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Hoxne
Coordinates: 52°21′N 1°12′E / 52.35°N 1.2°E / 52.35; 1.2
Hoxne /ˈhɒksən/ is an anciently established village in the Mid Suffolk district of Suffolk, England, about five miles (8 km) east-southeast of Diss, Norfolk and one-half mile (800 m) south of the River Waveney. The parish is irregularly shaped, covering the villages of Hoxne, Cross Street and Heckfield Green, with a 'tongue' extending southwards to take in part of the former RAF Horham airfield.
In geology, Hoxne gives its name to the Hoxnian Stage, a British regional subdivision of the Pleistocene Epoch.
Overview
The area around the village is of remarkable archaeological importance, as the find-spot of the Hoxne Hoard of Roman treasure, very early finds of handaxes and as the type site for the Hoxnian Stage ("Hoxnian Interglacial").
Hoxne Hundred
Hoxne was a hundred of Suffolk, with an area of 55,648 acres (225.20 km2).
Hoxne Hundred was a fertile district averaging about nine miles (14 km) in length and breadth. It was bounded on the north by the River Waveney which separates it from Norfolk, on the east by Wangford and Blything Hundreds, on the south by Plomesgate, Loes and Thredling Hundreds and on the west by Hartismere Hundred. The parishes of Carlton and Kelsale form a detached region to the south east of the hundred.
The area is watered by several streams flowing northward to the Waveney. On its southern side are the sources of the River Alde and near Laxfield the principal source of the River Blythe. The soil is primarily loam. The only town of any size is Stradbroke. It falls into the Deanery of Hoxne, the Archdeaconry of Suffolk, and the Diocese of Norwich.
Listed as Hoxana in the Domesday Book, the hundred owes its name to the village of Hoxne, site of St Edmund's martyrdom, which in turn means "settlement of the Hoxan", believed to be a small Saxon tribe.
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Indefinite Archetype
by: HexenBlind and indignant, you won't see that your own statements are contradicting,
Your very existence, take a hint, what is perceived is subjective reality,
The path that is chose, be it yours, lay wasted away by denials and chores,
Determined to prove that confusion is vice, in an endless abyss of limitless sacrifice,
Numbers don't lie and neither do I, thus spoke the ancients in patterns and dye,
Collective unconscious much less a dream, to understand life is to attain ability,
What once was certain now is lost to the hands of the victims of the albatross,
Insight and knowledge easily skewed became the misconception that guides your view towards...
life.
Indefinite archetype!
Intricate balance, many ways in which light shall pierce the ubiquitous haze,
Cause and effect, a mere paradigm, transcends beyond chance yet distorters deny,
Manifestation for humanity is more than attesting half-truths with daunting beliefs,
When immediate action proves sane men naïve, an existential source is vastly decreed,
Falsified heroes paving lines by which lives are altered and chosen ones thrive,
If as above so below, now we must conquer our-selves to forgo,
The pendulum prophecies lay beneath the tides falling to rise, observe and be seen,
Among twilight's idols, indivisibly, wisdom and instinct entwine and is born unto thee.
Indefinite archetype!
Cast into a darkened plane by which shadows may escape the past,
Consolation for dire souls flung towards the unnerving black,
If the ego is the ghost that has arisen from the grave of the self,
Then expect it to act in ghoulish ways!
Principle knowledge, once possessed, likened to comfort, lays one to rest,
Indiscrete memory, condemned to forget, that which preceded our lives to beget,
Ages of solace, no one sees, the opportune sequences made to appease,
Correspondence, calculative success, the incontestable machinations of progress.