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This is a bridge on Outer Banks of North Carolina (the black fume in the background was supposedly from a forest fire)
The rediscovery of this portrait is a major addition to the iconography of Elizabeth I. It also throws new light on the phenomenon of portrait commissioning in Tudor England in the middle years of the 16th century. Until now, this picture was thought to be a late copy, owing to the addition of two feebly painted outer panels, and the masking of the face with mid 20th century overpaint. Indeed, it seems that by the early 20th century the picture had lost its very identity as an image of Elizabeth.
The portrait is a contemporary version, by an as yet unidentified artist, of the earliest individual portrayal of Elizabeth. The seminal version is considered to be that in the Royal Collection, and until the re-emergence of this painting it was considered to be the only single portrait of Elizabeth as Princess to date from this period. It shows the Queen at the age of about thirteen in c.1546, twelve years before her accession to the throne in 1558 and, like this newly emerged portrait, is without certain authorship. The enduring attraction of the portrayal is that it affords us a rare glimpse of Elizabeth the individual, as opposed to Elizabeth the Queen. Too often our mental image of Elizabeth is the aged virgin Queen weighed down equally with flattery and jewels, her authoritarian glare being the only mortal expression emerging from a cosmetic mask. Contrastingly, in this portrait we are presented with a description of demure courtly composure and refinement, of youthful piety and observance, a touchingly human portrayal intriguingly free of monarchical references and iconography. Prosaically, given its date in the development of the genre, it also represents the earliest surviving portrayal of a girl in English oil painting.
The Royal Collection portrait appears to have been sent by Elizabeth as a gift to her brother Edward VI in 1547. The two siblings enjoyed a close relationship. Edward’s letters reveal how much he missed his sister when he acceded to the throne and Elizabeth remained at Hatfield Palace. In May 1547 Elizabeth sent a letter accompanying the portrait Edward had requested, saying; “For the face, I graunt. I might wel blushe to offer, but the mynde I shal never be ashamed to present… when you shal loke on my picture you wil witsafe to think that as you have but the outwarde shadow of the body afore you, so my inwarde minde wischeth that the body it selfe were oftener in your presence.”
The Royal Collection picture, therefore, was a mark and symbol of affection, commissioned purely for a private audience. This was unusual in Royal portraiture. Until then, the function of portrait paintings had largely been directed towards display or diplomacy. Holbein’s imposing Henry VIII was clearly designed to awe, as much as his controversial portrait of Anne of Cleves was designed (tragically) to impress. Similarly, the best portrait of Henry VII was commissioned only as part of marriage negotiations with the Emperor Maximilian. Princess Elizabeth’s portrait represents a significant advancement in function. Here, for the first time was an image of a young female princess of dubious legitimacy, whose mother had been beheaded for incestuous adultery, and whose very survival was in doubt.
Using this expanding rationale for the production of Royal portraiture at this date, it is possible to explain the purpose of this newly discovered portrait in the commissioning patterns of the young Elizabeth’s contemporaries. Catherine Parr, Henry VIII’s last and most cultured Queen, was the foremost patron of portraiture in mid-Tudor England, and her legacy to the advancement of English portraiture cannot be underestimated. Her chamber accounts show that she patronized John Bettes the Elder, Lucas Hornebolte, Hans Eworth , and probably William Scrots and Lavina Terlinc as well. She was the first Queen to actively disseminate her image; her fourth husband, the errant Thomas Seymour, wrote “give me one of your small pictures… if ye have any left…” In this case she did not, having already given many away, but she promised to have more made. She also gave Edward VI a portrait of herself and the King, with a similar example going to the Earl of Hertford, her brother-in-law, later Protector Somerset. Intriguingly, given the possible provenance of this portrait, Protector Somerset himself was apparently a collector of portraits, with his accounts for 1542 showing a payment to Holbein “that made queen Janes Pycture” and a “Mr Indes” who “brought a dore unto my lord with a picture of King Edward”, perhaps Edward IV . Clearly, therefore, we can see towards the end of Henry VIII’s reign the establishment of a culture of portrait commissioning, exchanging, and even copying among the royal family and, just as significantly, the Seymour family who dominated politics into the early 1550s. It is surely equally significant, for the early history of the present portrait, that Elizabeth came firmly within this circle, indeed was living with Catherine, and thus was presumably involved in her stepmother’s artistic activities.
Recent dendrochronoligical analysis of the German oak panel on which this portrait is painted gives an earliest possible felling date for the tree used of 1546. It is therefore likely that the portrait was painted from 1547 onwards. It was customary for panels to be used rapidly after the tree was felled, with sometimes minimal time for seasoning. Furthermore, the political difficulties of Elizabeth’s position in Queen Mary’s reign make it unlikely that the picture was made after Edward VI’s death in 1553. This, after all, is an image of a vulnerable teenager, not the forceful portrayal of a potential rival to the throne, and it would have had no political or propaganda applications. It would also have been implausible for such pictures to have been made after Elizabeth’s accession to the throne in 1558, when royal images were subject to ambitious political control, and seen more as tools to bolster Elizabeth’s monarchical status. It seems most likley that the present picture was commissioned as part of the royal family’s practice of distributing multiple portraits of themselves, and at a time when Elizabeth was in favour – ie from the late 1540s to the mid 1550s. We must also consider that the Royal Collection picture, owned by Edward VI, hung at one of the royal palaces (in 1547 it was at Westminster ), which further suggests that the production of the present version must have involved some form of royal permission or contact.
It is also likely that the artist who painted it would have come from within the circle of royal patronage, and this offers some interesting options. This painting has been replicated by an artist of some distinction. It differs markedly in tone, technique and characterisation from the clearly Flemish character of its source, which has paler flesh tones and enamel-like finish. This picture has been painted in a distinctly mannerist technique, with the result that many aspects, from the more attenuated facial modeling to the warmer colouring and application of paint, are more redolent of an Italian renaissance portrait. We must surely look, therefore, in the direction of the two Italian artists known to be in the royal service in this period. Little is known of each, particularly Bartholomew Penni, or Bartill Penn, who appears in Henry VIII’s accounts from 1542 onwards, and who dies in 1553. Penn’s brother, Luca, is better known and was a pupil of Raphael’s. We know more of Anthony Toto, who was appointed Henry VIII’s Serjeant painter in 1544, and who continued to be employed by Edward VI. Toto was a pupil in Florence of the Renaissance master Ridolfo Ghirlandaio. Vasari tells us that Toto painted many pictures, mainly religious scenes, throughout the 1530s. But he also painted portraits, and in 1552 presented King Edward VI with a portrait of a duke.
The provenance of this picture is obscured by the fact that by the 20th century it seems to have lost its identity. The picture was sold from the Ramsden collection in 1932. Sir John Ramsden, 5th Bt. married Lady Guendolen Seymour, daughter and co heir of Edward Adolphus, twelth Duke of Somerset, himself a direct descendant from Protector Somerset. Lady Guendolen inherited dozens of pictures from her father, including major Tudor portraits, as well as the estate of Bulstrode in Buckinghamshire, where this picture is listed in 1930. This picture is almost certainly that catalogued in the Bulstrode inventory as ‘L. Cranach Portrait of a lady in a pink jeweled dress, holding a book, panel 29” x 21 ½’ [D/RA/3-109q, Bulstrode Papers]. It seems that the picture’s condition, with the now-removed later panels and obscure identity, caused it to be among the less valued items at Bulstrode, and it does not therefore appear in any other inventory yet seen.
youtu.be/7Vrq7QxFggo?t=2s Trailer
Horror/sci-fi hybrids are common. At the mostly horror end of the spectrum, Die Monster Die (DMD) has almost no sci-fi. DMD's thin claim to sci-fi rests on the unseen agent of the horror being a radioactive meteor. In the 50s tradition, if a movie had anything to do with outer space, or anything nuclear, it was deemed sci-fi. Boris Karloff stars in this combination horror / ghost story, as the wheelchair bound despotic head of the "cursed" Witley family. DMD double-featured with Planet of the Vampires, so audiences were probably in the mood for a double dose of horror with a dash of sci-fi.
Synopsis
Steve Reinhart arrives in the small english village of Arkham. He wants to go to the Witley place, but he can't rent a taxi, a bicycle or anything. In fact, the villagers all act angry or frightened at the mere mention of it. So, he walks. On the way there, he passes a desolate area where nothing lives. Old Mr. Witley (Karloff) is gruff and demands he leave. However, it turns out Steve was invited by Mrs. Witley (confined to her curtained bed). She wanted Steve to take their daughter Susan away. Susan is somehow blissfully clueless to the strange goings on in Witley mansion. These are abundant: odd moans in the night, a strange blue glow in the greenhouse, people who disappeared. When Mr. Witley's butler dies, Steve investigates. He discovers that grandfather Corbin Witley was into the occult, that bits of glowing green rock in planter pots make the plants grow huge, and a room full of mutant (but rather benign) animals. Despite all this, Susan doesn't want to leave her sick mother. Mother, however, has become so burned/mutated, that she trashes her room and attacks Susan and Steve as a hag monster. She dies, her face melting away. At the graveside, Mr. Witley finally realizes he must destroy the glowing meteor he has in his basement. He takes an ax to it, but is attacked by Helga (former housekeeper mutated like Mrs. Witley). Helga falls onto the meteor and dies. Mr. Witley gets so radiated that he starts to glow. As the glowing frankenstein-esque monster, he attacks Susan and Steve. He lunges for Susan but breaks through a 2nd story railing, falling to his death. His body bursts into flames. The fire eventually spread through the house. Steve and Susan get out, briefly discuss what happened, and decide to leave. The End.
Karloff is great and pulls DMD up from mid-B obscurity.
The original short story did not blame simple radiation, but in DMD, the traditional Cold War bugbear -- radiation -- is the cause of all the mutation and death. Pretty conventional stuff by the mid-60s.
Lovecraft Hijacked by Halloween -- The story upon which DMD is based (loosely) is H.P. Lovecraft's "The Colour Out of Space." (1927) In his story, told mostly as retrospective, about a rural New England farm family and a meteorite. Because the meteor caused plants to grow very large, the farm father kept the stone, thinking it would bring prosperity. Instead, the mysterious force within it, drains the life of his family, eventually causing him to crumble before his friend's eyes and leaving a many-acre dead zone. The force (or alien?), emitted an indescribable color. Once recharged with life, it flies back into space. Fans of Lovecraft's "Colour" story usually don't like AIP's adaptation, perhaps because the story is turned into more of a gothic ghost story than an alien encounter. Elements of the original story can be seen, but they're virtually lost in a sea of halloween standards: spiders, skeletons, skull-art, dungeons, mutant monsters, books of spells, stranger with big knife, foggy old mansions, etc. etc.
Director Daniel Haller (a protege of Roger Corman) made frequent use, if not over-use, of the cinematic tool: "startle moments." These are where something jumps out at the viewers, or happens suddenly, but does nothing to advance the plot. Haller sprinkles in many such moments. The spider bite, the skeleton, the face in the window, the ubiquitous hand on the shoulder, etc. etc. It's as if Haller did not think the story was particularly frightening in itself, so he opted to regularly startle his audience instead.
DMD was not exactly part of AIP's "Poe Cycle", but the success of those films must have influenced the producers' view. Instead of a simple New England farm, we're given a spooky elizabethan-revival mansion shrouded in fog. Interior shots are filled with an grab-bag mix of anything "old". Medieval era carvings, renaissance furniture and baroque decorations. And, like any good haunted house, there are ample medieval weapons displayed on the walls of each room. Just about anything stereotyped as being in a "haunted mansion" was used as a prop.
Science should be left to the professionals. That's the final moral of the story, delivered by Steve in the final minutes. "In the proper scientific hands, your father's discovery could have been beneficial." All the trouble was due to an amateur botching things up. Nahum Witley thought his meteor, which made plants grow huge, might be beneficial enough to make up for his father (Corbin's) dabbling in the occult. This adds a layer to the already stereotypic naive scientist role (which Karloff played many times). The naive scientist thinks he's onto a boon for mankind, but creates a monster instead. In DMD, he's still that naive scientist (sort of), but with the added motive of trying to atone for the sins of his father.
Bottom line? Fans of the AIP/Corman Poe Cycle or Hammer's horror films, will probably be entertained. Not impressed, perhaps, but entertained. Karloff fans will see the master holding his own, despite his age. Fans of Lovecraft or sci-fi, may well be more annoyed than entertained. DMD feels like having ordered pancakes, but gotten eggs and sausage instead.
Also known as Monster of Terror, this British-made horror opus is very loosely based on H.P. Lovecraft's story "The Colour Out of Space". The story begins with an American scientist (Nick Adams) paying a visit to the remote estate of his fiancee's family (located in Lovecraft's fictional Arkham County, Massachusetts) and finding many of the surrounding flora and fauna horribly mutated by strange radiation. The source of the contamination is discovered to be a glowing meteorite kept hidden in the basement by his girlfriend's father (Boris Karloff), who has been using the radiation to mutate local plant life. As one might expect, the experiment has gotten a bit out of hand... and poor mommy has changed into something unspeakably horrible. Designed as a vehicle for Karloff (who is excellent), this is a decent freshman effort from director Daniel Haller (formerly Roger Corman's production designer), but the effectively creepy atmosphere would have been greatly assisted by a better script -- perhaps one more loyal to the source material. The same story was adapted (again, loosely) in 1987 for The Curse.
Although Die, Monster, Die! is a decidedly B-movie affair, aficionados of horror movies will want to catch it for the almost always reliable Boris Karloff. This isn't one of Karloff's finest performances -- the script makes sure that such a thing simply isn't possible -- but this master of the monster movie gives the material far more than it deserves, making the character a bit more complex and hinting at even greater complexities that never get fully explored. Plus, there's simply nothing like hearing Karloff's chilling graveyard voice, even when it's wrapped around dialogue that is simply ridiculous. The plotting is also a problem in Monster, with holes and logic-defying actions, but this wouldn't be such a problem if the film delivered more thrills and scares. There are a few effective moments, such as the revelation of just what Letitia is keeping hidden behind her veils, but Monster could benefit from four or five more. The ending veers off terribly, and the relationship between Nick Adams and Suzanne Farmer doesn't work the way it's supposed to -- in part because the actors aren't very good. Dan Haller's direction works well in places, but overall it's a bit labored and doesn't deliver the visceral excitement that one wants. Still, Monster is worth a view for Karloff.
MS Amadea is a cruise ship owned by Amadea Shipping Company and operated under charter by the Germany-based Phoenix Reisen. Originally built in 1991 by the Mitsubishi Heavy Industries shipyard in Nagasaki, Japan.
Seen arriving at Outer Harbor, South Australia on 27 January 2008.
30D_5_0316
Frisco, NC. October 2023.
If you would like to use THIS picture in any sort of media (such as newspaper or article) please send me a Flickr mail or an e-mail at natehenderson6@gmail.com.
These random window like objects are zoomed in on, and it gives them more meaning than originally, almost in a intimate way with how close they are. I get this outer space tone due to the darkness of the surroundings and brightness of the objects.
From 9,875 feet above sea level, a strange combination of the FAA flight traffic control radar station at Sawtelle Peak, clouds, the milky way, stars, and great deal of light flare.
Along Harumi Avenue is a maze of more than 500 small food shops. Apparently these are not owned by the Tokyo Municipal government which runs the inner market - they are independent businesses. It remains to be seen what happens to them if the inner market moves to Toyosu. In this shop the waiter spoke a little English (enough to explain the menu) although someone must have helped with the spelling and words like 'combo!'
The outer market is popular with the tourist groups who descend here en masse. As Martin & Martin point out, it serves the freshest of fish and is far more affordable than the restaurants of nearby Ginza.
St. Hilda’s By The Sea is a small Anglican church in Sechelt. Set among the verdant green trees of the temperate rainforest, it is an eclectic mix of old and new: retired British pensioners polish the altar crystal and set out flowers for Sunday services, presided over by a gay Chinese-Canadian priest. Tai chi mixes with Celtic mysticism in a melange that is somehow stronger than its parts. And isn’t that what community is all about?
From the official website:
Walking the labyrinth is an ancient spiritual act that is being rediscovered during our time.
Usually constructed from circular patterns, labyrinths are based on principles of sacred geometry. Sometimes called “divine imprints”, they are found around the world as sacred patterns that have been passed down through the ages for at least 4,000 years. When a pattern of a certain size is constructed or placed on the ground, it can be used for walking meditations and rituals.
Labyrinths and their geometric cousins (spirals and mandalas) can be found in almost every religious tradition. For example, the Kabbala, or Tree of Life, is found in the Jewish mystical tradition. The Hopi Medicine Wheel, and the Man in the Maze are two forms from the Native American labyrinth traditions. The Cretan labyrinth, the remains of which can be found on the island of Crete, has seven path rings and is the oldest known labyrinth (4,000 or 5.000 years old).
In Europe, the Celts and later the early Christian Celtic Church revered labyrinths and frequently built them in natural settings. Sacred dances would be performed in them to celebrate solar and religious festivals. During the Middle Ages, labyrinths were created in churches and cathedrals throughout France and Northern Italy. These characteristically flat church or pavement labyrinths were inlaid into the floor of the nave of the church.
The Chartres Labyrinth
The labyrinth constructed at St. Hilda’s is an 11-circuit labyrinth. It is a replica of the one embedded in the floor of Chartres Cathedral in France. The design of this labyrinth, and many of the other church labyrinths in Europe, is a reworking of the ancient labyrinth design in which an equal-armed cross is emphasized and surrounded by a web of concentric circles. As with many Christian symbols, this was an adaptation of a symbol; that is known to have predated the Christian faith. This medieval variation is considered a breakthrough in design because it is less linear than the preceding, more formal, Roman design that developed from quadrant to quadrant. The medieval design made one path as long as possible, starting at the outer circumference and leading to the centre. Fraught with twists and turns, the path’s meanderings were considered symbolic representations of the Christian pilgrim’s journey to the Holy City of Jerusalem and of one’s own journey through life. This classical design is sometimes referred to as “the Chartres Labyrinth” due to the location of its best known example. The labyrinth was built at Chartres in the early 13th century (~ 1215 A.D.). No one knows the source of this classical 11-circuit labyrinth design, and much of its spiritual meaning and use has been lost.
The Chartres Labyrinth is located in the west end of the nave, the central body of the cathedral. When you walk in the main doors and look towards the high altar, you see the center of the labyrinth on the floor about 50 feet in front of you. It is approximately 42 feet in diameter and the path is 16 inches wide. At Chartres, the center of the Rose Window mirrors the center of the labyrinth. The cathedral is perfectly proportioned, so that if we put the west wall of the cathedral on hinges and folded it down on the labyrinth, the Rose Window would fit almost perfectly over the labyrinth.
Labyrinth or Maze?
The difference between a labyrinth used for meditation and mazes can be confusing. Mazes often have many entrances, dead-ends and cul-de-sacs that frequently confound the human mind. In contrast, meditation labyrinths offer only one path. By following the one path to the center, the seeker can use the labyrinth to quiet his or her mind and find peace and illumination at the center of his or her being. “As soon as one enters the labyrinth, one realizes that the path of the labyrinth serves as a metaphor for one’s spiritual journey. The walk, and all that happens on it, can be grasped through the intuitive, pattern-discerning faculty of the person walking it. The genius of this tool is that it reflects back to the seeker whatever he or she needs to discover from the perspective of a new level of conscious awareness.”
The Labyrinth is a Universal Meditation Tool
Anyone from any tradition or spiritual path can walk into the labyrinth and, through reflecting in the present moment, can benefit from it. A meditation labyrinth is one of many tools that can be used for spiritual practice. Like any tool, it is best used with a proper, good, intention. A church or temple can be used simply as a refuge from a rainstorm, but it can be so much more with a different intention. The same is true of the labyrinth. The seeker is only asked to put one foot in front of the other. By stepping into the labyrinth, we are choosing once again to walk the contemplative spiritual path. We are agreeing to let ourselves be open to see, to be free to hear, and to becoming real enough to respond. The labyrinth is a prayer path, a crucible of change, a meditation tool, a blueprint where psyche meets soul.
The best way to learn about the labyrinth is to walk a well-constructed one a few times, with an open heart and an open mind. Then allow your experience to guide you as to whether this will be a useful spiritual tool for you.
The Chartres Labyrinth and the Pilgrim’s Journey
Pilgrims are persons in motion – passing through territories not their own – seeking something we might call completion, or perhaps the word clarity will do as well, a goal to which only the spirit’s compass points the way.
Richard R. Niebuhr in Pilgrims and Pioneers
“The tradition of pilgrimage is as old as religion itself. Worshippers on pilgrimage traveled to holy festivals whether to solstice celebrations, to Mecca to gather around the Ka’aba for the high holy days of Islam, or to Easter festivals in the Holy City of Jerusalem. Pilgrimages were a mixture of religious duty and holiday relaxation for the peasant, the commoner and rich land owner alike. The journey was often embarked on in groups with designated places to stay at night. The pilgrims were restless to explore the mystical holy places, and many were in search of physical or spiritual healing.
The Christian story, which emphasized the humanity of Christ, fascinated the pilgrims. In the Middle Ages, most people did not read. As a result, they were much more oriented to the senses than we are today. They learned the story by traveling to Jerusalem to walk where Jesus walked, to pray where he prayed, and to experience, in a solemn moment, where he died. Unlike today, Pilgrims encountered the truth of the Christian mystery through an ongoing intimacy with all their senses.
When a person committed his or her life to Christ in the early Middle Ages, they sometimes made a vow to make a pilgrimage to the Holy City of Jerusalem. However, by the 12th century when the Crusades swept across Europe and the ownership of Jerusalem was in tumultuous flux, travel became dangerous and expensive. In response to this situation, the Roman Church appointed seven pilgrimage cathedrals to become “Jerusalem” for pilgrims. Consequently, in the pilgrimage tradition, the path within the labyrinth was called the Chemin de Jerusalem and the center of the labyrinth was called “New Jerusalem”.
The walk into the labyrinth marked the end of the physical journey across the countryside and served as a symbolic entry-way into the spiritual realms of the Celestial City. The image of the Celestial City – taken straight out of the Book of Revelation to John – captivated the religious imagination of many during the Middle Ages. The wondrous Gothic cathedrals, with painted walls either in bright, even gaudy colours, or else white-washed, were designed to represent the Celestial City. The stained glass windows – when illuminated by the sun – created the sense of colourful, dancing jewels, allowing the pilgrim to experience the awesome mystery of the City of God.”
The Journey of Life
A fundamental approach to the labyrinth is to see it as a metaphor for life’s journey. The labyrinth reminds us that all of life, with its joys, sorrows, twists and turns, is a journey that comes from God (birth) and goes to God (death). It is a physical metaphor for the journey of healing, spiritual and emotional growth and transformation. Following the path is like any journey. Sometimes you feel you are at or nearing your destination, and at other times you may feel distant or even lost. Only by faithfully keeping to the path will you arrive at the physical center of the labyrinth, which signifies God, the center of our lives and souls.
Applying the Three Fold Mystical Tradition to the Labyrinth
In the Christian mystical tradition, the journey to God was articulated in the three stages. These stages have become recognized as being universal to meditation: to release and quiet; to open and receive; and to take what was gained back out into the world.
The Three Stages
The first part of the Three- Fold Mystical Path is Purgation. This archaic word is from the root word “to purge”, meaning to cleanse, to let go. Shedding is another way of describing the experience. The mystical word is empting or releasing. It is believed that monks journeyed the first part of the labyrinth Purgation on their knees as a penitential act. This was not done for reasons of punishment as we might think, but as a way to humble oneself before God.
The second stage of the Three-Fold Path, Illumination, is found in the center of the labyrinth. Usually it is a surprise to reach the center because the long winding path seems “illogical” and cannot be figured out by the linear mind. After quieting the mind in the first part of the walk, the center presents a new experience: a place of meditation and prayer. Often people at this stage in the walk find insight into their situation in life, or clarity about a certain problem, hence the label “illumination”. As one enters the
center, the instruction is simple: enter with an open heart and mind; receive what there is for you.
The third stage, Union, begins when you leave the center of the labyrinth and continues as you retrace the path that brought you in. In this stage the meditation takes on a grounded, energized feeling. Many people who have had an important experience in the center feel that this third stage of the labyrinth gives them a way of integrating the insights they received. Others feel that this stage stokes the creative fires within. It energizes insight. It empowers, invites, and even pushes us to be more authentic and confident and to take risks with our gifts in the world. Union means communing with God.
The Monastic Orders experienced a union with God through their community life by creating a fulfilling balance between the work that was assigned, sleep and the many hours of worship attended daily. Our times present a similar challenge: we struggle to find balance between work, sleep, family and friends, leisure and spiritual life. The lack of structured communities in which people share work responsibilities and the “every person for himself or herself” mentality (or every family for itself) prevalent in our highly individualistic society makes the task of finding balance even more difficult.
Monastic communities offered a mystical spirituality that spoke to highly intuitive and intensely introverted people and (paradoxically to some) at the same time provided an economic structure throughout Europe. Monasteries during the Middle Ages provided schools and hospitals managed by monks; yet, at the same time, cloistered life helped the monks stay inwardly directed. Today, without any reliable structure directing us, the way of union needs to be re-thought. Our times call for most of us to be outer-directed. We are called to action in every aspect of our society in order to meet the spiritual challenges that confront us in the 21st century. Gratefully, there are still people in religious orders holding the candle for deep contemplation, but the majority of people involved in the spiritual transformation are searching for a path that guides them to service in the world in an active, extroverted, compassionate way. The third stage of the labyrinth empowers the seeker to move back into the world replenished and directed – which makes the labyrinth a particularly powerful tool for transformation.
Walking the Labyrinth: The Process
The purpose of all spiritual disciplines – prayer, fasting, meditation – is to help create an open attentiveness that enables us to receive and renew our awareness of our grounding and wholeness in God.
The Experience of Walking Meditation
Many of us have trouble quieting our minds. The Buddhists call the distracted state of mind the “monkey mind”, which is an apt image of what the mind is frequently like: thoughts swinging like monkeys from branch to branch, chattering away without any rhyme or conscious reason. When the mind is quiet, we feel peaceful and open, aware of a silence that embraces the universe.
Complete quiet in the mind is not a realistic goal for most of us. Instead, the task is to dis-identify with the thoughts going through our minds. Don’t get hooked by the thoughts, let them go. Thomas Keating, a Cistercian monk who teaches Centering Prayer (meditation) in the Christian tradition, described the mind as a still lake. A thought is like a fish that swims through it. If you get involved with the fish (“Gee what an unusual fish, I wonder what it is called?”), then you are hooked. Many of us have discovered through learning meditation how difficult it is to quiet the mind; yet, the rewards are great.
In the labyrinth, the sheer act of walking a complicated, attention demanding path begins to focus the mind. Thoughts of daily tasks and experiences become less intrusive. A quiet mind does not happen automatically. You must gently guide the mind with the intention of letting go of extraneous thoughts. This is much easier to do when your whole body is moving – when you are walking. Movement takes away the excess charge of psychic energy that disturbs our efforts to quiet our thought processes.
Two Basic Approaches to the Walk
One way to walk the labyrinth is to choose to let all thought go and simply open yourself to your experience with gracious attention. Usually – though not always – quieting happens in the first stage of the walk. After the mind is quiet, you can choose to remain in the quiet. Or use the labyrinth as a prayer path. Simply begin to talk to God. This is an indication that you are ready to receive what is there for you, or you allow a sincere part of your being to find its voice.
A second approach to a labyrinth walk is to consider a question. Concentrate on the question as you walk in. Amplify your thoughts about it; let all else go but your question. When you walk into the center with an open heart and an open mind, you are opening yourself to receiving new information, new insights about yourself.
Guidelines for the Walk
Find your pace. In our chaotic world we are often pushed beyond a comfortable rhythm. In this state we lose the sense of our own needs. To make matters worse, we are often rushed and then forced to wait. Anyone who has hurried to the bank only to stand in line knows the feeling. Ironically, the same thing can happen with the labyrinth, but there is a difference. The labyrinth helps us find what our natural pace would be and draws our attention to it when we are not honouring it.
Along with finding your pace, support your movement through the labyrinth by becoming conscious of your breath. Let your breath flow smoothly in and out of your body. It can be coordinated with each step – as is done in the Buddhist walking meditation – if you choose. Let your experience be your guide.
Each experience in the labyrinth is different, even if you walk it often in a short period of time. The pace usually differs each time as well. It can change dramatically within the different stages of the walk. When the labyrinth has more than a comfortable number of seekers on it, you can “pass” people if you want to continue to honour the intuitive pace your inner process has set. If you are moving at a slower pace, you can allow people to pass you. At first people are uncomfortable with the idea of “passing” someone on the labyrinth. It looks competitive, especially since the walk is a spiritual exercise. Again, these kinds of thoughts and feelings, we hope, are greeted from a spacious place inside that smiles knowingly about the machinations of the human ego. On the spiritual path we meet every and all things. To find our pace, to allow spaciousness within, to be receptive to all experience, and to be aware of the habitual thoughts and issues that hamper our spiritual development is a road to self-knowledge.
Summary of How to Walk the Labyrinth
Pause at the entry way to allow yourself to be fully conscious of the act of stepping into the labyrinth. Allow about a minute, or several turns on the path, to create some space between yourself and the person in front of you. Some ritual act, such as a bow, may feel appropriate during the labyrinth walk. Do what comes naturally.
Follow your pace. Allow your body to determine the pace. If you allow a rapid pace and the person in front of you is moving slower, feel free to move around this person. This is easiest to do at the turns by turning earlier. If you are moving slowly, you can step onto the labyrs (wide spaces at the turns) to allow others to pass.
The narrow path is a two-way street. If you are going in and another person is going out, you will meet on the path. If you want to keep in an inward meditative state, simply do not make eye contact. If you meet someone you know, a touch of the hand or a hug may be an important acknowledgement of being on the path together.
Symbolism and Meanings Found in the Chartres Labyrinth
Circles and Spirals
The circle is the symbol of unity or union and it is the primary shape of all labyrinths. The circle in sacred geometry represents the incessant movement of the universe (uncomprehensible) as opposed to the square which represents comprehensible order. The labyrinth is a close cousin to the spiral and it, too, reflects the cyclical element of nature and is regarded as the symbol of eternal life.
The labyrinth functions like a spiral, creating a vortex in its center. Upon entering, the path winds in a clockwise pattern. Energy is being drawn out. Upon leaving the center the walker goes in a counter clockwise direction. The unwinding path integrates and empowers us on our walk back out. We are literally ushered back out into the world in a strengthened condition.
The Path
The path lies in 11 concentric circles with the 12th being the labyrinth center. The path meanders throughout the whole circle. There are 34 turns on the path going into the center. Six are semi-right turns and 28 are 180° turns. So the 12 rings that form the 11 pathways may symbolically represent, the 12 apostles, 12 tribes of Israel or 12 months of the year. Twelve is a mystical number in Christianity. In sacred geometry three represents heaven and four represents earth. Twelve is the product of 3 x 4 and, therefore, the path which flows through the whole is then representative of all creation.
The obvious metaphor for the path is the difficult path to salvation, with its many twists and turns. Since we cannot see a straight path to our destination, the labyrinth can be viewed as a metaphor for our lives. We learn to surrender to the path (Christ) and trust that he will lead us on our journey.
The path can also be viewed as grace or the Church guiding us through chaos.
The Cruciform and Labyrs
The labyrinth is divided equally into four quadrants that make an equal-armed cross or cruciform. The four arms represent in symbol what is thought to be the essential
structure of the universe for example, the four spatial directions, the four elements (earth, wind, water and fire), the four seasons and, most important, salvation through the cross. The four arms of the cross emerging from the center seem to give order to the would-be chaos of the meandering path around it.
The Chartres labyrinth cross or cruciform is delineated by the 10 labyrs (labyr means to turn and this is the root of the word labyrinth). The labyrs are double-ax shaped and visible at the turns and between turns. They are traditionally seen as a symbol of women’s power and creativity.
The Centre Rosette
In the Middle Ages, the rose was regarded as a symbol for the Virgin Mary. Because of its association with the myths of Percival and the Holy Grail at that time, it also was seen as a sign of beauty and love. The rose becomes symbolic of both human and divine love, of passionate love, but also love beyond passion. The single rose became a symbol of a simple acceptance of God’s love for the world.
Unlike a normal rose (which has five petals) the rosette has six petals and is steeped in mysticism. Although associated with the Rose of Sharon, which refers to Mary, it may also represent the Holy Spirit (wisdom and enlightenment). The six petals may have corresponded to the story of the six days of creation. In other mystical traditions, the petals can be viewed as the levels of evolution (mineral, plant, animal, humankind, angelic and divine).
The Lunations
The lunations are the outer ring of partial circles that complete the outside circle of the labyrinth. They are unique to the Chartres design.
Celtic Symbols on the St. Hilda’s Labyrinth
The Celtic peoples have given us seven enduring spiritual principles:
1. A deep respect of nature, regarding creation as the fifth Gospel.
2. Quiet care for all living things.
3. The love of learning.
4. A wonder-lust or migratory nature.
5. Love of silence and solitude.
6. Understanding of time as a sacred reality and an appreciation of ordinary life, worshipping God through everyday life, and with great joy.
7. The value of family and clan affiliation, and especially spiritual ties of soul friends.
To show our respect for such wisdom, two Celtic designs adorn the St. Hilda’s labyrinth.
To mark the entrance to the labyrinth is a Celtic zoomorphic design painted in red. Traditionally, Celtic monks used intricate knotwork and zoomorphic designs (odd animals intertwined in uncomfortable ways) as mere filler for their illuminated gospel texts. They had no discernible meaning.
However, because of their unique design components, zoomorphs are now associated with transformations.
Transformation, change, action, and passion are also associated with red, the colour of fire. Therefore, this entrance symbol may well be an appropriate sign for the journey ahead.
At the labyrinth’s centre is a Celtic triquetra. This interlocked knotwork design of three stylized fish (whales) is often interpreted as the Trinity knot. It is a perfect representation of the concept of "three in one" in Christian trinity beliefs. Having the design enclosed within the centre circle further emphasizes the unity theme.
The triquetra can also be considered to represent the triplicities of mind, body, and soul, as well as the three domains of earth- earth, sea, and sky.
Final Reflection: The Labyrinth as a “Thinning Place”
In Celtic Christianity, places where people felt most strongly connected with God’s presence were referred to as thin places. It was these places in nature (forest groves, hilltops and deep wells) that the seen and unseen worlds were most closely connected, and the inhabitants of both worlds could momentarily touch the other. Today our churches, temples and sacred sites are the new thin places to meet the Divine. Here, at St Hilda’s, we have opportunities to encounter many thinning places – whether it be during Eucharistic or Taize services, while singing or praying, or through the love of a welcoming inclusive community. The labyrinth is a welcome addition; and with the right intent can also become a new thinning place for the modern pilgrim/spiritual seeker.This outward journey is an archetype with which we can have a direct experience. We can walk it. It can serve to frame the inward journey – a journey of repentance, forgiveness and rebirth, a journey that seeks a deeper faith, and greater holiness, a journey in search of God.
This High Dynamic Range panorama was stitched from 84 bracketed images with PTGUI Pro, tone-mapped with Photomatix, and touched up in Aperture.
Original size: 18160 × 9080 (164.9 MP; 194 MB).
Location: St. Hilda’s By The Sea Anglican Church, Sechelt, British Columbia, Canada
The Urban Art Program collaborated with United Photo Industries to curate the outdoor exhibition, "New York (Outer Borough) Stories," a series of images captured by New York City-based artists residing in the four "outer" boroughs- the Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens and Staten Island. Presented along Gouveneur Lane between Water Street and Front Street and Water Street between Pine Street and Maiden Lane, the exhibition aims to provide the visitor a rare window into the soul of New York and to celebrate what makes it tick. The installation is part of the City’s efforts to revitalize and activate Water Street in response to the devastating impact of Hurricane Sandy on Lower Manhattan, and will be on display for the next few months.
In creating this exhibition, one photographer from each of the four outer boroughs was invited to collaborate with a locally-based curator to share a story about his/her own community. The selected photographers come from different social and cultural backgrounds, grew up in different neighborhoods and at different times, yet all share an affinity for their city. New York (outer borough) Stories is more than an exhibition of photographs; it is a celebration of New York, of its unique mix and diversity of people, and of the pride that defines and unites them all.
The ten art display cases will host rotating exhibitions that will move to plazas throughout the five boroughs. DOT will partner with institutions and individual artists to curate the cases. The first set of ten cases was exhibited at Willoughby Plaza in Brooklyn and is currently located at 71st Avenue Plaza in Queens. The structure was designed by the Architecture Research Office, an award-winning architecture and urban design firm based in New York City, and fabricated by Goetz Composites, a leader in custom composite construction based in Rhode Island.
NYC DOT Urban Art Program, Art Display Case
New York (Outer Borough) Stories by United Photo Industries
Sidewalks, Gouveneur Lane between Water Street and Front Street and Water Street between Pine Street and Maiden Lane, Manhattan
Reportedly, Bodie Island, originally “Body,” is named after the family who owned the land, but folklore would have it that the name resulted from the many shipwrecked bodies that washed ashore. Rising 165 feet and painted with striking black and white stripes, the picture-perfect Bodie Island Lighthouse is actually the third attempt to illuminate the perilous stretch of coast between Cape Hatteras and Currituck Beach.
From Wikipedia: "Avebury is a Neolithic henge monument containing three stone circles, around the village of Avebury in Wiltshire, in southwest England." Avebury contains the largest stone circle in Europe, and was constructed around 2600 B.C.
In this photo the short, uniform bollards (2nd & 3rd from right stone, etc.) were placed at suspected locations of henge stones that are no longer present.
The visitors' entrance doesn't need door handles or a knocker, as Thames House is the headquarters of MI5 ('the Security Service'): they already know who you are, when you'll be arriving, and why.
Okay; these are merely the outer doors, opened during office hours.
The Grade II Listed building, on the northern bank of the river overlooking Lambeth Bridge, was designed by Sir Frank Baines in an Imperial Neoclassical style and built 1928-30 for ICI. Acquired by the government for £82 million in 1988, Thames house underwent "refurbishment to a basic office standard" costing £227 million (which obviously included certain specialist requirements) before opening in 1994.
The conversion incorporated considerable physical and electronic defences, few of which are immediately apparent, but note the metal brackets in the lower windows, supporting glass panels preventing anything being left on the sills. I also happened to see some of those distinctive bollards being installed in Whitehall last year, so know that their foundations are startlingly robust. For those unfamiliar with UK road markings, the red line means 'don't even think of stopping here, never mind waiting'.
Not to be confused with the ziggurat-like headquarters of MI6 (SIS, 'the Secret Intelligence Service') at Vauxhall Cross, on the southern bank of the Thames at Vauxhall Bridge, nor Freemasons' Hall in Great Queen Street, Holburn, the exterior of which was used as 'Thames House' in the BBC's 'Spooks' TV series. The real Thames House did appear in the BBC's 'Torchwood: Children Of Earth', however.
I presume the bearded face over the doors (which are by W.B. Fagan), bounded by sails and similar nautical imagery, represents Old Father Thames.
Avebury is one of Britain's most important prehistoric sites, renowned for the standing stones that punctuate the village and represent the remains of one of the largest Neolithic stone circles ever constructed.
The present village of Avebury was built partially within the old stone circle, which is itself surrounded by earthworks forming a circular ditch, a massive undertaking. Almost half the stones of the outer circle remain in some form, mostly on the western side closer to the heart of the village. The huge roughly hewn monoliths are impressive, not least for the effort that must have been required to transport them and erect them here in a standing position.
South of the main circle and village is the Avenue which extends outwards for some distance towards West Kennett. The Avenue is lined on both sides by more standing stones, many of which are missing and generally smaller than those in the circle, but it still makes for a dramatic approach to the site.
My first encounter with Avebury was through a spooky television series in the 1970s called 'Children of the Stones' which was filmed on location here. The memory of the eerie atmosphere of the mysterious stones had stayed with me ever since.
For more on the site see the article below:-
Once again, a series of abstract photos leading me back to the Gas Giant planets circling a far away sun
The sPHENIX detector under assembly. This image shows the complete array of outer hadronic calorimeter sectors surrounding a superconducting solenoid magnet at the core of the detector. sPHENIX is a radical makeover of the PHENIX experiment, one of the original detectors designed to collect data at Brookhaven Lab’s Relativistic Heavy Ion Collider. It includes many new components that significantly enhance scientists’ ability to learn about quark-gluon plasma (QGP), an exotic form of nuclear matter created in RHIC’s energetic particle smashups