A Good Day

Greetings, I hope you are enjoying the new year so far. It certainly promises to be an interesting ride. I took the above pics while sitting in the car during a ten minute drive around. Sadly, I can’t spend much more time than this away from home without experiencing extreme exhaustion. Having said that, I am grateful for all that I can do, and this was a good day.

Every remaining day, of one particular summer holiday when I was a boy, and Just back home from the family fortnight, I would meet with my friends, and we would play together in abandoned neighbouring farmland. Before long, we put our heads together, and decided to build a two level treehouse in the branches our favourite oak tree. It was ancient, and tall, with many long branches for us to utilise. We loved this tree like a member of our gang. We utilised available planks and rope, and whatever else we could find lying scattered where the farmhouse had stood. The treehouse took less than a week to complete. Here we drunk lemonade, and swapped comics. When hungry, we helped ourselves to apples, gooseberries, strawberries, and suchlike. They grew freely and in abundance amongst the wildflowers and tall bushes growing all around. All in all, it was turning out to be a very good summer holiday.

One day, when September was approaching, a gang of ruffians bore down on us. They came, orc-like, thrashing through the tall grass. They threatened to hurt us if we didn’t surrender our treehouse. My friends decided it would be wise to run away, and so they did. Not this fool. I refused to surrender, and defended the structure from barrage after barrage of flying stones taken from a crumbling boundary wall. Next thing, the thin planks making up one side of our den were demolished. I grabbed the corrugated iron roofing and made a shield around my exposed flank. The raining stones were deafening against my ear, and worse yet were the threats and taunts. Before long, the floor collapsed, and I fell, wearing short sleeves and trousers, into the moat of tall nettles that was lying directly below. 

We lost our hideaway that day. The gang took over the remains of our treehouse. Days passed, and that would have been it, except for the surprising fact that I had earned their respect, or so it seems. One of them approached me with an invitation to join them for an afternoon in the tree, and I accepted. The first thing I noticed was that the wild flowers that graced the field were all gone. The treehouse had received some very rudimentary repairs, and I sat, with some trepidation, in a corner, to observe the ways of these boys. They read naughty mags, and smoked cigarettes. I flatly refused both things. They spoke rudely, and plotted ill doings, including thefts, and truancy. When they grew hungry, there was no fruit growing for free to be found, and so they opted to scrump apples from a dwelling close to the road. From here they were chased off promptly, and with strongly worded threats to call the police ringing in their ears. I didn’t waste a single minute more of my time with these fellows, but I do thank them sincerely for the truly great lesson about life, and mother earth they gave me on that one cloudy afternoon. 

Now they remind me of our brothers and sisters who have stolen by force, the earth herself, leaving wastelands behind them. *Thorn bushes grow where the enemy has camped. Many decades have passed since our happy treehouse, and the way the earth once fed us freely. The landscape of childhood has changed out of recognition. It is built over, and no longer allowed to feed any hungry children at play. I miss mother earth. So much of the bounty that heaven provides freely according to our need, has had a price put on it by naughty children who throw stones. I am very happy though, to contemplate the fact that too much Yang will become Yin. Therefore the pendulum is, perforce, swinging back again towards universal righteousness, and nothing but nothing can stop it. The good are becoming better, while the better are becoming best. Can you not feel this, like a call coming from inside of yourself?

I hope you enjoyed that memory of mine from a time long gone. The moral is timeless. Until next time, peace and good cheer from me.

“Oh Thou, from whom the breath of life comes,

who fills all realms of sound, light and vibration.

May Your light be experienced in my utmost holiest.

Your Heavenly Domain approaches.

Let Your will come true – in the universe

just as on earth 

Give us wisdom for our daily need,

detach the fetters of faults that bind us,

like we let go the guilt of others

Let us not be lost in superficial things

but let us be freed from that what keeps us off from our true purpose.

From You comes the all-working will, the lively strength to act,

the song that beautifies all and renews itself from age to age.

Sealed in trust, faith and truth.”

Jesus.

The Lord’s Prayer, in its original Aramaic form.

Photography ©Francis Moloney.

 *Lau Tzu.

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Artificial Habitat

Greetings, and best ever Christmas wishes to you. These pics were taken recently at a nearby Public Aquarium.

I feel that from the point of view of these marvellous and beautiful creatures, their world is a sort of prison. We have built a prison for them, even as we build prisons for ourselves. Encouragingly enough though, these particular captives don’t seem to suffer from any shortage of stimulation in this well-kept artificial habitat of theirs. How lovely it is too, to see the faces of visiting children light up in wonder at their first ever glimpse of these living marvels.

I wish that all captive creatures* were treated so well; and I hope that one day soon, we will agree to honour them all, and nature, in deep and wiser ways. 

With that, may I wish you strength, and peace, to carry you into what promises to be a very stimulating New Year.

Be undivided in your affectionate kindness for all life. Keep your mind flexible.

*Including mermaids.

Photography ©Amanda Moloney.

Divine Elegance

 

Namaste to all our readers. These beautiful, and colourful creatures grace the corners of the Stratford Butterfly Farm, in Warwickshire, England. Life, as we well know, expresses divine elegance through infinite diversity in infinite combinations. The fish know only water, while the snake belongs to earth. The frog can find a home on earth, and in the water too. Butterflys seek sanctuary both on earth and in the air.

We people walk, and cook. We swim, and fly. Above all else, we know. Five creative elements are fused in us in living sync.

While the immature prince of Denmark, seen contemplating his existence in a stone image, was created in the imagination of a human, who can even begin to conceive of the scope of the imagination of the creator of the human?

And, though we share some small similarity with the shape of the contemplative frog, and some folk choose to stoop as low as snakes, while others act as cold as fish. We are all born, like the caterpillar, with the capability of becoming something extraordinary, and beautiful.

Thank you for stopping by to read. Until next time, peace from Amras.

 

“Two things awe me most, the starry sky above me

 and the moral law within me.”

Immanuel Kant.

 

féileacán
Féileacán ~ ag Amanda O Maoldhomnaigh

 

 

Photography©Amanda Moloney.

 

Yet Beauty Prevails

 

 

Hello again. One day later, and twelve months sooner – we return with part two. Today’s pics were taken only days ago.

In those sacred corners of this world, where peace prevails, and nature is allowed to practice its art, a thoughtful soul might, even if only for a moment, feel their connection to the divine.

The words, “Sic Transit Gloria Mundi” apply to those who would build monuments to themselves. From empty boastings, all the way up to the legacies of kings – whatever is built upon dust must fall. Yet beauty prevails wherever it can, never needing the help of kings, or commoners. For me, when this wider world of green and living wonders is allowed to practice its art, it never loses so much as an inch of its glory, no matter the season.

I took a tumble a few days ago, and am working my way through some consequences. Any healing wishes sent my way will be received with gratitude.

With that said, it’s time to rest. Namaste, and peace to every reader.

A long time ago, before we arrived, the stage was all set for matter alive. Each one, a rung on the spiralling stair, we all belong in each other’s care.

Photography ©Amanda Moloney.

Time Flies

 

Greetings, I hope to find you well. This is the first of a two parter where all pics were taken at the same location, but separated by a year. Whilst this year, our Summer has been somewhat wonderful (for the majority of non-farming folk), last year wasn’t always quite so good. Today’s pics, however, were taken on a particularly beautiful day during August ’17.

Tempus Fugit, and in one year so very much has flown swiftly by. Yet still the growing tale of events accelerates us ever further onwards. Although a year is a relatively short time for an aging adult, for the millions of tiny creatures who inhabit every inch of the natural landscape in our pics, it is a millennium. How inconceivably quickly time flies for tiny critters. I see no reason not to suppose that unimaginably vast beings are inhabiting spaces forever imperceptible to us, and whose lifespans endure far beyond any measure of time we might care to believe. Yet if even these hypothetical souls had a beginning, then they must as surely have an end. Therefore, it is fair to say that for them time probably flies in a relative way too.

My mother would often remark on the beauty of this world, and express her sadness that one day we have to leave. Nowadays I doubt strongly that she would swap her present environment for the troubled world she left behind. Our time here is flying, I think it’s best to practise kindness, and no matter how strong the temptation, to avoid wrongdoing.

Now, in the blink of a blackbird’s eye, all our time has flown on by.

Part two to follow. Namaste, and peace from Amras.

“Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence.” ~ Erich Fromm.

Photography ©Amanda Moloney.