Tuesday, 26 July 2016
Wednesday, 20 July 2016
half thoughts and day dreams
“There is a loneliness more precious than life. There is a freedom more precious than the world. Infinitely more precious than life and the world is that moment when one is alone with God.”
― Rumi
what remains, when everything else falls away, what remains- an enduring connection spanning a thousand half-life's... with the creator of all things.
just this: and your thoughts, your imagination, your memories--- the things you create and the things you write, the things you project into the void, all those moments, that only you can bear witness to... sitting at a train station with all your belongings wondering where to go next... drifting in the rain through countless city streets and along rivers with names unknown... watching the sunrise over the east sea, a peace and quiet descends, this year I've spent so many days and nights alone, wandering by the sea, in the bush and on streets, in cities so foreign, I've spent so much time living parts of the world, liked I've lived London my whole life, haphazardly, curiously, never knowing what's round the corner, taking my time, to look and look again, to connect with the present and all that exists within it, and it's so strange, and so freeing, to live as a stranger, in a place, where you don't speak the language, where you often find yourself lost, where you don't have to communicate, you can just smile sometimes, and nod as though you understand, where you bump into people in unlikely places who fast become friends, and accept small kindnesses not knowing if you'll ever be able to return them...
just this: and your thoughts, your imagination, your memories--- the things you create and the things you write, the things you project into the void, all those moments, that only you can bear witness to... sitting at a train station with all your belongings wondering where to go next... drifting in the rain through countless city streets and along rivers with names unknown... watching the sunrise over the east sea, a peace and quiet descends, this year I've spent so many days and nights alone, wandering by the sea, in the bush and on streets, in cities so foreign, I've spent so much time living parts of the world, liked I've lived London my whole life, haphazardly, curiously, never knowing what's round the corner, taking my time, to look and look again, to connect with the present and all that exists within it, and it's so strange, and so freeing, to live as a stranger, in a place, where you don't speak the language, where you often find yourself lost, where you don't have to communicate, you can just smile sometimes, and nod as though you understand, where you bump into people in unlikely places who fast become friends, and accept small kindnesses not knowing if you'll ever be able to return them...
and what remains, when everything perishes------ just this feeling, and it won't leave you....
...it's that feeling you get, at the end of every journey, when the train speeds away, or when the plane takes off, and you're there on it, thinking about everything... and everything blurs, every place, every face, every break down, every epiphany, every sunset and that feeling, it's inexplicable, its a sadness, and a euphoria, of knowing and not knowing... words fall short, so often, too often, and life is sacred, and its only during my travels, having torn myself away from everything and everyone I know, that I've truly understood that; life is sacred, and often unattainable, so I write often, I write wherever I go and sometimes when I read my writings, I think where have I been all my life, everything is so fractured and illusory and dreamlike so often, but it's nice to know, that once upon a time, it was real and I did it.
one day, I just woke up and decided to go... and I hope to live out my whole life in this vein, bravely, ceasing opportunities, though they may be riddled with uncertainty...and as long I have faith in God and his plan for me, as long I have an imagination and retain this ability to make friends wherever I go. I know I'll be okay.... Alhamdulillah.
Monday, 18 July 2016
to arrive////
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
Friday, 8 July 2016
these birds walk...
beautiful and moving documentary... i miss my people and my ancestral homeland....
and that one dream////
Tuesday, 21 June 2016
Tuesday, 7 June 2016
Thursday, 25 February 2016
Thursday, 11 February 2016
Saturday, 9 January 2016
Neon + Salt
Currently documenting everyday life in S Korea (mostly Busan) through photography.
Check it out: http://neon-salt.tumblr.com/
Friday, 8 January 2016
Thursday, 19 November 2015
Sunday, 8 November 2015
Sunday, 25 October 2015
Sunday, 4 October 2015
Living London Private View
To mark the official launch of my Living London project, I'm having a photographic exhibition in late October. The exhibition will share some of the photographs, poetry and hidden London gems that feature in my project. For those of you who have been following this blog and my explorations for the last 8 years, it would be amazing to see you at the exhibition and to celebrate London together- it's incredible places, people and stories!
RSVP to Private View here: http://www.eventbrite.com/e/living-london-private-view-tickets-18723067198
Letter to Self
I came across this beautiful letter to self written by an inmate at wormwood scrubs prison...
We have not spoken in a while... So long I barely know you. Now confined in these four walls you'd think I'd be forced to listen, but sometimes those closest to our hearts receive the least of our attention, so now with these words I hope that maybe we can have some time to say, I know I did you wrong. And I'm sorry.
yours have always been the hardest words to digest your praise is often bland and unseasoned, your scorn thick, coarse and stodgy, and often with no mind paid to my delicate tongue ad sensitive palate. THESE WORDS ARE NOT weapons, though they may cut you. They are not tools, though I hope to build you with them. And my tongue is not silver, though it may seek to buy you favour in return for good fortune when I say, I know i did you wrong, and I'm sorry
You barely turn to face me anymore. I loved your fickle dreams, I fanned your selfish fires and catered to your wanton needs, spent a lifetime raising you up in delusion, a king of a lonely kingdom, God of an empty space. Have I built you a lonely cell to rule over? Did we find ourselves a dark corner to rock in, back and forth for eternity shrouded by illusions of unachievable utopia- do we live there now?
Alone in this place I need you now more than ever but find I 'm more distant than I've known, and before I seek the forgiveness of others i'll seek the redemption of the only one who truly knows me and say, i know i did you wrong, and I'm sorry
In this room away from the civilised world where they make of great men, beasts and cattle, and though you never listened to a single word I said, it's time we had a simple conversation, for all the quick replies that seem to rattle round my head, all the good and bad advice and mysteries unravelled and the crumbling institution of myself, I want you just to know that I recognise your pain, and I've robbed you of your health
I know I did you wrong,
Sincerly
We have not spoken in a while... So long I barely know you. Now confined in these four walls you'd think I'd be forced to listen, but sometimes those closest to our hearts receive the least of our attention, so now with these words I hope that maybe we can have some time to say, I know I did you wrong. And I'm sorry.
yours have always been the hardest words to digest your praise is often bland and unseasoned, your scorn thick, coarse and stodgy, and often with no mind paid to my delicate tongue ad sensitive palate. THESE WORDS ARE NOT weapons, though they may cut you. They are not tools, though I hope to build you with them. And my tongue is not silver, though it may seek to buy you favour in return for good fortune when I say, I know i did you wrong, and I'm sorry
You barely turn to face me anymore. I loved your fickle dreams, I fanned your selfish fires and catered to your wanton needs, spent a lifetime raising you up in delusion, a king of a lonely kingdom, God of an empty space. Have I built you a lonely cell to rule over? Did we find ourselves a dark corner to rock in, back and forth for eternity shrouded by illusions of unachievable utopia- do we live there now?
Alone in this place I need you now more than ever but find I 'm more distant than I've known, and before I seek the forgiveness of others i'll seek the redemption of the only one who truly knows me and say, i know i did you wrong, and I'm sorry
In this room away from the civilised world where they make of great men, beasts and cattle, and though you never listened to a single word I said, it's time we had a simple conversation, for all the quick replies that seem to rattle round my head, all the good and bad advice and mysteries unravelled and the crumbling institution of myself, I want you just to know that I recognise your pain, and I've robbed you of your health
I know I did you wrong,
Sincerly
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