Sometimes, it’s best to leave the jig saw puzzle alone –

for one never knows,

what life we breath and invoke when the pieces come together

____________ Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2014 ____________

Elusive Chalices

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In August of last year, I gave a paper to the University of Melbourne’s Office of Research Ethics and Integrity research seminars, Tuesdays with OREI, on ‘Hyper-Anxiety about Research Integrity among library staff and RHD students’ that ended up doing two different things. So this is the first of a five part blog series, about who is anxious, why it’s unhelpful, and what we can do instead. The final posts will address ways of promoting ‘research integrity’ among cohorts who are not already fully signed up to the values of research integrity and academic honesty, because, according to the research, they are also badly served by a focus on plagiarism and punishment.

You can read the whole series by clicking on the category ‘Hyper-Anxiety & Academic Honesty’. 

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This is the first post of a five part blog series, one which will address ‘hyper-anxiety’ among those who are…

Inspired by a haiku written by JannaTWrites > Nature – Haiku

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Sorrel thrived in the city rubbish dump.

The kind woman, taking pity, uprooted and brought him home. She cleaned and trimmed, and removed the parasites that infested him. She placed Sorrel near the window, so that nourishing sunlight bathed him. Besides a clean soft bed, she fed him all sorts of nutrients which modern science had birthed.

However, after a week, Sorrel fell ill. He shrivelled and withered. No matter what the woman tried, Sorrel’s condition worsened.

Finally, he bent down in death.

“I wonder whether I should have simply left you in the rubbish dump,” whispered the woman, as she pulled out the dead plant and tossed it into a rubbish bin.

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Sorrel – A boy’s name but also a vegetable, eaten in soups, sauces and salads.

Notice, how some plants sprout spontaneously in the wild. Yet…

[Earlier episode The Messenger]

Altan carefully selected a charcoal pencil from his calligraphy box, which was ornately embedded with jewels.

Batu and the small circle of chieftains went quiet.

Sensing their rapt attention, Altan made a show of crunching his features and frowned in great thought. He brought his pencil to the tiny piece of rough Chinese paper, laid flat and neat on the low table.

The men leaned in. Waited with unblinking eyes. Somewhere in the sprawling encampment outside, a dog barked and received a rebuke from its master. It whined and fell silent.

Their khan hesitated and the men expressed mild disappointment.

Altan studied the point of the charcoal with his undivided interest. From his calligraphy box, he produced a thin blade, no broader than the width of a child’s small finger, and proceeded to sharpen the charcoal.

His men looked at one another and nodded…