Walking on air (with Hanan Levin)

High on life

A parachuter is taking one giant step, on an invisible current of air

A glass floor is transparent section of a floor in a building or a boat. Usually made of a reinforced glass, the most common use is as a tourist attraction. The highest above ground level is in the CN Tower in Toronto. The highest glass floor in a building in Europe is in the Spinnaker Tower in Portsmouth. The highest in Oceania is in the observation deck of Sky Tower in Auckland

Design and construction of Spinnaker Tower (From Apothecary's Drawer)

Here's a snapshot of "Sarah and Debbie standing on glass plates in the Auckland Sky Tower about 700 feet up in the air. This was just a few moments before lightning struck the tower." I'd say this counts as "walking on air"

One attraction of the Macau Tower is the "skywalk," which can be quite scary in cases of strong winds

The making of the Grand Canyon glass bridge

These lone Converse shoes hanging on a power line are walking on air. These occupied shoes are walking even higher

King Crimson

Back in 1934, Popular Mechanics featured newfangled boots with built-in rubber bladders, promising the sensation of "walking on air"

These guys in the treetops may be secured by ropes, but they're certainly walking on air

Mohammad Asif walking on air

Is this Washington Post photo an optical illusion or a Photoshop job?

Of course, the masters of walking on air are caterpillars

This is a post that I am “co-blogging” with Hanan Levin of Grow-a-Brain. Thank you, Hanan, for the links you suggested!

On this dreary day I spun the Follow Your Bliss compass, and the dial landed on "Study something new to expand your body, mind, spirit."  I decided to add something to the end of that instruction: "which will also help you to meet the deadline for your magazine article that's due next week."  So I did some more research into the ancient Near Eastern concept of a three-tiered universe.  Blissful?  Indeed!  Especially when I did some impromptu globe-hopping and lost myself in various Native American creation myths.

From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:

The other day a woman tearfully recalled a traumatic moment from her childhood.  Her mother had sent her on an errand, and she had failed.  Her mother confronted her, saying that she must try again, threatening that if she failed this time, she needn't bother coming home ever again.  Though six decades had passed, that merciless confrontation was as real in this woman's mind as if it had happened today.  And that got me to thinking: if physicists and philosophers are correct that linear time is illusory (and I have no reason to doubt them), then there's nothing wrong with dwelling on the past or daydreaming about the future.  In fact, reminiscing about long-distant events could actually be empowering.  In the absence of linear time, everything in our lives is happening simultaneously.  When we dwell on a so-called past event, we're bringing additional consciousness to that timeless moment.  On those occasions when we feel especially alert, perhaps even anticipating (as if through precognition) what's about to happen, it might be because in the so-called future our minds are racing back to that event, bringing new focus and increased knowledge or wisdom.  In other words, perhaps our "future" selves are offering the benefit of hindsight, in advance, as it were.  In any case, if linear time is an illusion then past events are as "real" as anything in the present.  All I know for sure is that I'll never tell anyone to "get over" the past again.

If linear time is an illusion, then daydreaming about the future might be related to future memories.  When we set goals, we're simply remembering the future.  That's why goal-setting helps to ensure success—it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, a foregone conclusion.  When we daydream about the future, perhaps it's our future-selves thinking back, saying, "Look how far I've come!"  Or perhaps it's our future-selves offering a little solace, saying, "Cheer up, kiddo—things will get better."

I've always loved Ram Dass' teaching: "Be here now."  I can't help but consider some slight revisions: "Be there now" and "Be then now."

From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:

• a set of shot glasses
• a crystal ball
• a transparent novelty toilet seat
• a clear quartz pendant
• a beveled glass suncatcher
• translucent sandals
• a clear vinyl shower curtain
• a clear rain poncho
• a set of empty CD cases
• bottled water
• a clear glass paperweight
• plastic wrap
• acrylic martini glasses
• a crystal clear iPOD NANO case
• a pressed glass serving platter
• a cut lead crystal flower vase
• a window pane
• a clear plastic comb
• an invisible painting
• a lucite and mirror coffee table

Awaking from a deep sleep, I experienced that uncanny phenomenon in which everything appears new and familiar all at once.  It was almost psychedelic, the way I seemed to see beneath the surface of things.  All veils of subjectivity—the distorting filters of my own expectations, fears, and desires—were stripped away.  The air was alive with the colored light of dawn.  All was revealed to be in a state of flux.  The random movements of the swarming seagulls out my window seemed governed by some higher ordering principle.  The plants and trees seemed to be hovering above the architecture.  Everything everywhere seemed to be vibrantly humming in excitement and joy.  On top of it all, time seemed to have no meaning.  It was like standing at the South Pole.  All the time zones come together at the end of the world.  A single pirouette can last an eternity.

From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:

From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:

From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:

From Prof. Oddfellow's sketchbook:

While visiting Peanut Lake in Wisconsin, I could swear I spotted the elusive Peanut Duck.  According to The New Biology site, "Peanut ducks were first discovered in 1671, when they were proclaimed 'a fear-some mishe-mashe of plante and fowle' by the Church.  However, after two centuries of relentless persecution, it became clear that the creatures were far too clumsy on land to be any threat, and they were left to their own devices.  The peanut duck is also a dance."

Today's posting is in honor of my caterer friend Cathi, who badly poked her thumb while preparing a client's holiday feast.

From Jonathan Caws-Elwitt:

While standing in line, I saw a young woman wearing what looked like a "Layoffs 2005" t-shirt.  I thought, "Oh, how nice; she went from denial, to anger, to acceptance, to celebration!  She went from 'fired' to 'fired-up!'"  Then I realized that her purse strap was covering up the initial "P."

A surreally funny line from the British comedy series Attention Scum:

"My dog has no legs but he still chews bones.  How does a dog with no legs chew bones?  With a great deal of suspicion, I noticed."

--an excerpt from "Chance Abbreviation" by Ken Clinger.  Based in Pennsylvania, Ken is a prolific, visionary recording artist known as one of the "godfathers" of the underground home taping genre.

When I recite this quotation, I add a very pregnant pause before the word pumpkins, to build the suspense, and I pronounce pumpkins so as to maximize its spookiness, blowing it up in size with that initial syllabic "pump" of air.  It's great fun to utter pumpkin as if it's the vegetable equivalent of the boogey man!  With the right intonations (i.e., dead seriousness with an undertone of insanity, like you're "out of your gourd"), the word pumpkin can sound like a curse.  Spooky graveyards are so passé -- imagine the terror of having to cross through a frightening pumpkin patch on the way home at midnight!  The sound to dread, of course, is the *snap* of the vine (or "tendril," to those initiated), for then the ominous orange fruit with demonic flesh has broken free of its umbilic tie to Hell.  (Movie announcer voice:) This Halloween, prepare to get squashed!  Or, This Halloween, we're all plucked!