Tonight I crossed the bridge of sighs and I surrendered
It’s been a rough week… well it has been a rough summer. Rough largely just because it has been so busy and tiring. It has definitely taken away time I spent on photographic projects, or personal life in general for that matter. The good news is I keep re-working older photos. This week was the roughest yet and I am left pretty exhausted. I should be in bed and soon I shall be, but before I went I made a point to get to one or two of my images, bring’em to life and to express myself creatively. It has proven to be the best balance for me over the years. Some seek comfort with family, others counsel with friends, being an introvert I turn to myself and the things I made during the lighter moments. My photos are records not of places I have been or things I have seen; they are records of me in moments, generally better ones. Through the photos then I can connect with that bit of myself. Creating is a wonderful gift and the benefits it imparts can balance out a lot of things. It is one of the best balms I have found when my soul is weary or my body exhausted or my mind negatively preoccupied. And yes, even with this piece here and now; the process of editing these photos, writing about them (vaguely) and sharing them has had a discernible effect on my mood. So yes, I am glad I sat down and connected with that part of me.
Birds fly and fill the summer skies and sometimes I surrender
I mostly crafted this post for my own purposes, but I suppose there is an example in this to be shared too and if I was going to turn that into encouragement it is to use positive action to balance negative. Creation, at least in this sense, then is very positive. Something to keep in mind, perhaps.
The disappearing world of footprints in the sand.
There’s no way out of here, when you come in you’re in for good
Great God I don’t believe in you
Pale God I had a dream of you
How you respond when your ego’s bruised, your fantasy exposed
Oh how you will make them pay with Vest and hired Van
Whining God who the fuck are you?
Come here, come and hear my heart
Cos when the world breaks you will feel the blast
The World is exhausted. Wreckage all around.
There are no answers here, when you look out you don’t see in.
Dusk, when evening turns magenta
Time to tell the day to rest
To abandon its hurry
Time to think again
On the shores of the night
I relive the day. Was it good? Was it bad?
Have I lived? Have I loved?
Was there a dream for me?
When the evening turns to silence
And I’m safe and still
Have light and shadow played their part?
When the truth rises from the mist
And tenderness arrives
Let’s consider this life for a while
On the shores of the night
I’ll let the day float past me
And I’ll rest forever
Until waves are rustling at my feet and break the silence.
Spotted in Mallorca – Sampling
Everything that has to end
Can be a new start
Never be imprisoned by your past life
Much I did not recognise
Much I simply missed
But I always did find something worthy
Vivid dreams of paradise
Yes I dreamed them too
Once I got there it had all but vanished
Walls are being raised up high
Walls come crashing down
Careful, don’t get hurt by falling debris
Once the ice begins to melt
Falling through is swift
But the risky first steps must be taken
This memorable journey through the early morning Mediterranean mist, memorable for many reasons, just came to mind and I thought why not. So here it is.
Atmosphere of course would have worked. As they are from the Greek words atmos (vapor) and sphaira (globe, ball, etc). But I didn’t care as much about the sphere part of it, for me it was all about the atmos. I had driven under this blanket of vapor, without even a peek of the sun for two hours. Then driving north-east along the coast and climbing up the Mountain range I found myself exiting through the top of that world and into the bottom of another, separated by only the flimsiest barriers of water vapor and elevation.
At this spot, I had a foot in both places as the mists swirled across the Mediterranean Sea beneath, giving me the barest glimpses now and again before pushing up the mountains, caressing me with its gentle, cool breeze and the promise of a beautiful new day.
Imagine somewhere out there is a planet
Populated by intelligent beings
Who may just look like us
And on that planet there stands a library
Full of books
Written by Poets
When the hatred and greed has become so great
That nothing more can save us here
Then, maybe there, a book can be found
Once opened you will find
The recorded downfall of our earth
You will read reports about us
About our lives
About our death
And our two sunsets
Which were so great
That no tears could quench them
And from seven billion eyes
A mourning red rain ran
Now just a floating tomb in space
And whoever wants to witness
That the earth shall never weep again
Needs to be united against war, greed, poverty, inequality, education inflation and nuclear madness
And whoever cares will play their part in
That this book is never read
For seven billion eyes
Will cherish our blue planet, our only home without fear for love, light and peace.
These woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have miles to go before I sleep
Enticed by poets’ words and song
With roots so deep, unmovable and strong
Where branches capture dreams undreamed
And all my dreams will start with these
Now evening has fallen, and nightingales are singing
The last of Sunday’s Bells is ringing
And on the darkest hour of the year
Over treetops you perceive
Scarcely a breath – silence
Wait then; and soon you too
Will have peace
1000 year old Olive Tree – Palma