View allAll Photos Tagged Intellect
The imprisonment is not irksome anymore. it has become a part of me. My soul is enervated, tired of hitting itself to the rigid walls of this scarce cell. there is no way out, it is understood. No sun, no moon, no dark, no light, no dim, no bright... senses have been immured in a dilemma of nothingness, and hollowness. The wetness of eye, the thirst for water, the aridness of throat, the sluggishness of intellect, the race of breaths, the flow of blood, and the beat of heart, all signs of this journey seem to fade away... It's this sole existence and this ceased universe, where there is no variation either day or night. No sound, no motion: static. A wait: my existence is an eternal wait.
Ganesh is one of the best-known and most worshipped deities in the Hindu pantheon.
Although he is known by many attributes, Ganesha's elephant head makes him easy to identify. He is widely revered as the remover of obstacles, the patron of arts and sciences and the deva of intellect and wisdom. As the god of beginnings, he is honoured at the start of rituals and ceremonies. Ganesha is also invoked as patron of letters and learning during writing sessions.
This photo was taken in Millbrae California.
Starting a new set today: black and white landscapes from the badlands of Alberta. On my most recent trip to this location - which I have visited many times since 1988 - I realized by Day 2 that I was seeing the landforms in black and white. From that point on, I shot with monochrome in mind - although, by shooting RAW, I did retain all the colour information: a sort of fail safe, because sometimes I'm wrong.
This time, however, my instincts were on the mark. The black and white versions are much more interesting than the colour. There really wasn't a lot of colour there, aside from blue skies and the earthy hues of brown, yellow, and rusty red. Colour, of course, is a crowd pleaser. The eye delights in colour. I'm no different. Colour triggers an emotional response: red is exciting, like fire and blood and birth and death; blue is cool and calming; green reminds us of the natural world; yellow stimulates the intellect; black is mysterious and dramatic - and so on.
Take that away, and you'd better know how to put an image together. You have lines, shapes, textures. I cut my teeth on black and white, which was cheaper way back in my early days (shooting film in the 1960s). It provided me with a grounding in visual literacy that probably has helped my colour photography, too.
Photographed in Dinosaur Provincial Park, Alberta (Canada). Don't use this image on websites, blogs, or other media without explicit permission ©2018 James R. Page - all rights reserved.
Jessie sez:
"Sigh ...... we is having a hard time at the moment, what with sky-high inflashin and logistics problems wif' basic food deliveries.
I think I'll need to have a meeting wif' Brushtail Mousie and see if we can work out a strategy to try to move the speed of cheese deliveries up a notch or two. I'm not smart enough to solve these sort of problems, but Brushtail on the other hand, DOES have a strong intellect and is therefore is well capable of getting this sorted out. I FINKS we need to organise another trip to Alpbachtal where all that luvly cheese is produced to the finest organic and preservative-free standards? That Meeces family deserves no less that this level of quality, so that their little bawdies can stay nice and healthy?"
🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭 🐭
Didn't hear, did the world tell me?
There's breath I am born
Disowned by a womb
The birth of one more breath,
the first breath of one more death
Similar breathing bodies
Name me and define me
Grew the intellect, grey cells
Outgrew ego till it swells
The kite soared high with a dead rat,
chased, followed by its flock
The attention just fugacious
Until the carcass gets dropped
The limelights rudely blind me,
my shadow trail behind me
As the blazing sun slip behind and forsake me
My dear shadow blaze the trail,
in toto for my sake, ever without fail
Overshadowed by sublunary shades
As darkness spread its wings
Poor shadow, cower, take cover
In refuge, yet meekly dissipate
to arise with its rekindled mate
Inane musk deer scampers incensed
Seeking its very own incense
The wolf sleeps soundly at high noon
At midnight, to bay at the moon.
Gnats busily gnaw my heart
Learn what's cheating, I get used
I'm exploited, wrung, abused
used for fun, just to be amused
I learn, in the beguiling garden,
the yearning paradise, Eden
the only fruit relished, eaten
is the one that's forbidden
Precious diamond the beggar hold
is worthless to the world.
A chip of glass with the overlord
priceless made byword.
The tidily rolled up sleeves often,
Drop down on their own
can't make a tender rose
tidily bloom by using force
The braids you let loose
Gets tangled on their own
The firmly tied shoelace
on and on gets loose
Every tick, one more step
back towards the starting line
can't count the days ahead
just count the days bygone
Alone I crawled, I won a race
with no laud, cheer or praise
Alone I walk the golden path
no hand to hold my hand
In the body, nurtured
Beats a heart inured
To drub, stab, lam
burnt right by the balm
From zero back to zero, none to no one
Zero is the path, and zero the remains
Glow bright before the fall
Smile right at the wildfire to befall
Sing a paean of praise to the zephyr
"Haul me down, else fan the fire".
Races up the raging wildfire
Razing, quenching its desire
As the leaf shrivels, falter, yet don't tire
the Golden flames consummate at the golden hour
the docile golden leaf soon withers and smoulder.
The spark gets set to leave
the meek mortal bod
Like a zealous balsam pod
Ripe, aching to explode
unbind the minute might
to merge with its source
The eternal supreme force
I lunge my chest upward
Just for one more breath
Many hands can hold and tend
though none of them can lend
Even one more peaceful suspire
When another 'I' expire.
Body the machine scuffle
The captain to forsake the vessel
The object that climbed great peaks,
made limpid music to enthral freaks
In limbo till the tummy heaves
a faint flutter, no further waiting
for the birth of one more breath
the death of one more birth
Didn't hear, did the world tell me?
No breath, I am dead.
-Anuj Nair
Anuj Nair - Music Videos
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© 2020 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
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© 2020 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.
All images and poems are the property of Anuj Nair. Using these images and text without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78-Disg 154/97-L.248/2000).All materials may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, republished, downloaded, displayed,posted or transmitted in any forms or by any means,including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording without written permission of Anuj Nair. Every violation will be pursued penally.
It's been four years since I've tried one of these, but I had promised myself I would try them again because they are fun and you get all sorts of intriguing results.
This time I tried with a different camera for the Macro Mondays theme of Motion Blur this week. This is the sort of theme I tend to enjoy, though looking at some of the others that have already been posted today I don't think I have achieved their finesse and imagination!
My thanks to Kerry for pointing the theme out to me. I've been so busy lately that I would have probably missed it. Even so this attempt was a bit rushed and ad-hoc.
The approach is straightforward: place a little camera in the centre of a record deck pointing up in a darkened room, set it to the speed for singles (45rpm if you are too young!) and dangle something glittery above it.
You may have spotted the problem with this: how do you press the shutter button? Well that's not the only problem. Taking the image in the middle of a sunny day was a problem even with the curtains shut. Not having three arms was also a problem to hold a torch, trigger the shutter and hold the dingly dangly (cocktail sticks with tinsel tassels in this case) above the spinning camera, as was getting the image down to less than three inches...
Technology solved the first problem: just use the camera's remote control software on a tablet. It worked!! Yey.
My wife said I wasn't allowed to grow a third arm as none of my shirts would then fit :(
And the three inches was solved with cropping...
This is for MM but also fits my 100x motion project :)
Thank you for taking the time to look. I hope you enjoy the image - it's looking deep into your mind (though I'm OK because there is certifiably nothing left of mine). Happy Macro Mondays and 100x :)
Ok there is a problem with this image that you might spot if you are the sort who uses your alien intellect. At 45rpm with a one-second exposure, you might expect the scene to rotate by three-quarters of a turn. but it looks more like five-eighths (check out the green line).
No.... I have no idea either (though the turntable may need adjusting... or my arithmetic...).
Photo By: Cate Infinity
Title: Crimson Valve: A Metropolis Chronicle
Genre: Steampunk Noir | Erotic Thriller | Dystopian Sci-Fantasy
Setting: Metropolis - a towering brass-and-iron city driven by steam, lawless lust, and the ticking of secrets beneath the gears.
Synopsis:
In the heart of Metropolis, where statues weep rust and neon bleeds through fog, Captain Sera Vex—an ex-military enforcer turned underground icon—moves through the streets like a whispered sin. Adorned in high-voltage latex and a mesh of kinetic threads, she hunts not for justice… but for truth. A string of disappearances has plagued the Clocktower District - where courtesans go missing and black-market memory cores are traded like flesh. The city’s elite claim innocence. The steam-driven aristocracy looks away. But Sera doesn’t look away. She stares. What begins as a simple data-retrieval contract soon spirals into a war between The Order of the Coil—a secretive cult of AI sympathizers—and The Consular Engine, Metropolis’s governing machine-intellect. With only her sharp tongue, sharper nails, and a revolver named Mercy, Sera must navigate a world of betrayal, gaslight seduction, and hidden weaponry disguised as lace. Time is ticking. And somewhere below the city, the heart of Metropolis is preparing to explode.
Hera's Metropolis: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Themyscira/124/102/2342
Soundtrack
Here's one of the pictures I took of my daughter and grandson back in November. She's given me two beautiful granddaughters and this little guy. Besides being beautiful, she's one of the smartest and hard working people I know. I've always placed more emphasis and praise on her intellect, than her looks. I don't remember her ever getting anything besides A's. I didn't have to push her, just tell her how smart she was. Maybe that was enough, she's always been very self motivated. Her photography business is doing great and she loves it. Guess you can tell I'm pretty proud of her.
Here's a link to her "City Wildflowers Photography" if you'd like to see her infant photography work.
Part of Solo Exibition Curated by Giorgio Bonomi
Senigallia (AN) 2019
Stefania Piccioni, who is used to this expressive technique, is introducing here a series of works, still lives, that recently has made.
Still life is a genre of painting that represents inanimate objects or that “live” (like vegetables). There were already still lives in Ancient Rome, then there was a big production in 16th century with Caravaggio till 19th century (Cezanne, Picasso and many others).
In photography, in which “dead nature” is called “still life”, there are many styles, from advertising to artistic. Stefania Piccioni performs still lives with great aesthetic ability and makes works that provoke pleasure and doubts at the same time. On formal plan we have to notice the smart use of light, with its jolts and glimpses that make particular things stand out. Fruits and vegetables often appear consumed in her works, so the dichotomy between life and dead is stressed: this is a proof of something that once was alive, but now it is not anymore.Stefania Piccioni’s photographs make intellect meditate on ourselves and on life that is made more pleasing and worth of living by beauty.
Giorgio Bonomi
Best of on Photovogue
"The conflict in which we exist is not a struggle between good and evil, between the self and the not-self. The struggle is in our own self-created duality, between our various self-protective desires. There cannot be a conflict between light and darkness; where light is, darkness is not. As long as fear exists, there must continue conflict, though that fear may disguise itself under different names. And as fear cannot free itself through any means, for all its efforts spring from its own source, there must be the cessation of all intellectual safeguards. This cessation comes, spontaneously, when the mind reveals to itself its own process. This takes place only when there is integral awareness, which is not the result of a discipline, or of a moral or economic system, or of enforcement.
Each one has to become aware of the process of ignorance, the illusions that one has created. Intellect cannot lead you out of this present chaos, confusion and suffering. Reason must exhaust itself, not by retreating, but through integral comprehension and love of life. When reason no longer has the capacity to protect you, through explanations, escapes, logical conclusions, then when there is complete vulnerability, utter nakedness of your whole being, there is the flame of love. Truth alone can free each one from the sorrow and confusion of ignorance. Truth is not the end of experience, it is life itself. It is not of tomorrow, it is of no time. It is not a result, an achievement, but the cessation of fear, want.
J Krishnamurti
One Lily is joy and several are a pleasure. In the wondrous white flowering there was an unfocused centre ready to be composed into a Heart. The Heart was all ready fading, the bright petals were gently time spent mouldering back to soil from where they had sprouted with their moment of splendid presentation now fading into degradation. One picture repeated and repeated to release the central pulse from the Heart of Death and of Life to fulfil the flowering out of The Lily of Life not unlike the sephira of Tiphareth on The Tree of Life.
© PHH Sykes 2025
phhsykes@gmail.com
Tiferet (Hebrew: תִּפְאֶרֶת Tip̄ʾereṯ, in pausa: תִּפְאָרֶת Tip̄ʾāreṯ, lit. 'beauty, glory, adornment')[1] alternatively Tifaret, Tiphareth, Tifereth or Tiphereth, is the sixth sefira in the kabbalistic Tree of Life. It has the common association of "Spirituality", "Balance", "Integration", "Beauty", "Miracles", and "Compassion".[2]
Description
In the Bahir it states: "Sixth is the adorned, glorious, delightful throne of glory, the house of the world to come. Its place is engraved in wisdom as it says 'God said: Let there be light, and there was light.'" [3]
Tiferet is the force that integrates the sefira of Chesed ("Kindness") and Gevurah ("Strength", also called Din, "Judgement"). These two forces are, respectively, expansive (giving) and restrictive (receiving). Either of them without the other could not manifest the flow of Divine energy; they must be balanced in perfect proportion by balancing compassion with discipline. This balance can be seen in the role of Tiferet, wherein the conflicting forces are harmonized, and creation flowers forth. Tiferet also similarly balances Netzach and Hod. In that case, Hod can be seen as the intellect whereas Netzach is seen as emotion.
"It is the marriage of the soul with nature that makes the intellect fruitful, and gives birth to imagination." ~Henry David Thoreau
Oh evergreen forests of the northwest, you speak such a lovely language. One that feels both new and ancient, one of quiet knowledge and spirited birth. You are stoic, you are vibrant. Your age is seen in the girth of your trunks, but your liveliness lingers all through the months.
Yachats, Oregon
Baku, Azerbaijan
It there is an indication or measure of a city's culture or intellect then chess might be one of those measures. Dotted all along the promenade are these giant chess boards, complete with giant pieces. Clearly, chess is a popular game in Baku and I dare say throughout Azerbaijan as well as there were matches being played morning, noon and night.
I'd go as far to say that it's not something you would come across in any UK city, mainly because all the pieces would get nicked or smashed in the first 24 hours... the Manchester Mobikes thefts and vandalism a case in point!
It was only when I got home did I discover the popularity of chess in Azerbaijan and it's most famous son - Garry Kimovich Kasparov, World champion 1985-1993 (undisputed) and 1993-2000 (classical)
AUM BHOOR BHUWAH SWAHA,
TAT SAVITUR VARENYAM
BHARGO DEVASAYA DHEEMAHI
DHIYO YO NAHA PRACHODAYAT.
Summary of the Gayatri Mantra
Gayatri Mantra (the mother of the vedas), the foremost mantra in hinduism and hindu beliefs, inspires wisdom. Its meaning is that "May the Almighty God illuminate our intellect to lead us along the righteous path". The mantra is also a prayer to the "giver of light and life" - the sun (savitur).
Oh God! Thou art the Giver of Life,
Remover of pain and sorrow,
The Bestower of happiness,
Oh! Creator of the Universe,
May we receive thy supreme sin-destroying light,
May Thou guide our intellect in the right direction.
Yes Zoltar, you are correct. I am one of the most handsome men to ever live on planet earth. My intellect is beyond compare and no one can compete with how humble I am. For my dollar I expected more than what I already know. My complaint with you is these so called lucky numbers. While they are numbers I do not feel that are really lucky at all. Based on your ticket I waged two dollars on the lottery. I did not win. I AM NOT HAPPY! So, I believe that you owe me a new Fujifilm XF 10-24 lens. While that is quite a bit less than the $700,000,000 that you cost me, I will settle. By the way, to show my gratitude I will give you a 4 star review on the site of you choice. I will up it to a 5 star if you throw in a new tripod.
Thanks,
Tracy
World Parkinson’s Disease Day marks the birthday of Dr. J Parkinson.
Dr. Parkinson first described the disease in “An Essay on the Shaking Palsy”, he described a pattern of lessened muscular power, involuntary tremulous motion, even if these are supported.
There is at tendency to bend the body forwards, and to involuntarily switch from a walking to a running pace, while the sense and intellect deteriorate.
On this day there are efforts made to increase the public awareness of this terrible disease, as well as all the good works put forth by the worlds organizations dedicated to eradicating this disease. There are activities to promote this the entire world over, and the opportunity to participate is open to any and all who want to help in this effort.
www.daysoftheyear.com/days/world-parkinsons-disease-day/
La Giornata mondiale malattia di Parkinson è un evento che si tiene ogni anno l’11 aprile per sensibilizzare e far conoscere una malattia degenerativa che in Italia ha già colpito 230mila persone.
L’obiettivo di questa Giornata è coinvolgere sempre più persone nella lotta contro il Parkinson e dare un contributo alla ricerca di una cura per questa malattia.
L’11 aprile è la data di nascita del dottor James Parkinson, che nel 1817 aveva pubblicato il “Saggio sulla paralisi agitante”. Grazie al suo lavoro il Parkinson è stato riconosciuto come patologia medica a livello internazionale.
La prima Giornata mondiale del Parkinson si è tenuta l’11 aprile 1997 ed è stata organizzata dalla European Parkinson Disease e dalla Organizzazione mondiale della sanità.
www.tpi.it/2018/04/10/parkinson-giornata-mondiale-2018/
Bruno Lauzi e la sua malattia
La sua lettera a Mister Parkinson
Egregio Signore, non è con piacere che le scrivo questa lettera, ma d'altra parte avrei dovuto parlarle a quattr'occhi, affrontarla di persona, sopportare quel suo subdolo modo di fare che è quanto c'è di peggio per far perdere la pazienza anche ad un santo, figuriamoci a me.
Le scrivo, come può notare, col computer, perché la mia calligrafia s'è fatta illeggibile e così minuscola che i miei collaboratori devono usare la lente d'ingrandimento per riuscire a decifrarla…
Perché le scrivo? È presto detto: io ho superato con una certa disinvoltura l'imbarazzo che lei (l'ho scritto senza maiuscola, non la merita) mi ha creato chiedendo pubblicamente la mia mano ed ovviamente ottenendola. Convivere con un ufficiale inglese a riposo, già condannato nel Punjab per ripetuti tentativi di violenza neurologica su qualunque essere di qualunque specie (le cose si vengono a sapere, come vede…) non è stato facile, la mia è una famiglia è all’antica e non ha apprezzato.
MA ORA LEI STA ESAGERANDO, signore, glielo devo dire. Quando è troppo è troppo, e il troppo stroppia! C'è un proverbio arabo che dice: «Se hai un amico di miele non lo leccare tutto», INVECE LEI S'APPROFITTA D'OGNI RILASSATEZZA, DELL'ABBASSAMENTO DELLA GUARDIA NELLA BATTAGLIA QUOTIDIANA, ci proibisce di pensare ad altro, contando sulla superficialità con cui io ho affrontato l’insorgere del male… si sa, gli artisti sono farfalloni incoscienti… no, vecchio caprone, non le sarà facile, né con me né con gli altri, la Resistenza è cominciata. Perché, vede, io e i miei fratelli e sorelle malati abbiamo tante cose da fare, una vita da portare avanti meglio di così!
D'ora in avanti prometto che starò più attento ai consigli dei miei dottori, e che mi impegnerò maggiormente nell’aiutarli nella raccolta dei fondi necessari per la ricerca. Anzi sul tema della solidarietà mi ci gioco una mano, la mano che, pitturata e serigrafata fa da piedistallo ad una poesia contro di lei, colonnello dei miei stivali, funzionando da incentivo a dare... già, poiché a chiunque faccia un'offerta per la ricerca verrà inviata «LA MANO» come ricordo e memento…
Siamo in tanti, tante mani si leveranno contro di lei e cercheranno di restituirle colpo su colpo fino a quando non riusciranno ad acchiapparla per la collottola e mandarla all’Inferno cui appartiene, bestiaccia immonda, sterco del demonio, nostra croce senza delizie… Parola mia, di questo omino per molti un po' buffo, per altri un po' patetico, ma che vive il sogno di poterla, un giorno non lontano, prendere a schiaffi. A mano ferma. Mi stia male e a non rivederla.
Bruno Lauzi
25 ottobre 2006
www.corriere.it/Primo_Piano/Spettacoli/2006/10_Ottobre/25...
Ciao Bruno la "bestiaccia immonda" ti ha portato via ma tu resterai sempre nei nostri cuori e continueremo con passione a portare avanti la tua battaglia.
In a town so inconspicuous that it eluded every map, there dwelt a young inventor by the name of Elian Tinkerfield. Elian was captivated by the cogs of time, by seconds piling into minutes, and minutes constructing hours. His life was a tribute to clocks and chronometers, and at the tender age of twenty, he commenced his magnum opus: a time machine.
Day and night Elian toiled, spurred on by a melody once heard from an ancient music box, which whispered in refrain: "bitte bleib stehen, bleib stehen, Zeit." His contraption was a fantastical assembly of pendulums and steam, of copper pipes and aged pocket watches gleaned from the stalls of flea markets. And then, one day, as the clock struck twelve, he activated the device and unfurled a shimmering time portal.
Stepping through, Elian emerged in a realm where time coursed backward. Children gambolled in retrograde innocence, the aged reverted to youth, and Elian himself became... 101 years of age. He had been rendered an old man, yet with the intellect of a youth.
He ambled through a world at once familiar and bizarre. Rivers flowed uphill, trees defoliated only to burst into full bloom. Elian perceived that all once beautiful was unwinding in reverse. He witnessed lovers devolving from passionate embraces to shy glances and thought, "Ah, if it could but last forever."
Yet Elian knew he could not linger in this antithetical cosmos. He yearned to preserve the beauty of the moment where youth was not adversity, and the end did not loom. Thus, he returned to the machine and reverted the flow of time.
He arrived back in his own era, not as the youth he once was, but as a centenarian, ensnared in time's relentless current.
The machine was never again employed. He now understood the words of the song that had once inspired him: "bitte bleib stehen, bleib stehen, Zeit." But time would not heed such pleas. It is a future that cannot be conjured.
In his final days, Elian found solace in life's minutiae—the smile of a child, the warmth of the sun, the aroma of freshly baked bread. He had lived, had loved, and now it was time to depart, as the song went, "when it is most wondrous."
When Elian at last closed his eyes forever, the world paused for an infinitesimal moment — in the perfect moment.
Photography’s potential as a great image-maker and communicator is really no different from the same potential in the best poetry where familiar, everyday words, placed within a special context, can soar above the intellect and touch subtle reality in a unique way. -- Paul Caponigro
"There is a road from the eye to the heart that does not go through the intellect."
~ Gilbert K. Chesterton
The second image from the Loudoun County wheat field shoot. Again, the mountain in the background is Bull Run Mountain. This field is not far from Manassas National Battlefield. :)
Please do take a moment and click on the image to see it large on a black background. It really looks nicer that way and thank you in advance for looking at my work and for any comments, critiques and favorites. :)
“Compassion is the only energy that can help us connect with another person.
The person who has no compassion in him can never be happy.”
Thich Nhat Hanh
"The functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy."
Dean Koontz
“There is no strength in feeling superior to others.
True strength lies in being kind and compassionate to all.”
Roger Chillingworth
I was feeling really down last night, as well as this morning right from when I woke up. Things have been really tough over the past year. I was turning the possibility of sharing this with you over in my mind, over, and over, and over... I was not sure whether I had the confidence, and whether it would make any difference.
I've concluded that it does. If I don't address pain, either artistically or verbally, then nothing will change. It is at least worth a try. I think Brad said it best: Flickr is cheap ass therapy.
My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease right before his 60th birthday, which was this past December. He is already in stage three of seven -- very unusual for someone so young. In addition to the fact that it's a fatal disease, he will soon become someone entirely different, with not a clue who I am, or who he is, who he was, who he will be. I can see changes as the months go by, some months more than others. He was a political science professor at Columbia for most of his career, then was a dean, chief financial officer and provost there as well. His life has been built on his extraordinary intellect -- one that moved me to academia, helped incite my passion for philosophy and dreams of becoming a professor. Now he is on disability and finds himself lonely and listless most days, while everyone else is working and busy. He is rediscovering himself, and the talented parts of him that were latent all these years, but it doesn't take away from the struggle on a day-to-day basis. He has always been humble, frank, moderate, and inward, but he has shed some of his hurtful tendencies -- he is less analytic, more feeling and embracing of everything around him. All too many had accused him, say ten years ago, of being withholding and emotionally unavailable, to his wife (my stepmother) and me and my sister. He is so different now. It is, I supposed, something of a Catch-22: my father has metamorphosed into one of the most beautiful souls I've ever known, but this is all too fleeting.
But perhaps it is this transience that gives it such sweetness and value.
Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, my pretty one, sleeps.
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
-- Tennyson
"All things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man... the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports."
I am representing the magical element of Air! Air is the element of creativity, intellect, and clear articulation. A powerful element for new beginnings, self-expression, and happiness.
~Attire:
ERSCH - Champagne Bodysuit & Choker & Melfea Cape
Shoes:
ERSCH - Dots Boots
~Hair:
Wasabi // Elenoire Windblown
-- Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra
We are all multi-faceted; we have many emotions, desires, preferences, and personalities. I am certainly no exception. Most of my self-portraits thus far have been rather ... serious, or at least generally so. I've felt as though my creativity is limited to my 'deep thoughts' and my sense of humor isn't as applicable. Mainly, I'm usually just not smiling (with the exception of three or so shots). Some individuals (though I will not name them) had a first impression of me as someone serious, uptight, ... whatever. When I heard that, I laughed. And then thought to myself, hmm, is that true? No. Fair enough, but is that how I want others to perceive me? It's definitely not how I perceive myself. I like to have others see me as I'd like to be seen (who doesn't?) -- and I'd like to be seen as who I truly am, not some ideal. Truly, I laugh constantly. I joke constantly. I am too sarcastic. I make really, really corny jokes (e.g. "What do you call cheese that isn't yours? ... Na-cho cheese!" & "What time do you go to the dentist? ... Tooth-hurty!" & etc. etc. ad infinitum...). I love slapstick humor (e.g. Mel Brooks is my hero). Et al.
I am also deeply devoted to the intellect. I'm a philosopher by nature and college degree, and I love it more than just about anything. I know this part of me has come forth strongly in my photostream. I also studied neuroscience as an accompaniment to my theories about consciousness and personal identity. I've learned never to take a single thing for granted, believe anything beyond a shadow of a doubt, or throw my words around haphazardly. Sure, this makes me an analytic bastard who is anal about semantics and logic. People tend to find this tedious. So I have to reconcile two parts of myself: the silly idiot who is always ready to laugh at her own expense, and the thoroughly introspective and scientific seeker. Throw in creativity (which I *think* I have ;-) and you've got me. A big melting pot of talent, absurdity, philosophy, and passion.
Many thanks and love to Maite for picking "Self-Reflection" as today's FGR theme.
& GTWL anniversary edition -- Clones.
Day 75.
& of course: View On Black!
©2015 RESilU | Please don't use this image without my explicit permission.
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Intellect takes you to the door, but it doesn`t take you into the house.
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40 Rules of Love by Shams Tabrizi
Rule 16
Real filth is the one inside. The rest simply washes off. There is only one type of dirt that cannot be cleansed with pure waters, and that is the stain of hatred and bigotry contaminating the soul. You can purify your body through abstinence and fasting, but only love will purify your heart
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View my images here www.fluidr.com/photos/rigsrocks
Best viewed large!
I really love this photo better with these Agapanthus leading the way, in front of The Palace Of Fine Arts....I have never seen healthier Agapanthus plants anywhere else, than these...The Daylillies also were around the lagoon that I posted in the last few days.
Wiki...
The Palace of Fine Arts in the Marina District of San Francisco, California, is a monumental structure originally constructed for the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition in order to exhibit works of art presented there. One of only a few surviving structures from the Exposition, it is still situated on its original site. It was rebuilt in 1965, and renovation of the lagoon, walkways, and a seismic retrofit were completed in early 2009.
In addition to hosting art exhibitions, it remains a popular attraction for tourists and locals and is a favorite location for weddings and wedding party photographs for couples throughout the San Francisco Bay Area and such an icon that a miniature replica of it was built in Disney's California Adventure in Anaheim.[3]
Built around a small artificial lagoon, the Palace of Fine Arts is composed of a wide, 1,100 ft (340 m) pergola around a central rotunda situated by the water.[10] The lagoon was intended to echo those found in classical settings in Europe, where the expanse of water provides a mirror surface to reflect the grand buildings and an undisturbed vista to appreciate them from a distance.
Ornamentation includes Bruno Louis Zimm's three repeating panels around the entablature of the rotunda, representing "The Struggle for the Beautiful", symbolizing Greek culture.[11] while Ulric Ellerhusen supplied the weeping women atop the colonnade[12] and the sculptured frieze and allegorical figures representing Contemplation, Wonderment and Meditation.[13][14]
The underside of the Palace rotunda's dome features eight large insets, which originally contained murals by Robert Reid. Four depicted the conception and birth of Art, "its commitment to the Earth, its progress and acceptance by the human intellect," and the four "golds" of California (poppies, citrus fruits, metallic gold, and wheat).[15]
yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us
hg wells
The shade of yellow determines the meaning. Pure, bright and sunny yellow is the easiest color to see. People who are blind to other colors can usually see yellow. Yellow is full of creative and intellectual energy. Always use yellow note pads.
Yellow symbolizes wisdom. Yellow means joy and happiness. People of high intellect favor yellow. Yellow daffodils are a symbol of unrequited love. Sunday's color is yellow-gold.
Yellow Energy
Like the energy of a bright sunny day, yellow brings clarity and awareness. The shade of yellow determines its effect: Yellow-green can mean deceit, and creates a disoriented feeling. Orange-yellow imparts a sense of establishment. Clean light yellow clears the mind, making it active and alert.
Put some yellow in your life when you want:
clarity for decision-making
relief from 'burnout', panic, nervousness, exhaustion
sharper memory and concentration skills
protection from lethargy and depression during dull weather
In the celebrated metropolis of London, during the year 1837, an era wherein steam reigned as the sovereign of invention and the harbinger of man's mastery over nature, there was convened a conclave of women unparalleled in their intellect and indomitable in their courage. The Aetherian Coalescence, they were titled, each a luminary in her own right, united under the banner of progress and the pursuit of the ethereal realms.
Lady Penelope Hargreaves, the scion of a lineage graced with the acumen of engineering, her hands adept at weaving the intricate lattices of clockwork that gave pulse to their airborne leviathan. Dr. Arabella Swithenbank, whose steam engines thrummed with a vigor that was the very essence of Prometheus’ fire. Miss Theodosia Barrow , an enchantress of the voltaic forces, her devices casting the brilliance of a thousand captured lightning bolts across the span of their craft. Dame Guinevere Loxley, the cartographer whose charts rivalled the celestial maps of the ancients, a guiding star in their odyssey. And Miss Isambard Brunella, a machinist of such deftness that her creations spoke of a harmony between the artisan's touch and the unyielding metals of the earth.
The vessel of their dreams, "The Celestial Peregrine," stood poised upon the cusp of dawn, her silhouette a testament to humanity's ascendancy over the bonds of gravity, her engines a symphony of steam and steel. As the first light of morning kissed the Thames, the airship ascended, a ballet of gears and gales, into the empyrean canvas above.
Yet, as is the wont of fate, the skies unveiled their tempestuous heart, challenging these daughters of Icarus with a squall of such ferocity that it seemed as though the firmament itself sought to reclaim its dominion from the hands of mortals. But amidst the maelstrom, the resolve of The Aetherian Coalescence shone with the steadfastness of the North Star, and it was by their unity and the fortitude of their creation that “The Celestial Peregrine” was guided safely through the tumult, descending not in wreckage upon the tumultuous sea but upon the embrace of the verdant earth with the grace of a nightingale alighting upon its nest.
From this odyssey emerged a revelation, a spark of genius that would illuminate the path of progress henceforth. They devised an apparatus, a marvel of valvular alchemy, which would render the steam engines of the future not only more robust against the caprices of the tempest but also more gracious in their consumption of the coals that fed them. This mechanism, born from the exigencies of their voyage, became the cornerstone of an epoch wherein the skies teemed with the silhouettes of airships, each a scion of "The Celestial Peregrine," carrying aloft not only the affluent but all who yearned for the splendor of the heavens.
Thus, The Aetherian Coalescence had not simply touched the skies; they had transmuted the very fabric of human aspiration, setting the celestial highways abuzz with the promise of adventures untold. It was a testament to the boundless potential when the ingenuity of the human spirit is applied to the realms of the possible, and it was in this spirit that the age of aerial travel flourished, under the watchful eyes of the five who had first chartered its course.
"By day seek the heights of the sun
And by midnight its abode in hell,
Where we are drunk upon the blood-vine
That spills from the grape vine
Of old Dionysus well
I behold self in the black of the moonless night,
Another death, another doom to foretell!
To old Baphomet
I proffer this life
Shedding blood and a dark soul to sell!
Misrule!
Misrule!
Oh, how wise is the fool
Of empty spaces
Barren places
The Devil's illumination
Misrule!
Misrule!
Oh how wise is the fool
Of empty spaces
Desolation
The Devil's exaltation
By Night we seek the sun in its nadir
And by day its glorious heights
As we glut upon the sacrament
Offered up by self-interment
Within the intellect of Old Night
I beseech the Other, my reflection,
My brother, another life,
Won through strife and the toll of Death's bell !
Before Persephone I ground all dismay
And make a paradise of the grandeur of hell !
Misrule!
Misrule!
Oh, how wise is the fool
Of empty spaces
Barren places
The Devil's illumination
Misrule!
Misrule!
Oh, how wise is the fool
Of empty spaces
Desolation
The Devil's Exaltation
Towards the gate of the Zeroth
Thrust imagination's divine key
Like the spear of Saint Longinus
To pierce the body of his highness
And let his blood run endlessly free
To fall unto me! To fall unto me!
And now i shall know
And now I shall see
The All which revolves about the nail
Turns ever paradoxically!."
"I feel grateful for all I've learned
and the people to whom I turned
Now like a river flowing to the Sea
I let them all go now to their own destiny
while I follow that one Light blazing in me
I'm gonna live my own dream again
I'm gonna live my own dream again
I'm gonna break through these clouds of rain
Straight to that bright shining sun
In the name of the One
I stake my claim
where I live my own dream again."
Ganga Fondan, 2009
All week I've been singing this song in order to stir up some feelings of ache and desire again. When my rational mind reminds me of my losses, my songs lead me back to a place of hope, of faith and courage again. Staring at the evergiving Ocean, my heart rises once more to declare its intent. I draw strength from the words:
"Your Consciousness is the spark and Universal Consciousness is the blaze and they are one and the same. Constantly reflecting on the meaning of this Truth and silencing the constant chatter of the intellect brings this Truth to our realization. This is referred to as crossing over the Ocean of Consciousness." - Tulshi Sen, "Ancient Secrets of Success for Today's World"
Le partage ça s'apprend.
La douceur est un partage.
La nourriture qui ce partage.
L'amitié se partage les plaisirs.
La dévotion ça ce partage à deux.
Le plaisir de partager ses sentiments.
La gentillesse ça se partage sans réserve.
Le respect se bâtit avec le temps et le partage.
Le partage, l'amour, la joie, le bonheur pour la vie.
La photo et le partage peuvent devenir une passion.
La passion tissant des rapprochements avec la faune ailée.
La sensibilité esthétique est tout à fait digne des hommes.
L’œil qui appréhende la beauté avec autant de créativité.
La fragilité rend toute chose infiniment plus précieuse.
L'émotion au moment d'appuyer sur le déclencheur.
L'esprit créatif cultivant des liens avec sa nature.
L'œil derrière le viseur, et la nature dans l'œil.
La nature dans l'Art et un art dans la nature.
La patience nous apprend à immortaliser ces moments si précieux. L’esprit qui désire se concentré devra éliminer toutes les distractions. La photo fait appel aux sens, aux émotions, aux intuitions et à l'intellect.
La passion est une nature dominante qui se dévoue gaîment à son art. La nature procure aux yeux attentifs les plus beaux spectacles du monde. La photographie ajoute au plaisir des yeux celui d'un divertissement sans fin.
Les Geais bleu au bout de mon zoom téléobjectif.
Pour le plaisir et la joie qu'elle me procure,
la passion des images.
Michel Villeneuve53
Objectif 100% Nature
© All Rights reserved no publication without permission.
© Tous droits réservés aucune publication sans la permission.
In the center of your heart lies a door to heaven.
As you open it, you're met with hosts of heavenly
helpers ready to serve and guide you. You must
go deep within, to the core of your being, however,
to find the door. It can't be entered through the
intellect and will never be found through others.
Sonia Choquette.
Chapter I: The Fallible Revelation.
"Somewhere along today's modern prairie of debauchery and forgotten ambition lies the essence of humankind's ego. A fine and convoluted mess of what-ifs and soon to be has-beens. This fact remains the unspoken and sad perennial truth of your reluctant ontological overview on reality, doesn't it? And the real truth is.." The vampire explained before slowly willing herself to emerge rather gracefully from the shadowy depths, which had previously only exposed a luminous pair of sleepless eyes. ".. The moment you set foot down here you became inescapably doomed," the creature finished with the tiniest timbre of melancholy invading her somber explanation.
"I'm sorry to say that I spin no greater comedy upon either of you. Consider yourselves unlucky - curse your specific god, if it helps. It is what it is. And remember - this whole farce is Mother Earth's eternal punchline, and she ought to be afforded that credit."
Before the confused pair had digested the gravity of their situation she pounced at them with an indiscriminate and preternatural speed barely visible to the naked eye. Anguish, screams and finally their whimpering pleas came to an end - and as death passed the vampire by like some nameless vapor, which ultimately turns out to be nothing at all, she obtained some semblance of tranquility.
In regards to the unsuspecting couple who in their ultimate blunder had engaged this darling figure in curious pursuit down into those dank and subterranean maintenance tunnels - yes, it was their unmistakable end. As expected the vampire initially felt little to no remorse during any blood repast. By now it could be surmised and perhaps underlined that such a manipulative being had the intellect of a serial killer and the hunting prowess of a panther.
It was an elementary thing to tow victims into their final vista before the butchery began. This barbarous routine rarely demanded these extravagant mind games, but the vampire was nothing if not self-absorbed and theatrical in nature .. And it kept things somewhat interesting.
Or at least that is what she had been continually telling herself for untold centuries of time. Yes, an ocean of time had probably elapsed by now. Though perhaps within some violently repressed section of where the heart formerly pulsed epiphany and the sting of folly in pure nihilism was finally beginning to take its toll on her. No one knew, and certainly none were alive to speak otherwise.
www.flickr.com/photos/184806716@N02/53829633506/in/pool-i...
Behold the resplendent beauty of the Blue-and-Yellow Macaw, a magnificent creature that graces the skies with its vibrant plumage and charismatic presence. With feathers of azure blue and sunlit yellow, it is a living masterpiece, painted by the hand of nature herself.
This remarkable bird hails from the lush rainforests of South America, where it soars through the canopy with effortless grace, its wings outstretched in a display of freedom and vitality. With a playful spirit and a raucous call that echoes through the jungle, the Blue-and-Yellow Macaw embodies the wild spirit of its tropical homeland.
But beyond its stunning appearance lies a creature of intelligence and social grace. Known for its keen intellect and ability to form strong bonds with its human companions, the Blue-and-Yellow Macaw captivates hearts with its curious gaze and affectionate nature.
Whether perched among the branches or taking flight against the backdrop of a tropical sunset, the Blue-and-Yellow Macaw enchants all who encounter it, reminding us of the boundless beauty and diversity of the natural world.
May we cherish and protect these magnificent birds, ensuring that future generations can continue to marvel at their splendor and grace.
Fly high, dear Blue-and-Yellow Macaw, and may your vibrant colors light up the skies for generations to come. 🌈
www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNpeK7sDLzE
Gabrielle Aplin - The Power of Love
El corazón frente a la razón
El corazón me manifiesta una cosa y la razón me propone otra. Cuando se delibera sobre el corazón, no concierne lo mucho que se pronuncie el intelecto, ni se subleven aquellos que se hallan a nuestro alrededor, porque al final, la seducción es algo tan sintético, que la pugna persiste e insiste en asentarse en la cabeza apaciguando al talento.
The heart versus reason
The heart manifests one thing to me and reason proposes another. When it is deliberated about the heart it does not matter how much the intellect is pronounced, nor those who are around us revolt, because in the end the seduction is something so synthetic that the struggle persists and insists on settling in the head appeasing the talent .
Le coeur contre la raison
Le cœur me manifeste une chose et la raison en propose une autre. Quand il est question de cœur, peu importe la façon dont l'intellect est prononcé, ni ceux qui nous entourent se révoltent, car à la fin, la séduction est une chose si synthétique que la lutte persiste et insiste pour s'installer dans la tête et apaiser le talent.
Il cuore contro la ragione
Il cuore mi manifesta una cosa e la ragione ne propone un'altra. Quando viene deliberato sul cuore, non importa quanto l'intelletto sia pronunciato, né coloro che sono intorno a noi si ribellano, perché alla fine la seduzione è qualcosa di così sintetico che la lotta persiste e insiste nel sistemarsi in testa per placare il talento
María
Walter Percy Chrysler, whose amazing career as a locomotive machinist, who purchased a locomotive in 1908 that he took apart and reassembled serval times before using it, was hired by Charles Nash of Buick part of General Motors in 1911 to use his intellect and mechanical knowhow to solve engineering & production problems. When founder William Durant returned to helm at GM in 1916 Chrysler was made president and general manager of Buick. Resigned in 1919 because of direction Durant was taking GM. Hired to rescue ailing Willys-Overland, which he did and was financially rewarded, though he failed to take it over. Then he worked with another ailing automotive company Maxwell which he would eventually acquire successfully and eventually became Chrysler Corporation. Chrysler envisioned an amazing skyscraper in New York City (he was living in Great Neck on Long Island) that would when he brought this property on 42nd Street from Coney Island developer William H. Reynold for $2 million and he hired William Van Allen to design his crowning jewel, the 1,048 foot Art Deco masterpiece with its massive 125 foot spire. The tallest building in the world until the Empire State Building opened in 1931, the lighting in the upper windows did not happen until late in the 20th century that is seen in this image captured by Grand Central Terminal. OM Systems Olympus OM-D EM-1 Mark III Olympus OM Systems Olympus M.Zuiko PRO 12-40 f2.8 #developportdev @gothamtomato @developphotonewsletter @omsystem.cameras #excellent_america #omsystem @bheventspace @bhphoto @adorama @tamracphoto @tiffencompany #usaprimeshot #tamractales @mpbcom @kehcamera @nycurbanism @nycprimeshot @nybucketlist #omd #olympus #olympusphotography #microfourthirds #micro43 #micro43photography @chrysler_building @chryslerbuildingtoday