viernes

Go with the Flow

Go with the Flow
Originally uploaded by Bill Baldridge

Go with the Flow

....or be the Captain of Your Own Ship, or whatever trips your trigger. Have a great 2010.

miércoles

Tawny Owl

Yesterday I went bird hunting together with Dennis Rademaker whom I met a month ago at the Veluwe.

Luck was on our side when we started off at the Oostvaardersplassen, a Nature Reserve in the centre of Holland. Upon arrival we were greeted by the most co-operative Buzzard I've ever met! Totally at ease and undisturbed, he even caught 3 mice while we were standing right next to him!

Next we got tipped off on the location of a Tawny Owl up north in the Netherlands and went looking for it. Guess it was a pretty wild idea to go driving 100 miles just on a vague description, but the fact that you are now looking at it, obviously means we found it :-)
Ended the day at the Veluwe to see the Red Deer, which completed a fantastic day.

remorse

remorse
Originally uploaded by Amsterdamned!

Suffer / ทรมาน (ยักษ์วัดพระแก้ว)

Suffer / ทรมาน (ยักษ์วัดพระแก้ว)
Originally uploaded by AmpamukA

Captured at base of Two Gilt Chedis At The Emerald Buddha ,Bangkok

Marine Turtle in Moorea, French Polynesia

Marine Turtle in Moorea, French Polynesia
Originally uploaded by Pierre Lesage

Marine Turtle in Moorea, French Polynesia

Marine Turtle in Moorea's Lagoon. Shot with an Olympus 5050 in a waterproof case - no flash

Aspens 2

Aspens 2
Originally uploaded by Chad Galloway Photo

martes

campanario

campanario
Originally uploaded by glassysound

campanario

El sonido sacudiendo el silencio, llenandolo como ondas en el agua con tiempo, dramas y tragedias del mundo griego

Monitos Colombia

Monitos Colombia
Originally uploaded by glassysound

jumento

Shadow

Shadow
Originally uploaded by glassysound

sombra egipcia

the magic forest

the magic forest
Originally uploaded by glassysound

ghost orchid

ghost orchid
Originally uploaded by glassysound

el fantasma de la orquidea

sacred fire

sacred fire
Originally uploaded by glassysound

Quien mira el fuego, lo hace con un asombro, antiguo y sAgrado

Uploaded by glassysound on 22 Jun 09, 11.08AM COT.

secret garden

secret garden
Originally uploaded by glassysound

lunes

HOTEL BLUE2

HOTEL BLUE2
Originally uploaded by fauser

The mushroom Amanita muscaria (fly agaric) in Glen Affric, Scotland

The mushroom Amanita muscaria (fly agaric) in Glen Affric, Scotland
Originally uploaded by David & Cheryl M

El tesoro escondido de los cuento de hadas

the-unrolling

the-unrolling
Originally uploaded by strangemagee

the-unrolling

as pretty as this is, this is actualy an army of digestion in the making

patience

patience
Originally uploaded by strangemagee

wish i could look this good when i'm hungry...
this is a venus flytrap with its "mouth" open patiently waiting for an unsuspecting fly to be its lunch

Sarracenia flower without its petals

Sarracenia flower without its petals
Originally uploaded by strangemagee

here is the flower after it had droped its petals of the pitcher plant that i posted yesterday . alot of people think that the pitcher is the flower, yet that is just for the plant to get it nutrients from digested insects.
the flowers are for pollenation, mostly by bees.
one of the cooler flowers to me

Poema. The oxen of the Sun by James Joyce

The voices blend and fuse in clouded silence: silence that is the infinite of space: and swiftly, silently the soul is wafted over regions of cycles of cycles of generations that have lived. A region where grey twilight ever descends, never falls on wide sagegreen pasturefields, shedding her dusk, scattering a perennial dew of stars. She follows her mother with ungainly steps, a mare leading her fillyfoal. Twilight phantoms are they yet moulded in prophetic grace of structure, slim shapely haunches, a supple tendonous neck, the meek apprehensive skull. They fade, sad phantoms: all is gone. Agendath is a waste land, a home of screechowls and the sandblind upupa. Netaim, the golden, is no more. And on the highway of the clouds they come, muttering thunder of rebellion, the ghosts of beasts. Huuh! Hark! Huuh! Parallax stalks behind and goads them, the lancinating lightnings of whose brow are scorpions. Elk and yak, the bulls of Bashan and of Babylon, mammoth and mastodon, they come trooping to the sunken sea, Lacus Mortis. Ominous, revengeful zodiacal host! They moan, passing upon the clouds, horned and capricorned, the trumpeted with the tusked, the lionmaned the giantantlered, snouter and crawler, rodent, ruminant and pachyderm, all their moving moaning multitude, murderers of the sun.

Onward to the dead sea they tramp to drink, unslaked and with horrible gulpings, the salt somnolent inexhaustible flood. And the equine portent grows again, magnified in the deserted heavens, nay to heaven's own magnitude, till it looms, vast, over the house of Virgo. And, lo, wonder of metempsychosis, it is she, the everlasting bride, harbinger of the daystar, the bride, ever virgin. It is she, Martha, thou lost one, Millicent, the young, the dear, the radiant. How serene does she now arise, a queen among the Pleiades, in the penultimate antelucan hour, shod in sandals of bright gold, coifed with a veil of what do you call it gossamer! It floats, it flows about her starborn flesh and loose it streams emerald, sapphire, mauve and heliotrope, sustained on currents of cold interstellar wind, winding, coiling, simply swirling, writhing in the skies a mysterious writing till after a myriad metamorphoses of symbol, it blazes, Alpha, a ruby and triangled sign upon the forehead of Taurus."

Where Do You Think You Will Be? BY HAFIZ

I am sitting on a mountain.
I am casting shadows into the sky.
I did not invite it but the sun has come
And is now playing tag with my feet.
I am whispering to clouds today,
“Watch out for my shoulders,”
For I wish no harm
To all my soft friends.
Where do you think you will Be
When God reveals Himself
Inside of you?
I was so glad to hear
That every pillow in this world
Will become stuffed with
My soul and beard.
I am sitting on a mountain range.
I am a precious body of living water
Offered to the earth
From Light’s own hands.
Why ever talk of miracles
When you are destined to become
Infinite love.
Still, the Final Grace was left:
For all of existence and Hafiz to blend
And to find that I am every pillow
Offering comfort
To each mind and
Foot

Poema en video: Borges y yo de Jorge Luis Borges por Jorge Luis Borges
Poema en audio: La noche cíclica de Jorge Luis Borges por Jorge Luis Borges

Verso místico.

From Paracelsus R. Browning

TRUTH is within ourselves; it takes no rise
From outward things, whate’er you may believe.
There is an inmost centre in us all,
Where truth abides in fullness; and around,
Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in,	5
This perfect, clear perception—which is truth.
A baffling and perverting carnal mesh
Binds it, and makes all error: and, to KNOW,
Rather consists in opening out a way
Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape,	10
Than in effecting entry for a light
Supposed to be without.

II I knew, I felt, (perception unexpressed,
Uncomprehended by our narrow thought,
But somehow felt and known in every shift	15
And change in the spirit,—nay, in every pore
Of the body, even,)—what God is, what we are
What life is—how God tastes an infinite joy
In infinite ways—one everlasting bliss,
From whom all being emanates, all power	20
Proceeds; in whom is life for evermore,
Yet whom existence in its lowest form
Includes; where dwells enjoyment there is he:
With still a flying point of bliss remote,
A happiness in store afar, a sphere	25
Of distant glory in full view; thus climbs
Pleasure its heights for ever and for ever.
The centre-fire heaves underneath the earth,
And the earth changes like a human face;
The molten ore bursts up among the rocks,	30
Winds into the stone’s heart, outbranches bright
In hidden mines, spots barren river-beds,
Crumbles into fine sand where sunbeams bask—
God joys therein! The wroth sea’s waves are edged
With foam, white as the bitten lip of hate,	35
When, in the solitary waste, strange groups
Of young volcanos come up, cyclops-like,
Staring together with their eyes on flame—
God tastes a pleasure in their uncouth pride.
Then all is still; earth is a wintry clod:	40
But spring-wind, like a dancing psaltress, passes
Over its breast to waken it, rare verdure
Buds tenderly upon rough banks, between
The withered tree-roots and the cracks of frost,
Like a smile striving with a wrinkled face;	45
The grass grows bright, the boughs are swoln with blooms
Like chrysalids impatient for the air,
The shining dorrs are busy, beetles run
Along the furrows, ants make their ade;
Above, birds fly in merry flocks, the lark	50
Soars up and up, shivering for very joy;
Afar the ocean sleeps; white fishing-gulls
Flit where the strand is purple with its tribe
Of nested limpets; savage creatures seek
Their loves in wood and plain—and God renews	55
His ancient rapture. Thus He dwells in all,
From life’s minute beginnings, up at last
To man—the consummation of this scheme
Of being, the completion of this sphere
Of life: whose attributes had here and there	60
Been scattered o’er the visible world before,
Asking to be combined, dim fragments meant
To be united in some wondrous whole,
Imperfect qualities throughout creation,
Suggesting some one creature yet to make,	65
Some point where all those scattered rays should meet
Convergent in the faculties of man.

viernes

Go with the Flow

miércoles

Tawny Owl

remorse

Suffer / ทรมาน (ยักษ์วัดพระแก้ว)

Marine Turtle in Moorea, French Polynesia

Aspens 2

martes

campanario

Monitos Colombia

Shadow

the magic forest

ghost orchid

sacred fire

secret garden

lunes

HOTEL BLUE2

The mushroom Amanita muscaria (fly agaric) in Glen Affric, Scotland

the-unrolling

patience

Sarracenia flower without its petals

Glassyens

Más que un número

dixon

Poema. The oxen of the Sun by James Joyce

Where Do You Think You Will Be? BY HAFIZ

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