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There was this quote on a book about aphrodisiac cuisine that I've read in my teens: "god made the food and the devil the seasoning". Lately I've been thinking of making a diet move towards having my food as simple _ altough cooked_ as possible. Animals have their food as simple as possible, right? Almost all : ) It will be a challenge though living in a family with some of the best cooks I've ever met. My wife's deceased dog, rotten spoiled would have spiced food and would refuse to eat anything not properly seasoned : ) Flavour the flavourless...would someone advise...

"Walking is man's best medicine." Hippocrates

Death is the unknown, as sorrow is. You really do not know sorrow; you do not know its depth, its extraordinary vitality. You know the reaction to sorrow, but not the action of sorrow. You know the reaction to death, but not the action of death, what it implies; you don't know whether it is ugly or beautiful. But to know the nature, the depth, the beauty and loveliness of death and sorrow, is the ending of death and sorrow.

I consider a fanatic someone who doesn't question or is afraid of questioning his message or the message he follows, which doesn't seem to be the case with K. Don't consider him however someone perfect and without human frailties. Lots of learn with him though.

Heard about this one a few years back. The military technique. Never tried it. https://www.theclassroom.com/develop-photographic-memory-4476504.html

If you're looking for simplicity there's nothing like ping shuai gong. Give it a try. It works.

Be really in communion with nature, not verbally caught in the description of it, but be a part of it, be aware, feel that you belong to all that. Be able to have love for all that, to admire a deer, the lizard on the wall, a broken branch lying on the ground. Look at the evening star or the new moon, without the word, without merely saying how beautiful it is and turning your back on it, attracted by something else. Watch that single star and new delicate moon as though for the first time. If there is such communion between you and nature, then you can commune with man, with the student sitting next to you, with your educator, or with your parents. We have lost all sense of relationship in which there is not only a verbal statement of affection and concern but also this sense of communion which is not verbal. It is a sense that we are all together, that we are all human beings, not divided, not broken up, not belonging to any particular group or race, or to some idealistic concepts, but that we are all human beings and we are all living on this extraordinary, beautiful earth.

To observe the hidden, one has to have eyes that are not conditioned by the past. One must look at oneself as though for the first time, each time, and therefore never accumulate.

I really love the way he writes and will read them all my life I guess. Eliade is a master in taking you to that magical mythical time beyond time.

The demand to be safe in relationship inevitably breeds sorrow and fear. This seeking for security is inviting insecurity. Have you ever found security in any of your relationships? Have you? Most of us want the security of loving and being loved, but is there love when each one of us is seeking his own security, his own particular path?

To experiment, need there be identification? Does not the very act of identification put an end to inquiry, to discovery? The happiness that truth brings cannot be if there is no experimentation in self-discovery. Identification puts an end to discovery; it is another form of laziness. Identification is vicarious experience, and hence utterly false.

I would also recommend "The sacred and the profane" and "Images and symbols" by Mircea Eliade.

Will try that. Thanks again for your patience and good will @dawei

It is good to be alone. To be far away from the world and yet walk its streets is to be alone. To be alone walking up the path beside the rushing, noisy mountain stream full of spring water and melting snows is to be aware of that solitary tree, alone in its beauty. The loneliness of the man in the street is the pain of life; he is never alone. Sorrow is the movement of that loneliness.