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These images have caused a splash—they capture the moment when a tiny droplet of milk hits water. Photographer Corrie White spends hours firing the coloured droplets at the water from a pipette suspended 12 inches above.

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Milk Drops
Thanks to Auroman for sending video links. Here are two of them.

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When we read Sri Aurobindo’s Rose of God aloud in the quiet of the mind, there is only the sense of an oceanic calm pervading us from all sides and we forget everything else, everything, the thought, the substance, the image, the visions that it can evoke, even the heart and the art of poetry; there remains only the sea of sound in the luminous rush of joy, joy that makes all sorrow and suffering disappear. We forget everything except the all-enveloping sound, no thought, no vision, no analysis, no aesthetic urge to break it to discover its art, we don’t seem to care about the meaning it is conveying. That is the power of the poem. “A mystical metaphysics and psychology unfold before us in the succession of vibrant images.” But when we recover ourselves from that spell of sound, moving in the depth of silence, we begin to wonder at other things also. We realise that each of the stanzas can be divided into two parts: describing that, and describing this. Over there are Bliss-Light-Power-Life-Love, and here are the heart of humanhood, mind of earthhood, the small and feeble will of the death-prone creature, the helpless body of the mortal, and the ardency in yearning that only frets and sobs. The first half of every stanza imposes its significances upon our spiritual sense, not only by vivid words mystically visionary but also by an inner tone massively musical; in it is the spiritual reality that must lend itself to us. The invocation to the Rose is to fulfill itself in every respect in us. What is perfect up there must express itself down here, in our humanhood and our earthhood.

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