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The Abbey of San Cassiano is a Benedictine abbey located in the vicinity of the town of Narni, Umbria – province of Terni.
The Abbey of San Cassiano is mentioned for the first time with certainty in a document, dated 1081, of the Abbey of Farfa . But as a result of the discovery of further documents, it can be deduced that the abbey existed several years before and therefore dating is certainly to be placed at least the second half of the tenth century
@ Wikipedia
A colleague of mine, philosophy professor, was pestered by his students that he ought to look into himself when searching for answers. His reply was, that he had done so. "There is nothing in it", he said. It is a frightening answer. I would modify it by saying that everything that is in me I have put there myself - either actively by doing so, or passively, by allowing it to be put there. And that is frightening as well. To be fully responsible without knowing the answers, perhaps not even to be aware of the right kind of questions. This is a dilemma we should not run away from. Pseudo-certainties will not only not help, they are dangerous as well. But we can talk about the human dilemma. Perhaps agree on ways forward. "Nobody is perfect" is a helpful assumption. Knowing this is what makes us human. Leica M Mono, plus Leitz Elmar 4/135 at F8 (focus achieved in Live View).
“While the rest of the species is descended from apes, redheads are descended from cats.”
― Mark Twain
As I am a natural redhead, despite my pink hair these days, I believe Mark Twain 'hit it on the head," so to speak! This is more about me, but Nutmeg does know we are "the same" in many ways! I certainly feel part of "The People" here! :)
Happy Caturday! - Quotes and Sayings
Maybe, out there somewhere,
the possibility of fear; the wall
that might tumble down, because it's for sure
that behind it is the sea.
Not fear.
Fear has a countenance;
It's external, concrete,
like a rifle, a shot bolt,
a suffering child,
like the darkness that's hidden
in every human mouth.
Not fear.
Maybe only the brand
of the offspring of fear.
It's a narrow, interminable street
with all the windows darkened,
a thread spun out from a sticky hand,
friendly, yes, not a friend.
It's a nightmare
of polite ritual wearing a frightwig.
Not fear.
Fear is a door slammed in your face.
I'm speaking here of a labyrinth
of doors already closed, with assumed
reasons for being, or not being,
for categorizing bad luck
or good, bread, or an expression
— tenderness and panic and frigidity - for the children
growing up.
And the silence.
And the cities, sparkling, empty.
and the mediocrity, like a hot
lava, spewed out over
the grain, and the voice, and the idea.
It's not fear.
The real fear hasn't come yet.
But it will.
It's the doublethink
that believes peace is only another movement.
And I say it with suspicion, at the top of my lungs.
And it's not fear, no.
It's the certainty
that I'm betting, on a single card,
the whole haystack I've piled up,
straw by straw, for my fellow man.
Rafael Guillen
Words for these troubled times. Thank you for your visit I hope you enjoy. :-)
Stasera , guidando, ascoltavo questa canzone di Lucio Dalla:
......di una canzone d'amore
ecco il mistero,
Sotto un cielo di ferro e gesso l'uomo
riesce ad amare lo stesso.
Ama davvero , senza
nessuna certezza.
Che commozione, che tenerezza....
( L. Dalla, Balla, bella ballerino )
Song of love
...Of a love song , here is the mistery,
under a sky of iron and gypsum men can love just the same.
They love really with no certainty .
what emotion, what tenderness
...
.of a song of love
> Éclaire-moi, quand le soleil ferme les yeux et abandonne l’horizon.
Alors ton phare s’éveille, comme une promesse qui refuse de céder à la nuit.
Quand l’un se couche, l’autre se lève, gardien silencieux de mes déroutes.
Entre vos deux lumières, mon cœur apprend qu’il n’est jamais tout à fait seul.
Le jour, ta chaleur trace des chemins d’or sur mes doutes.
La nuit, ta flamme veille, fine et obstinée, au bord de mes peurs.
Vous vous passez le relais comme deux sentinelles d’un même serment.
Et dans ce cycle sans fin, j’entends la certitude d’un amour qui ne se lasse pas de briller.
> Light me up, when the sun closes its eyes and abandons the horizon.
Then your lighthouse awakens, like a promise that refuses to surrender to the night.
When one goes down, the other rises, a silent guardian of my wanderings.
Between your two lights, my heart learns it is never truly alone.
By day, your warmth draws golden paths across my doubts.
By night, your flame keeps watch, slender and stubborn at the edge of my fears.
You pass the torch like two sentinels of the same vow.
And in this endless cycle, I hear the certainty of a love that never tires of shining.
Photo inspired by ... Taken at Bella’s Lullaby which is closing January 16 for changes (Thanks Drєαmsᥫ᭡)
Leica M8, Elmar 4/135 at F8 (or F11). I have occasionally addressed the veracity of the old adage "the camera can't lie" [of course it can't, but we can]. From time to time, there were follow-up comments about the small matter of truth in general - usually with an underlying assumption that we can't know the truth and that all we can rely on is our own existence and our self. Myself, I would answer the question of whether there is any certainty with a resolute "I don't know".
The reason is this: if we make an exclusivist claim about truth it would require a method of verification we all can subscribe to. For example, taking my own religion, the notion that Jesus Christ is Lord is such an exclusivist claim. But I can't verify it and most people wouldn't. The same issue would arise if somebody gets up and claims that "there is no certainty". It is not simply that many people would contradict. The problem is much deeper. "There is no certainty" is an exclusivist claim assuming a position of privileged knowledge (that is, a position of certainty - exactly contradicting the claim) and, like other exclusivist claims about truth, it can't be verified. So, is there any certainty? I am not sure, but we can talk about it.
Photo taken at UlimHyl ~ Sponsored by En Pointe & Teegle
The style card and credits here.
"Three centaurs patrol the ancient paths of the elven realm, silent guardians of the passages leading toward the enchanted heart of the forest. They do not watch with cruelty, but with the calm certainty of those who have spent lifetimes listening to the language of wind, stone, and root.
The eldest among them is Richard, Captain of the Border Guard. His presence commands respect even in silence: broad-shouldered, with a dark mane already touched by silver, and eyes sharp enough to measure not only danger… but intention itself. He carries a long spear adorned with elven sigils and faded ceremonial ribbons that sway gently as he moves.
Beside him stand the other two wardens, younger yet no less vigilant, roaming wooden bridges, moss-covered trails, and forgotten ruins hidden beneath the canopy. Travelers often believe the centaurs protect mere roads.
The elves know otherwise.
They guard the unseen boundaries of the realm—
the fragile line between the harmony of the forest…
and whatever waits beyond it."
CINNAMON / *CINNAMON* Jinx Centaur - Mossy Shawl LT @ Fantasy Faire 2026
ILLUSIONS / *~*Illusions*~* Fairy Ears Gauged XL Lelutka Evo X @ Fantasy Faire 2026
SCHELM / Schelm :) FF015 - Seiryu Tiara @ Fantasy Faire 2026
STARLIGHT DESIGNS / Starlight Designs - Limb Swirls {Box} @ Fantasy Faire 2026
Starlight Designs - Body Wisps {Box} @ Fantasy Faire 2026
AURO / [AURO] Saturnia Staff @ Fantasy Faire 2026
Wyld Wynter / ~*WW*~ Fruitful Lantern @ Fantasy Faire 2026
JINX / Jinx : "Sentaur" Starter Centaur @ free in main store
Jinx : AOC FF2021 NPC Centaur Left @ FF2021 and Fantasy Faire 2026
Jinx : AOC FF2021 NPC Centaur Right @ FF2021 and Fantasy Faire 2026
NO MATCH / NO.MATCH_NO_DRAGON @ last release
KOKOS / KOKOS- EARRINGS GAUGED XL -MUERTE MUSICAL @ in main store
I bought an Acer plant a few years ago. Each autumn its leaves have turned yellowish. This year it turned a deep red.
I learned according to Forestry England it's because the hotter summer resulted in more sugar production, which resulted in deeper pigmentation.
www.forestryengland.uk/news/spectacular-autumn-ahead-fore...
As I am not a leaf I cannot confirm this with full certainty but I'll go with what they are saying.
Although, I cannot agree with the cheerful tone with which the soaring temperatures are being described. Replacing "thanks to" with "due to" and "warm" with "hot" would go a long way.
---
This was selected for Ubuntu 26.04! ubuntu.com/blog/unmasking-the-resolute-raccoon
I'm sorta kinda somewhat sure on the ID of this female meadowhawk. With a couple of exceptions, meadowhawks are notoriously difficult to ID with certainty. Photographed in Brice Prairie, La Crosse County, Wisconsin.
Vertical scramble ... aka pins & needles ... not sure if that's how the lamb felt, but I know with 100% certainty, that's how I felt.
Watching these young lambs as they followed the ewes all over the mountainside ... up and down those cliffs. I found myself so incredibly nervous for them, though they seemed to be quite comfortable with it. Good thing too, as they will be needing those skills throughout life for their survival. Sometimes they're jumping from cliff to cliff, other times they're running up these vertical sections, or as in this case, descending on them. Thankfully the "photo shoot" was a safe one for them. Such amazing animals. :-)
Thanks so much for stopping by to view and especially for sharing your thoughts and comments.
© 2015 Debbie Tubridy / TNWA Photography
Impresionante Descendimiento del siglo XIII.
Colocado en la zona alta del muro de separación entre la iglesia y el coro.
El grupo está constituido por figuras de considerable tamaño. Lo centra un cristo con forma de amplio arco desde las rodillas y que se estudia anatómicamente con gran detalle. Su tamaño es exagerado en relación con las demás figuras para realzar la importancia del personaje. El paño de pureza es largo. La cabeza está muy cuidada con rasgos y cabellos y la expresión es emotiva sin llegar a ser dramática.
José de Arimatea se apresta a tomar el cuerpo descolgado por Nicodemo, pero su gesto parece ser el de abrazarse al Crucificado. Nicodemo debía sostener las tenazas con las que arrancaba los clavos que lo sujetaban a la cruz. El primero, en especial, es una figura corpulenta y tocada con un bonete.
Todas las figuras se deben al mismo artista, y se tiene la casi total seguridad de que el conjunto estaba completamente terminado y policromado antes de 1279.
Impressive Descent from the 13th century.
Placed in the upper area of the separation wall between the church and the choir.
The group is made up of figures of considerable size. It is centered on a Christ in the shape of a wide arch from the knees and which is studied anatomically in great detail. Its size is exaggerated in relation to the other figures to enhance the importance of the character. The purity cloth is long. The head is well cared for with features and hair and the expression is emotional without being dramatic.
Joseph of Arimathea prepares to take the body taken down by Nicodemus, but his gesture seems to be that of hugging the Crucified. Nicodemus had to hold the tongs with which he pulled out the nails that held him to the cross. The first, in particular, is a corpulent figure wearing a bonnet.
All the figures are due to the same artist, and there is almost complete certainty that the set was completely finished and polychromed before 1279
At Anthem ~
Avani French Campaign Collection S Curve Stool
At C88 ~
Foxwood - Little Greyhound - stand
Other items used ~
7 - Applause Box B903 SOLID (The Stagemaster)
Avani Ludlow Collection Vessel Lamp
Avani Unknown Faces Tall
KraftWork Runner Rugs . Native 2
Kraftwork Eugene Bathroom . Bathtub
Kraftwork Eugene Bathroom . Mirror
KraftWork Eugene Bathroom . Toilet
Atelier Burgundy . Modern Easel Trio Wall . Iron
..::THOR::.. Glass with Sapling - Black
Apple Fall Potted Agave - Green
Apple Fall Plaster Vase w/ Beads
Apple Fall Ashton Iron Cabinet - Short
Apple Fall Coral Lid Jar w/ Bath Bombs
Apple Fall Bathroom Lotions
Apple Fall Clay Cat - Nuit
Apple Fall Stacked Magazines
Apple Fall Victorian Radiator
Apple Fall Violet Glass Bottles
Apple Fall Bath Brushes in Milk Glass Jar
Apple Fall Natural Sea Sponges in Cloche
dust bunny . plant stands . large
dust bunny . plant stands . medium
Nutmeg. Painted Soap Bottle
Nutmeg. Hand made Soap
Soy. Rolled Towels
Soy. Rolled Towel
MADRAS Savon Bar & Jar White
MADRAS Divya Hanging Candle
Elm. Thea Shelf
hive // classic bathroom hanging towel v1
hive // classic bathroom hanging towel v2
hive // classic toilet paper holder
+Half-Deer+ Mens Underwear Clutter
:HAIKEI: Daylight Goodbye_Gacha / {5}
{anc} MoonLightLounge. ashtray stand
Loft & Aria - Amherst Candles
Mithral * Mini Pictus
We spend so much of our lives believing that we must choose.
Between who we are and who we wish to become. Between the expectations of others and the quiet desires we carry within ourselves. Between belonging to the world and remaining somehow apart from it.
Perhaps the great misunderstanding of youth is believing these things must always be in conflict.
There is room for contradiction in a human life. For strength and vulnerability, certainty and doubt, innocence and experience. We are seldom entirely one thing or another, however much the world insists on defining us.
And perhaps growing older is simply learning to live peacefully with the many versions of ourselves.
Not everything requires a choice.
Sometimes the answer is both.
The horizon has always invited us to imagine what lies beyond it. Every generation has stood beside water, looking toward places they have never seen, carrying hopes they could not fully name. Perhaps the future is built this way—not by certainty, but by the quiet willingness to keep looking beyond what is already familiar. Perhaps that is why we are drawn to its edge. Not because it answers our questions, but because it quietly reminds us that the world is larger than our worries, and tomorrow has already begun its journey toward us.
“La vie à la campagne : entre rêve bucolique et réalité cocasse !”
Ah, la campagne… Ce doux fantasme d’Instagram où l’on s’imagine cueillir des œufs frais au petit matin, entourée de poules affectueuses et d’un soleil radieux. La preuve en image : sourire éclatant, cheveux au vent, et cette impression que tout est simple et parfait.
Mais derrière chaque œuf ramassé se cache une poule jalouse, prête à défendre son trésor comme une dragonne. Derrière chaque sourire se dissimule la lutte héroïque contre la boue, les bottes coincées, et l’odeur… comment dire… « authentique » du terroir.
Ici, on découvre que les poules ne sont pas que mignonnes : elles sont aussi des stratèges, expertes en cache-cache version œufs disparus.
Quant à la récolte matinale, elle se transforme souvent en parcours du combattant, entre glissades artistiques et négociations serrées avec les habitantes à plumes.
Mais qu’importe les désillusions, la campagne, c’est surtout des éclats de rire, des œufs (parfois cassés), et la certitude qu’aucune journée ne ressemble à la précédente. Après tout, qui a besoin d’une salle de sport quand on a des poules à attraper ?
°°°°°°°°
“Country Life: Between Bucolic Dreams and Comical Reality!”
Ah, the countryside… That sweet Instagram fantasy where you picture yourself gathering fresh eggs at dawn, surrounded by affectionate hens and radiant sunshine. Proof in the photo: a dazzling smile, hair blowing in the wind, and the impression that everything is simple and perfect.
But behind every egg collected hides a jealous hen, ready to defend her treasure like a dragon. Behind every smile is the heroic struggle against mud, stuck boots, and the… let’s say… “authentic” aroma of the land.
Here, you discover that hens aren’t just cute—they’re also strategists, experts at hide-and-seek with their mysteriously vanished eggs.
As for the morning harvest, it often turns into an obstacle course, with artistic slips and tough negotiations with the feathered residents.
But despite the little disappointments, country life is mostly about laughter, eggs (sometimes broken), and the certainty that no two days are ever alike. After all, who needs a gym when you have chickens to catch ?
🎧ྀི ⬅ Click
There’s a rhythm only he knows — slow, deliberate, unhurried. The room fades around us, the smoke, the shadows, the noise of everything else. What’s left is the pull of him, the way he guides the moment without ever needing to speak.
I follow because he leads with certainty. He moves, and the world adjusts. In the quiet he creates, I find the place I’m meant to be.
🎧ྀི ⬅ Click
My crown marks my power.
His arms mark my peace.
There’s a steadiness between us,
the kind that doesn’t need proving —
just the quiet certainty
of knowing exactly where we belong.
The disengagement of the bubble is hypnotizing
Some say below the doughy crust the beast is rising
We like to talk about the past like it's the strangest dream
Then we repeat the things we never dreamed we'd do
I understand that sometimes we all must dance with fuckery
But everybody's pissing in the well of our suffering
I want to breathe in all the ashes of the books they tried to burn
I want to feel the pages in my skin and understand the words.
Castrate fiction
Call it circumstance
They say her wanderings are dangerous but all she wants to do is Dance
Question period's over
Don't you feel it?
I do
You'll be pummeled by the certainty of minions
It's a puppet show, a theatre of opinions
A chorus of flack
Feeder of the pack
You can hear the shaky timbre of the voices most alone
Yeah, it's easier to sing within the crowd
Those who pretend to believe hardest
Might actually begin to;
The nature of the bliss the warmth of ignorance gives into
I want to breathe in all the ashes of the books they tried to burn
I want to taste resilience on my tongue and love beyond concern.
Mass-grave subtlety, leave it for the birds
They say the world, it might be dangerous, but all it seems to do is Turn
Bitten by the hand that feeds you
Turn
Holding to what you're beholden to
Question period's over
Don't you, feel it? I do
I do!
Dance!
Dan Mangan + Blacksmith | Mouthpiece
_____
Thanks to God Dismantled for introducing Dan Mangan to my brain.
📢➡ CLICK IN THIS PICTURE AND ZOOM ⬅📢
Last touch up on my Christmas tree, a smell of pine and cinnamon all over in my house ... Christmas is coming!
The gorgeous Christmas tree you see was created by Noveny, also the beautiful shelf behind with the beautiful Christmas decorations was made by Noveny. These articles are splendid, especially for the attention they have given to details and textures. You can find all this Items in BEAUTY EVENT.
Now I want to focus your attention on my outfit, it was made by Eternus - Ruby Dress. Incredible how the textures give a sense of "softness" to the wool. Here, too, we can appreciate the attention to detail, but Eternus is an certainty♥
As often happens, my all skin is completely taken care of by Leronso, who has completely conquered me with his works. It's amazing how my avatar has changed for the better since using his creations. Today I use OLESYA skin for Lelutka EVO X for my head and for my body Realistic body skin v2 also by Leronso.
I was green. Unaware, untested, still carrying the remnants of the relative gullibility that accompanies fortunate children into adulthood, before life strips it away. And with that came that particular brand of arrogance young men are often guilty of— the flaw in the inexperienced exercise of agency, exacerbated by delusions of invincibility, of power, of control. I couldn’t be conquered – or so the delusion went.
I took things in stride, with the kind of calm that can only be born out of complete ignorance. The lattice of carefully selected words, deployed so deliberately and so precisely, was flawlessly constructed. A noose, expertly applied, on a subject lacking in insight to see it for what it is.
Life would later usher the understanding that none of it had been accidental, the understanding of the weight of intent. The deliberateness of an older, more capable adult, deploying a honed skill. With patience born of certainty, and with certainty born of experience. With absolute mastery in creating the illusion of choice.
It began mildly enough, testing the malleable boundaries of the untested. In time, the nature of the fabric revealed itself, something woven out of denial and shame, consumed then regurgitated drenched in bile. Not violently, but quietly, with the skill of someone who truly understood the momentum of words. Verbal constructs that grew tighter and tighter, fueled by a visceral resentment if not outright hatred, forging a mental noose.
The thing about the young and inexperienced is how slowly something cerebral registers. My body was safe in stature, and my heart was safe in detachment, but I hadn’t accounted for my mind – a grave error. I hadn’t considered the pieces of myself that were methodically carved out, replaced by pieces of him. For his voice, embedded into deep recesses, clashing with everything I was and everything I stood for. For the inevitable conflict – the way the seams pulled along the lines of our vast differences, and the way they tore when my confrontational streak surfaced. I hadn’t accounted for how these rips would be branded as failures of control, of character, indicators of fundamental defects, and for the corrosive nature of such pronouncements.
It gave him proverbial standing – he had become Goliath. And Goliath was no longer tightening the noose; he was waging an outright war. Goliath, at my final frontier, singularly determined to reduce the core of personhood to rubble. A war fought with careful words and weaponized silences.
The gravity of such an approach is why I still occasionally think about this.
I am not rebellious by nature. People mistake those who follow the beat of their own drum for rebels, but rebellion is externally rooted. The beat of one’s own drum is wholly internal, and following it is instinctive – the guide to the only viable route in a world of choices. It is neither directed at, nor is it for the benefit of others. And in an outright war, the internal drums became war drums.
It took a long time to understand what triggered that change – like everything else, clarity came with age and a better understanding of myself. But I had understood the threat for the shape that it took, the death sentence to agency – no longer an adjustment or a compromise, but an absolute, nullifying dismantling. Now I know it to also be the grave miscalculation made in betting on the sentimentality of a pragmatist.
The thing about pragmatists is they deal in naked truths and tallies that can seem transactional in nature, but are grounded and inevitable. A cold calculation of net losses and gains - what is given and what is taken, in sharp relief. Including the manufactured reliance – a psychological construct that, when examined closely, had no substance. A voice he’d embedded in spaces he’d created – spaces, it turned out, that can be easily reclaimed.
For something that had become remarkably excruciating, the other truly remarkable aspect of it is how rapidly it came apart from there. Not in days and weeks, but in hours. Years of construction, collapsing like a house of cards. It dissolved not into rage, not into resentment, but into indifference.
Goliath, stripped of the magnitude psychological violence had granted him, was nobody.
He revealed his hand to someone who had finally learned to read the tells and call the bluff. When strategic silences didn’t work, he appeared to pretenses of magnanimity. When he was dismissed, he threatened. When the threats were dismissed, he groveled. And when everything failed, he left – on a lengthy stream of insults against the character he’d ultimately failed to completely break. Words that once held power, but rang hollow overnight.
Nearly two decades have passed. I’ve navigated adult relationships, and done the unthinkable in his book, in building a life with another man without shame. I’ve learned the appropriate terminology for what had been done to me. But more importantly, I’ve come fully unto myself; the good, the bad, and the undoubtedly ugly – knowing, deliberate, and unflinching. A pragmatic, tallying streak that runs deeper than sentimentality. A low tolerance. A readiness to excise. An unwillingness to compromise, for better or for worse, on specific sets of preferences, principles, or simple truths. An assortment of parts, of varying merit, equally owned and retained.
In those decades, his news always found their way to me — because offenders of all persuasions often emerge from one’s own circle. News of someone I cannot comment on, because his truth is not mine to disclose, in disclosing a shared past. He carried the lie so far, I believe the infamous closet swallowed him whole and chewed thoroughly. When he finally emerged, it wasn’t into the open world — the closet spat him into an early grave.
I remember him now through the lens of a man at the tail end of 30s. And through that lens, I remember the most unsettling element – the pattern. The deliberate preference for the defenselessness of inexperience against the words crafted by someone both remarkably underhanded and experienced. Never had the weight of his intent felt heavier than it did, when I approached age he was when he approached me, coming face to face with the colossal chasm between the person I once was, and the person I had become, and with it the gravity of actions.
And I remember him through the lens of my younger self. I remember the anger and resentment, palpable entities that drove him to destroy self-acceptance wherever he found it in others, like a misguided act of revenge against those the arbitrary injustice inflicted upon him didn’t reach. And beneath them the guilt and shame that he wasn’t – nor could he ever be – who he believed he should have been.
As I sit and reflect over the news of his premature passing, I find myself unmoved. The standard gamut of acceptable sentiments – sympathy, empathy, and other…athies, the sentiments provoked by those who take their own lives, are simply absent. But neither is there a trace of relief or reveling. I find the indifference he’d eventually engendered all those years ago to hold true, even in death.
It’s fitting that this final recollection is scattered into the oblivion of this unending stream.
Üsi Rechnig isch begliche. Zwüsche üs git’s weder Richter no Gschwornig, weder Groll no Gfüehl. Nume d’Zyt – und jetzt nume no Äsche un Staub.
Ade.
"For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream."
Vincent Van Gogh
My mother-in-law collected antique perfume bottles long ago. Now I have the privilege of admiring the cut glass designs and playing with colors reflected in their interesting shapes. I can easily see what drew her to collecting these small treasures.
Some places ask nothing of us except that we arrive.
Before we understand, before we believe, before we find the words we have been searching for, there is often a quiet moment of simply standing still. Not every journey ends with certainty. Some end with a softer heart, a wider view, and the realization that grace often meets us before we know we are looking for it.
Perhaps that is why certain places stay with us long after we have gone—not because they answered our questions, but because they taught us how to wait.
It was a certainty that I would stop at Loch Clair to show Rob the view across to Liathach. What was far less certain was that we would be able to get a photo from there. On arrival, the light wasn't great and worse, the surface of Clair was almost wavy rather than just rippled. Rob was keen to have an explore though, so I took a couple of images looking towards Sgurr Dubh before finding a composition on Liathach and waiting it out. I got 'triple lucky' when the light picked out the mountain (and the verdant bank which lasted only 2 frames), the wind momentarily calmed for more-than-adequate reflections and a conveniently placed cloud nicely filled some dead space at bottom right.
Contemplation is the highest expression of . . . intellectual and spiritual life. It is that life . . . fully awake, fully active, fully aware that it is alive. . . . It is a vivid realization of the fact that life and being in us proceed from an invisible, transcendent and infinitely abundant Source. Contemplation is . . . [an] awareness of the reality of that Source. . . . Contemplation is a sudden gift of awareness, an awakening to the Real within all that is real. A vivid awareness of infinite Being at the roots of our own limited being.
-Thomas Merton’s encounter with Buddhism and beyond: his interreligious dialogue, inter-monastic exchanges, and their legacy / Jaechan Anselmo Park, OSB.
/********
“. . . the unshakable certainty, the clear and immediate knowledge that heaven was right in front of me, struck me like a thunderbolt and went through me like a flash of lightning and seemed to lift me clean up off the earth.”
-Thomas Merton, The Secular Journal of Thomas Merton (New York, NY: Farrar, Straus & Cudahy, 1959), 76–77.
Childhood has a remarkable way of transforming ordinary places into extraordinary worlds. A fountain becomes a castle courtyard. Sunlight becomes glitter. A simple dress becomes the clothing of royalty.
There comes a time when we trade imagination for certainty, and wonder slowly gives way to practicality. Yet perhaps those early years reveal something we spend the rest of our lives trying to recover—the freedom to delight in what is beautiful without needing to explain it.
For a little while, she wasn't pretending to be a princess.
She simply was.
This alligator rises from the water like a creature carved out of myth a silent sentinel guarding secrets older than any map. The monochrome treatment strips the scene down to pure texture and tension: ripples like ancient script, floating leaves like forgotten offerings, and the gator’s armored head emerging with the calm certainty of something that has never once lost a staring contest.
Its eyes sit just above the surface, unblinking, patient, and far too intelligent for comfort. This is the moment in an Indiana Jones film when the music drops to a low rumble and the hero realizes the treasure isn’t the only thing waiting in the dark. The gator wears the swamp like a cloak, half hidden beneath drifting foliage, as if nature itself is conspiring to keep its presence secret until the last possible second.
There’s no drama added here, the drama is the animal. The monochrome palette turns every scale into a relic, every ripple into a warning, and every shadow into a story. It’s a portrait of stillness with teeth, a reminder that the wild doesn’t need to roar to command respect.
My latest photography is now available for purchase at crsimages.pixels.com/, featuring prints, framed art, and more from my curated collections.
A foggy morning by the river.
Swans grazing quietly, as if they know something we don’t — yet.
And me… sometimes feeling lost in the fog, unsure of direction, but still standing.
And that’s okay.
Because even in the fog, we can pause, breathe, and observe.
Beauty often shows up when certainty disappears.
Korana River, silence, and white shapes in green.
A small winter moment of zen.
Maglovito jutro uz rijeku.
Labudovi pasu travu, kao da znaju nešto što mi još ne znamo.
A ja… ponekad se osjećam kao guska u magli — bez jasnog smjera, ali još uvijek na nogama.
I to je u redu.
Jer i u magli se može stati, gledati, disati.
A ljepota se ponekad pojavi baš onda kad nismo sigurni kuda dalje.
Korana, tišina i bijele točke u zelenom.
Dovoljno za jedan mali, zimski zen.
Old Faithful’s irony lies in the fact that it’s famous for its predictability, yet its very reliability is part of what makes it so iconic.
The geyser is named for its “faithfulness” — it erupts on a relatively regular schedule, typically every 65–90 minutes, with eruptions lasting 1.5 to 5 minutes and shooting 100–185 feet into the air National Park Service. This predictability has made it a global symbol of Yellowstone and a must-see for millions of visitors.
However, the irony is that its predictability is not a flaw — it’s the reason it became famous. Most geysers erupt randomly, but Old Faithful’s consistent pattern made it easy for early explorers to anticipate and even name it National Park Service. This reliability has drawn crowds, turned it into a tourist magnet, and cemented its place in American and world culture.
In a way, the geyser’s “faithfulness” is both its charm and its curse: it’s dependable enough to be a spectacle, but that same predictability means it’s also one of the most visited and over-crowded spots in the park. Visitors come to see it because they know when it will erupt, but that very certainty is what makes it so hard to experience without the pressure of waiting in line. In 2021, 4.86 million people visited Yellowstone.
So the irony is: Old Faithful is so famous for being reliable that its predictability is the very thing that makes it unforgettable — and also the reason it’s so hard to enjoy without the crowds.
WHL- 28 Yellowstone National Park
Hope (which is the embodiment of eschatology) can see what will be, and so empowers both faith and charity. To know the certainty of resurrection, the heart must open to God with a dilation caused by liturgical asceticism across the years of our life.
-David W. Fagerberg, Consecrating the World On Mundane Liturgical Theology
“ Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.”. Maya Angelou
Thanks to all the friendly people that will favour my picture.
"In the season
of the bright yellow ginkgo
you left
against the backdrop of a sky
gray and cold
There were no words
and there is no other life
The hearth is now extinguished
the old house ruined
the vineyard abandoned
I am as usual far away
can only touch with thought
the ancient stones
With the ladle I collect
and pour the icy copper water
in this unquenchable thirst
I retrace the used roads
the silent rooms
the dusty sickle and spade
lonely in the corner
The past is irretrievable
and the present surprises us
always unprepared
I make plans for the future
like a cunning general
I put my thoughts in advance
on hypothetical battlefields
But tomorrow is changing
there is no certainty for us"
© Eli Medier
La música, mejor con auriculares._ Music, best witlh earphon
Titulo..............................Ruled by mars
Artista.............................Maika Makouski
Álbum............................. ( 2010 )
Genero............................Rock
🇭🇷 Nature close up • Rođendanski puž
Danas, kad slavim svojih 56 godina, u susret mi je došao ovaj tihi putnik — puž koji svoju kuću nosi uvijek sa sobom. Polako, ali sigurno. Kao podsjetnik da ne moramo trčati kroz život, da je u redu zastati, osvrnuti se, osjetiti. Njegova staza je možda spora, ali svaka točka na putu je važna — baš kao i u mom životu.
Možda smo nas dvoje danas sličniji nego što izgleda. I ja nosim svoje iskustvo na leđima, polako, ali s ljubavlju, dalje putem koji sam izabrao.
🇬🇧 English – Birthday snail
Today, on my 56th birthday, I met this quiet traveler — a snail that always carries its home. Slowly, but with certainty. A gentle reminder that life isn’t a race, and that it's okay to pause, reflect, and feel. Its path may be slow, but every point on it matters — just like in my own life.
Maybe the two of us are more alike than it seems. I too carry my past on my back, walking slowly but lovingly on the path I’ve chosen.
🇫🇷 Français – L’escargot d’anniversaire
Aujourd’hui, pour mes 56 ans, j’ai croisé ce voyageur silencieux — un escargot qui porte toujours sa maison sur le dos. Lentement, mais sûrement. Un rappel tout en douceur que la vie n’est pas une course, et qu’il est bon de s’arrêter, réfléchir et ressentir. Son chemin est peut-être lent, mais chaque étape compte — tout comme dans ma propre vie.
Peut-être sommes-nous plus semblables que nous ne le pensons. Moi aussi, je porte mon passé sur le dos, avançant lentement, mais avec amour, sur le chemin que j’ai choisi.
🇩🇪 Deutsch – Geburtstags-Schnecke
Heute, an meinem 56. Geburtstag, begegnete ich diesem stillen Wanderer – einer Schnecke, die ihr Zuhause stets bei sich trägt. Langsam, aber mit Ziel. Eine sanfte Erinnerung daran, dass das Leben kein Wettlauf ist und dass es gut ist, innezuhalten, nachzudenken und zu fühlen. Ihr Weg mag langsam sein, aber jede Etappe zählt – genau wie in meinem eigenen Leben.
Vielleicht sind wir uns ähnlicher, als es scheint. Auch ich trage meine Erfahrungen auf dem Rücken und gehe langsam, aber mit Liebe weiter auf dem Weg, den ich gewählt habe.
🇪🇸 Español – El caracol de cumpleaños
Hoy, en mi 56 cumpleaños, me encontré con este viajero silencioso — un caracol que siempre lleva su casa encima. Despacio, pero con firmeza. Un recordatorio suave de que la vida no es una carrera, y que está bien detenerse, reflexionar y sentir. Su camino puede ser lento, pero cada paso importa — como en mi propia vida.
Quizá seamos más parecidos de lo que parece. Yo también llevo mi pasado a cuestas, caminando con lentitud, pero con cariño, por el camino que elegí.
🇮🇹 Italiano – La lumaca del compleanno
Oggi, nel giorno del mio 56° compleanno, ho incontrato questo viaggiatore silenzioso — una lumaca che porta sempre con sé la propria casa. Piano, ma con sicurezza. Un dolce promemoria che la vita non è una corsa, e che va bene fermarsi, riflettere e sentire. Il suo cammino è lento, ma ogni tappa ha valore — proprio come nella mia vita.
Forse siamo più simili di quanto sembri. Anche io porto il mio passato sulle spalle, camminando lentamente, ma con amore, lungo il sentiero che ho scelto.
two silhouettes slipping through a corridor of light, their connection more visible than their faces. in the harsh contrast, what remains is not identity, but presence — the quiet certainty of walking together through shadow.
Although our intellect always longs for clarity and certainty, our nature often finds uncertainty fascinating.
-- Karl Von Clausewitz
[Large for a bit more of the subtleties]
Not every moment asks to be understood. Some are simply pauses between everything that came before and everything still waiting ahead.
We spend so much of life searching for answers that we often overlook the quiet places where nothing needs to be solved. There is a kind of grace in those moments—a chance to simply exist without performance, expectation, or urgency. Sometimes stillness says more than certainty ever could.
First attempt at Aurora photography. Last night was a very dark, bitterly cold one with a howling wind, so not exactly ideal conditions. It helps not a lot that the phenomenom is barely visible to the naked eye, so the whole process is like trying to photograph a black cat in a darkened room with no certainty that the cat is actually there.
Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out. © Vaclav Havel
I slip into the café just as the morning light kisses the stone walls, the scent of espresso curling through the air like a whispered invitation. There’s a sign behind me – “but first, coffee” – and I smile, because yes… but also this. The Ellena Set. My quiet little indulgence before the world catches up with me. I lean against the glass pastry case, croissants and macarons perfectly arranged beneath me, as if they too understand the art of presentation. ☕️
The silhouette is pure Parisian flirtation – a sculpted, waist-snatching bodysuit top that carves softly inward at the sides, revealing just enough to suggest, never to surrender. Its tailored cut echoes the precision of classic couture jackets from the late 1940s – that cinched Dior-inspired femininity – yet it’s reimagined with a modern, daring openness. The neckline plunges with intention, framed by delicate button detailing that draws the eye downward, while the long sleeves refine the look with a polished, café-society elegance. 🌸
The trousers flow like poetry in motion – high-waisted, elongating, and impossibly fluid. They drape from the hips with a relaxed confidence, balancing structure and softness in a way that feels both effortless and meticulously designed. There’s a whisper of 1970s Riviera tailoring here – that languid, wide-leg sophistication – but elevated through a contemporary lens that celebrates movement, posture, and presence. I walk, and they follow like a soft echo.
And then… the shoes. Subtle, sweet, and perfectly composed. A gentle lift beneath my step, finished with delicate detailing that mirrors the femininity of the ensemble without competing with it. They ground the look – not loudly, but with a quiet certainty – like the final note in a well-composed melody. 💗
What I adore most is the control – the ability to shift mood with a touch. Three separate HUDs guide the experience – one for the bodysuit top, one for the pants, and one for the shoes. Each offers a curated palette of tones and textures – soft pastels, refined neutrals, and expressive hues – allowing me to tailor the ensemble to the exact rhythm of my day. And then there’s the bonus HUD, reserved for adorsy members – an extra indulgence, a secret layer of style that feels like being let in on something beautifully exclusive. 🎨
The Ellena Set is designed for a wide range of mesh bodies, ensuring a seamless and flattering fit – LaraX, Legacy, Reborn, Waifu – with additional options for pants, bodysuit, and shoes to accommodate your preferred silhouette. It’s inclusive, intentional, and crafted to celebrate the feminine form in all its variations.
If you feel the pull – and I suspect you might – you can find it here:
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/adorsy/128/128/22
I take one last sip of my coffee, catching my reflection in the glass – composed, playful, entirely my own. And I remember… fashion was never about dressing for the world. It was always about dressing for the moment you decide to be seen.
“Elegance is when the inside is as beautiful as the outside.” – Coco Chanel
When you scream, it sounds like a lullaby
When you beg, I get all gooey inside
Tonight I take your eyes, mind and tongue
To spread the word and watch your kingdom come
Another night with you, another wound
You keep me in stitches, you tear me to pieces
I need new voices in my head to speak my secret evils with
I need new lovers in my bed to be my friends and special pets
I need your scent all over me
I need to taste your blasphemy
I need to know with certainty that the nectar was worth the squeeze
It's just the way that we are diseased
It's the blade that stains us
It's the sweetest disease
It's so contagious
It's just the way that we are diseased
I's the blade that stains us
It's the sweetest disease
It's so contagious
Once upon a time
I ripped the wings from my spine
But when I hide inside your eyes
I still pretend that I can fly
Tell me every secret
So you can fall in love
Then to fall to pieces
I need new voices in my head, a new disguise for me to hide
I need new lovers in my bed to feed my secret appetites
I need your sins all over me
I need to taste this tragedy
I need to know with certainty the nectar was worth the squeeze
~Otep
Song: Special Pets
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The orginal 1/25th second shot had a bit of movement in it but I thought I'd add to it with a bit of zoom blur in Photoshop. Wondering if I've overdone it a bit.......
I'd taken some photos of the Elizabeth Line shortly after it opened but I knew there was loads more photographic potential that remained untapped.
When I was last in London I therefore spent a bit of time exploring a couple of the stations. Pretty sure this shot was taken at Liverpool Street Station but can't say with any certainty as they all look almost identical.
Click here for more photos taken underground : www.flickr.com/photos/darrellg/albums/72157670949337253
From Wikipedia, "The Elizabeth line is a high-frequency hybrid commuter rail and rapid transit service in London and its suburbs. It runs services on dedicated infrastructure in central London between London Paddington and Abbey Wood; along the Great Western Main Line from London Paddington to Reading and Heathrow Airport in the west; and along the Great Eastern Main Line between Liverpool Street and Shenfield in the east. The service is named after Queen Elizabeth II, who officially opened the line on 17 May 2022 during her Platinum Jubilee year; passenger services started on 24 May 2022.
Under the project name of Crossrail, the system was approved in 2007, and construction began in 2009. Originally planned to open in 2018, the project was repeatedly delayed, including for several months as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic."
© D.Godliman
In one way we think a great deal too much of the atomic bomb. “How are we to live in an atomic age?” I am tempted to reply: “Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents.”
In other words, do not let us begin by exaggerating the novelty of our situation. Believe me, dear sir or madam, you and all whom you love were already sentenced to death before the atomic bomb was invented: and quite a high percentage of us were going to die in unpleasant ways. We had, indeed, one very great advantage over our ancestors—anesthetics; but we have that still. It is perfectly ridiculous to go about whimpering and drawing long faces because the scientists have added one more chance of painful and premature death to a world which already bristled with such chances and in which death itself was not a chance at all, but a certainty.
This is the first point to be made: and the first action to be taken is to pull ourselves together. If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things—praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts—not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds.
C. S. Lewis