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Moonlight Beach

Moonlight Beach

Happy Birthday to my little teenager!

Happy Birthday to my little teenager!

Hey there moonbeam. I wonder if she ever tires of being called the silent one. A familiar omniscience.

Hey there moonbeam. I wonder if she ever tires of being called the silent one. A familiar omniscience.


A child collects water lilies from a lake in Norshingdi on the outskirts of Dhaka. The water lily is the national flower of Bangladesh

A child collects water lilies from a lake in Norshingdi on the outskirts of Dhaka. The water lily is the national flower of Bangladesh

(Source: mazzystardust, via commovente)

womeninspace:

Telegraph Jobs made an impressive database of women in space. It features both astronauts, engineers and scientist. And all entries have a bit of information about the person.

If you are not on there, fear not, they encourage women active in space science or engineering to contact them to make their list more impressive.

As they say it themselves:

We would love to hear from all you women out there and would like to encourage more females to make an impact around STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics), to take the opportunity to study in these fascinating fields and to venture off into deep space.

The world, planets and space awaits you, and we look forward to hearing from you.

Go check it out!

(via thenewwomensmovement)

weissewiese:

Louise Bourgeois, from the series What is the Shape of this Problem? (1999)

weissewiese:

Louise Bourgeois, from the series What is the Shape of this Problem? (1999)

(Source: inthemoodtodissolveinthesky)

nobinario:

sallymolay:

Two spirits in the Venezuelan jungle

These are photos of tida wena or “twisted women”, transgender women of the Warao, indigenous people in a remote part of Venezuela.

Like other women, the tida wena tended to the home, cooked and cared for children and elders. They also participated in the harvest of important crops, like the ocumo chino, a starchy tuber. Historically, tida wena were sometimes the second or third wives of polygamous men.

They also occasionally performed the role of shaman — the Warao are deeply rooted in the shamanist tradition — and tida wena in particular are thought to possess two spirits, bringing them closer to the ancestor spirits that roam the jungle.

This dual-spirit identity of transgender people is common in some indigenous communities

Read the whole article and see more photos in The New York Times!

Dos espíritus en la selva venezolana

Estas son fotos de las tida wena o “mujeres volteadas”, mujeres transgénero de les Warao, pueblo indígena de una región remota de Venezuela.

Al igual que el resto de mujeres, las tida wena cuidan de la casa, cocinan y cuidan a niñes y mayores. También participan en la recogida de importantes cosechas, como el ocumo chimo, un tubérculo almidonoso. Históricamente, las tida wena eran en ocasiones segundas o terceras esposas de los hombres polígamos.

También ejercían ocasionalmente el papel de chamán (les Warao están profundamente involucrades en la tradición chamanista) y de las tida wena en particular se cree que poseen dos espíritus, lo que las acerca más a los espíritus ancestrales que pueblan la jungla.

Esta identidad doble espíritu de las personas transgénero es común en algunas comunidades indígenas.

Artículo original en The New York Times con más fotos

(via reclaimingthelatinatag)

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #922 by Tyler Knott Gregson
*It’s official, my book, Chasers of the Light, is out! You can order it through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, IndieBound , Books-A-Million , Paper Source or Anthropologie *

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #922 by Tyler Knott Gregson

*It’s official, my book, Chasers of the Light, is out! You can order it through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, IndieBound , Books-A-Million , Paper Source or Anthropologie *

(via your-pride-and-joy)

the-middle-eastern-feminist:

I am a woman. I am a Kurd. And since I entered this world, this is the second time that my family and my people are experiencing a genocide and massacre. And this is the story of our life.This is the second time in 23 years, because of the threat of a genocide, there has been a mass exodus of my people to the borders of a hostile state, only to be shot at and beaten as they sought refuge from a greater evil. This is the second time, in 23 years, that our girls have been carried away, erased from history; left only in the memory of those who loved them, forever left wallowing in the pits of the darkness that the evil in the hearts of some men forced on them. Their lives, their hopes, the love that they carried in their young hearts blowing away in the wind like the barely written pages in the rarest books; and surely each and every one of them was as rare and as precious as the next.There is a certain beauty in the fleeting nature of life. The meaning of life is in the nature of our experiences and what these experiences teach us. Some of us go through life never knowing any better, never questioning life or our value or place in the scheme of things. We know with certainty that the wheel of time spins a life of joy and immense privilege. We know that only good things come to us tomorrow, and we lay ourselves to sleep each night knowing the certainty of a blessed life. And then there are others who carry a load so heavy that the weight of their pain is enough to break a lessor person a million times over. And I think of the elderly Yazidi woman who had no one left but a son that she raised with the tears of her loneliness; only for him to be lost careless in the dozens of massacres by ISIL. As if his life was not worth every ache in the bones of this mother, whose hopeless weeping should have shamed a thousand men- if we lived in a better world. I think of the force of her despair as her tears burst from her broken heart, and I wonder, as my own heart bleeds in response, “how can she persevere?”. And I think of the five year old boy who carried his 18 month old sister across miles, in extreme heat, with no water or food with his little feet, so that he could escape from grown men meaning him harm his innocent mind could not fathom; and I think a child should never have to live such a terror- but I am only reminded of my own childhood, and I realize my heart is twisting because he reminds me of my older brother and how we grew up in war, in refugee camps, escaping another genocide, another massacre, in hunger and poverty and I KNOW that reality is different. And still, I think of the Yazidi girls, renowned for their beauty, being carried away for the pleasure of men who, surely if hell existed, deserve no better place. And I think of the mother whose six daughters and new bride had been carried away by this same evil, and I struggle to understand; and surely, “how can we ask them to bear such pain?”And YET, today is Eid- the Festival of Sacrifices. And TODAY my people were meant to be sacrificed by ISIL as a gift to their people. And today is day 19 of the siege of Kobane. 19 days in which no support, food, aid and supplies have entered Kobane to the YPG AND YPJ forces simply because they are Kurds, and they are homeless, and because they dare to ask for the same right that so many people enjoy each and every single day. And, YET, against all odds, they persevere; because their brave hearts hope that one day they will leave this world a little bit better than when they entered it. One in which the Yazidi girls are safe and the little children are safe and in which Kurdish mothers do not celebrate their Eid in the graveyards of their sons and daughters, lost for a homeless nation.And yet, we persevere. We persevere despite our tears. We persevere, because we must.

the-middle-eastern-feminist:

I am a woman. I am a Kurd. And since I entered this world, this is the second time that my family and my people are experiencing a genocide and massacre. And this is the story of our life.

This is the second time in 23 years, because of the threat of a genocide, there has been a mass exodus of my people to the borders of a hostile state, only to be shot at and beaten as they sought refuge from a greater evil. 

This is the second time, in 23 years, that our girls have been carried away, erased from history; left only in the memory of those who loved them, forever left wallowing in the pits of the darkness that the evil in the hearts of some men forced on them. Their lives, their hopes, the love that they carried in their young hearts blowing away in the wind like the barely written pages in the rarest books; and surely each and every one of them was as rare and as precious as the next.

There is a certain beauty in the fleeting nature of life. The meaning of life is in the nature of our experiences and what these experiences teach us. Some of us go through life never knowing any better, never questioning life or our value or place in the scheme of things. We know with certainty that the wheel of time spins a life of joy and immense privilege. We know that only good things come to us tomorrow, and we lay ourselves to sleep each night knowing the certainty of a blessed life. 

And then there are others who carry a load so heavy that the weight of their pain is enough to break a lessor person a million times over. And I think of the elderly Yazidi woman who had no one left but a son that she raised with the tears of her loneliness; only for him to be lost careless in the dozens of massacres by ISIL. As if his life was not worth every ache in the bones of this mother, whose hopeless weeping should have shamed a thousand men- if we lived in a better world. I think of the force of her despair as her tears burst from her broken heart, and I wonder, as my own heart bleeds in response, “how can she persevere?”. And I think of the five year old boy who carried his 18 month old sister across miles, in extreme heat, with no water or food with his little feet, so that he could escape from grown men meaning him harm his innocent mind could not fathom; and I think a child should never have to live such a terror- but I am only reminded of my own childhood, and I realize my heart is twisting because he reminds me of my older brother and how we grew up in war, in refugee camps, escaping another genocide, another massacre, in hunger and poverty and I KNOW that reality is different. And still, I think of the Yazidi girls, renowned for their beauty, being carried away for the pleasure of men who, surely if hell existed, deserve no better place. And I think of the mother whose six daughters and new bride had been carried away by this same evil, and I struggle to understand; and surely, “how can we ask them to bear such pain?”

And YET, today is Eid- the Festival of Sacrifices. And TODAY my people were meant to be sacrificed by ISIL as a gift to their people. And today is day 19 of the siege of Kobane. 19 days in which no support, food, aid and supplies have entered Kobane to the YPG AND YPJ forces simply because they are Kurds, and they are homeless, and because they dare to ask for the same right that so many people enjoy each and every single day. And, YET, against all odds, they persevere; because their brave hearts hope that one day they will leave this world a little bit better than when they entered it. One in which the Yazidi girls are safe and the little children are safe and in which Kurdish mothers do not celebrate their Eid in the graveyards of their sons and daughters, lost for a homeless nation.

And yet, we persevere. We persevere despite our tears. We persevere, because we must.

(via amyleona)

DESPAIR IS A THIEF that shall steal our days no longer

DESPAIR IS A THIEF that shall steal our days no longer