#traditions — Public Fediverse posts

The Spirits of the River by Roberto Pazzi

https://tmblr.co/Z7VXvxjtWDyqme00

#mask #disguise #four #people #hut #asaro #mudmen #clay #tribesmen #traditions #tribe #indoors #weapons #highlands #papua #new #guinea #men #culture #oceania #photography #aboriginal #ethnicity #full #length #tribal #colors #sony #looking #camera

A twin to The Days of the Dreams.

The black fog slid across the terracotta floor of the tea shop like a living river of ice. Every glass jar on Moira’s shelves began to frost over, the dried herbs inside freezing white. The warm, comforting smell of chamomile and old paper was completely swallowed by the bitter scent of deep winter and ancient dust.

Toe, the black cat, stood on the very edge of the oak counter. He hissed, a sharp, angry sound, while Ashwaganda stood tall beside him, his orange fur puffed out like a shield.

“Stay behind me, Elio,” Moira whispered. Her breath was a thick white cloud in the freezing air.

Elio walked slowly out of the back kitchen. He was holding the heavy wooden bowl with both hands. The ossobuco and the fresh, golden pasta were steaming perfectly, radiating a deep, rich heat. The smell of the roasted meat, the sweet tomatoes, and the old wine fought against the cold fog, creating a wall of warm air around the chef.

“Where do I put it?” Elio asked, his teeth chattering from the sudden, unnatural cold.

“On the counter. Right between the two books,” Moira ordered.

Elio stepped forward. The shadows on the walls seemed to reach for him, long black fingers stretching out to grab the bowl. But the heat of the traditional food pushed them back. Elio placed the wooden bowl carefully onto the heavy oak wood, right between the dusty blue cover of The Days of the Dreams and the pristine white cover of its newly found twin.

The moment the bowl touched the wood, the black fog stopped moving along the floor.

Slowly, the fog began to rise. It gathered in the center of the room, pulling itself up into a tall, towering pillar of pure darkness. It had no face and no eyes, but Moira and Elio could feel it looking at them. It felt like a bottomless, starving void—an emptiness that had not been warm in a thousand years.

Elio took a step back, terrified.

Moira did not move. She stood tall, placed one hand on her blue book, and looked directly into the dark shadow.

“We offer you the memory of the hearth,” Moira said in a loud, clear voice. She remembered the words of the riddle. “We bring you the marrow of the bone, slow-cooked in the tears of the hills. We bind it with the golden sheet, stretched only by human hands.”

The towering shadow let out a sound. It was not a voice, but a low, hollow wind that rattled the teacups on their shelves.

The dark shape leaned forward, hovering directly over the steaming wooden bowl.

Elio grabbed Moira’s arm, ready to pull her away. But Moira shook her head. “Watch,” she whispered.

The shadow did not eat the food like a person or an animal would. Instead, it opened wide and breathed in. The thick, rich steam rising from the hot pasta and the roasted marrow was pulled straight up into the darkness.

As the shadow swallowed the heat, the smell, and the soul of the carefully cooked meal, something amazing happened. The pure black fog began to turn gray. The terrible, freezing cold in the room began to soften.

The shadow breathed in again, drinking the human effort, the patience, and the tradition that Elio had rolled into the pasta dough. The darkness turned lighter and lighter, until it looked like ordinary morning mist.

With one final, quiet sigh that sounded almost peaceful, the mist evaporated completely into the air.

The desk lamp flickered and turned back on. The frost on the glass jars melted into tiny drops of water. The fire in the back room roared back to life, filling the tea shop with warmth once again.

Ashwaganda stopped puffing his fur and let out a long, happy purr. Toe jumped down from the counter and started to wash his paws.

Elio slowly walked up to the oak counter and looked into the wooden bowl.

The ossobuco and the pasta were still there. But they had completely changed. The rich red tomato sauce was totally gray. The golden yellow of the egg pasta was dull and white. The meat looked dry as dust. There was no steam, no smell, and no heat.

“It took the life out of it,” Elio whispered, staring at the bowl in shock. “It ate the essence of the food.”

“It ate the memory,” Moira corrected gently. She closed the covers of both the blue and white books. “It was starving for warmth. You gave it a meal made with care, patience, and human hands. A machine could never have made a meal that could defeat a shadow, Elio.”

Elio looked at his flour-covered hands. He had always cooked for awards, for speed, and for modern perfection. But tonight, he had cooked to save a village.

“I understand now,” the chef said softly. He looked at Moira with true respect. “Tradition is not just about the past. It is about keeping the warmth alive for the future.”

Moira smiled. She took the wooden bowl of gray, empty food and tossed it into the trash bin.

“Now,” Moira said, tying her apron back on. “Since the shadow ate your dinner, how about we go into the kitchen and make another batch of that hand-rolled pasta? Just for us this time.”

Elio smiled back, his fear finally gone. “Only if you let me show you how to chop the wild mallow for the salad.”

“It is peaceful, Just like good cooking should be.”

Elio jumped back in fear. His flour-covered hands hit the wooden shelves behind him, knocking over a small jar of dried apple slices. The jar hit the floor, but neither of them looked at it.

The icy blue light from the white leather book grew brighter. It filled the dark tea shop, making the shadows on the walls look long and strange.

“Moira,” Elio whispered, his voice shaking. “What is happening? Books do not glow.”

“Stand back, Elio,” Moira said. Her voice was very steady, even though her heart was beating fast. She did not look away from the rusted iron box.

Toe, the black cat, let out a loud, angry yowl. He jumped down from the top shelf and stood on the counter next to Moira. Ashwaganda joined him. Both cats stared at the white book. Their fur was standing up, making them look twice as big.

Suddenly, the heavy cover of the white book flipped open all by itself.

Elio gasped and grabbed Moira’s arm. “Did you see that? There is no wind in here!”

Moira gently pulled her arm away. “I saw it. Do not be afraid. But do not touch it.”

She leaned over the counter to look at the open pages. The pages inside the white book were not yellow or creamy like her own book. They were completely black, like the night sky.

As they watched, glowing silver letters began to write themselves across the dark paper. The writing moved quickly, spelling out a message in the cold blue light.

Moira read the words out loud:

The twin wakes from the dark earth. The cook was called to the water. The old hunger returns to the hills.

Elio stepped closer, his eyes wide. He looked at the glowing words, then he looked at Moira. “The cook was called to the water? That means me. I went to the water to find the wild mallow. Are you telling me this… this magic book made me want to go there?”

Moira looked at him sadly. “Magic is like a magnet, Elio. It pulls things to it. It pulls people to it. You thought the wild mallow was your own idea for a new recipe. But the book was waiting to be found. It used you to wake up.”

Elio rubbed his face with his hands. He looked like he was trying to wake up from a very strange dream. “This is crazy. This is a quiet village in Italy. We make pasta and drink tea. Magic is not real.”

Moira knew it was time to share her biggest secret. If Elio was part of this now, he needed to know the truth.

She reached under the heavy oak counter. She pulled out her own book, The Days of the Dreams, with its dusty blue cover and the silver sleeping cat.

Elio stared at it. “There are two of them?”

“Yes,” Moira said quietly. “Mine is the blue book. I found it years ago. It helps protect Speranza. It warns me when danger is coming. But I did not know it had a twin.”

Moira placed her blue book on the counter, right next to the rusted metal box that held the white book.

As soon as the two books were close to each other, the air in the room felt heavy. A warm, golden light began to glow from Moira’s blue book. It mixed with the icy blue light of the white book.

The silver letters in the white book faded away. New words began to write themselves, but this time, the words flowed across both books at the same time. The writing started on the black pages of the white book and finished on the yellow pages of the blue book.

Light and shadow meet again. The gates of the old hunger are open. You must feed the shadow, or it will eat the village.

The light from both books flashed brightly, and then, suddenly, they both went totally dark. The glowing stopped. The shop was quiet again.

Elio was breathing heavily. He pointed at the black pages of the white book. “Feed the shadow? What does that mean, Moira? Feed it what?”

Moira looked down at her hands. They were shaking just a little bit. She thought about the warning. The old hunger returns.

“I don’t know yet,” Moira admitted, looking up at the worried chef. “But I think your cooking is going to be very important, Elio. And I think we are going to need more than just wild mallow to save Speranza this time.”

The Rabbit Paradox: How Fixing Australian History Handed Power to the Emus

If you could erase one event from history, what would it be?

If humanity had a single, golden lever to undo one moment in time, the gut instinct is always the catastrophic: wars, plagues, assassinations, or the burning of ancient libraries. Yet, history has a cruel way of teaching us that removing a monster often leaves a vacuum for a worse one, and curing a plague early might shift the balance of populations into brutal famines.

If I could erase one single, deceptively small event from the tapestry of time, it would be the 1859 introduction of twenty-four wild European rabbits into Victoria, Australia, by a well-meaning English settler named Thomas Austin.

Austin famously remarked that the introduction of a few rabbits could do little harm and might provide a touch of home, in addition to a spot of hunting. That single afternoon of nostalgic homesickness unleashed what became the fastest mammal invasion in biological history. Within decades, billions of rabbits had swept across the entire continent, stripping away root systems, turning fertile valleys into desolate red dust bowls, starving native marsupials to extinction, and warping an entire nation’s ecology forever. Erasing Austin’s little wooden crate of bunnies would save tens of millions of native lives, protect the fragile topsoil, and spare generations of farmers endless grief.

Yet, tampering with time never goes cleanly.

When the temporal distortion device hummed to life in our subterranean laboratory, the logic felt airtight. We targeted the Victorian docks in October 1859. The mission was surgically simple: intercept the shipping manifest, quietly drop the crate of twenty-four rabbits overboard into the English Channel before departure, and allow the timeline to settle into an era of green, unbroken Australian flora.

The machine whined, a sound like tearing silk, and reality collapsed inward.

The immediate side effect was not silence, but an aggressive, screeching shift across the digital fabric of the universe. In an instant, the timeline tried to stitch its threads back together. Whole economies that had been built around rabbit-proof fencing, Australian agriculture, and outback ecology collapsed and rearranged themselves into new digital systems.

Across modern offices, computer terminals flickered violently. Systems crashed as the cascade of historical variables forced every piece of modern infrastructure to rewrite itself on the fly.

Deep inside a nondescript government office in Melbourne, an overworked web developer named Liam sat frozen in front of his monitor. His screen was screaming in crimson errors. The sudden temporal divergence had corrupted every major public service network. The national infrastructure portal was offline, throwing chaotic status codes across every browser window.

Liam’s heart slammed against his ribs. The server room in the hallway began to wail with warning sirens. The internal logs read that if the central administrative interface was not rebuilt and validated against web accessibility standards within ninety seconds, the entire national emergency communication grid would lock out every operator in the country.

His breath caught in his throat. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, slick with cold sweat.

He had to remember the core principles of building an accessible, unbreakable system before the failure cascade went critical.

Every single page needed an informative, unique title that placed the most important details first. He slammed into the code, hammering out structural markup to convey pure meaning, ensuring screen readers and automated engines would never get lost in a flat wall of visual chaos.

Thirty seconds left.

The screen blinked with an ominous warning: Input Validation Failure.

He had to ensure the forms were forgiving of human error, clearly showing where problems occurred and suggesting corrections instead of locking panicked users behind technical jargon. He added meaningful text alternatives to every operational graphic, ensuring that critical interactive buttons possessed distinct visible states for mouse hover, touch, and keyboard focus.

Ten seconds. The room went pitch black, illuminated only by the frantic white glow of his monitor.

Liam hit the tab key, verifying that every single control could be reached and executed by a keyboard alone, bypassing every broken mouse driver and failing touch panel across the continent. He mapped the high-contrast palettes, ensuring foreground text stood boldly apart from the background.

Three seconds.

He held his breath. The entire room went dead silent. He pressed the final compile key.

The sirens stopped. The screen settled into a crisp, clean, perfectly accessible white interface. The red warnings vanished. The emergency broadcast system was alive and stable.

Liam collapsed backward into his chair, letting out the breath he felt he had held for an eternity. The world was intact. The ecosystem was saved.

Then, the first digital notification of the new, altered reality pinged on his dashboard:

Notice: Due to the total historical absence of European rabbits across the continent since 1859, the wild emu population has grown unchecked and now legally commands seventy percent of the Australian Senate.

There are "multifaceted reasons for our collective failure to bend the global emissions curve. However, a common thread that emerges across the reviewed literature is the central role of power, manifest in many forms, from a dogmatic political-economic hegemony and influential vested interests to narrow techno-economic mindsets and ideologies of control."

"Critical to historical and ongoing carbon lock-in has been the pervasive failure in industrial, modern societies to imagine desirable ways of living that are neither wedded to the carbon economy nor dependent on narratives of progress reliant on perpetual economic growth."
"With technocratic forms of modeling, cost-benefit analysis, and forecasting at the core of most governmental and industrial imaginaries, the future continues to be framed as open to exploitation."
"Typically, they transfer energy consumption from fossil fuels to other energy sources, are subject to political tropes (such as interpreting energy as a national security concern), and frame the future as a focus for cost-benefit analysis and rational decision-making."

Isak Stoddard, Kevin Anderson, Stuart Capstick, Wim Carton, Joanna Depledge, et al. (2021). "Three Decades of Climate Mitigation: Why Haven't We Bent the Global Emissions Curve?" https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-environ-012220-011104

#imaginaries #beliefs #conversion #reconversion #climateMitigation #energyTransition #lockIns #power #knowledge #traditions #transformation

A life full of passion and tradition

I am starting to unroll a yarn on imaginaries: growth versus care 🧶

#imaginaries #beliefs #progress #polycrisis #commoditization #commodification #faith #hope #conversion #reconversion #climateMitigation #emissions #ecologicalTransition #transition #energyTransition #lockIns #power #knowledge #traditions #transformation #ecofeminism #technoCriticism #technique #development #sustainableDevelopment #hegemony #mindsets #ideologies #collectiveSafety #desire #narratives #growth #modeling #modelling #forecasting #exploitation #extraction #civilization #tech #technology #domination #philosophy #criticalThinking #resources #commodities #acceleration #criticalTheory #digitalization #engineers #separation #exploration #discovery #degrowth #growth

“This paper argues that both — (1) the #neurosciences, which study the brain from the outside, and (2) the contemplative #traditions, which investigate #awareness from the inside — have independently identified the same core mechanism as the obstacle to deeper #consciousness — what #neuroscience calls the Default Mode Network (DMN) in its narrative mode, and what contemplative traditions call the mind. Drawing on McGilchrist’s #hemisphericlateralization framework, Schore’s #developmentalneuroscience, and Porges’ #polyvagaltheory, the author proposes a model in which the right hemisphere constitutes primary consciousness while the left hemisphere constructs the narrative self. The #DMN is reframed not as a disruptor but as a bilateral conduit whose function depends on which hemisphere holds the lead.”

https://zenodo.org/records/20085599

Bouddhisme et physique quantique

Depuis les débuts de la mécanique quantique, physiciens et penseurs bouddhistes ont remarqué des résonances frappantes entre les deux disciplines. Niels Bohr avait fait peindre le symbole du yin-yang sur ses armoiries, Erwin Schrödinger s’était plongé dans les Upanishads, le Dalaï-Lama, lui-même dialogue depuis des décennies avec des physiciens dans le cadre de l’institut Mind and Life. Ces convergences méritent d’être examinées avec rigueur, sans tomber dans l’amalgame facile.

Le bouddhisme place au centre de sa doctrine l’impermanence, rien n’existe de façon fixe et stable, tout est flux, devenir, changement constant. La physique quantique décrit un monde similaire au niveau subatomique. Une particule n’a pas de position ou de vitesse définies avant mesure, elle existe sous forme de probabilités, une fonction d’onde qui ne se fixe qu’au moment de l’observation. Cette absence d’état stable et prédéterminé fait écho à l’idée bouddhiste selon laquelle chercher une essence fixe dans les phénomènes est une illusion.

Le concept bouddhiste de production conditionnée illustre qu’aucun phénomène n’existe indépendamment des autres, tout surgit en relation, par un réseau de causes et de conditions. La physique quantique offre une analogie frappant avec l’intrication. Deux particules intriquées restent corrélées, quelle que soit la distance qui les sépare, de sorte que la mesure de l’une affecte instantanément l’état de l’autre. Certains y voient une illustration physique de l’idée qu’aucune entité n’est véritablement séparée du reste de l’univers.

Le terme sanskrit śūnyatā, souvent traduit par « vacuité », ne désigne pas le néant, mais l’absence d’existence propre et indépendante des phénomènes. Les choses n’ont de réalité que relationnelle. En physique quantique, le vide n’est pas non plus un néant absolu. Le vide quantique bouillonne de particules virtuelles qui apparaissent et disparaissent constamment, et le champ quantique reste la structure fondamentale d’où émerge toute matière. Les deux notions rejettent l’idée d’un fond stable et substantiel sous les apparences, sans pour autant être identiques.

Le principe de complémentarité de Bohr, selon lequel une même entité peut se comporter comme onde ou comme particule sans que ces descriptions soient contradictoires, mais complémentaires, rappelle la logique du tétralemme bouddhiste et la philosophie madhyamaka de Nagarjuna, qui refuse les catégories binaires du « est » et du « n’est pas ». Les deux traditions invitent à dépasser une logique strictement binaire pour appréhender une réalité plus fluide et contextuelle, de façon non duelle.

Ces résonances sont intellectuellement stimulantes, mais il importe de distinguer deux niveaux de discours. Le bouddhisme est une tradition philosophique et contemplative, fondée sur l’expérience méditative directe et une visée de cessation de la souffrance. La physique quantique est une théorie mathématique prédictive, validée par l’expérimentation. Les résonances relèvent souvent de l’analogie conceptuelle plutôt que d’une équivalence de fond, et le risque d’instrumentaliser l’un pour légitimer l’autre est réel, dans les deux sens.

Cela dit, la rencontre reste stimulante pour qui cherche à explorer des voies de passage. Elle a nourri des travaux comme ceux du physicien Anton Zeilinger ou du philosophe des sciences B. Alan Wallace, et elle continue d’alimenter une réflexion sur les limites de nos catégories habituelles, substance, séparation, permanence, que ces deux traditions, chacune à sa manière, remettent en question.

Une chanson de Claude Dubois – Au Bout Des Doigts

Les paroles sur https://lyriz.progysm.com/chanson.php?idlien=6519

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Ovpy6o0W-Q

Par Daniel Jean dans Voies (x) de passage

COPYRIGHT – DROIT DE REPRODUCTION – La reproduction de cet article sur un blogue ou un site est autorisé à condition de respecter :   * L’intégralité du texte — Vous ne devez pas modifier, transformer ou adapter ce texte. * Le droit d’auteur — Vous devez citer le nom de la source (avec un hyperlien vers l’article original de préférence). * La finalité sans but lucratif — Vous n’avez pas le droit d’utiliser cette création à des fins commerciales. Si j’ai utilisé vos textes/photos et que vous souhaitez que je les retire, merci de me contacter en commentaire, ce sera fait rapidement.

Even though I've been an Atheist over fifty of my seventy-odd years, I still love Christmas Eve with family and friends. Non-believers are allowed to be sentimental about traditions and holidays, too. 1973. #christmas #holiday #holidays #tradition #traditions #sentimental #celebrate #christmaseve #wintersolstice #winterholidays #Yule #Dongzhi #Yalda #Soyal #Saturnalia #StLuciasDay #boxingday #atheist #atheist #atheism #goodwithoutgod #atheistsrock #family #familygathering #familyandfriends

The Grange Fair and Encampment in Centre Hall was my Nana's and my vacation destination at the end of every summer in my childhood. We stayed at Aunt Ida's house, and could walk to the fairgrounds. 1973. #grangefair #grangefairandencampment #encampment #fair #fairs #countyfair #countyfairs #regionalfair #regionalfairs #centrecounty #pennsylvania #fun #summerfun #harvestfun #tradition #traditional #traditions #vacation #vacations #holiday #holidays #grandmother #nana #aunt #aunts

« Maison LVMH » dans le bois de Boulogne : l’anti-musée de Bernard Arnault

https://web.brid.gy/r/https://www.lechiffon.fr/maison-lvmh-dans-le-bois-de-boulogne-lanti-musee-de-bernard-arnault/

In Austria and probably other German speaking countries these are called Barbarazweigerl.
Barbara referring to St. Barbara and Zweigerl meaning twigs.
Typically, the cuttings come from fruit trees. I have used wild cherry and Forsythia, both also traditional.
They come in on St. Barbara’s day (4 December) and should flower by around Christmas. Mine never do, they have only just started to flower a couple of days ago.
Admittedly, not exactly impressive but I have found a few ideas for how to help them to do better next year.
‣ Upright. Click to see properly.

#Barbarazweige #Barbarazweigerl #traditions #customs #Austria #ArtistsGarden #ImperfectGarden #garden #gardener #Artist #wolfkettler #permaculture #Photography #GardenWiltshire #WiltshireGarden #Wiltshire #winter #bloomscrolling #biodiversity #natural #NaturalGarden

Halloween traces its origins to Ireland over 2,000 years ago, where ancient Celts celebrated Samhain — marking the end of harvest and the start of winter. 🎃🍀

👉 Read more on how Ireland’s history shaped today’s Halloween traditions: https://bluewaterhealthyliving.com/news/local-news/halloweens-roots-stretch-back-to-ireland-2000-years-ago/

#Halloween #Ireland #History #Samhain #Culture #Traditions #GBSMedia #BWHL #BlueWaterHealthyLiving

Season 1 Episode 10: Let's Talk Solstice, Solarpunks! -- with Ariel & Christina

In the finale of Solarpunk Presents' first-ever season, Ariel and Christina sit down to chat together about the Winter Solstice - Christina brings the scientific knowledge, Ariel brings a few book recommendations, and we discuss traditions of celebrating the return of the sun (as we've experienced them in the northern hemisphere).

https://youtu.be/P9maqK6-__o?si=LLnj9MRIsCj9mtV8

#Episode #Season1 #YouTube #solarpunk #SolarpunkPresentsPodcast #podcast #solstice #SolarpunkFiction #traditions

And so the big news - my experiential art / feature #film SAIVO is now available to rent or buy here:

http://www.saivofilm.com

The film was made at the Isogaisa #festival of #shamanism in Norway and follows #Sami #shamans and many others from around the world sharing their #spiritual #traditions with each other. It’s intentionally slow paced (#SlowCinema) and intended to be viewed as a ritual, meditation or prayer. I hope you enjoy it - please share here and elsewhere if you do!

My #wassailing #hat - very important to #wassail the garden. All of it, not just the fruit trees :)

#traditions #tradition #traditional #pagan #newyear #artistsgarden #imperfectgarden #gardener #artist #wolfkettler #photography #gardenwiltshire #wiltshiregarden #wiltshire #winter #naturalGarden #superstition

The type of wassailing still common today takes place in orchards, particularly those growing Apples or Pears. People gather in the orchards to sing and generally make noise. They might bang pots and pans or even let off shotguns. The purpose of this is twofold: firstly to wake up the trees and second to scare away any evil spirits lurking in the branches.

10 things you might not know about Wassailing:

https://topicaltens.blogspot.com/2024/01/5-january-wassailing.html

#Wassail #Wassailing #Traditions