From the things I just don’t get department, I present this pic of padlocks, many pink and heart shaped, affixed to a fence atop Penang Hill in Malaysia.
Apparently, there is a bridge across the Seine River in Paris, where so many other star-crossed lovers have done the same thing that the bridge itself is sagging under the weight of thousands of padlocks.
If a lock is not a metaphor for entrapment and being hemmed in, I don’t what is.
Sinking bridges speak for themselves!
Call me a curmudgeon, but I don’t understand it…. and, on a purely aesthetic and functional front, pink padlocks are just plain f**king weird…
I think we all want harmony – within things and between them ,as with this view of tropical flowers floating in water – and between people and within themselves. Peacefulness and inner beauty ,that sort of thing, you know?
But maybe it’s too much to ask. Some things cropped up today and I wonder why some people do not appear to want that at all. They seem to want to find fault, sow discord and generally wreck things that don’t need wrecking.
Inner disharmony is at root of this malaise. I know that state at times (we all do), but I try not to want it, and certainly not the destruction that follows.
Anyway, I have no real answers to that conundrum today, but in the meantime, have some beautiful blossoms as an aiming point!
Water lilies, a flora favourite of mine – this from the amazing Spice Gardens in Penang, Malaysia on a trip up there in 2016.
Not too many flowers on offer, so the focus is on the lily pads.
Great view of the structural mechanics of the plants,with the stems connecting the circular pads clearly visible though the water.
Even though you can see how the floating trick is performed, the sight is no less magical!
For more transcendental aqua flotation miracles see: Water Lilies I, Water Lilies II , Water Lilies III .
Crazy mural in Auckland’s Balmoral.
The night sky and Asian animals are depicted.
The woman is in state of wonderment.
I would be too, if I were her.
And, just quietly, wondering how the hell am I going to get out of here before I get trampled, snake bitten or devoured….
” Butterflies are self propelled flowers.”
Last in this little trilogy (see Fern Rainbows and Fronds On The Fading Year for more).
Here, the lush ferns seem to be dancing and inviting you in to play with them.
Did you know that the silver fern is one of New Zealand’s national symbols?
These are ferns of a slightly different variety, but are still strong signifiers of home -strength and resilience, beauty and harmony.
Dive right in!
This shot of fern fronds was taken on New Year’s Eve a few years ago.
The last day of the year.
Later in the evening there will be a small party and our posse will go out to the ridge and view fireworks as the New Year’s entrance is vividly signalled.
But in the moment of this photo, there are only hours to run in the current year.That time of bittersweet thought, regret and anticipation intertwined.
Only a few of the pictured fronds are in focus;the rest are as blurred as memories of the year past.
…when one miracle of nature mimicks another…
My previous post The Presence Of Passion featured a single rose.
Here are a few more.
My then six year old daughter, in pinkish garb,takes in the fragrance of a neatly matching rose flower.
It was possibly the first time she had done so.
The saying “take time to smell the roses” is almost a cliche of mindfulness rhetoric.
But how often do we not do that exact thing? We know what they look and smell like. But we take them for granted, ignore them and so deprive ourselves of sensory moments of joyful rediscovery.
There are thousands of such moments that pass us by because we are think we are too busy ,or have simply become blase.
We have to make time for joy and newness in our lives,to discover and replenish.
For time is of the essence, just as rose petals are crushed to form the essence of perfume.
Which brings a telling song lyric to mind:
” If you don’t stop to smell the roses now
They might end up on you “
( Husker Du , ‘These Important Years ‘)
“The presence of passion within you is the greatest gift you can receive. Treat it as a miracle.”
– Wayne Dyer
“I come into town on a night train with an arm full of boxcars
On the wings of a magpie cross a hooligan night
I’m gonna tear me off a rainbow and wear it for a tie
I never told the truth so I can never tell a lie
Whistlin’ past the graveyard, stepping on a crack
Me and mother hubbard Papa one-eyed jack”
– Tom Waits ,‘Whistlin’ Past The Graveyard’ (1978).
One of the greatest songs about the resting place of the dead ever written!
Well, compared to songs about love, it’s a relatively small sample size, granted.
The way the gravel-voiced one growls and rasps his blues braggadocio poetry is pure (black) magic.
Excellent slink-through-the-night creep factor, but damn hard to whistle…
Link to the song below:
“Blessed are the pure in heart” reads the inscription on this grave in a cemetery close to where I live. Great words, and maybe they befitted the deceased.
If memory serves me correctly, the words are those of Jesus ,from the Sermon on the Mount.
You can cast doubt on religion, but not those words.
When we and our motives are pure – and it may not be much of the time (in my case anyway!) -things, blessings, flow, on and through us ,upon the world around us.
You don’t have to be the Dalai Lama or Mother Theresa – anyone can know those small moments of purity when you do the right thing for the right reasons or are the right person in the right place at the right time.
Simple but elusive and fleeting.
You can’t seek it, any more than you can blessings.
But when a moment or someone is pure you just know.
And are blessed.
Continuing on from the last post, Turret House ,here is the other place mentioned therein, the so-called “Tin Man House’. I guess because of the turret’s likeness to the hat worn by that character in ‘The Wizard Of Oz’, not because it has no heart…it does.
This gothic beauty ,with its white paintwork gleaming in the sunlight,looks harmless enough right now,but at midnight on a moonless night I reckon the turret would be more akin to the Wicked Witch’s hat, and emanating serious spookiness and evil… I won’t be creeping round in the dark to find out though…
Cool house turret in Ponsonby, inner Auckland City.
Turrets are alluring to me.
Gothic charm, for sure.
Any shape, as long as it fits the bill – round, square, hexagonal, octagonal even; flat- topped or pointy like a witch’s hat.
Something left over from ancient times; a throwback.
A detached but special view over the world below.
Exclusive – most of them are not built for a crowd. Party for one, or two, maybe?
They reek of twisted fairy tales. A friend recognised a house from a photo I took of another turreted specimen nearby to this one, and told me it was known to him as the ‘The Tin Man House’.
Lastly,the very fact that they are not essential to the structure of whatever building they are tacked onto, but utterly transform the place when added. A paradox of design!
The writing’s on the wall…all you need is love, love is all you need…
There aren’t too many straight lines in nature (or in life for that matter).
Here, branches deviate and twist; leaves are splayed like stars.
All angles and curves every which way – sprawling ,kinetic and chaotic.
And that is exactly how it should be…
A small rockpool on the Tamaki River at low tide.
Seawater trapped in a sandstone circle. The next tide will free it.
Meanwhile, there’s maybe just enough space and water to bathe a baby…or to reflect your face… or to throw a coin in, and wish…
I adore small perfectly formed things ,and today I wish for them to come my way, and yours!
This can be a thing in restaurants – a tasty morsel, in this case a decadent dessert – on an oversize plate. Odd. This was such an extreme example I had to take a shot.
Which got me to thinking about those times in life which are not exactly brimming over and dripping onto the carpet.
You know, when you are between jobs or relationships, or a time of loss – and there is empty, and sometimes uncomfortable, space. We crave that time and space when life is frantic and when we are at odds with the life path we want or hope for, there is more of it than we want.
What to do with unwelcome time and space?
It’s a bit like the expanse of white china above – a blank canvas so to speak. The time of emptiness may become a place of renewal and re-creation, something massive in your life. Not something to fill the gap for the sake of it, but an opportunity to change something that’s not working, or head down a new path entirely.
And if that sounds all too much, you could at least sprinkle some f**king fairy dust, like icing sugar ,all over your plate….
Lit up skywalk in downtown Auckland.
Coloured panes of glass transform the overbridge in the changing light. Bulbs and fairy lights adorn and assist.
At dawn or dusk, the structure comes to life, and plays tricks with my mind.
It sings songs that glow, and of transcendence.
At some point, I cross over to the other side (no,not death!…but that place beyond logic).