Res Occultae

A space for curiosity, knowledge, and exploration—where science, philosophy, and art intersect. Unravel hidden truths, challenge perceptions, and dive into the patterns that shape our reality. Some things are simply waiting to be discovered. Are you ready?

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Absorbing energy from the wild woods where everything alive grows without permission.

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We are not all alike in what we like. Some of us have one like. Someone else has another like that's different.

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Some one has said, and wisely, that what most pleases us when reading a book is to find the author corroborating our own thoughts,—giving voice to our unborn sentiments—providing us with material for comparison.

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Et si la solution à nos problèmes était vraiment simple ?Et si le plus difficile n’était pas de la trouver, mais de l’accepter ?

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What if we could see the real version of everyone we loved?

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“My way, not your way!” is the command of Infinite Intelligence.

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Human nature is always the same.

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Je dis en effet ce que je dis, et nullement ce qu'on assure que j'ai voulu dire, et je réponds encore moins de ce qu'on me fait dire, et que je ne dis point. — LA BRUYÈRE

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If you gives hate, you will receive hate; if you gives love, you will receive love; if you gives criticism,you will receive criticism; if you lies you will be lied to; if you cheats you will be cheated.

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L’histoire du christianisme — depuis la mort sur la croix — est l’histoire d’un malentendu progressif et toujours plus grossier d’un symbolisme originel.

Le caractère fatal du christianisme réside dans le fait nécessaire que sa foi devait devenir aussi morbide, basse et vulgaire que les besoins morbides, bas et vulgaires auxquels elle devait répondre.

A vrai dire, il n’y a jamais eu qu’un seul chrétien, et il est mort sur la Croix.

L’« évangile » est mort sur la croix.

Le christianisme authentique, primitif, n’est pas une foi, mais une manière d’agir, avant tout une manière de ne pas agir, de ne pas intervenir, et une manière différente de vivre…

—The Antichrist by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

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MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE

May is building her house. With apple blossoms she roofs the shining rooms; from oak and beech she shapes the beams, and, spinning all day at her hidden looms, she covers every wind-swayed wall with leafy tapestries, filling it all with echoes and dreams, and the singing of streams.

May is building her house from petals and blades; the roots of the oak make its floor, covered with a carpet of moss, lichen, and clover, each small miracle again and again, with tender, wandering green shoots scattered about.

Her windows are the morning and evening stars, and her rustling doorways, always open, welcome the coming and going of fair drifting things— the thresholds of the four winds.

May is building her house. From dust she shapes songs, flowers, and wings; from October’s scattered, trampled gold she makes the new year out of the old.

Yes—out of winter’s driving sleet she creates the sweetness of summer, and the brown leaves crushed under November’s feet she turns back again into spring.

— Richard Le Gallienne