Unfolding

It's what I long for and dream about and post here about endlessly, water and stone and old wood, any chance and uncontrived meeting of elements in a composition which says volumes, sometimes with a few words, often without any words at all.

In such images there is harmony, movement and an organic folding which pulls the viewer, photographer or witness right into the picture. Everything is in motion here, the old granary slowly sliding into the river, the rough stone foundation on which it sits and which is also sliding inexorably into the river, the old river itself flowing quietly along.

Here, there is wabi: a quiet sense of of poignance, solitude and loneliness; sabi, the suchness or innate uniqueness of the various elements, first separately and then together. Then there is yugen or mystery, the hidden and ineffable which lies at the heart of all reality and existence.

Pottering about in the woods with my camera in springtime or along winding highland streams, I have to realize, accept and become thoroughly comfortable with the simple fact that the images I am bringing home on my little memory cards are woefully inadequate. All things are perfect just as they are, and they don't need my meddling, mediocre and doddering presence to give them meaning or expression and preserve them for posterity.

Like the lotus and the morning glory which reside within it, the cosmos is ever unfolding and with no human assistance whatsoever. It really doesn't matter whether I am here or not. While I am here, I am just a joke, a happy wanderer in wild places with her camera in hand. In time, I shall go dancing back to the beginning place, to the stardust out of which I was formed and out of which I shall come dancing again as something else entirely. What a trip!