Life in the desert. โจ
Show me where there is life in the desert. Only those who can see such signs of life are able to find treasure.
Rajasthani desert- India 2018.
paradisexmagazine #fotomobile #fotodome #dreamlight #aintbadmagazine #verybusymag #vsco #noicemag #rentalmag โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ
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The magic of mountains.
And if these mountains had eyes, they would wake to find two strangers in their fences, standing in admiration as a breathing red pours its tinge upon earth's shore. These mountains, which have seen untold sunrises, long to thunder praise but stand reverent, silent so that man's weak praise should be given.
Iโm so ready for spring, and all itโs possibilities.
Unseen magical moments from of my my favourite places in the world.
#mountains #dolomites #imaginarymagnitude #artofvisuals #visualpage #moodnation ##visualsofearth #fadedaesthetics #exploreobserveshare #nuagesmagazine #concretewaveco #pocket_minimal #rozymagazine #oldtonecollective #palepalmcollection #minimalalert #mnm_gram #la_minimal #satellitetales #abandonedgallery #lightzine #negativemag #vsconature #dreamermagazine #nowherediary #paperjournalmag #northsilverimprint #ourmag #phroom
How could I know where I will be blown next?
Whoever claims to have made a pact with Destiny
Reveals himself a liar and a fool;
What is any of us but a straw in a storm?
How could anyone make a pact with a hurricane?
God is working everywhere his massive Resurrection;
#visualpage #moodnation ##visualsofearth #fadedaesthetics #exploreobserveshare #nuagesmagazine #concretewaveco #pocket_minimal #rozymagazine #oldtonecollective #palepalmcollection #minimalalert #mnm_gram #la_minimal #satellitetales #abandonedgallery #lightzine #negativemag #vsconature #dreamermagazine #nowherediary #paperjournalmag #northsilverimprint #notfilm
โFear is the cheapest room in the house.
I would like to see you living
in better conditions.โ
โ- Hafiz
Memory from the archive in the house that danced with joy.
Two hard drives. Years of moments. Stories that never made it into the lightโฆ until now.
Iโve been holding onto thousands of images,the good, the blurred, the imperfect, the ones that donโt quite make sense to anyone but me. And maybe thatโs the point. I think Iโve been waiting for them (or me) to feel โreadyโโฆ but ready is a myth, isnโt it?
So here I am. Showing up anyway.
These are fragments from Rajasthan ,where the cold crept into my bones in ways I didnโt expect. Mornings that felt almost too quiet, air sharp against my skin, fingers stiff behind the lens. And yetโฆ somehow, in that chill, there was a warmth I canโt explain.
A warmth in fleeting eye contact, in shared chai, in colors that refused to dull even under grey skies. A warmth that stayed, long after I left.
Maybe thatโs why I kept these hidden. Because they mean more than I know how to say.
But Iโm learning that not everything needs to be perfect to be seen.
So this is me,opening the archives, letting the memories breathe, and choosing to exist hereโฆ even when it feels impossible.
More to come. ๐งก
2024-Jaipur
Some on film, some not.
#rajathan #india #film #porta400
Last year in Portugal, the sun felt like an old friend we had almost forgotten,warm on our skin, slow in the afternoons, stretching golden light across the streets while Hazel and I wandered with no real plan except to stay outside for as long as possible. We laughed at nothing, shared quiet coffees, salty air, and those late evenings where the sky refuses to darken too quickly. It felt simple, and somehow that made it unforgettable.
It finally arrived here again,days like that. The kind of sunshine that pulls you back into yourself, or maybe gently out of yourself.
I think because of that, Iโm going to start sharing a lot of unseen pictures from that time and from everywhere in between. So many moments stayed tucked away, hidden, waiting.
But maybe itโs time to come out of that shell.
Like the sun does.
๐
On film, a beach somewhere near Faro.
Granada lingers like a half-remembered dream, warm against the skin of memory. The sun there does not simply shine,it hums, slipping through orange blossoms and ancient stone, painting gold onto hidden courtyards. In the shadow of distant hills, time loosens its grip, and every breath tastes faintly of spice and possibility. You miss it most in quiet moments: that slow, honeyed light, the way it softened everything it touched, including you. Somewhere, the sun is still pouring over tiled roofs and whispering fountains, waiting patiently for your return, as if it never quite believed you would leave.
Memories from Spain.
Because I miss that sunshine so much.
For you, from me:
Unfold, said the light
not loudly, but like the dawn touching closed petals.
Release what was never yours to carry,
let it fall like old leaves into forgiveness.
In the unseen, roots remember
how to reach for what is coming.
The past is a memory and the future is imagination.
Now.
You are not starting over
you are remembering how to bloom.
And Iโm blooming once again.
Grateful for the light
that gently moves through me,
From you.
๐
To all the people I love โค๏ธ
.
.
.
.
You are part of the sacred fabric of my life. Each of you is a light that guides me, a mirror that shows me truth, and a gift that teaches me how to love more deeply. Your laughter is a prayer of joy, your kindness a gentle blessing, your presence a reminder of the divine in everyday moments.
Soon will be an another spin around the sun. And what a joy to share this cosmic journey with all the beautiful people in my life.
#innerpeace #love #lovepoems #poetryinmotion
Humans are mirrors for one another, reflecting back the parts of ourselves we may not always see.
Reflections are born from light traveling through and bouncing back, and in the same way, our spiritual connections with others are currents of energy moving between souls. Just as light reveals form, color, and depth when it reflects, the presence of another person can illuminate hidden aspects of ourselves.
There are days when the weight of living feels like a stone pressing into the soul.It feels as though light itself struggles to pass through you. Yet, even in those moments, thereโs a quiet thread of grace that winds through your being.
It might be in the warmth of a friendโs hand resting on yours.
In the laughter of a stranger that breaks your spiral of thought.
In the simple way sunlight lays across your table as if it came just to visit you.
These are the little moments,tiny flickers of life that remind you youโre still here, still human, still capable of giving something of yourself to others. And sometimes, your very survival becomes the light someone else needs. You may not realize it, but your resilience, your presence, your willingness to feel despite the pain , these become a gift.
โจ
The not so glamorous life. Some on film, some unseen.
Thereโs a certain rhythm to India. A sacred chaos that pulses through its train stations, its streets, its people. It doesnโt move in straight lines or stick to timetables. It moves like a prayer, unpredictable and raw, asking you to surrender before you even realize youโre holding on. Escaping the north without a train ticket. 8 days of chaos on slow trains. I got stuck in Jaipur, a city that 7 years ago told me truths I wasnโt ready to face but yet again, here I still was. On the platform, waiting. Trains came and went, just never the ones I needed. Days slipped by without warning, the cold desert air biting through my clothes and into my bones. I had no idea Rajasthan could be this cold. I sat on station floors wrapped in scarves and silence, learning a new kind of patience. Learning to wait without resistance.
And then my phone broke. No maps, no ticket updates, no easy way to reassure the ones I loved. I remember borrowing a kind strangerโs phone to send a single message to my parents: Iโm safe, I think. I donโt know when Iโll leave but Iโll try fix my phone at the destination. That moment held its own kind of prayer, not just for safety, but for presence. I wasnโt in control anymore. India was teaching me to trust, to release, to breathe into the unknown.I remember sneaking in the train stations officers office when I got to Kota, where I first cried and then slept for the night. And waited for the day for train that never seemed to arrive. But when it did, little did I know 25hrs would become a life time.
Those hours became sacred. I watched landscapes roll past like visions, villages, temples, glowing mustard fields. The train rocked me into a different kind of awareness. I shared food with strangers whose names I never caught but whose stories settled into my chest like prayers. I stared at the horizon for what felt like lifetimes. I meditated in motion.
India wasnโt giving me a journey, it was giving me a surrender. A reminder that presence is the only destination that matters. That we are never really lost if we are awake to the moment in front of us.
It wasnโt about the train or the station.
