Aqua Life Quotes

Mist to mist, drops to drops. For water thou art, and unto water shalt thou return.

People ask: Why should I care about the ocean? Because the ocean is the cornerstone of earth's life support system, it shapes climate and weather. It holds most of life on earth. 97% of earth's water is there. It's the blue heart of the planet — we should take care of our heart. It's what makes life possible for us. We still have a really good chance to make things better than they are. They won't get better unless we take the action and inspire others to do the same thing. No one is without power. Everybody has the capacity to do something.

Water is such a lifesaver into which we cannot breathe but without taking it into us we cannot live

Who cares for Algebra? Who delights in solving math? I only want to live my life Along the creative path.

Old water. New Water. Old country. New country. Aqua vitae. Giver of life. Destroyer of memories.

For the alchemists Paradise was a favourite symbol of the albedo40 the regained state of innocence, and the source of its rivers is a symbol of the aqua permanens.41 For the Church Fathers Christ is this source,42 and Paradise means the ground of the soul from which the fourfold river of the Logos bubbles forth.43 We find the same symbol in the alchemist and mystic John Pordage: divine Wisdom is a “New Earth, the heavenly Land. … For from this Earth grew all the Trees of Life. … Thus did Paradise … rise up from the Heart and Centre of this New Earth, and thus did the lost Garden of Eden flourish in greenness.”44

Put yourself in the way of grace,' says a friend of ours, who is a monk, and a bishop; and he smiles his floating and shining smile. And truly, can there be a subject of more interest to each of us than whether or not grace exists, and the soul? And, consequent upon the existence of the soul, a whole landscape of incorruptible forces, perhaps even a source, an almost palpably suggested second universe? A world that is incomprehensible through reason? To believe in the soul---to believe in it exactly as much and as hardily as one believes in a mountain, say, or a fingernail, which is ever in view---imagine the consequences! How far-reaching, and thoroughly wonderful! For everything, by such a belief, would be charged, and changed. You wake in the morning, the soul exists, your mouth sings it, your mind accepts it. And the perceived, tactile world is, upon the instant, only half the world! How easily I travel, about halfway, through such a scenario. I believe in the soul---in mine, and yours, and the blue-jay's, and the pilot whale's. I believe each goldfinch flying away over the coarse ragweed has a soul, and the ragweed too, plant by plant, and the tiny stones in the earth below, and the grains of earth as well. Not romantically do I believe this, nor poetically, nor emotionally, nor metaphorically except as all reality is metaphor, but steadily, lumpishly, and absolutely. The wild waste spaces of the sea, and the pale dunes with one hawk hanging in the wind, they are for me the formal spaces that, in a liturgy, are taken up by prayer, song, sermon, silence, homily, scripture, the architecture of the church itself. And as with prayer, which is a dipping of oneself toward the light, there is a consequence of attentiveness to the grass itself, and the sky itself, and to the floating bird. I too leave the fret and enclosure of my own life. I too dip myself toward the immeasurable. Now winter, the winter I am writing about, begins to ease. And what, if anything, has been determined, selected, nailed down? This is the lesson of age---events pass, things change, trauma fades, good fortune rises, fades, rises again but different. Whereas what happens when one is twenty, as I remember it, happens forever. I have not been twenty for a long time! The sun rolls toward the north and I feel, gratefully, its brightness flaming up once more. Somewhere in the world the misery we can do nothing about yet goes on. Somewhere the words I will write down next year, and the next, are drifting into the wind, out of the ornate pods of the weeds of the Provincelands. Once I went into the woods to find an almost unfindable bird, a blue grosbeak. And I found it: a rough, deep blue, almost black, with heavy beak; it was plucking one by one the humped, pale green caterpillars from the leaves of a thick green tree. Then it vanished into the shadows of the leaves and, in the same moment, from the crown of the tree flew a western bluebird---little aqua thrush of the mountains, hundreds of miles from its home. It is a moment hard to top---but, I can. Once I came upon two angels, they were standing quietly, keeping guard beside a car. Light streamed from them, and a splash of flames lay quietly under their feet. What is one to do with such moments, such memories, but cherish them? Who knows what is beyond the known? And if you think that any day the secret of light might come, would you not keep the house of your mind ready? Would you not cleanse your study of all that is cheap, or trivial? Would you not live in continual hope, and pleasure, and excitement?

He’s close enough now that I can hear his footfall on the pavement, and I know my chances of outrunning him are slim. I’m practically in a full sprint, and my pounding heart is begging me to take it down a notch. I try to will my feet to keep pace with its beat; but I think it’s humanly impossible to run that fast. And then it dawns on me that my footsteps are the only ones I hear. Somewhere along the way, Tristan’s must have come to a stop. And I can’t quite explain why I’m running this fast in the first place. I slow to a jog, intending to just pick up with my original pace; but I can’t seem to suck in breaths fast enough to propel my feet any further. My molten shoes stutter to a stop, as my hands come to rest on my knees. I’m still wheezily sucking in breath after breath of thick, humid air, when I warily turn to look over my shoulder. Tristan’s standing about fifty feet back, hands on his hips and a completely flummoxed twist in his forehead, his chest rising and falling with equally winded gasps. Evidently I was running faster than I gave myself credit for. As he silently watches me, regaining his breath as I do mine, the confusion on his face turns to undeniable hurt (and not the physical kind). I’ve wounded him, and I can’t even explain why. Man, I really am an ass. I start the slow walk of shame back to where he stands, one hand upon my hip as I pull in a few more calming deep breaths. I’m debating whether to concoct some excuse for my behavior…Maybe I left my contacts out today, and didn’t recognize his face? Who would blame me for running for my life, if a stranger seemed to be following me? But as I amble closer—his wrinkled forehead already fading in the wake of a welcoming smile—I decide not to dig myself a deeper hole. I’m already a straight-up jerk. I’d rather not add lying to my repertoire.

Overall look: Soft and delicate   Hair: Most often blonde or golden grey   Skintone: Light, ivory to soft beige, peachy tones. Very little contrast between hair and skin   Eyes: Blue, blue-green, aqua, light green IF you are a Light Spring you should avoid dark and dusty colors, which would make you look pale, tired and even pathetic. Spring women who need to look strong, for example chairing a meeting, can do so by wearing mid-tone grey or light navy, not deeper shades. If you are a Light Spring and you wear too much contrast, say a light blouse and dark jacket, or a dress with lots of bold colors against a white background, you ‘disappear’ because our eye is drawn to the colors you are wearing. See your Light Spring palette opposite. Your neutrals can be worn singly or mixed with others in a print or weave. The ivory, camel and blue-greys are good investment shades that will work with any others in your palette. Your best pinks will be warm—see the peaches, corals and apricots—but also rose pink. Never go as far as fuchsia, which is too strong and would drain all the life from your skin. Periwinkle blue toned with a light blue blouse is a smart, striking alternative to navy and white for work. Why wear black in the evening when you will sparkle in violet (also, warm pink and emerald turquoise will turn heads)? For leisure wear, team camel with clear bright red or khaki with salmon.   Make-Up Tips Foundation: Ivory, porcelain Lipstick: Peach, salmon, coral, clear red Blush: Salmon, peach Eyeshadow for blue eyes: Highlighter Champagne, melon, apricot, soft pink Contour Soft grey, violet, teal blue, soft blues, cocoa Eyeshadow for blue-green and aqua eyes: Highlighter Apricot, lemon, champagne Contour Cocoa or honey brown, spruce or moss green, teal blue Eyeshadow for green eyes: Highlighter Pale aqua, apricot, champagne Contour Cocoa or honey brown, teal blue, violet, spruce.

I landed a bit too fast and stumbled in my unlaced sneakers before slamming face first into Darius’s chest as he lurched forward to catch me. “Sorry,” I laughed as I looked up at him with a grin and he fell still as he helped me steady myself. “What?” I asked, trying to blink the sleep out of my eyes. “You’ve never smiled at me like that before,” he said in a rough voice, reaching out to brush some tangled strands of black hair out of my face. “Shut up, I smile at you all the time,” I replied as heat touched my cheeks and I tried to run my fingers through my knotty hair. Really should have taken a minute to brush it dumbass. Let’s hope he assumes it’s from flying. “Not like that you don’t,” Darius countered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth too as his gaze ran over me. “You look…cute.” “I don’t know what you mean. And I don’t do cute.” Darius snorted at me. “You look like you got dressed in the dark…” “Gee thanks, any more observations, Sherlock?” I asked, rolling my eyes at him but I was still grinning so there wasn’t much bite with my snark. “Well… You’re not wearing any makeup.” “I…woke up late, so-” “I like it,” he said, his smile growing as he looked me over. “You look all sleepy and innocent. I could almost imagine you just woke up in my bed.” I was definitely goddamn blushing now and thanks to my lack of bronzer he was clearly well aware of it. The sky was darkening overhead already as we lingered, but I fought the stars for just another moment. “If I’d spent the night in your bed, there wouldn’t have been anything innocent about it,” I taunted to get him back onto safer, less mortifying topics of conversation. Like sex. “As much as I ache for the feeling of your body against mine – and I really fucking do – I think if I was allowed a single cheat against this curse that keeps us apart, I’d just want to be able hold you in my arms,” he replied. “Just to wake up with you there, knowing you were safe.” My heart pounded at his words, but a crash of thunder from the heavens stopped me from replying. I offered him a frustrated smile and turned away from him as I began my run. Darius followed behind me, far enough back to allow the clouds to scatter again and I tried not to dwell on the disappointment that lingered in me as I upped my pace. Did I just shoot over here at the speed of light without brushing my hair or putting any makeup on rather than risk missing out on our run? I shook my head at myself as I tried to figure out what was going on here. I’d been purposefully ignoring this question up until now, but I seriously needed to consider what I was doing. Running with him every morning, messaging him every night. Exchanging little looks whenever we ended up in the same place and thinking about him way too often. This felt a hell of a lot like the start of something instead of the end of it, but that wasn’t possible. Even if he wanted it. Even if I wanted it. We couldn’t have it. The damn stars wouldn’t allow it. My mind twisted around and around as we ran on and I cursed the stars out with everything I had. But why was I doing that? Hadn’t I made my mind up about this? Hadn’t I already made the only decision I could? Darius might have been showing me more of himself now, he might have stopped hurting me and be trying to change but had he done enough to make up for all the pain he’d caused me? When I really thought about it, I still wasn’t sure. But I was sure that he made me smile when he messaged me, that I looked for him whenever I arrived in a room, that he seemed to be trying to do everything he could to set things right. And that I fantasised about him more than I had about any man in all my life. Even Tom Hardy. Even. Tom. Hardy. Fuck it. We ran around Aqua Lake, circling the shore and heading on into The Wailing Wood. Darius kept pace behind me in silence like always, but I decided to drop back. (Tory)

Fanning my arms to the side, I draw my pointe shoe forward. As I make my way towards the sea, more twinkles of music unfurl with each step, adding to the present melody. I take a breath, mustering the courage to walk on water. An aquamarine ripple flecked with golden stardust flickers to life beneath me, glowing brightly. I drag my other foot forward. The ocean sparkles, as if accepting the magic I offer. When I find comfort on the water, I relevé--- bringing myself onto pointe. My arms extend in a port de bras, and I begin a series of quick bourrée steps. A ribbon of stardust unravels from my feet, kissing the ocean with that glittering aqua glow. I embrace the beauty I've created, tilting into an arabesque. When I send my arm into the sky, the night illuminates. Stars explode like a shimmering tapestry woven from my body. I smile--- proudly owning the stage--- or in this case, the sea. I ignite the ocean with a piqué manège before leaping into a grand jeté, sending shooting stars as I fly. When I land, I fall into a series of chaîné turns before transitioning into more bourrée steps. Every move leads me closer and closer to Damien. The emptiness between us disappears as I leap into his arms. He lifts me towards the sky, moonlight showering us, before I fall into a fish dive--- my face towards the sea and my legs swept into the air. I glide my fingertips through the water, painting even more color into the night. The ocean radiates with undernotes of jade and lavender, shimmers of bright cyan and pearl. He gently places me down, guiding me into a pirouette. I tether my vision to his as the symphony of the sea blooms into a crescendo. Together, we burst into an allegro--- our own medley of fast, brisk movement. I surrender to his familiar hands around my waist, feeling weightless as he lifts me, as if I'm becoming an angel myself. Damien gives me wings, and I fly across the ocean. The once-black waves have transformed entirely. Plumes of stardust swirl like milk in water, feathering out into a soft iridescence.

The dead man, Hippolytus continues, will rise again by passing through the “door of heaven.” Jacob saw the gate of heaven on his way to Mesopotamia, “but they say Mesopotamia is the stream of the great ocean that flows from the midst of the perfect man.” This is the gate of heaven of which Jacob said: “How terrible is this place! This is no other but the house of God, and the gate of heaven.”120 The stream that flows out of the Original Man (the gate of heaven) is interpreted here as the flood-tide of Oceanus, which, as we have seen, generates the gods. The passage quoted by Hippolytus probably refers to John 7 : 38 or to an apocryphal source common to both. The passage in John—“He who believes in me, as the scripture has said, Out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water”—refers to a nonbiblical source, which, however, seemed scriptural to the author. Whoever drinks of this water, in him it shall be a fountain of water springing up into eternal life, says Origen.121 This water is the “higher” water, the aqua doctrinae, the rivers from the belly of Christ, and the divine life as contrasted with the “lower” water, the aqua abyssi, where the darknesses are, and where dwell the Prince of this world and the deceiving dragon and his angels.122 The river of water is the “Saviour” himself.123 Christ is the river that pours into the world through the four gospels,124 like the rivers of Paradise. I have purposely cited the ecclesiastical allegories in greater detail here, so that the reader can see how saturated Gnostic symbolism is in the language of the Church, and how, on the other hand, particularly in Origen, the liveliness of his amplifications and interpretations has much in common with Gnostic views. Thus, to him as to many of his contemporaries and successors, the idea of the cosmic correspondence of the “spiritual inner man” was something quite familiar: in his first Homily on Genesis he says that God first created heaven, the whole spiritual substance, and that the counterpart of this is “our mind, which is itself a spirit, that is, it is our spiritual inner man which sees and knows God.”125

The picture of human life in the market-place, though its general tint was the sad gray, brown, or black of the English emigrants, was yet enlivened by some diversity of hue. A party of Indians—in their savage finery of curiously embroidered deerskin robes, wampum-belts, red and yellow ochre, and feathers, and armed with the bow and arrow and stone-headed spear—stood apart with countenances of inflexible gravity, beyond what even the Puritan aspect could attain. Nor, wild as were these painted barbarians, were they the wildest feature of the scene. This distinction could more justly be claimed by some mariners—a part of the crew of the vessel from the Spanish Main—who had come ashore to see the humours of Election Day. They were rough-looking desperadoes, with sun-blackened faces, and an immensity of beard; their wide short trousers were confined about the waist by belts, often clasped with a rough plate of gold, and sustaining always a long knife, and in some instances, a sword. From beneath their broad-brimmed hats of palm-leaf, gleamed eyes which, even in good-nature and merriment, had a kind of animal ferocity. They transgressed without fear or scruple, the rules of behaviour that were binding on all others: smoking tobacco under the beadle's very nose, although each whiff would have cost a townsman a shilling; and quaffing at their pleasure, draughts of wine or aqua-vitae from pocket flasks, which they freely tendered to the gaping crowd around them. It remarkably characterised the incomplete morality of the age, rigid as we call it, that a licence was allowed the seafaring class, not merely for their freaks on shore, but for far more desperate deeds on their proper element. The sailor of that day would go near to be arraigned as a pirate in our own. There could be little doubt, for instance, that this very ship's crew, though no unfavourable specimens of the nautical brotherhood, had been guilty, as we should phrase it, of depredations on the Spanish commerce, such as would have perilled all their necks in a modern court of justice. But the sea in those old times heaved, swelled, and foamed very much at its own will, or subject only to the tempestuous wind, with hardly any attempts at regulation by human law. The buccaneer on the wave might relinquish his calling and become at once if he chose, a man of probity and piety on land; nor, even in the full career of his reckless life, was he regarded as a personage with whom it was disreputable to traffic or casually associate. Thus the Puritan elders in their black cloaks, starched bands, and steeple-crowned hats, smiled not unbenignantly at the clamour and rude deportment of these jolly seafaring men; and it excited neither surprise nor animadversion when so reputable a citizen as old Roger Chillingworth, the physician, was seen to enter the market-place in close and familiar talk with the commander of the questionable vessel.

When the Black Death spread across Europe, from 1347 to 1350, physicians didn’t really have anything to make people feel better besides aqua vitae. So they used them. The French translated aqua vita into eau de vie, and the Dutch called it “burnt wine,” or brandewijn. Exported to England, that got corrupted to “brandy-wine,” and eventually just “brandy.” The Scots started making the stuff out of grains; in Gaelic, they called it “water of life,” usquebaugh, eventually corrupted to “whisky.

Aren’t you proud that you know how to use a dial phone? That you lived a whole, full life without a digital device in your pocket? You remember who Gilligan is! You watched Fonzie jump the shark! You remember when coming in second place was still awesome. You know how to use a phone book and roll down a window manually. You probably drove a stick shift. As a kid, you played outside all day until dinner. You lived in a time when you could walk your loved ones all the way to the gate in an airport. The guy who sang your favorite song on the radio wasn’t also a model. You know what “Where’s the beef?” means and remember when everyone ate Hamburger Helper. You watched Jaws at the drive-in. We have seen a lot. We survived Aqua Net. We were the last generation of children to ride in a car without seat belts! And there’s nothing shameful in saying that.

Table of Contents   Flip and Aqua Booklist Thank You   Flip

Aqua cleared his throat. Then he sang the last lines in his beautiful, rich voice: “Watch out for people who belong in your past. Don’t let ’em back in your life.

I’ve become remarkably good at blocking impossibly bizarre happenings from my consciousness. Denial can be a beautiful thing.

Fair enough…No inhaling battery acid,” I smirk. “We can’t breathe battery acid, can we?

All kidding aside…” I focus back on Pyke, genuine sincerity in my tone. “Thank you…for everything. For dragging my ‘clueless ass’ through the ocean, and over hill and vale, when you knew it was futile and stupid—but that I’d still try to do it, with or without your help. Thanks for tracking me down when I was alone and helpless; and for giving me a voice when I thought all hope was lost—” “Ugh, for crying out loud…Enough already,” Pyke squirms, a nauseated grimace twisting his hairy face. “Now you’re going way overboard with the gratitude…That kind of gushy crap is meant to be dished out in small doses,” he gripes. “Please make it stop…before I have to snap my own neck, just to end the suffering.” He backs away into the crowd, giving Tristan’s shoulder one more slap with a sly wink. “Hurry up, Man, and do something. Kiss her, muzzle her…shove a sock in her mouth—

Aqua is the water. Mallus is raw kinetic force. Luminosus is light. I myself am drawn to Umbra, the shadows. Finally, there is Vita and Morta, life and death.

Bud Light?” she asks in a distasteful tone. “Did you think you would be getting a microbrew? It’s a college house.” “Still”—she takes a sip and cringes—“I thought you’d have a little more class.” “You’re giving me too much credit.” I nod my head toward the corner of the loft where there are less people. When she doesn’t initially follow me, I turn back around, grab her hand like I had to in class, and pull her across the loft until we’re settled in the corner. I lean against the wall and prop one leg behind me. She eyes me, giving me a full once-over. I do the same. She’s damn hot, and I’m regretting my actions last Saturday, passing out mid grope. Finally she says, “You seem to have lost your shirt.” She motions with her finger over my bare chest. I look down at her legs and reply, “Must be where the other half of your skirt is.” “Think they’re making out in a laundromat somewhere?” She takes a sip of her beer and cringes again. A few more sips and she’ll get used to it; always happens for me. “If they are, I hope they use the gentle cycle.” Her brow pulls together. “Not sure if that makes sense.” “Oh, because half of a skirt and a shirt making out in a laundromat does?” “In children’s books, sure.” “What kind of perverted children’s books did you read growing up?” I counter. “You know, the classics,” she answers causally. “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and Skirt and Shirt, Lovers for Life.” “Ah, yes, I forgot about that passionate yet eye-opening youth literature that took the New York Times by storm.” “I have five signed first-edition copies in a box in my parents’ attic. Banking on them to clear out my student loans.” She sips her beer, flips her hair behind her shoulder, glances at my chest again. “Five?” I answer sarcastically. “Damn, forget college loans, you’re set for life.” “You think?” She glances around. “What the hell am I doing here then?” “To see me of course,” I answer with a smile. She rolls her eyes. “More like dragged to this party because my roommate has a crush on one of your freshmen.” “Yeah, which one?” I look over her head, eyeing all the partygoers. “No idea, but apparently he has amazing blue eyes.” “Amazing, huh? Has to be Gunner. I was even stunned by his eyes when he was recruited.” No joke, the dude won the lottery for irises. I’m even jealous with how . . . aqua they are. “Not ashamed to admit that?” she asks, shifting on her heels. “Not even a little.

Me llamo Omaña, me llamo agua. Porque aguas abundantes me regalaron los cielos, no entiendo bien la manía de bajarme a los infiernos. Dejad en paz a los manes y a los hombres endiosados que no hay origen más bello que del agua haber manado. De agua procede mi nombre, de agua que forma ríos y tiñe verdes de vida los valles y el caserío. De aguas muy cristalinas que bien reflejan el cielo y acogen verdes y azules, abrazados en su seno. Por mi tierra corren ríos por valles y por vallinas que entonan bellas canciones con sus aguas saltarinas. Otros pueblos me recuerdan, pues en ellos soy nombrada: Omañón y La Omañuela, que también se llaman agua. Y por si quedaba duda, al iniciar la ribera, las Omañas también hablan de unos ríos que se mezclan. Y orgullosa yo me siento de aguas tan frescas y finas, ellas son mi fiel espejo y la razón de mi vida. Por eso Omaña me llamo, aqua mania fui parida, y de las aguas del río nací fresca y tan guapina. Omañeses, presumid de los ríos que me riegan y  llevan vuestros sentires hasta el confín de la tierra. Os abraza, Omaña.

after drinking water of life to excess; and it was water of death to Richard.” Elsewhere in Europe, aqua vitae was called “burnt wine,” rendered in German as Branntwein and in English as brandywine, or simply brandy. People began distilling wine in their own homes and offering it for sale on feast days, a practice that was widespread and troublesome enough that it was explicitly banned in the German city of Nuremberg in 1496. A local doctor observed: “In view of the fact that everyone at present has got into the habit of drinking aqua vitae it is necessary to remember the quantity that one can permit oneself to drink, and learn to drink it according

THROAT CHAKRA—VISHUDDHA How do you know the truth? Truth is the operative word in this section, whereas voice is its secondary focus. Most people are focusing on voice and expression at the Throat Chakra — that is, the capacity to express ideas and thoughts. What matters most is not how you talk at the Throat Chakra, but what you convey. The "what" is your truth, your most insightful wisdom; the "how" is your medium to express your truth. Both the "what" and "how" of truth are sitting here at the Throat Chakra, at the center of your physical throat (or the apple of your Adam). What do you mean by "truth?" Many claim the reality is a personal quest to discover the values and beliefs that drive choices and decisions about your life. Others suggest that a collective truth exists, a unified wisdom to which all can aspire and seek integration. Let the intersection of these two approaches inspire you to explore individual and collective truths to understand how to integrate what you see, learn and experience into your life. Throat Chakra Gemstones The gems of this chakra are believed to be the gems of Lemuria, an ancient civilization aligned with the realm of the dolphin, which reflect knowledge that had been preserved and held in crystals before the destruction of that community. One of the main Lemurian gemstones, AQUA Atmosphere QUARTZ is a powerful purifier of the atmosphere and also encourages power, tenacity and stability. •       AMAZONITE is the primary stone of reality, and it enhances confidence for public speakers, allowing them to express with ease even the most difficult words and themes. •       ANGELITE (in crystalline form, known as CELESTITE) invokes the angelic forces to evoke in your spaces the presence of angels, like archangels. Take this jewel with you or sleep by it to feel more connected to your own personal angels and guides. •       Since centuries TURQUOISE has been valued by indigenous Americans who find it a powerful purifier and healer, as well as a tool that strengthens and defends warriors in combat. It was revered as a source of good fortune in antiquity Persia. Connect to your gemstones in the Throat Chakra in moments of anxiety or frustration. Here's how to do this: Lie down in a comfortable position and keep in your right hand, the receiving one, one or three of your beloved light blue Throat Chakra crystals, through which energy reaches your body. (Some people feel their left hand is their Receiving Hand; go with what they feel right for you.) Set the intention to receive the gifts of the Throat Chakra, peace, wisdom and truth. Then move the stones to your hand, or Projecting Side, so you can take the energy out into the universe as a gift for everyone. Imagine a bright blue ray of truth and light beaming out into the world for everyone to see, receive and enjoy.