In nature we sense our primordial selves,
Arbiters of begotten beauty,
Culled from the mire,
Burgeoning across the timeless plane,
Called or commanded we tire,
Weary the burden of knowing,
That which destiny wrought,
Will one day be leveled the same.
Sitting in the manicured grass, aimless tourists stumble about, taking selfies and admiring the bucolic countryside. I begin to realize how fortunate we are to have these spaces. However sterile they may be, it is a chance to revere nature, to experience beauty without consequence. But right now, as the fires rage in Brazil, as villages sink in India, as glaciers older than humanity cease to be, I recognize what a privilege this is. To see nature divorced from necessity. As something to visit, a hashtag moment. We need to change this. We need to see how this all connects. Every tree, rock, river and animal. It is a system in delicate sway, and it is tipping
Nature urges us to slow. To temper our thoughts to a motion not dictated by the fluttering pulse of humanity. To listen and be still without asking for more. Without seeking service from that which was never ours to command. We are anxious beings, quickened by the knowledge of our temporality. But time, time is a human concept. Invented to assign value to each measured moment. But if we slow ourselves, we experience more than could ever be measured. The eternity between each breath. The unquantifiable value of existence
Along these weathered shores, I walk beside familiar footprints, contours of a life I once knew. Strange to me now as they were then, as they will be, the next time I return to find myself in these shapeless waters.
We wearisome beasts
Fumbling feet racing towards dusk
And unpromised dawns.
Eager to complete,
Our daily deaths
Praying to be reborn.
We all have a bench. A place which has born the weight that our hearts amass. Where the gravity that we feel can be left behind. Find that space. Return there often. Until it becomes a state of mind.
Since I was a child, my favorite part about Christmas was the long drives. Staring out the window at the endless country side, tracing lines along the horizon, imagining faces in clouds as they passed by. Line after line, highways gave way to county roads, winding through towns I would never know. My mom, always regaling some story about some person in some place, I could never really keep up but I'd try, as my eyes swayed along telephone lines, thinking of all the tethered hearts, sending love to those who could not make it home. It was these moments, held captive by our journey, these moments, where the only gift was our voice, these moments, where the silence was full, it was these moments that I cherished most. So we drove, despite our destination having already been found.
While photographing the entrance to Brooklyn Conservatory of Music for a project, an ambulance passed by, blanketing the street with crimson hues. For a brief moment I saw my silhouette cast before me. It was an eerie feeling, a sense of falling. I realized how unaware I was of my presence. It's strange but I often feel detached in the city, surrounded by millions of unseeing eyes. Anonymous to all, even myself. The sirens faded and the street lights reclaimed their shadows, but I remained still, fixated on my sudden awareness.
We are all planets
Gravity bound to our star
Pushing and pulling.
From windows we watch the procession of life; separate and safe. Yet we must push beyond our ingrown lives. It takes courage to open our doors. It takes strength to do so with grace. It is not the fearless who prosper. It is the brave.