Month: August 2005

  • Saint Anne’s Chapel at The Grotto – The National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother, Portland, Oregon
    (click to enlarge)

    No coward soul is mine,
    No trembler in the world’s storm-toubled sphere:
    I see Heaven’s glories shine,
    And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.
    Emily Bronte

  • Along the Stations of the Cross at The Grotto – The National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother, Portland, Oregon
    (click to enlarge)

    Eternity has nothing to do with the hereafter… This is it… If you don’t get it here, you won’t get it anywhere. The experience of eternity right here and now is the function of life. Heaven is not the place to have the experience; here’s the place to have the experience. Joseph Campbell

  • Elevator to upper level grounds at The Grotto – The National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother, Portland, Oregon
    (click to enlarge)

    Only passions, great passions can elevate the soul to great things. Denis Diderot

  • The Grotto – The National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother, Portland, Oregon
    (click to enlarge…xanga really did a number on compression)

    After the bare requisites of living and reproducing, man wants most to leave some record of himself, a proof, perhaps, that he has really existed. He leaves his proof on wood, on stone, or on the lives of other people. This deep desire exists in everyone, from the boy who scribbles on a wall to the Buddha who etches his image in the race mind. Life is so unreal. I think that we seriously doubt that we exist and go about trying to prove that we do. John Steinbeck

  • Lorakeets at Long Beach Aquarium of the Pacific (click to enlarge)

    Nature always wears the colors of the spirit. Ralph Waldo Emerson

  • Correction – Jellyfish NOT squids! at Long Beach Aquarium of the Pacific (click to enlarge)

    All things change, nothing is extinguished. There is nothing in the whole world which is permanent. Everything flows onward; all things are brought into being with a changing nature; the ages themselves glide by in constant movement. Ovid