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Topics - Sumedho

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1
DhammaCitta Press / Pelaporan Dana Pencetakan Therigatha
« on: 07 April 2020, 09:09:32 AM »
 Total     15.570.058
 Puji Hartati     181.001
 Almarhumah Hioe Touw Lan     200.001
 Stevenson     100.001
 Nn     3.500.001
 Nn Jkt     1.000.001
 Robin     100.001
 Felicia Valentina     10.001
 Linda Awe     150.001
 A/N Alm.Oei Min Hwat     100.001
 A/N Almh.Tjan  Liu Liang      100.001
 Pek Siucin      1.000.001
 Lilis Chandra     100.001
 Ricky Aris Lesmana     30.001
 Robin     100.001
 Adi Kurniawan     50.001
 Nn     500.001
 Setiawan Tirta & Keluarga     100.001
 Dian Batara     500.001
 Wieky Hendarto     100.001
 Effendy     68.001
 Stevenson     100.000
 Clesia Margaretha     37.501
 Jong Tjue Tjue     100.001
 Fauzie     20.001
 Irene Lie     100.001
 Alexander Hower     202.001
 Aryo Kurniawan Dha     50.001
 Ronaldo Tejokusuma     1.000.000
 Hery Shietra     300.000
 Nenny Fatryana     30.001
 Alm. Kwee Cin Nio . Lily     182.501
 Alm. Giam A Ming     182.501
 Rudy Lin     88.881
 Liong Jefing     100.001
 Nn     51.001
 Rudy Lin     88.881
 Lay Tjo Tjung     50.001
 Stevenson     20.001
 Rudy     88.881
 Hery Shietra     2.000.000
 Halim     100.001
 Aries Hanstien     500.000
 Shinta     2.000.000
 Juli Yanti     100.000
 Rudy     88.881

 Total     15.570.058
 Puji Hartati     181.001
 Almarhumah Hioe Touw Lan     200.001
 Stevenson     100.001
 Nn     3.500.001
 Nn Jkt     1.000.001
 Robin     100.001
 Felicia Valentina     10.001
 Linda Awe     150.001
 A/N Alm.Oei Min Hwat     100.001
 A/N Almh.Tjan  Liu Liang      100.001
 Pek Siucin      1.000.001
 Lilis Chandra     100.001
 Ricky Aris Lesmana     30.001
 Robin     100.001
 Adi Kurniawan     50.001
 Nn     500.001
 Setiawan Tirta & Keluarga     100.001
 Dian Batara     500.001
 Wieky Hendarto     100.001
 Effendy     68.001
 Stevenson     100.000
 Clesia Margaretha     37.501
 Jong Tjue Tjue     100.001
 Fauzie     20.001
 Irene Lie     100.001
 Alexander Hower     202.001
 Aryo Kurniawan Dha     50.001
 Ronaldo Tejokusuma     1.000.000
 Hery Shietra     300.000
 Nenny Fatryana     30.001
 Alm. Kwee Cin Nio . Lily     182.501
 Alm. Giam A Ming     182.501
 Rudy Lin     88.881
 Liong Jefing     100.001
 Nn     51.001
 Rudy Lin     88.881
 Lay Tjo Tjung     50.001
 Stevenson     20.001
 Rudy     88.881
 Hery Shietra     2.000.000
 Halim     100.001
 Aries Hanstien     500.000
 Shinta     2.000.000
 Juli Yanti     100.000
 Rudy     88.881


Format PDF

2
Perkenalan / MOVED: Manfaat menjapa mantra
« on: 20 February 2020, 07:34:00 AM »

3
Kesempatan Berbuat Baik / Penerbitan Khuddaka Nikāya - Therīgāthā
« on: 23 December 2019, 03:39:33 PM »
DhammaCitta Press berikutnya pada kuartal ke-dua tahun 2020 setelah menerbitkan Khuddaka Nikāya - Theragāthā sebelumnya, akan menerbitkan Khuddaka Nikāya - Therīgāthā lengkap yang diterjemahkan dari buku Therīgāthā: Verses of the Senior Nuns yang diterjemahkan oleh Bhikkhu Sujato  & Jessica Walton. Buku ini merupakan salah satu bagian dari Khuddaka Nikāya atau kumpulan kecil yang merupakan bagian dari Tipiṭaka Pāli yang masih ada sekarang, warisan teks ajaran tertua dari Buddha historis.

Estimasi biaya yang dibutuhkan untuk 1500 set buku:
     Cetak Hardcover  1.500 x 22.500          =     32.250.000,-
     Ongkos Kirim 1.500 x 15.000 (rata-rata)    =     22.500.000,-
     Total                        =     54.750.000,-


Buku yang akan dicetak nanti akan disesuaikan dengan dana yang terkumpul ketika sudah saatnya naik cetak. Harga estimasi akan dapat berubah sesuai dengan situasi dan jumlah cetak.

Kami mengajak anda untuk mendukung penerbitan buku ini untuk lebih jauh menggali apa yang dikhotbahkan dan diajarkan oleh Sang Buddha karena selama ini belum tersedia dalam bahasa Indonesia yang lengkap, hanya beberapa bagian kecil saja. Buku ini dapat memberikan sudut pandang yang berbeda sehingga dapat memperkaya dan mempertajam pemahaman kita terhadap Dhamma. Dana dapat disalurkan melalui:

Bank BCA KCP Business Park Kebon Jeruk
6560708091 a/n Benny

Untuk memudahkan penelusuran, mohon bantuannya untuk menambahkan 1 rupiah dalam transferan. Misalnya: Rp. 10.001,-

Konfirmasi ke email dana [at] dhammacitta.org atau WA 0812-18607850

Terima kasih atas dukungan dan kepercayaan yang diberikan kepada DhammaCitta Press selama ini. Semoga penerbitan-penerbitan ini dapat membawa bermanfaat baik untuk praktisi maupun akademisi untuk sekarang maupun untuk generasi-generasi berikutnya.


https://pustaka.dhammacitta.org/forum/brosur therigatha p1.jpg

https://pustaka.dhammacitta.org/forum/brosur therigatha p2.jpg







4
Perkenalan / MOVED: Siklus Reinkanarsi
« on: 26 October 2019, 07:03:07 PM »

5
DhammaCitta PEDULI / Dāna belasungkawa untuk Papa dari Bro Forte
« on: 12 November 2014, 10:36:19 AM »
Hari Minggu Tanggal 9 November 2014 jam 21.15 WIB , Papa dari bro Forte, Tho Kim Seng, meninggal dunia pada usia 78 tahun karena sakit (komplikasi diabetes)

DCPeduli mengadakan penggalanan dāna belasungkawa yang akan ditutup pada 18 November 2014.

Transfer dana dapat dilakukan ke rekening DhammaCitta, yaitu :

Bank           : Bank Central Asia cabang Kebon Jeruk Raya, Jakarta
No Rek        : 6560 70 80 91
  (IDR)
Atas Nama   : BENNY
Swift Code & Alamat Bank: ShowHide
Swift Code    : CENAIDJA
Alamat         : KCP Kebon Jeruk Raya
                     Rukan Business Park Blok B 1-2
                     Jl. Meruya Ilir No. 88 Jakarta - Indonesia


tambahkan akhiran nominal transfer dengan angka 5. Contoh: Rp 100.005,-

Konfirmasi dana ke :
dana [at] dhammacitta.org­ atau
PM Elin, atau 0812 - 1000 7882 (SMS) *whatsapp off utk sementara, sorry...

Dengan format:
DCPeduli  NamaDonatur  JumlahDana  NamaRekPengirim/­SetoranTunai
Contoh:
DCPeduli  Andy & Keluarga  20.000  Andy Lau (Setoran Tunai)
DCPeduli  Hendra  50.005  Hendra Susanto

6
Bantuan Teknis, kritik dan saran. / [Fitur] Mention
« on: 08 July 2014, 10:14:40 PM »
Testing

[member=3667]Shinichi[/member] [member=2]morpheus[/member]  [at] KK

7
DhammaCitta Press / Distributor DCPress utk pekan baru
« on: 23 June 2014, 08:33:39 PM »
To DCers,

ada yg di wilayah pekan baru dan ada koneksi ke jaringan vihara/perpustakaan/pandita di sana? distributor kita si bro tesla lagi pindahan nih jadi kita lagi cari. Atau ada rekomendasi?

thanks

8
Kesehatan / Dead to the World - Cerita tentang terjebak stroke
« on: 11 June 2014, 11:37:50 AM »
http://www.smh.com.au/national/health/dead-to-the-world-20140602-39d0f.html

When Californian fitness fanatic Richard Marsh suffered a severe stroke, his doctors urged his wife, Lili, to consider switching off his life support. Unbeknown to them, however, he could hear - and understand - every word they were saying.

It was a Wednesday. I didn't expect to die that day. No one expects to die on a Wednesday. I was a 60-year-old high-school teacher and I'd never felt better. Working part-time gave me the freedom to ride my Harley, read, play guitar and tend my vegetable garden - all great solitary pastimes. My health meant everything to me. I cooked my own produce, I avoided saturated fat and fast food, and I worked out every day in the gym, as I had for more than 40 years. I'd even met my wife, Lili - a nurse at Napa Valley Hospice - working out. I had a nice, comfortable life; a safe life.

At 4am on Wednesday, May 20, 2009, I was dead to the world. The first thing I noticed as I stirred was the smell of coffee wafting across the open-plan living area. I smiled. Lili must be back from the gym.

Still standing: Richard Marsh and his wife, Lili.
Still standing: Richard Marsh and his wife, Lili. Photo: Winni Wintermeyer
Showering is undoubtedly one of the great modern pleasures but, on this particular morning, as I stared through the steam into the bathroom mirror, I realised that something wasn't right. I wasn't right. I searched my mind for what the problem might be. I must have had the shower too hot again. The scorching water often triggered a short bout of light-headedness. But as I doused my baby-smooth face with cold water, I realised there was nothing familiar about the sensation I was feeling today. I wasn't light-headed. I wasn't nauseous. I felt no pain. But something was wrong.

"Are you all right, honey?" Lili asked, looking me up and down as I joined her in the kitchen.

"I'm feeling ..." I paused, searching for the right word. "I'm feeling weird."

"Why don't you sit down?" Sit down? Yes, why don't I do that?

When she leaned down to kiss me goodbye, I still felt in control. I could see the picture window opposite and hear the traffic filtering past the house as people made their way to school and work. Then Lili closed the front door behind her and my whole world fell in.

The second that door shut, I could no longer make out the photographs of Hawaii on the wall or lift my legs onto the small footstool next to the sofa. I couldn't even make out my own feet in front of me. I had a very bad feeling about what was happening. Some silent assassin was in the room with me.

I managed to get to my feet and felt the earth spin. A headrush can happen to anyone who stands too suddenly, but this was much worse. I flicked my hand out to the wall. Instinctively I knew I couldn't balance. My legs felt like they would give way any second. I needed Lili.

I could see the telephone on the desk in the dining area, about 4.5 metres away from where I was standing. On a normal day I could be there in under five seconds. I focused on my right leg and told it to move. I felt it swing forward about 15 centimetres, but it was lumpen, heavy, like it didn't belong to me at all. When I tried to move my left leg, it wouldn't budge. My weight was spread across my right leg and my hand on the wall. I knew then the only way I was going to be able to move was if I let go of the wall. I pushed my hand against the wall and used the momentum to swing my left leg forward ... then my right, then my left, then my right. I was moving.

I retained control over my legs just long enough to reach the desk and collapse into the chair. It was a huge relief to learn that whatever was wrong with me did not seem to be affecting my fine motor skills. I flicked through the phone's directory and quickly found Lili's work number.

"Rich, are you all right?"

"Lili," I slurred. "I think I'm having a stroke."

In my previous job as a cop, I'd followed enough ambulances to the Queen of the Valley Medical Center - or "The Queen" as its staff called it - to recognise the route we'd taken. "He's stable," my paramedic called out to attendants as the back doors of the ambulance opened and daylight flooded in. "But he's shutting down. Fast."

There had been moments during the short journey when I'd felt back in control of my limbs. I could wiggle the fingers on my right hand and twitch my toes just by looking at them. But that seemed like an age ago now. As we'd hit Trancas Street, I wasn't even thinking about the destination. I was only thinking about what was happening to me.

It started with my left foot. One minute I could move my toes, the next I couldn't. My left leg followed, then my right foot, then that leg. My left arm had been lost from the start but now my right joined it. It was like my entire body was powering down. I could still feel everything - the bumpy ride, the coarse straps across my chest, the IV tube in my hand - but I couldn't react. I'd seen movies where the lights turned out across a city, block by block. That was exactly how I felt. Limb by limb - block by block - the lights went out. Inch by inch, nothingness spread over my body.

We were in the trauma room. The same doctor from emergency who'd sent me for a CAT scan stood in front of us. His eyes behind their glasses flicked between mine and Lili's, then towards another man. He introduced him as a neurologist. It was his job, the doctor said, to explain the results of the scan.

"They mostly confirm what we thought," the neurologist said. "Rich, you've had a stroke. A very large one." He paused. "Now, a lot of people make a full recovery from strokes. But, I have to warn you, most of those strokes are nothing like yours."

"What's the difference?" Lili asked.

"Strokes are caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain," he said. "Most are brought about by a clot, or thrombus. This is called an ischemic stroke. The other type is a haemorrhagic stroke, where an artery bursts and floods the brain with blood. You've had an ischemic stroke. In very few cases, no more than 10 per cent of all strokes, people can get a clot in the central - or basilar - artery. This artery connects directly to the brain stem. But this does not always lead to a stroke. The basilar has two minor arteries that feed into it. A clot in one of these will slow down your blood supply, but the other channel should be able to cope."

He was now building to the meat of the matter.

"Unfortunately, Richard, our scan has shown that you do not have two functioning minor arteries. One of yours is a dead end - it does not lead anywhere. And, because your clot is in the other one, there is nowhere for the blood to go."

"Why hasn't this affected him before?" Lili asked.

"There's no reason why it should have. A surprising number of people have this condition and go through life without it ever being an issue."

"Are you saying he was born like this?"

"Almost certainly," he said. "It's only come to light now because of the clot. Damage in the basilar area is usually not survivable. Because of that, the risk of operating here is too great. But there is a drug that could help. It's a type of TPA - tissue plasminogen activator. Its name is Activase, but we call it the 'clot buster'. " [TPA is a protein involved in the breakdown of blood clots.] It worked, the neurologist explained, by diffusing the clot, but it had to be administered within three hours of the stroke occurring. "Do you want to go ahead with the clot buster?" he asked.

I tried to say "Yes" again, but nothing happened. At least I was still able to nod. Immediately the neurologist started moving. Time, he said, was against us.

The neurologist wasn't the only person on the go. As he ran from the room, the original doctor called a nurse over. "Listen to Richard's breathing," he said. "He's struggling to manage his secretions." I'm what?

The nurse nodded. "He's struggling to get air," she said. "I think the diaphragm is shutting down."

"Yes," the doctor agreed, looking straight at me this time. "I'm afraid we're going to have to intubate."

I felt my arm being lifted and the skin rubbed. This time I knew they were preparing it for a needle so I looked across to Lili. I didn't need to see the needle piercing my skin. Unfortunately, I couldn't avert my ears, so I heard exactly how crucial it was for them to get it into me ... now! Everything went black.

The taste of rubber. It came back to me like a lightning bolt. I hadn't been able to breathe. My mouth had filled with saliva and I couldn't swallow. This had to be some sort of pipe. What else could hurt in so many places at once? I felt it touching my teeth, in my mouth and down the back of my throat. This hurt like hell. It was like having a burning flame forced down your throat. Every breath made me want to gag. Every single inhalation made me want to scream. But I couldn't gag. I couldn't scream. In fact, I couldn't do anything.

Gingerly, I opened my eyes. Or did I? They'd opened, but I didn't really know why. Did I make them do that or did they do it of their accord? I needed to find out. I had to discover whether I still had the power to control my own eyelids.

I tried to close them again. Nothing. I tried to blink. Still nothing. I felt the heat of panic rising in my body again, but that was something I could control. At least in part. I told myself there was no point worrying about blinking now. I just had to be grateful I could still see. It was better to be trapped in the light than in the dark.

As the panic subsided, I realised I was looking forwards - not upwards at the ceiling. The bed itself was on a tilt so my upper body was higher than my feet. The angle wasn't great, but it gave me a view of the room and there was plenty to take in. I knew the pair of feet protruding from the end of the bed, those 10 toes, were mine. No question. So why didn't they budge when I tried to move them?

Still, nothing was more disturbing than not being able to manipulate my own eyelids - or eyeballs, for that matter. These felt as if they'd been glued into their sockets. I couldn't make them pivot right or left, up or down. It was terrifying.

I consoled myself with the thought that Lili would be excited to see me awake. That alone would tell her I was recovering, on the mend. A couple of strides brought her directly in front of the dresser. I could have cried as she looked me in the eyes. "I'm awake!" I tried to shout. "I'm okay!"

I knew nothing would come out of my mouth, but my eyes, my face, my whole soul were hollering the same message. She stared at me for a few seconds, then turned round to face someone who was standing behind her. "Still no change," Lili said.

I recognised the second person as Pat, Lili's colleague from the hospice. They stood at the end of my bed, looked at me, then turned back to each other. "I'm so sorry, Lili," Pat said.

"So am I, Pat."

"But Rich is a fighter. He's strong. They'll pull him through this."

"I hope so, Pat, I really do."

She didn't sound very sure. If anything, she looked close to tears. I couldn't understand why she was so upset. I was wide awake, listening to every word and studying every expression on her face. Couldn't she see that? Couldn't Pat? They were both healthcare professionals. Surely they knew when someone was trying to communicate with them, didn't they?

I watched them continue their conversation. I still heard every word but now I couldn't take much in. The longer they stood there, the longer they chatted, the more depressed I became. It wasn't only that my own wife couldn't hear me: she wasn't even aware I was awake. The darkness beyond the window told me it was definitely well into the night now. I had no idea exactly how much time had passed, but I did know that Lili needed to go home, too, if only to get some sleep and freshen up.

She leaned over, kissed me on the cheek and hugged me tight. That much I liked. I only wished I could have responded in a similar way. But then she pulled back, squeezed my hand again and, staring deep into my unblinking eyes, said, "It's okay to go, honey. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right." After one more kiss, she turned and left the room.

Lili had given me her blessing to die. She wasn't thinking about our long-term future, about our marriage, about us. Why had she said goodbye? I was in a bad way, but I was getting better, I knew that. Or if I wasn't yet, I soon would be. What had given her the idea that my time was up?

A lot of people entertain the idea of attending their own funeral to see what kind of a turnout they'd get. I realised soon after the last of my visitors had left my room that I was experiencing my own send-off. And, I have to say, I was pretty pleased with the number of people who took the time to come. It was a conveyor belt of all the people who meant the most to me. But I didn't want their farewells or their tears. While I was grateful to Lili for rustling everyone up, I started to wish she'd waited until I'd left the hospital. I would have preferred a recovery party back at home, rather than this solemn procession of friends and family with nothing to say. Surely she knew that?

Once again my mind returned to her farewell of the previous evening. That had pretty much set the tone for today. She had said goodbye to me then, and now she wanted others to have the opportunity to do so. But there was no need for goodbyes. I wasn't going anywhere. As soon as the docs realised I could hear every word they said, they'd call off the last rites.

After a long day, I could see that Lili was getting ready to go home. I'd just been cleaned and my mouth suctioned of saliva, so I was surprised to see the door swing open and my doctor come in. He was followed by a colleague I'd not seen before. Lili was standing at the foot of my bed, Mustang keys in her hand, waiting to see what they planned to do to me. Surprisingly, they didn't go anywhere near the machines, tubes or pipes. Instead, they asked Lili if they could have a word with her. "Of course," she said. "What about?"

"Rich has been here for two days now," said the doctor I recognised. "As you know, he's shown no sign of improvement." Lili nodded, looking from him to me.

"Our best guess is that the clot buster has not worked, which means that Rich has less than a 2 per cent chance of surviving more than a few days."

He went on to explain that my whole body had shut down, that my internal organs were being kept operational only by electricity and steel, and that my brain had all but switched off because it had been starved of oxygen. "He can't hear, see, taste, touch, feel or think," the doctor said, with absolute certainty.

"Okay." Lili's voice was starting to crack, but she held it together. "But what if he does pull through?"

The doctor hesitated before replying. "If that happens - and it's a very small 'if' - then he will still be spending the rest of his life much in this state."

He gestured towards me. "I'm afraid he'll be little more than a vegetable."

Lili said nothing for what seemed like minutes. The only noise in the room was the rhythmic sighing and beeping of the machinery that the doctor had just pointed out was keeping me alive. "So," she managed finally, "what exactly are you saying to me?"

The doctors looked at each other. Then the new one said, "It's our considered medical opinion that you should consider switching off Rich's life support. I'm sorry, Lili, but he's not coming back."

Now there was another noise in the room. Or at least in my head. It was me, screaming. These guys in white coats were trying to persuade my wife to kill me. They wanted to pull the plug because they thought I would never recover. They said I was a vegetable, that I would never understand what was going on around me.

But I did understand. In my head, I was the same guy I'd always been. I was the same guy who'd married Lili in 2006. I was the same guy who'd laughed and joked with her over the past three years.

I stared at Lili. I already knew what she was going to say. We'd discussed exactly this kind of eventuality and made a solemn pledge to each other. If ever the time came, we'd agreed, we would not hesitate to pull the plug. Lili opened her mouth to reply. I wanted to cry. My own wife was about to kill me.

It was the longest night of my life, knowing that Lili was out there with my daughters, Shannon, Melanie and Michelle, discussing whether to switch off the machines that were keeping me alive. I ran through every possible permutation of the conversation. Again and again I played the scene in my head, putting different words and arguments in each of their mouths. But every time they reached the same conclusion. They were going to pull the plug.

Out of sight to my right, the regular sound of the ventilator filling my lungs was a constant reminder of just how bad I was. I needed technology to pee, to breathe, even to stop drowning in my own spit. The doctors were spot on about that. But they'd also said my senses had already shut down. And they couldn't have been more wrong about that.

I was suddenly aware of the National Geographic channel on the TV in front of me. "Look," I imagined myself yelling to the doctors, "I can see that. There's nothing wrong with my vision."

I studied the program for a few minutes - anything to take my mind off what was about to happen to me. It was a documentary about space. The bright lights on the screen made me want to squint. But I couldn't do that, so I did the next best thing. I blinked.

Defying extreme odds, Richard Marsh went on to recover from locked-in syndrome and now operates at 95 per cent of his pre-stroke capacity. The list of those who have emerged from this syndrome is microscopically small and the life expectancy of those who remain in the condition is desperately short.

10
Video Game / Final Fantasy XIII recap in 16 bits style
« on: 30 January 2014, 06:12:30 PM »
setelah FFXIII dan FFXIII-2, SquareEnix akan launch FFXIII Lightning Return, recapnya dibuat dalam 16bit SNES style.

Niat bener


11
Sains / The fiction of memory (False Memory)
« on: 14 January 2014, 09:42:49 PM »


Transcript: ShowHide
I'd like to tell you about a legal case that I worked on involving a man named Steve Titus.

Titus was a restaurant manager. He was 31 years old, he lived in Seattle, Washington, he was engaged to Gretchen, about to be married, she was the love of his life. And one night, the couple went out for a romantic restaurant meal. They were on their way home, and they were pulled over by a police officer. You see, Titus' car sort of resembled a car that was driven earlier in the evening by a man who raped a female hitchhiker, and Titus kind of resembled that rapist. So the police took a picture of Titus, they put it in a photo lineup, they later showed it to the victim, and she pointed to Titus' photo. She said, "That one's the closest." The police and the prosecution proceeded with a trial, and when Steve Titus was put on trial for rape, the rape victim got on the stand and said, "I'm absolutely positive that's the man." And Titus was convicted. He proclaimed his innocence, his family screamed at the jury, his fiancée collapsed on the floor sobbing, and Titus is taken away to jail.

So what would you do at this point? What would you do? Well, Titus lost complete faith in the legal system, and yet he got an idea. He called up the local newspaper, he got the interest of an investigative journalist, and that journalist actually found the real rapist, a man who ultimately confessed to this rape, a man who was thought to have committed 50 rapes in that area, and when this information was given to the judge, the judge set Titus free.

And really, that's where this case should have ended. It should have been over. Titus should have thought of this as a horrible year, a year of accusation and trial, but over.

It didn't end that way. Titus was so bitter. He'd lost his job. He couldn't get it back. He lost his fiancée. She couldn't put up with his persistent anger. He lost his entire savings, and so he decided to file a lawsuit against the police and others whom he felt were responsible for his suffering.

And that's when I really started working on this case, trying to figure out how did that victim go from "That one's the closest" to "I'm absolutely positive that's the guy."

Well, Titus was consumed with his civil case. He spent every waking moment thinking about it, and just days before he was to have his day in court, he woke up in the morning, doubled over in pain, and died of a stress-related heart attack. He was 35 years old.

So I was asked to work on Titus' case because I'm a psychological scientist. I study memory. I've studied memory for decades. And if I meet somebody on an airplane -- this happened on the way over to Scotland -- if I meet somebody on an airplane, and we ask each other, "What do you do? What do you do?" and I say "I study memory," they usually want to tell me how they have trouble remembering names, or they've got a relative who's got Alzheimer's or some kind of memory problem, but I have to tell them I don't study when people forget. I study the opposite: when they remember, when they remember things that didn't happen or remember things that were different from the way they really were. I study false memories.

Unhappily, Steve Titus is not the only person to be convicted based on somebody's false memory. In one project in the United States, information has been gathered on 300 innocent people, 300 defendants who were convicted of crimes they didn't do. They spent 10, 20, 30 years in prison for these crimes, and now DNA testing has proven that they are actually innocent. And when those cases have been analyzed, three quarters of them are due to faulty memory, faulty eyewitness memory.

Well, why? Like the jurors who convicted those innocent people and the jurors who convicted Titus, many people believe that memory works like a recording device. You just record the information, then you call it up and play it back when you want to answer questions or identify images. But decades of work in psychology has shown that this just isn't true. Our memories are constructive. They're reconstructive. Memory works a little bit more like a Wikipedia page: You can go in there and change it, but so can other people. I first started studying this constructive memory process in the 1970s. I did my experiments that involved showing people simulated crimes and accidents and asking them questions about what they remember. In one study, we showed people a simulated accident and we asked people, how fast were the cars going when they hit each other? And we asked other people, how fast were the cars going when they smashed into each other? And if we asked the leading "smashed" question, the witnesses told us the cars were going faster, and moreover, that leading "smashed" question caused people to be more likely to tell us that they saw broken glass in the accident scene when there wasn't any broken glass at all. In another study, we showed a simulated accident where a car went through an intersection with a stop sign, and if we asked a question that insinuated it was a yield sign, many witnesses told us they remember seeing a yield sign at the intersection, not a stop sign.

And you might be thinking, well, you know, these are filmed events, they are not particularly stressful. Would the same kind of mistakes be made with a really stressful event? In a study we published just a few months ago, we have an answer to this question, because what was unusual about this study is we arranged for people to have a very stressful experience. The subjects in this study were members of the U.S. military who were undergoing a harrowing training exercise to teach them what it's going to be like for them if they are ever captured as prisoners of war. And as part of this training exercise, these soldiers are interrogated in an aggressive, hostile, physically abusive fashion for 30 minutes and later on they have to try to identify the person who conducted that interrogation. And when we feed them suggestive information that insinuates it's a different person, many of them misidentify their interrogator, often identifying someone who doesn't even remotely resemble the real interrogator.

And so what these studies are showing is that when you feed people misinformation about some experience that they may have had, you can distort or contaminate or change their memory.

Well out there in the real world, misinformation is everywhere. We get misinformation not only if we're questioned in a leading way, but if we talk to other witnesses who might consciously or inadvertently feed us some erroneous information, or if we see media coverage about some event we might have experienced, all of these provide the opportunity for this kind of contamination of our memory.

In the 1990s, we began to see an even more extreme kind of memory problem. Some patients were going into therapy with one problem -- maybe they had depression, an eating disorder -- and they were coming out of therapy with a different problem. Extreme memories for horrific brutalizations, sometimes in satanic rituals, sometimes involving really bizarre and unusual elements. One woman came out of psychotherapy believing that she'd endured years of ritualistic abuse, where she was forced into a pregnancy and that the baby was cut from her belly. But there were no physical scars or any kind of physical evidence that could have supported her story. And when I began looking into these cases, I was wondering, where do these bizarre memories come from? And what I found is that most of these situations involved some particular form of psychotherapy. And so I asked, were some of the things going on in this psychotherapy -- like the imagination exercises or dream interpretation, or in some cases hypnosis, or in some cases exposure to false information -- were these leading these patients to develop these very bizarre, unlikely memories? And I designed some experiments to try to study the processes that were being used in this psychotherapy so I could study the development of these very rich false memories.

In one of the first studies we did, we used suggestion, a method inspired by the psychotherapy we saw in these cases, we used this kind of suggestion and planted a false memory that when you were a kid, five or six years old, you were lost in a shopping mall. You were frightened. You were crying. You were ultimately rescued by an elderly person and reunited with the family. And we succeeded in planting this memory in the minds of about a quarter of our subjects. And you might be thinking, well, that's not particularly stressful. But we and other investigators have planted rich false memories of things that were much more unusual and much more stressful. So in a study done in Tennessee, researchers planted the false memory that when you were a kid, you nearly drowned and had to be rescued by a life guard. And in a study done in Canada, researchers planted the false memory that when you were a kid, something as awful as being attacked by a vicious animal happened to you, succeeding with about half of their subjects. And in a study done in Italy, researchers planted the false memory, when you were a kid, you witnessed demonic possession.

I do want to add that it might seem like we are traumatizing these experimental subjects in the name of science, but our studies have gone through thorough evaluation by research ethics boards that have made the decision that the temporary discomfort that some of these subjects might experience in these studies is outweighed by the importance of this problem for understanding memory processes and the abuse of memory that is going on in some places in the world.

Well, to my surprise, when I published this work and began to speak out against this particular brand of psychotherapy, it created some pretty bad problems for me: hostilities, primarily from the repressed memory therapists, who felt under attack, and by the patients whom they had influenced. I had sometimes armed guards at speeches that I was invited to give, people trying to drum up letter-writing campaigns to get me fired. But probably the worst was I suspected that a woman was innocent of abuse that was being claimed by her grown daughter. She accused her mother of sexual abuse based on a repressed memory. And this accusing daughter had actually allowed her story to be filmed and presented in public places. I was suspicious of this story, and so I started to investigate, and eventually found information that convinced me that this mother was innocent. I published an exposé on the case, and a little while later, the accusing daughter filed a lawsuit. Even though I'd never mentioned her name, she sued me for defamation and invasion of privacy. And I went through nearly five years of dealing with this messy, unpleasant litigation, but finally, finally, it was over and I could really get back to my work. In the process, however, I became part of a disturbing trend in America where scientists are being sued for simply speaking out on matters of great public controversy.

When I got back to my work, I asked this question: if I plant a false memory in your mind, does it have repercussions? Does it affect your later thoughts, your later behaviors? Our first study planted a false memory that you got sick as a child eating certain foods: hard-boiled eggs, dill pickles, strawberry ice cream. And we found that once we planted this false memory, people didn't want to eat the foods as much at an outdoor picnic. The false memories aren't necessarily bad or unpleasant. If we planted a warm, fuzzy memory involving a healthy food like asparagus, we could get people to want to eat asparagus more. And so what these studies are showing is that you can plant false memories and they have repercussions that affect behavior long after the memories take hold.

Well, along with this ability to plant memories and control behavior obviously come some important ethical issues, like, when should we use this mind technology? And should we ever ban its use? Therapists can't ethically plant false memories in the mind of their patients even if it would help the patient, but there's nothing to stop a parent from trying this out on their overweight or obese teenager. And when I suggested this publicly, it created an outcry again. "There she goes. She's advocating that parents lie to their children."

Hello, Santa Claus. (Laughter)

I mean, another way to think about this is, which would you rather have, a kid with obesity, diabetes, shortened lifespan, all the things that go with it, or a kid with one little extra bit of false memory? I know what I would choose for a kid of mine.

But maybe my work has made me different from most people. Most people cherish their memories, know that they represent their identity, who they are, where they came from. And I appreciate that. I feel that way too. But I know from my work how much fiction is already in there. If I've learned anything from these decades of working on these problems, it's this: just because somebody tells you something and they say it with confidence, just because they say it with lots of detail, just because they express emotion when they say it, it doesn't mean that it really happened. We can't reliably distinguish true memories from false memories. We need independent corroboration. Such a discovery has made me more tolerant of the everyday memory mistakes that my friends and family members make. Such a discovery might have saved Steve Titus, the man whose whole future was snatched away by a false memory.

But meanwhile, we should all keep in mind, we'd do well to, that memory, like liberty, is a fragile thing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. (Applause) Thanks very much. (Applause)


Hal ini sudah lama saya perhatikan memang sering ada dan ternyata ada scientistnya jg yg mempelajari ini. :jempol:

Ini bukan hanya ditanamkan oleh orang lain, tapi banyak yg ditanamkan oleh diri sendiri juga -.-!

Percobaannya masih belum masuk sampai ranah kepercayaan/agama, bisa lebih2 diteror. Demikian pula dengan ingatan dan eksperiensial Buddhisme... Baik dari praktek biasa sampai pengalaman meditasi...  Sungguh fragile memory ini!

12
Seremonial / Happy Birthday oma Shashika
« on: 08 January 2014, 10:36:35 AM »
Kelupaan ternyata oma ultah tgl 7 kemaren

Happy Birthday yah Oma Shashika.

Semoga sehat dan berbahagia selalu

13
Kesempatan Berbuat Baik / [DCPRESS] Penerbitan Anguttara Nikaya Lengkap
« on: 25 November 2013, 05:45:42 PM »
25 Juni 2015: Pengumpulan dāna untuk penerbitan sudah ditutup dan sekarang sudah naik cetak. Terima kasih atas dukungan baik dāna maupun tenaga serta moril. Sejauh ini dāna tidak mencapai target tetapi, buku tetap akan dicetak sesuai rencana. Mohon maaf atas keterlambatan penerbitan ini demi kualitas hasil terjemahan dan editingnya.

Untuk ebook (PDF dan EPUB) bisa didapatkan di http://dhammacitta.org/perpustakaan/anguttara-nikaya/




Laporan dana → Laporan Pendanaan Penerbitan Anguttara Nikaya Lengkap


DhammaCitta Press adalah divisi penerbitan dari Yayasan DhammaCitta Mangala yang aktif menerbitkan buku-buku Buddhisme sejak tahun 2009 yang dianggap bermanfaat untuk mengali lebih jauh Buddhisme Awal yang dapat berguna bagi praktisi maupun akademisi. Buku cetak maupun elektronik terbitan DhammaCitta Press dibagikan secara gratis kepada semua dengan diutamakan kepada akademisi, guru, dhammaduta, maupun praktisi serius dan tidak memerlukan mengganti biaya cetak karena DhammaCitta mengusung konsep “Hadiah.” Dhamma adalah sebuah hadiah yang tidak dijual maupun tidak menerima uang ganti biaya cetak, ongkos kirim maupun jasa pengerjaannya. Seluruh karya dan hasil kerja DhammaCitta Press merupakan hadiah dari para relawan dan hadiah dari supporter dan donatur DhammaCitta Press untuk Buddhisme Indonesia.

Anda dipersilahkan untuk juga turut membantu dengan menyebarkan ataupun memperbanyak dan memberikan karya DhammaCitta Press kepada siapapun yang dianggap dapat bermanfaat baik dalam bentuk cetak ataupun buku elektroniknya selama sesuai dengan aturan penggunaan. Buku cetak tidak akan bermanfaat jika hanya menjadi pajangan atau memenuhi rak buku. Untuk buku elektronik bisa didownload di website http://dhammacitta.org

Seluruh penerbitan DhammaCitta Press memiliki aturan penggunaan yang ketat untuk menjaga bahwa hasil karya penerbitan DhammaCitta Press maupun semua karya turunannya tetap dapat dipertahankan gratis dan tersedia bebas. Aturan penggunaannya sebagai berikut,

Quote
Anda dipersilahkan menyalin, mengubah bentuk, mencetak, mempublikasi, dan mendistribusikan karya ini dalam media apapun, dengan syarat: (1) tidak diperjualbelikan; (2) Dinyatakan dengan jelas bahwa segala turunan dari karya ini (termasuk terjemahan) diturunkan dari dokumen sumber ini; dan (3) menyertakan teks lisensi ini lengkap dalam semua salinan atau turunan dari karya ini.

DhammaCitta Press berikutnya pada kuartal pertama tahun 2015 akan menerbitkan Aṅguttara Nikāya lengkap yang diterjemahkan dari buku The Numerical Discourses of the Buddha: A Complete Translation of the Aṅguttara Nikāya (1986 halaman) yang diterjemahkan oleh Bhikkhu Bodhi. Buku ini merupakan salah satu Nikāya atau kumpulan dari teks yang masih ada sekarang yang merupakan ajaran tertua dari Buddha historis.

Estimasi biaya yang dibutuhkan untuk 1500 set buku:

Quote
Cetak Hardcover 1.500 x 120.000 = 180.000.000,-
Ongkos Kirim 1.500 x 25.000 =  37.500.000,-
Total = 227.500.000,-

Buku yang akan dicetak nanti akan disesuaikan dengan dana yang terkumpul ketika sudah saatnya naik cetak. Harga estimasi akan dapat berubah sesuai dengan situasi dan jumlah cetak.

Kami mengajak anda untuk mendukung penerbitan buku ini untuk lebih jauh menggali apa yang dikhotbahkan dan diajarkan oleh Sang Buddha karena selama ini belum tersedia dalam bahasa Indonesia yang lengkap, hanya beberapa bagian kecil saja. Nikāya ini dapat memberikan sudut pandang yang berbeda sehingga dapat memperkaya dan mempertajam pemahaman kita terhadap Dhamma. Dana dapat disalurkan melalui:

Quote
Bank BCA KCP Business Park Kebon Jeruk
6560708091 a/n Benny

Untuk memudahkan penelusuran, mohon bantuannya untuk menambahkan 1 rupiah dalam transferan. Misalnya: Rp. 10.001,-

Konfirmasi ke email dana [at] dhammacitta.org atau Elin 0812 - 1000 7882 (SMS/Whatsapp)
dengan format “Nama JumlahDana NamaRekPengirim/Setor Alamat”

Quote
Contoh:
Hendra 50.001 Hendra Susanto Jl. Indah A5, Jakarta
Budi 10.001 Setor Jl. Raya 7, Bali.

Terima kasih atas dukungan dan kepercayaan yang diberikan kepada DhammaCitta Press selama ini. Semoga penerbitan-penerbitan ini dapat membawa bermanfaat baik untuk praktisi maupun akademisi untuk sekarang maupun untuk generasi-generasi berikutnya.




14
Kafe Jongkok / Epic Split feat. Van Damme
« on: 16 November 2013, 07:50:27 AM »



epic...

15
Sains / Ambient noise dan kreativitas
« on: 15 November 2013, 07:16:08 AM »
Menurut riset katanya bunyi lingkungan mempengaruhi kreativitas, terlalu keras mengganggu, terlalu sunyi jg mandek.


Quote
This paper examines how ambient noise, an important environmental variable, can affect creativity. Results from five experiments demonstrate that a moderate (70 dB) versus low (50 dB) level of ambient noise enhances performance on creative tasks and increases the buying likelihood of innovative products. A high level of noise (85 dB), on the other hand, hurts creativity. Process measures reveal that a moderate (vs. low) level of noise increases processing difficulty, inducing a higher construal level and thus promoting abstract processing, which subsequently leads to higher creativity. A high level of noise, however, reduces the extent of information processing and thus impairs creativity.


jurnal researchnya disini -> http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/665048


dan ada app gratis (android, ios, osx) utk mensimulasikannya, silahkan dicoba apakah jadi tambah kreatif atau tidak http://www.coffitivity.com

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