Impressions from Ladakh, Satwa Guna Project - travel with magicians and mystics
posted on 25th of august, 2009
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...i've never reached those places with my soul, i just felt as a blind wanderer on lands which may have been once blessed with quietness and spiritual strength. Maybe back then, the people who didn't belong to that land came and told THEM that there may be something wealthier and then they killed their soul and settled off their spirit.
They lied them as you lie the child about life, they tarnished the paintings of their monasteries and they washed the frescoes of their soul, beautifully mutilated them, petrified and crucified them with their own childishness of the soul. They made them believe in something they knew it was ephemeral, dazzled them and dressed them beautifully with clothes. But there has been left some of them unseen, far away from the tarmac, but close to the sky, whom THESE ONES didn't find, and even if they had found them, they wouldn't reached the ears through which they could pour the wax of forgetfulness, they didn't find neither they're eyes...this way they didn't get them back from their road, contrariwise they awakened them the memories and new strengths.
I've wandered with a gloomy soul...people don't look at each other anymore, they don't recognize themselves in the earth they are walking on, they don't smile anymore and they don't cry out loud their happiness in the valleys where aforetime they were building the houses of the soul out of clay and faith.
I've searched for them in their sleep and in the coldness of the serpent-river and found them in the current of memories full of the foam of forgetfulness. I've looked for them in their frowned glance and found them in the blueness of the pupil raised towards the sky.
I've searched them in the palms battered by the new clothes' burden and found them in the silk purl of the butterflies that led their children to put on their festive and dancing clothes. I went after their footprint on the road of reconciliation but i've discovered them forgotten of their roots. And then i've climbed up there, at the home of gods, and i've glimpsed the unseen through the walls of the halved houses, smiling towards their long life. They are drinking milk and have no new clothes. This is how i've seen the unseen of all that i met, far away from the tarmac and close to the sky.
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Tags: impression india ladakh travel
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Comments (2)
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wow you have great insight.I love reading your blogs.
Debbie
- posted by
Dmccale
on October 24, 2009 |
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Glad to read some of your impression written in this manner too. You already told us some nice stories, but anything new is welcome.
I must add that the images on your site are just awesome.
- posted by
Catarii
on August 26, 2009 |
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This article has been read 859 times. 3 readers have found this article useful.
Photo credits: Seast, Ralph Paprzycki, Rcaucino. |
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Pavalache Stelian
(Photodesign)
Bucuresti, RO
>Who are you photography?
Why such question? Otherwise how? How could I talk to the light? I am trying to plunge into its world and bring it to the surface under the shape of letters. What an impossible mission has been assigned to me. It is as if I would rudely and constantly rummage the mystery of the infinite man. But...do you remember the shooting starts? ...well, knead infinite stars in your palm and then, as genuinely as a child, throw them back into the universe. Men and worlds will emerge. Somewhere out there, a tiny bit of light is my world and the light within it.
Through light, all things have shape and enhance effect. Light reveals itself to me and I am surprised. I do not believe in shapes and colors. . . . I do not even know if they truly exist. I do not believe in the moral of shapes, I do not believe in the moral of lightless words, I do not believe that . . . I do not believe that light is ultimate or absolute . . . I press the shutter towards infinite worlds . . . (even my world), and they all fall mingled through the child's fingers and they settle plainly on the silverish forever. A soulful image. I close the shutter . . . darkness in the hand of the lightless child.
Wondering what all this has got to do with photography?
This is how I feel it.
This is my creed . . . ABOUT LIGHT.
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