Posted on December 12, 2016
The moon shined brightly as the color of the morning began to spill its light into the night sky. It created a soft hue of blue and purple—the type of shade that’s produced right before the sun rises. Silence fell over the forest as the boy laid awake beneath the willow tree. Dawn’s light painted a new face over what was once the dark surroundings of the night. However, the boy was lost in his own thoughts that these changes went unnoticed before his eyes. Beside him, the wolf also sat awake staring intently at the boy.
“What causes you to think, little one?”
Before the boy answered, some time passed—for how long, no one knew. Only silence flowed in this space.
“I don’t get why it’s so hard to connect. What is it about you or me, or anyone for that matter to just understand each other?”
The wolf continued to stare intently without breaking its glance; without skipping a beat.
“I like to think that our hearts are like deep oceans. None of us knows what could be lingering around at the bottom. We can only imagine by what springs up to the surface every now and then. But in those instances, when we see what surfaces, is when we may see their heart and understand who they are. In those moments, they share what’s in their ocean with us. That is how we connect.”
The boy stood up and took a few steps past the wolf as his eyes wandered into the depths of the forest.
“I would like to know what lingers at the bottom of yours as you know what lingers in the bottom of mine. But unfortunately, I don’t know what the depths of my ocean holds. If only you could know, then perhaps you also can uniquely make a boy like me named.”
The sun began to peek over the mountain top, gleaming its light over the horizon, robbing the moon of its nighttime brilliance. Until it was nothing more than a thin gray paper moon hanging in the sky.
Posted on October 1, 2015
I took these pictures when I was in Portland, Oregon. I visited an enormous bookstore there called: “Powell’s Bookstore.” One of the biggest bookstores I’ve ever seen. It was definitely beautiful and of course, I bought myself a book. Who wouldn’t right? As I was waiting in line and looked at the word “litmosphere”, I had no idea the word existed. The more I waited in line, the more I pondered its meaning. As you can tell, there’s two definitions and I found myself attracted to the second one. Don’t you guys ever feel that way in certain places? Whether it’s a coffee shop, a quiet park, or even at the beach. Have you guys ever stopped at a certain scenery and thought to yourself, “I could seriously read a book right now”?
I think the reason we do, or at least for me, is because I tie the beautiful and dreamlike scenery to the surrealism of a story I find within the pages of a book–and actually vise versa. It’s strange how my mind works. It doesn’t even have to be scenery and it doesn’t even have to be a literary mood. There’s an intangible emotion that’s pulled from an intangible atmosphere–the kind that makes us say, “ahh..” and then immediately our mind wanders into some surreal world within our beings. I think that’s why I enjoy reading books, writing, nature, photography, music, traveling, etc. They all have this common unspoken–undefinable trait that allures me. Perhaps litmosphere is the word to describe the undefinable mood when it comes to literature.
If so, then what are the words that describe all the other intangible–surreal moods? When do you guys usually feel this type of mood?
Posted on March 17, 2015
Conversations swelled up in volume within the coffee shop as more customers walked in. I became distracted from my work and decided to take a break by studying the people around me. My eyes stopped to a lady that was reading a book. I stared at her from across the distance, but she didn’t notice my gaze. Her small body occupied the chair by the fire where she quietly read. The noise of the universe fell silent as the woman immersed herself in the depths of her mind–where peace greeted her. I felt more drawn to her the longer I watched, as though my own reality slipped into her world.
My eyes traced the outline of her slim physique. I followed the flow of her dark hair to where they rested lightly on her shoulders, then down to her legs. Though her eyes looked busy from the book, they seemed vacant. It was as if at any moment the life within her eyes could disappear. Once gone it could be filled with the sorrow that lives inside of her. It was in this moment, I humored at the thought that a stranger like her, whom I’ve never talked to or seen, can experience the kind of sorrow that lives inside of me.
Posted on March 6, 2015
Several days ago, I was at an outdoor cafe by a busy street. A sense of embarrassment enveloped me. “What are you doing? Sit back down! The people around you are staring!” Those were the immediate thoughts I had when I got up from my table to take pictures.
As I stood at the center of the place, something dawned on me and I couldn’t help but find it comedic. We’re all strange and do weird things–so what? Why do we allow ourselves to be so desensitized just because of what others think? Just to fit in with the social norm? I don’t think fear of other people should stop us from doing what makes us happy. Who cares whether it’s strange to others? Don’t limit yourself because of fear. Instead, make choices out of love. I think it’s completely acceptable to live a life that may be different to others and may appear strange to others. We should embrace it! Let’s all delight in being weird with confidence and boldness!