Sounds of the Superdecade

Geeky nerdy things for geeky nerdy people www.superdecadegames.com

[raventhecelt]

CLIMATE CHANGE IS A SCAM….!

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I Swear He Moved

I turned my back for one second to admire the stained glass, and when I looked again, that sneering little stone gremlin had shifted his gaze. He’s mocking me. I can feel it in my bones. My camera roll is now 87% blurry zoom-ins of medieval masonry and 13% existential dread.

Locals say he’s been there since the 14th century, but I’m starting to suspect he’s just really good at hide and seek. Every time I ask someone where to find him, they give me a knowing smile and say, “Oh, you’ll know when you see him.” What does that even mean? Is he wearing a name tag?

Today I came armed with offerings: a vegan sausage roll from Greggs (still warm) and a sacrificial packet of Wotsits. The Imp remained unmoved. Not a twitch, not a crumb of acknowledgment. Just that eternal stone sneer, like he’s dining on my shattered dreams instead. I’m starting to think he doesn’t crave snacks. He feasts on the slow erosion of my optimism.

Tomorrow I’m bringing Nomo chocolate.

Stay tuned. The Imp thinks he’s clever. But I’ve got folklore, technology, and questionable impulse control on my side.

Image Attribution : Richard Croft (released under creative commons 2.0)

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Selby Imp - log - day #12

I brought binoculars. I brought a sketchpad. I even brought a friend for moral support.

The Imp brought his A-game in mockery.

He’s still there, smug as ever, carved into eternity and laughing at my optimism. I swear his grin got wider. I left with a crick in my neck and a bruised ego.

Tomorrow: disguise and decoy tactics. He won’t see me coming...

Image Attribution : Richard Croft (released under creative commons 2.0)

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Selby Imp - log - day #17

I brought determination.

He brought silence.

I brought a torch, a field guide, and a questionable sense of direction.

He brought a stone smirk and the quiet confidence of someone who’s been winning for 700 years.

I circled the abbey. I whispered ancient riddles. I consulted a pigeon.

I even tried flattery.

Nothing.

He’s waiting, but tomorrow, his time will come.

Image Attribution : Richard Croft (released under creative commons 2.0)

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Sorry we're late

Yesterday, at dawn my partner and I went to the Avebury Stone Circle. Built during the neolithic, Avebury Stone Circle is the largest monument in the world. Settling down under one of the towering sarsen stones I entered meditation for fifteen or twenty minutes. Upon completion I had a thought: my partner was a goddess - and I was a god - and this whole stone circle had been constructed 6000 years ago, just for us, as a temple.

"Sorry we're late," I said.

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The glaciers gave us grandeur.

We gave it gridlines.

Long ago, the glaciers danced their slow, icy ballet across the land, carving out the drama of mountains and the hush of valleys. They were sculptors with cold hands, shaping England into a masterpiece of wildness, deep forests, winding rivers, and secret hollows where foxes whispered and owls kept counsel.

Then humans arrived, clever and hungry.

We looked at the tangled woods and thought, “Too messy.” So we chopped, burned, ploughed, and fenced. The ancient forests of Albion, once thick enough for a squirrel to travel from coast to coast without touching the ground, were thinned into polite hedgerows and timber for ships and sheep pens.

Farming was our great invention, yes. But it came with a cost: the quiet was broken, the wild things pushed to the margins, and the land, once a poem, was rewritten as a ledger.

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Grotesques of Selby Abbey

Stone faces mocking time and prayer, their secrets stick to the air.

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Selby Imp log | day #25

I brought smoke bombs.

I brought a Latin incantation I found scribbled in the margins of a library book.

I brought a slightly squashed hummus and roasted pepper sandwich (vegan, obviously).

He brought the usual: that insufferable grin and the air of someone who’s been winning since the Black Death.

I tried stealth. I tried charm. I tried a decoy made from twigs and spite.

A bat in the belfry laughed at me. I’m not saying it was with the Imp, but I’m not not saying it either.

I left smelling faintly of sulphur and failure. I’m fairly certain the gargoyles are running a betting pool on how long it’ll take me to crack.

Tomorrow: chalk circles and a kazoo.

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My first video!

This gentle, beginner-friendly practice invites you to settle into the present moment through breath awareness and mindful posture. Whether you're new to meditation or returning after a break, this is a space to begin again, with softness, clarity, and intention.

What to Expect

A calm, guided introduction to breath awareness

Gentle cues for posture and presence

A moment of dedication to carry stillness into your day

Closing reflections to ease you back into movement

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Stone Circles and Buddhist Meditation

Stone circles evoke wholeness, unity, and the cyclical nature of existence resonating deeply with Buddhist meditation.

To sit within one is to enter a space shaped by intention and time. The stones may be silent, but they are not empty. They hold memory, myth, and the quiet presence of those who came before.

🔗 Read more reflections

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Explore Derbyshire’s prehistoric stone circles with Ramapani. A meditative pilgrimage into ancient ritual, sacred geography, and spiritual connection.

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[knicnacc]

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"If we want to be protected while walking over rough and rocky ground it is not realistic to think of covering the earth with leather. This would be impossible. Yet if we had enough leather merely to cover the soles of our own feet we would be able to walk anywhere."

~Geshe Kelsang Gyatso, Meaningful to Behold

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One afternoon, I slipped away from the fluorescent hum of work and found myself standing among giants.

The Devil’s Arrows, three Neolithic monoliths, rise from the earth like ancient punctuation marks. The tallest, at nearly 7 metres, is the second-tallest standing stone in the UK. Erected over 4,000 years ago, these stones likely formed part of a ceremonial alignment, possibly marking lunar or solar events. Their orientation hints at a prehistoric understanding of the cosmos.

I settled beneath the tallest, where the shade of both stone and tree offered sanctuary. The cool gritstone at my back became a silent companion. Meditation here felt less like escape, more like communion with time, place, with something older than language.

Folklore says the Devil, enraged with the town of Aldborough, climbed How Hill and hurled these stones in fury.

“Borobrigg keep out o’ way, for Aldborough town I will ding down!” he cried.

But his aim was off. He missed. The stones fell short, embedding themselves in the soil near Boroughbridge.

Whether placed by human hands or flung by myth, the Arrows remain. Still. Watchful. Whispering across millennia.

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