https://youtu.be/auqyZ2JX7Bs

To cure insomnia give up desire
For sleep ,and memory
Too retire.

What is there in a church when there’s no God
Except the light that swims inside stained glass.
What does that emptiness remind us of?

Once upon a time,I thought there was;
Now I fill with doubts and have to pass.
What is there in a church when there’s no God?

Does it matter we’re not good enough
At dealing with the people God harassed ?
What does that emptiness remind us of?

For Catholics it was the  very Host of God
Not the congregation  or their past.
What is there in a church when there’s no God?

For Protestants ,  community despaired;
The entire world of spirit was aghast.
What does that emptiness remind us of?

The open tomb, the lost disciples shared;
The spirit wrenched when end time was declared
What is there in a church when there’s no God;
What does that emptiness remind us of?

https://www.lifewire.com/iphone-vs-android-best-smartphone-2000309

The advantage of an Android phone to me is that the photos go  right into Google  photos so  I have no need to uploadAnd  as I use a Chromebook it’s very handy
.On the other hand Windows phones send photos to One Drive.I have never seen an iPhone so I don’t know about them.I’d be afraid of losing them as they seem expensive to me.

https://wordscat.wordpress.com/2017/01/14/poetry-for-beginners/

“Perhaps the most useful definition, in fact, would begin with a statement about expectation: the expectation with which a reader engages a poem, and the reasons for which a poet may have undertaken the poem, and the possible discrepancy between these two. We have all had the experience of fighting a work of art because it was not doing what we were asking of it. “”John Ashbery said in an interview: “My feeling is that a poem that communicates something that’s already known to the reader is not really communicating anything to him and in fact shows a lack of respect for him.” Since what is communicated in a work of art is also how it is communicated, a false expectation is almost certain to produce a false reading. And often we confirm this by the happy surprise that comes when a work we had been defeated by suddenly opens itself to us—we find that it performs very well the job of work which was its reason, once we stop asking it to perform some other service which was no part of its intention.”

To be successful is our conscious goal
But surely first must come the making whole?

Invisible except to abstract thought
We see them with an eye we  must construct
The transcendental numbers came unsought

We only know a few, so we were taught.
Pi and e from inner space were plucked
Invisible except to abstract thought

Even  calling zero, number naught
Was   very  hard  just like the empty set
The transcendental numbers came unsought

Once we defined real  numbers then we light
The way to finding what we now detect.
Invisible except to abstract thought

Danger lurks where men have taken flight,
Into the abstract world without respect.
The transcendental numbers were not sought

Like we  put a plug in to connect
We may be shocked by feeling its effects.
Invisible except to abstract thought,
The transcendental numbers ,  hardly bought

Deep mysteries lie between the numbers whole.
Ratios  have a logic  we accept
But, in between,  infinity dwells veiled

At first, one  merely counted  shark fin whales
Such numbers seem both simple  and direct
Yet mysteries  hide between  the numbers  whole

Sheep and goats  are counted  soon as well
Yet mystery  an hypoteneuse   reflects
For at such points   infinity dwells veiled

A number which gives 2 when  squared itself
Can nowhere find a ratio to check.
Yes, mysteries lie between  our numbers  whole

The Greeks  rejected such irrational stealth
To geometry  only  they chose to connect
For on a  line, infinity dwells veiled

On infinite shores, their reason was well wrecked
As those who tried to measure circles found defects.
Deep mysteries lie between   the numbers  whole
On  lines and arcs, infinity dwells veiled

I might go to church again except I don’t like confession
Well, just tell a few of your sins
We don’t use the term sin so much now
Have your hurt anyone?
Just the people who read my blog on a  bad day
And the people at the bus stop
How?
I spoke to them,I forgot I was in the South.
They are cold and distant
I took undue pleasure when one I hate missed the bus by 2 minutes.
What was she throwing at it?
Just her crutches.
Well, you can go to Confession now
Are you a priest?
I didn’t mean this minute
Well stop telling lies
I was just passing a remark
Well go back and say hello to it
What,now?
When you have time.
Oh ,look we forgot to get on the bus.
Is that a sin
Stop being so scrupulous
Well two sins are better than one!

I like leopard skin but  what do you think,because it might make you seem to support the Tories.
I am a Tory!
No offence meant.
It’s interesting how we put our feet in our mouths
How many mouths have you got?
Ask a silly question
OK Will  it rain tonight
Why?You can’t dry washing in the dark
Yes, you can
Where?
In the airing cupboard or  in a heatwave.
Where do you  keep your heat wave?
I see English is  not your mother tongue.
That is very true.I spoke with my eyes first.
My eyes were too shy!
They look lovely now
Appearance and reality
Are you a philosopher?
No,I’m still human.
Thank goodness.You look green
It’s those antibiotics.
Surely they are not filled with green dye.
You never know these days.It might be a preservative.
So true.
Well have you ironed those tops yet?
No,I am waiting till everybody else irons theirs
Will you wear them crumpled
Yes, they will match my face
It looks ok to me
You are myopic
Am I? I thought I was Nordic.
They are not mutually exclusive
Wow.That is amazing.
Sorry, it  fell off my tongue.
Well,put it back and swallow it
Oh,look, the bus is coming
So is something else
You must stop drinking coffee.
But it  is yellow
I haven’t washed your trousers for 40 years with knowing that
Is it 41 years.
About

https://www.quantamagazine.org/the-beautiful-mathematical-explorations-of-maryam-mirzakhani-20170724

Quote:

“The meanderings of sadness that news of Maryam Mirzakhani’s death brought compelled me to read every article I could find about her, and when I could not find more articles, I started to read the comments of the readers. Many of them wrote that they saw her as “unrelatable and incomprehensible,” given that they were “math challenged.” However, Maryam was the opposite of unrelatable. She reminded us, in words and actions, that mathematical ideas can be understood if one puts enough persistence into the task.

She was not the star of her lectures; the only stars were the mathematical ideas. She spoke calmly and clearly and radiated deep enjoyment of the process.

Maryam had the ability to quickly perceive the appropriate wavelength of her interlocutor and speak accordingly, a rare quality in a mathematician. She listened with attention and was very generous with her time. Behind her kind serenity one could perceive a steely tenacity and a deep well of ideas and, of course, a passion for math and an incessant quest for the fantastic “aha” moment. This moment often took years for her, because she worked on profound questions.

After one of her lectures, we walked together chatting. Suddenly, the voice of a child came from an adjacent room and Maryam exclaimed, “Anahita!” The voice belonged to her daughter. Maryam’s exclamation lit up the room. She sounded totally different than she had during the lecture. Her entire humanity was in the exclamation.

Maryam’s work connected ideas from different areas of mathematics. Part of this work consisted of counting closed curves on surfaces. A mathematical surface is, roughly speaking, the outer layer of a solid object. In topology, surfaces are studied up to the point of deformation — they’re allowed to bend and stretch but not to tear — thus the old joke that a topologist can’t tell a coffee cup from a doughnut. Surfaces can also have holes and edges. In this way, a disk and a cylinder can both be thought of as surfaces.”

Read more by going to the link above

The rain soaked dust is rising like a mist
As in Port Meadow,Oxford riverside
The sun returns and takes it in a kiss.

The open spaces offer us real bliss
Where truly God  or holiness reside.
The rain soaked dust is rising like a mist

Yet when  we have the time do we resist;
Ignore the need to go where love abides?
The sun returns and offers us  a kiss.

The damage from the News give hearts a twist
Our dreams   may splinter, though we’re side by side
The rain soaked dust is rising like a mist

Do we know the life that we have missed
Taking in the media though we sigh?
The sun  shines brightly over  this abyss.

What is it  we do until we die
Breathing in the solitude awry?
The rain soaked dust is rising like a mist.
The sun returns and warms the iron fist

Poetry is good for the soul, therapeutic for problems