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"i love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically."
Anais Nin, from a letter to Henry Miller
for December 09 MSH: "Oh, the weather outside is frightful.."
Actually I have to say that the weather in SF is typically not frightful.. or rarely that bad.. so I was at a bit of a loss for this category. Was going to do some fun snow stuff in picnik.. but then thought his expression kinda fit with the phrase... :) Not the rest of the song by any stretch.. but oh well.... :)
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Lorsque la Lessiveuse a extrait nos malheurs, il est là pour pêcher l’espoir et le rendre au monde.
www.ciecreature.fr/les-irreels.html
festival-marionnette.com/evenements/les-irreels
.. .
Big big big thank you EVERYONE for your generous support (visits, comms, congrats, faves, invites, notes, galleries, awards, votes...), deeply appreciated !
May peace, health and wisdom prevail everywhere on Earth and forever.
.. .
(MUCH BETTER SEEN LARGE : please press L, or Z twice)
Light dances on the seabed, where Giant Green Anemones wait for prey. Yes, the Pacific is blue, but I have often observed that it's also green. A quick search for the reason led me to a phenomenon called coastal upwelling. I found out that I live by one of only four major upwelling ecosystems in the world.
Each summer, relentless winds from the north (which can make beach walks feel like an uphill climb) push our coastal waters offshore, assisted by Earth’s eastward rotation away from the sea. And what happens when you push water away? Other water comes in to replace it. Cool water from the deep, loaded with nutrients, is pulled up and fuels explosive growth of foundational organisms, including phytoplankton, leading to the green color! The well of colder water not only allows a wonderful variety of animals to thrive but also causes the iconic summer fog situation.
What an intriguing word that is: Upwelling. I can't stop thinking about it. Do you know that thrill when you finally can match a name to something you feel inside? I often feel a mystical upwelling of wordless knowing, especially when near the ocean.
Image taken at Angel of Pain maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Angel%20of%20Pain/60/124/4000
A Clear Midnight
Walt Whitman 1819 –1892
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
"There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen"- Rumi ❤
Thank-you to all who take the time to comment on my photos it is greatly appreciated.
The Other Kingdoms
Consider the other kingdoms. The
trees, for example, with their mellow-sounding
titles: oak, aspen, willow.
Or the snow, for which the peoples of the north
have dozens of words to describe its
different arrivals. Or the creatures, with their
thick fur, their shy and wordless gaze. Their
infallible sense of what their lives
are meant to be. Thus the world
grows rich, grows wild, and you too,
grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too
were born to be.
~ Mary Oliver
re-edited and re-imagined
ACCIDENTS IN THE PERCEPTION OF TIME
"Modes of perception: between channels:
Wordless days, years, periods.
Centuries of drawing with black lead, or burnt sienna on the rock.
Restless scratches. Silhouettes of clumsy figures.
A tangle of lines (animals in motion).
Millennia of the word: winding of words around the body, lashing,
silhouettes of clumsy sentences. Space behind them.
Muting: and a surge of noisy images. Unravel. Span.
Look like you understand.
A hand for joy: draw.
A hand.
A hand: survive, kill.
A mouth for the voice (play, cheat). Open. For someone else.
Like with like (Picasso in the cave). And bridges!
For yourself. For someone else."
--by Mária Ferenčuhová
Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding line, and no way of knowing how near the harbor was. "Light! Give me light!" was the wordless cry of my soul, and the light of love shone on me in that very hour.
Helen Keller
Évocateur de défunt, au travers de ses mélodies ressurgissent nos oubliés.
Il nous accompagne sur le chemin du souvenir.
www.ciecreature.fr/les-irreels.html
festival-marionnette.com/evenements/les-irreels
.. .
Big big big thank you EVERYONE for your generous support (visits, comms, congrats, faves, invites, notes, galleries, awards, votes...), deeply appreciated !
May peace, health and wisdom prevail everywhere on Earth and forever.
.. .
(MUCH BETTER SEEN LARGE : please press L, or Z twice)
rank 290 in Flickr's Explore March 30, 2025
Un administrateur a rejeté votre photo pour The Amazing Photos.
Give me the words to sing along
Show me the love ....
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzmdKBPSgA8
In the depth of my soul there is a wordless song
A song that lives in the seed of my heart
Kahlil Gibran
© All rights reserved Anna Kwa. Please do not use this image on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit written permission
A something in a summer’s noon, -
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.
(E. Dickinson, A something in a summer's day)
Arcano Superiore, Friulian hills.
The gradual thawing of the ice cliffs continues to erase the winter we had and as much as I anticipate for spring to arrive, the remaining icy spectacles of winter does not make me weary. It may be slushy, I still enjoy the walks along the boardwalk and the coast of the waterfront.
(I just realized this photo is upload #666! - including all photos that are switched to private)
Enjoy your Sunday :)
No words were used in this creation.Oooops! I did actually use two words “ side profile” in my pic search in Unsplash for the face I used with my “art” piece. What you see was not influenced or conceived by any of the latest Artificial Intelligence apps
Using those "dynos" to expert effect, Steve made the required stop at the E&LS (former Milwaukee Road) crossing. Sadly the depot is gone now, as I understand the result of arson. After this I returned to the cab of the lead unit and wordlessly disassembled camera and lens and put them away in my overnight bag. The boss eyed my actions intently and when I was done, I looked back at him and said "Steve, the 5411 is loading just fine." We were fast approaching a meeting with a relief crew from the Michigan Division in Gladstone, and we actually did cross into Yooper Land where the Division Manager met us at Faithorn as I recall. The ride back to Stevens Point was long and tired, but I felt rewarded in my discovery of many miles of obscure backwoods Soo Line (much of that Shawano Sub is now a hiking trail) and my enhanced respect as to how generations of "Soo Liners" made money out of it.
As I told you all a coupe of weeks ago (see my Where the thoughts have no name) I have recently unearthed a folder with an Autumn sunrise session taken at a precious location in November 2017 - a magic place I love very much. To give a contest of the situation I am quoting below from the text accompanying my A wordless dialogue, the only photo from that session I uploaded at that time.
[... At last] I resorted to my favourite enchanted garden - a small, peaceful corner of land along the valley of the river Adda: just downstream Lake Como, just before the river enters the Padan Plain - a handful of meanders and a plot of wetlands where secret, ancient words spiral in the air along with the breaths of the river and the earth.
As the sky was slowly brightening a dense, shapeless mist rose from the river - a precious feature of the location, but... well, it looked too dense that morning. Every hint of detail was engulfed and nullified by that milky, glowing nothingness. However I shot a lot of bracketings, faintly hoping that in post-processing (thanks to the raw magic of RAW files) I would be able to make something emerge from that apparent nothingness. But, believe me, it was a bit frustrating - quite a poor day to seize, as an impudent voice kept repeating in the back of my mind.
The sun was already climbing above the horizon, largely ignoring both the frustrating blanket of fog hovering over the river and my little feelings about it - and lo!, suddenly the world was emerging all around me, like the restored backup of a long-forgotten dream. [etc.]
This bracketing has been captured as I was merely trusting the magic of raw files; silent ghosts of mist were wandering all around me, whispering secret words, and only the faintest glow was suggesting that the sun was rising, after all.
I have obtained this picture by blending an exposure bracketing [-1.3/0/+1.3 EV] by luminosity masks in the Gimp (EXIF data, as usual, refer to the "normal" exposure shot). Raw files processed with Darktable.
As to Darktable... It is a really wonderful piece of software, but I am aware of my being still a novice; so I hope that somenone experienced in Darktable reads these words and can help me. When processing these raw files I have seen something emerge from a milky nearnothingness and all was perfect. I have exported the raw files, as usual, in TIFF 16-bits uncompressed format and... and now there were bands through the mist - especially in the underexposed shot; nothing like that in Darktable, though, just in the exported TIFFs... Any suggestion about this?
All the people in our little man's life...
Had put these aside for LOAD but had no idea I would use them up all at once!
Touched by Light
The light opens — warm, wordless, wide.
No need to chase the sky.
I bow to breath, to bones, to broom.
This moment is enough.
in the depth of my soul there is
a wordless song - a song that lives
in the seed of my heart.
it refuses to melt with ink on
parchment; it engulfs my affection
in a transparent cloak and flows,
but not upon my lips.
it is a song composed by contemplation,
and published by silence,
and shunned by clamor,
and folded by truth,
and repeated by dreams,
and understood by love,
and hidden by awakening,
and sung by the soul.
from song of the soul XXII
khalil gibran
Lamentations 3:6 “He has made me live in dark places, like those who have long been dead.”
As we draw closer to the New Year, what will it bring you?
Employment or unemployment?
Companionship or loneliness?
Housing or homelessness?
Fullness or hungriness?
Happiness or sadness?
Freedom or slavery?
Health or sickness?
Peace or violence?
Wealth or poverty?
Safety or danger?
Unity or division?
Courage or fear?
Trust or distrust?
Faith or doubt?
Sun or gloom?
Friend or foe?
Life or death?
Love or hate?
Good or bad?
Truth or lies?
Mirror in the Showroom ©
Strawberry lake stretches on forever
but I know I think it's a dream...
as if a very Special kind of Ghost Town
do you believe...?
that a dream cannot ever drown
I...I...I certainly do, and it's never too late
to fall into the spell of Nature,
yes, I'm speaking the mirror,
the mirror in Nature's showroom
never fails to bring me nearer
as life becomes clearer each time I come back
a strange thing indeed is this life, this world
when you leave it you want it,
yet when you live upon it, we all disown it
at times we all have to admit...
when all alone in our room with the thoughts
from empty arms flapping to the wind
lonely fingers paddle the showroom again
waiting not another day, for we all remember today
skin on skin with nothing to explain
isn't it plain enough to feel the touch of eternity
the thirl of wondrous wordless Heaven
calling like nothing else on Earth, (as we know it),
for the moment this becomes our world
in a way a star falling with a wish to transmit
rallying cries of hidden charms and salient arms
enrapturing the deepest, keenest sensations
wishing for two worlds to meet, in one embrace
like twinning calls of far flung lustful breaths
this time is met for reality's sake and grace
coming back like a spine-tingling mood
soft finger nails up and down the skin-
of seductive pereniality of love in the air
which possesses each and all at different times
as if it ever needed such compare!
when perfectibility enchants you,
Nature will have been close at hand
the quirk of such cyclical work without pretence
to anything other than the truth of action
if we believe, then the matter with us all in this existence
will show like a subtle shadow across the water
if we believe, we'll be touched from a reflection
stretching like a hand of desirable temptress
if I believe, I'll be 'touched' like a telepathist
from a rose, a lesson, Mother Nature; our preceptress
life's a twisted rose that grows forever
bleeding, brooding, blooming well brilliant
shining when all belief seems gone
land across the water and vice versa
nothing but nothing can alter what She has foregone.
by anglia24
18h30: 28/03/2008
©2008anglia24
Tricoteuse d’espoir, elle réchauffe nos froids intérieurs. A l’aide de ses couvertures, elle propose à chacun un peu de réconfort.
www.ciecreature.fr/les-irreels.html
festival-marionnette.com/evenements/les-irreels
.. .
Big big big thank you EVERYONE for your generous support (visits, comms, congrats, faves, invites, notes, galleries, awards, votes...), deeply appreciated !
May peace, health and wisdom prevail everywhere on Earth and forever.
.. .
(BEST SEEN LARGE : please press L, or Z twice)
I wanted to try out something different to what I often photograph. Snapped this awhile back leaving campus when it was snowing. Who would have thought cold 'shaky' hands would have worked out :P Intention camera movement is pretty cool and fun.
Have a good one!
ACCIDENTS IN THE PERCEPTION OF TIME
"Modes of perception: between channels:
Wordless days, years, periods.
Centuries of drawing with black lead, or burnt sienna on the rock.
Restless scratches. Silhouettes of clumsy figures.
A tangle of lines (animals in motion).
Millennia of the word: winding of words around the body, lashing,
silhouettes of clumsy sentences. Space behind them.
Muting: and a surge of noisy images. Unravel. Span.
Look like you understand.
A hand for joy: draw.
A hand.
A hand: survive, kill.
A mouth for the voice (play, cheat). Open. For someone else.
Like with like (Picasso in the cave). And bridges!
For yourself. For someone else."
--by Mária Ferenčuhová