nargol is indeed in Gujarat, not Maharashtra. Just across the state line but that is another matter. Do you want to use a Gujarati name in that case ? 

For a Marathi (i.e. whose mother tongue is Marathi) character, you could indeed choose the surname 'Nargolkar' (implying 'from Nargol'; it does exist by the way) but that might seem a bit to convenient. When we moved to UK in 2003 and got a place in Kew, Derek Lee had said ' Oh Ashish, so now you can be called 'Kewkar'....found that hilarious. 

My suggestion: Vishesh (special) Darshane (having a special vision / insight)....thought it might be meaningful if the said character actually has a 'darshan' of the Adishakti on the most important of days...too convenient ? :) 

I have always got a kick out of 'Dagad Trikon'...the name that is. have not read the book but have always wondered if many individuals realize that these are two absolutely Marathi words..am sure you know what mean...

On Mon, Apr 14, 2014 at 10:41 AM, Alan Wherry <alanwherry@me.com> wrote:

My goodness - when I googled it, Nargol appears to be in Gujerat, not Maharashtra!

On Apr 14, 2014, at 8:36 AM, Alan Wherry <alanwherry@me.com> wrote:

> Just for fun, I've been writing a story about a boy born near Nargol, who saw Shri Mataji on the day She opened the Sahasrara. and what happened to him subsequently when he came to North America.

> I need a name for him, and am writing to ask if you can think of a name that would be recognized as coming from Maharashtra.

 I know that the roots of names are quite different - that many are either patronymics, or an indication of trade - I've found too, that whereas one does find the surname Balachandra in the far south of India, it's not found in Marathi.

> Can you think of a name that might work in this circumstance please?

> Hugs and best wishes

> Alan

Richard's explanation of the title The Want for Wonders

Alan Wherry

September 13th 2014

Here is the best way I can explain the book — by explaining the title.

Richard

The Want for Wonders

That prince of paradox, G.K. Chesterton, famously said, "We are perishing for want of wonder, not for want of wonders." At first glance, it is puzzling, even confounding sentence. As its meaning is unravelling, it reveals layers of increasing hope, faith and unfettered optimism.

Hinging on the double meaning of two words, both "want" and "wonder," Chesterton is saying there is no lack of the fantastic in today's world if only we could choose to see it. But our biggest problem, the thing that is causing us to perish, is that we do not wonder. We are satisfied with the ordinary.

A new novel explores this idea. Taking its title from the Chesterton quote, The Want for Wonders tells the story of a man subtly driven by the desire to experience the fantastic. This isn't the search for meaning. This isn't the desire for deep truth. This quest is simply the need to be in the presence of greatness, the fantastic, the wonders that dwarf the mundane and bring us up to a new level of awareness.

It is the want that drives us.

Alan's draft letter to Frank Delaney

Alan Wherry

You said very kind things about me:

“He was one of the two or three finest publishers of his day in the UK - smart as a whip with exquisite judgment and the highest of standards, and a firm refusal to compromise when it came to good literary taste: in short he just knew good stuff. I always saw him as a man of great and as yet untapped potential and the dumb folks in UK book publishing didn’t know how to develop him, and I remember my own fervent wish that he could have been my editor and publisher - I could have done with the oversight of his great and rare talent. He's one of those guys who would probably have been superb at anything where expression was required; he could have had other and even more startling and successful careers... He stays v. well in my mind - smart, conscientious, passionate about what he was doing; I admired him v. much.”

I'd like to explain why I probably didn't fulfill my potential at the time. I knew what I wanted to do, it was just that I didn't know how to go about it. Consequently, I had to publish what I knew in my heart to be second best, and shopping around for books to publish in that depressing world of literary agents, the bottom feeders of the business wasn't something I had a desire for. (Those who can do, those who can't become literary agents. At the point where I'd resigned from Bloomsbury USA, Charlie Viney, fired from Little, Brown, UK where he'd been export sales director, phoned and asked if he could come and see me. I explained my position but said I'd be happy to arrange for him to see Karen Rinaldi, the person who was taking over from me. Charlie was 'hail fellow well met', a very funny man, well liked, but quite shallow, not the kind of man I would have countenanced employing. Karen saw him and came to see me.

She said, "That man knows close to nothing about publishing."

 "I bet you he's a great success as a literary agent," I said. And he was.

Why couldn't I find the books I wanted to publish?

Here's a reason. An editor needs to believe in what he publishes, but that's quote hard with much non fiction. And to be successful, he has to publish both what is of value, certainly to him, and at the same time to ring the tills at the checkout with books that make the money. Liz Calder was an excellent example of such an editor, she published Joanna Trollope, but also Mavis Gallant. As primarily an editor of non fiction, Clearly, a lot of books lack fundamental integrity. For example, diet books. Any diet can be written on one page, i.e. eat better, eat less, exercise more, but in order to sell that at $25 in hardcover, another two hundred pages of filler is needed. Moreover, only fat people buy diet books, they won't lose any weight, but the act of buying makes them feel good, at least for a time, it's an indication of intent, a step in the right direction.

The whole of the so-called New Age is another case in point. Since the early 1990s, hundreds of millions of such books have been sold. If they contained information that was of help, where is the commensurate improvement in the behavior of those who read them?

In similar vein are books like Emotional Intelligence, a best seller for Daniel Goleman which has spawned an industry of courses, more books, DVDs, fame and personal appearances. But it's a con, as are all other books like it. Why? Imagine this, something I observed. A forty four year old CFO is lacking in emotional intelligence. He buys the book, loves it, takes the course. Two years later, a circumstance arises. How does he react? With forty six years of conditioned response, or, does he think, "Hang on a moment, I remember in that course....."? Conditionings wins out every time.

But there's another reason too, one not mentioned in the book or any of the ancillary material that goes with it. Qualities such as compassion, intuition, awareness etc, the constituent parts of what might be regarded as making up what is called emotional intelligence, don't exist in a human personality in isolation. they are there, interlinked with others in ways too difficult for mere humans to fathom. Tolstoy wrote in Resurrection, his last great novel, and one that saw him ex-communicated from the Russian Orthodox Church, something along the lines that a river runs through us. In some men, the part where generosity is found, the river is a dirty little trickle, in others, it's a raging torrent of pure, clean water. But qualities are interlinked, and a great spiritual personality explained that emotional intelligence can't exist in the absence of qualities such as innocence, wisdom, and, sorry to have to say it, purity. Let's accept this as a hypothesis for now. It's a possibility, no more, but if it's correct, then the entire basis of this genre of publishing is false.  

In passing, I'd say this. When I came into publishing I worked for Corgi books, war, western, romance mostly, but one or two worthwhile authors too. That type of publishing has disappeared and the book business is mostly now about selling to the "educated minds" in our societies, but what are they educated for, what are they educated to do? Patently, most are discernibly not capable of much in the way of independent thought. When I lived in London and in my former marriage was obliged to attend ghastly dinner parties in Richmond on Thames, I used to wish I had a pound for every time I heard a regurgitated form of what had been read in the previous weekend's Observer or Sunday Times. (An artist friend, raised in the Creggan, a housing estate built on an inhospitable hillside outside the city of Derry, once observed that if you read an article in the color supplements that accompanied these papers, say on Toulouse Lautrec, if you took a pen and crossed out his name and inserted the name of another artist, say, William Blake, most of the article also held good for him too. I think that's taking it too far, but it's an amusing thought). Why don't parents, or schools, teach their children how to think? Some do, of course.

When I came across a book I liked, for example, a very good book on how to be a better parent by a psychology professor from Seattle, WA, without the understanding mentioned above, for all its qualities, it's still second rate.

I had to publish it, if not that, what else? But knowing its flaw meant that I couldn't publish it with the vim, verve and gusto that I could have brought to something I knew was of real merit.

Of course, I would have liked to publish William Blake, Keats, Shakespeare, Yeats, Rabindranath Tagore, Tolstoy etc., Seamus Heaney too, and, needless to say, Frank Delaney, but there are never too many of them around at a given time. 

That being so what is it I am setting out to do now?

And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.
— Wordsworth - lines written above Tintern Abbey

 

What is this essence, this presence, this motion, this spirit, that impels all thinking things an objects of all thought, that rolls through all things?

The last verses of Little Gidding, the final poem of the Four Quartets.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring 
Will be to arrive where we started 
And know the place for the first time. 
Through the unknown, unremembered gate 
When the last of earth left to discover 
Is that which was the beginning; 
At the source of the longest river 
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree

Not known, because not looked for 
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always-- 
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded 
Into the crowned knot of fire 
And the fire and the rose are one.

What is this fire, and what is this rose, and how can a fire and a rose be one? Indeed, what is this source, and what is the longest river?

Clearly, what Wordsworth and and Eliot are referring to is energy, a core energy perhaps that permeates everything, and energy that some men are attuned to, that some can feel. This is heretical stuff, Wordsworth, in the midst of the Age of Enlightenment, of scientific reason, is saying that this energy is to be found in inorganic matter such as a rock. But later, of course, it was proved that a rock is full of energy, in the sub-atomic particles that constitute it, countless millions of particles in constant movement, even though the rock appears dead to us.

This "energy that rolls through all things" can be felt in music, painting, theater, dance etc, all the arts, but only if your aware of it. 

Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
’Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.’
— Keats - Ode to a Grecian Urn

And Eliot uses the metaphor, "in the stillness between two waves of the sea", waves being thoughts and the stillness the silence between them.

So when we come across this energy, we go into a state which in another culture is known as nirvichara sammadhi - which can be translated as thoughtless awareness.

it's possible to experience this state of consciousness listening to the music of Mozart, Vivaldi, watching of reading Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats or Seamus Heaney. It is there in the art of Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and William Blake - I would occasionally go to the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square in my lunch hour and sit in the dimly lit room which houses the Leonardo cartoon. I could feel this energy strongly coming off this masterpiece and would leave half an hour later, my batteries re-charged and ready, once again, for the fray of commercial book publishing.

 Similarly, i would sometimes go to what is now an apartment building in London's Soho, the site of the house in which William Blake was born, and I'd sit, as inconspicuously as I could, in silent meditation on the stone steps leading to the flats now known as William Blake house.

In these places, and many others, for example, once by myself atop the Grand Canyon, I experienced and continue to do so to this day, what the extended stillness between two waves of the sea feels like. And it's blissful.

My wife, Lioudmila Nicholeyvna, a chemical engineer by profession, when I first took her to Ireland and drove her around in a most magical few days, at one point looked at me and said, "You know, this is a most spiritual country, but the people aren't." And indeed, as we drove into Belfast on the motorway from Dublin, as we passed Milltown cemetery where many IRA men are buried, she looked up and said, "The people of this city know they are not loved."

Dun Duchathair, Black Fort, The Aran islands, an Iron Age stone fort in the shape of the Omkara, the ancient Sanskrit symbol. The site has never been excavated so nothing is known of the people who built it.

Dun Duchathair, Black Fort, The Aran islands, an Iron Age stone fort in the shape of the Omkara, the ancient Sanskrit symbol. The site has never been excavated so nothing is known of the people who built it.

The people of Ireland were, of course, at one time deeply spiritual but perhaps the alcohol and the externalizing of innate spirituality into organized religion, with the added powerful addition of the poisons of greed and materialism changed that.

Once, in a mood that can only be described as depression, I went off by myself, intending to visit Holy Island off the west coast of Scotland, but on a whim, went instead on a pilgrimage one May, and found myself on the summit of Tievebulliagh, a holy mountain in pre-Christian times, on which there is what remains of a Neolithic axe factory, on the Antrim plateau. I approached the summit in a dense sea mist, panting and out of breath from the steep climb, indeed negotiating my way past the scree on which if you know what to look for, discarded pieces of shards of broken arrow or axe heads can be found, was particularly difficult. I'd climb up some way, then slide back down again. Pausing to look through the scree I found nothing that could remotely be considered hand-fashioned.

But when I breasted the summit and looked up, in a moment of magic, the mist disappeared and I found myself on lush green grass, looking across the sea to the low hills of Ayrshire, in a clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and to the north, the headlands of the Antrim promontories, the nearest adorned in purple heather, receding through shades to grey. But I sat there, for how long I do not know, in unspeakable bliss. I was one with the earth, the sea and the sky, there was no duality, no differentiation.

I'd read that sea mists in those parts can and do disappear in an instant, and the fact that this one did took nothing away from the sheer magic of that moment or the timeless bliss that ensued, for it was the connection to the oneness and the power of it that the bliss lay within.

There's a story of how St. Patrick, who at one stage tended sheep on Mt. Slemish, not that many miles away from Tievebulliagh, tried to convert Oisín to Christianity. The story is told by Christian monks in a manner suggesting Oisín was dumb to refuse, for refuse he did saying that he had been to Tir-na-nog, the land of the ever young, which must be the present, the infinite now, the place where I had inadvertently stepped on the summit of Tievebulliagh?

"Go tell the children of Israel that I am hath sent thee unto them!" God to Moses. Exodus 3:14

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, Before Abraham was, I am." Jesus in John 8:58 

There are many references across the great religions that God is to be found in the infinite now, it always seemed to me that in a subtle way, Oisín was playing with Patrick, telling him that he already had was Patrick was offering.

However it is mainly in music that I've mostly found this power, this energy that has names in so many different cultures - rhu in Arabic, ruach in esoteric Judaism, paramchaitanya in Hinduism, and, dare I suggest it, the Holy Spirit in Christianity, that part of the Trinity rendered ambiguous deliberately? Why? Because this power is feminine, nurturing, regenerative, loving.

Once, in Japan, an old gentleman who owned a reference book company, invited me to his home for dinner. He was known to be rather stiff and reserved, but he'd overheard me say something about Irish mythology, it was a passion of his and he assumed that I knew something of it too. In this he was to be disappointed for growing up in one of the Orange heartlands, in my case, East Belfast, my youth was well-shielded from such influences. If the evening was a disappointment for him it was anything but for me, for he showed me something I've never forgotten. He asked if I'd noticed how similar our societies were. I said something to the effect that I'd rarely been in a culture so different to mine. He smiled and suggested I was missing something, that my culture had been ruled for a thousand years by a male triumvirate, the King, the army and the church, his too, the Shogun, the samurai and the monks, Zen and Shintu. No feminine, he announced, and proclaimed, "And the result was a thousand years of misery for both cultures."

One might ask, why did bot cultures find the need to suppress the feminine? A huge topic and one I will not attempt to address in detail here except to say that the feminine is not so easy to control, whereas the masculine is, through sense of duty, loyalty etc. The feminine only loves, has no allegiance to such male, artificial, illusory ideals and the kind of men who wish to control others are deeply afraid of the the feminine.

It may seem that I am in danger of drifting off topic but let me bring it back speaking of music? Music is the international language and it's not hard to understand why. We heard rhythm, the rhythm of our mother's heartbeat in the womb, and music inspires us in all kinds of ways. Military music will help persuade a band of frightened young men ti suppress their natural instincts, to stay in line, and march towards an uncertain future of serious injury or death. Music can allow us to experience romanticism, as  for example in Debussy's Au Claire de la Lune. In the USA, blues and country music are full of references to men drinking their sorrows away, bemoaning that their woman has left them for another man, with never a sense of introspection, no self-examination as to what was it, in their own behavior, might have contributed to this state of affairs. These forms of music, in common with certain kinds of literature, take us away from the reality of the present, for example, the romantic novel, the rhymes on a greetings card.

But there are music forms which allow us to be, and to remain in the moment, in the pure present. Mozart and Vivaldi are two classical composers whose music does that, and one hears this phenomenon a great deal in the ragas of Indian classical music. Some Irish traditional music has it too.

So now we come to the nub. If a bad man says a good thing, for example, that there should be peace on earth, and a good man says the same good thing, are the two one and the same? Similarly, if a bad man plays a certain piece of music and a good man plays the same, are they the same? Most would say they are. (I am using shorthand here, please excuse that, you'll get what's behind what I'm trying to express).

Juan Mascaro, professor of Sanskrit and Pali at Cambridge University, was approached by George Harrison of the Beatles, and Mascaro didn't want much to do with him. Olivia Harrison said that George would meditate for hours, take cocaine, then go out and spend the night with groupies, sometimes one or two. 

Ravi Shankar, in the 60s and 70s, would behave like a rock star, and the singer Norah Jones was the result of one such evening's dalliance. Is this, let's call it immorality, reflected in his playing if you compare it to the playing of someone in balance with his dharma?

This then, is an elaborate attempt to explain one of the possibly many reasons why I didn't fulfill my potential as a publisher. I couldn't find the writers, or enough of them, who could write the kind of material I wanted to publish, the kind of writing that I knew existed for it did exist in the examples I've shown and of course in other works too. The Baghavad Gita, or maybe The Catcher in the Rye immediately spring to mind, and I chose such disparate works intentionally to show the spectrum of writing in which these qualities are found.

In summary, I now want to "publish" (if that's the right word, but I can't think of a better one), works of literature, music, art, film etc which exhibits these qualities, energies, works that take us into the pure moment of present, works that uplift and inspire, works that feed our soul as much as the mind.

And I want to be the best kind of publisher, one who:

a) publishes artists not product, who commits to artists, not merely publish their wares.

a) supports, helps and encourages artists to develop to their full potential.

b) exhibits good taste, but good taste as described here, not as understood conventionally.

c) helps artists reach the largest possible audience for their work, i.e. to sell it better than anyone else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

music

talk about why I didn't fulfill this potential - where would I find such artists?

 


 

 

 

 

 

Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought 

As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!  45

  When old age shall this generation waste, 

    Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 

  Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 

'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all 

    Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'
 

 

 

 

 

THE WANT FOR WONDERS: a tree

Richard Payment

There is a tree at the centre of an island on the edge of the north Pacific Ocean. It is golden. All the other trees are green, but this tree glows with an inner light. It is called "K'iid K'iyass," the old tree or the golden spruce.

The tree is enormous. It is straight and strong and like no other. It has been there for more years than anyone can count. It is said that it will stand until the last generation. 

In the new novel The Want for Wonders, a young man from India stands before this tree. He knows nothing of the tree or its place in the culture of this new land. Of the stories and legends, he is ignorant. But still, he feels. He feels a silence, deep and full.

In the rich, wet rainforest of moss and ferns, among trees towering into the mist, he feels like he is in a temple in India. The feeling is unmistakable. It is both awe and connection.

In this, he remembers a distant moment from his childhood.

The Want for Wonders is a book about seeking. From the innocence of childhood, a single memory guides: to regain a lost moment that does not know the hand of the clock.

THE WANT FOR WONDERS: Rabindranath Tagore

Richard Payment

revised 25 August 2014

 

In 1913, a bridge was built from east India to north London. Structural supports rose from both Stockholm and from Dublin. The bridge linked East and West. It was a wonder. 

Colonial rule under the British Raj had brought spices to Britain. Lands for tea plantations had been secured. Ivory and cotton were followed by the tender tips of the darjeeling leaves, cherished in every club. Until then, everything the ships had brought had been material, supplies and staples. The bridge transported something new. It was poetry — spiritual, enlightened and deeply devotional.

London was ready for Rabindranath Tagore. He was that bridge. Tall and smart, exotic, foreign but not alien, Tagore spoke of something the English knew from within. It was a spirituality beyond churches and temples. 

In Tagore, they could see a poet, a romantic not so very different from Wordsworth or Coleridge. But here also was a man who was an ambassador from the East. It was a wisdom for which many hungered. Both devotional and articulate, Tagore came from the Bengal region of India. He knew of tigers and elephants, the mystic and transcendent. And he also spoke English with eloquence and grace. He was gentle and maintained a vision that crossed all boundaries, all nations. What followed was a kind of Tagoremania.

In a new novel titled The Want for Wonders, a seeker of truth travels the world in a search for wisdom. His hope is to regain a single moment seeded in a childhood memory. Rabindranath Tagore and William Blake, a sacred tree and the memory of a woman on a beach each in turn light the path of his travels.

The book also tells the story of Tagore's introduction to literary London. It was the opening of a floodgate that continues to reward us to this day. Irish poet W.B. Yeats, so enamoured by Tagore's verse, read selected verses in a Hampstead home to an audience of select and influential literati. The words were received in silence, the applause reserved and polite. Tagore, aghast, felt he had insulted the language of his hosts, that he had fallen short of the standards and expectations. 

It was only the next day that the truth came: hand-written notes, letters and calls. Simply, the audience had been dumbstruck, literally lost for words, so taken by the devotion, the power, the wonder of Tagore's vision that they could not cheer. They could not express their emotion. These were Englishmen. They could not shout "Bravo!" They could not cry out in awe. Only with time did they come to expect their appreciation to him in private or by post.

Events followed quickly. Based largely on a thin volume of verse that Tagore titled Gitanjali – Song Offerings, the Nobel Prize committee bent their own rules. These were not Bengali poems translated to English, they decided. These were entirely new, selected, recomposed and set to English by the poet himself. The masterful collection qualified for the Nobel. For the first time, the awarding of the prize stepped out of the tight circle of Europe. The literature prize was awarded to Rabindranath Tagore.

His words were hailed as "Psalms of David for our time." In crowded halls across Britain and Europe and then America, Tagore spoke on topics such as the individual's  connection to the universe, love and the eternal Self. For the first time, the west saw beyond the surface. Through Tagore, they were able to touch the spirit of India, the inner truth.

In The Want for Wonders, it is this same desire that drives the story: a hunger for meaning, connection to the eternal and a single want — to see the wonder of it all.

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Lovely piece of writing - and it'll be a big help in selling the book - here are some suggestions for your consideration:

 

The bridge transported something new. It was poetry — spiritual, enlightened and deeply devotional.

 

possibly make it - The bridge transported something new, poetry — spiritual, enlightened and devotional. Read both aloud and see which you prefer.

no change made

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It was a spirituality beyond churches and temples.  - should there be a comma after spirituality?

no change made

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In Tagore, they could see a poet, a romantic not so very different from Wordsworth or Coleridge. But here also was a man who was an ambassador from the East. It was a wisdom - surely it must be - his was a wisdom?

This is the very point being made: it is not Togore's wisdom, he is only the bridge. The wisdom is that of the East.

no change made

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Tagore came from the Bengal. - you may be correct but I've only heard of it as Bengal - was it called - the Bengal?

Both are correct because "Bengal" is the name of the state, "the Bengal" is the region. (It's like the way we say "the Congo."

action taken: "the Bengal" changed to "the Bengal region of India."

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 "The Want for Wonders," - your call but I personally prefer The Want for Wonders - looks more elegant on the page to my eye.

action taken: italics, not quotes

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each in turn light the path of his travels. - seems inelegant to me - you're writing poetically - maybe - each in turn enlighten the path of his travels.

"enlighten" changes the meaning. 

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Irish poet W.B. Yeats, - you wouldn't say English playwright William Shakespeare - so - W.B. Yeats I think

Irish is there in part to explain why Dublin is mentioned in the first paragraph.

Perhaps "Dublin poet" might be better?

no change made for now

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hand-written notes, cards and calls. - cards? - maybe easier to say - hand-written notes and calling cards.

calling cards are more like business cards. My understanding from reading the accounts of Tagore and the others is that members of the audience were writing at length.

change made: "cards" becomes "letters" – "hand-written notes, letters and calls"

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"Gitanjali" - see above - Gitanjali perhaps?

change made: italics not quotes 

The proper full name of the book is "Gitanjali – Song Offerings" so this change is made also.

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the prize stepped out of the tight circle of Europe. - you might have run away with yourself - prizes don't step out surely?

change made: the awarding of the prize stepped out of the tight circle of Europe

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the west  - earlier you wrote - the East - so to be consistent - the West

no change made

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"The Want for Wonders," - again - The Want for Wonders,

change made: italics not quotes