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It feels intuitively like the last year was my shittiest one yet - pardon my french - the sense being that all of the metrics which I have typically measured myself by are well south of where they should be. Most obvious is the flab around my waist, undeniable evidence that the 92kg reading on my scale is as factual as can be. There are other things of course, not least the sense of listlessness, the feeling of drifting and the increasingly dispassionate nature of my spiritual practice . A year ago I was certain that the year of being thirty seven would be my best one; the S bounce being a big part of that assessment. Reality though has been a less certain, more topsy turvy version of what I wanted it to be. ...

Image: Rembrandt, The Return of the Prodigal Son (Source)– I trace the beginnings of my faith journey to Easter of 1992, the enduring image of the day being standing alongside forty or so other people at the front of the bare, minimally decorated assembly hall of the College of Education Ekiadolor. I was there because I had been dragged there by my family; there being an Easter conference put on by the student Christian movement my parents spent a lot of their spare time supporting. Besides my irritation at being taken along — and thus losing the few days of freedom free from parental supervision — responding to the altar call along with the others whilst sobbing profusely is the only thing I remember from the events of the weekend. That would not be the last time I would respond to an altar call — or pray a similar prayer for that matter — but the sense of relief, joy and confidence about the future which followed that day is why I come back to that place as the definitive start of my spiritual journey, never mind the fact that it lasted for all of three weeks before the reality of life brought me down to earth. That personal connection was the final piece of the jigsaw that created a church bubble for me. ...

A reminder of transitioning from full time study to full time employment at the back end of 2009, the Forth Road Bridge a symbol of hope of sorts on the journey from Newcastle in the North East of England to Aberdeen in the North East of Scotland for interviews. In the end there would be a fair few trips but in the end with December came the set of interviews that led to a permanent move up North. The rest as they say is history. ...

In the plains around Dunnotar Castle, lies an irony of sorts. The weathered rocks, worn by time’s incessant nibbling into cliffs which fall precipitously to the sea, are the very reason why the ruins of the castle we have come to see remain; a symbol of stubborn, dogged near permanence against the odds. But in the receding tide, and the quickly darkening skies, there is transience. Ying & Yang. Life. Balance. ...

The view out to sea, mid way through my morning run. For the prompt, Transient.

For the Wordpress Weekly Photo Challenge Prompt, Evanescent: --- A curious combination of events - somehow in my early thirties becoming an insomniac and flexible start times at work - is how I manage to get the entire floor at work to myself for an hour on week days. Rather than stay awake in bed waiting for 8.00am, I figure it makes a lot more sense to use the morning hours up at work and free up my evenings. ...

A few hundred years of Bini history on display a few thousand miles away in the National Museum of Scotland. #Heritage.

For the prompt, reflecting; which brings to mind the chill of a late (post Christmas) walk in Verulamium Park, a precursor to a splendid evening in St Albans spent with S. Of course, there were waffles and hot mugs of chocolate to warm us up afterwards. #Reflecting.

For the challenge, Danger. Rope Access inspections.. #Offshore

For the Wordpress Photo Challenge, Wanderlust. St John’s, Newfoundland.