“Suddenly, I am living in the light of a star…”

I write photo essays. My photos and words support each other. Most photographers do not need words; photos are their words; you’ve heard one photo is worth a thousand.

Photography, from Greek is light writing, capturing light on a medium: (Photo=Light, graph=Writing.)

The oldest photograph, today’s term, was produced by Frenchman Nicéphore Niépce in 1825. His process was known as heliography, sun writing (helio= sun, graph=writing)

Photographers write a story by capturing light on a sensor.

But a moment is more potent when captured without a camera, when light strikes the sensors of our eyes—and hearts—when we discover we are in a moment of life, not just viewing it.

When mindful, I walk in a story of light imagery, each glance a turn of the page.

The preface to the poem…

of clouds…

…of shadows…

…of being and shadow…

…of simian, surf and shadow.

I’m in a moment with other beings, a moment that never was nor will be again.

I love photos. I love taking them, sharing them. Looking at old ones brings back memories.

Many of us have discs, albums, or boxes of photos that bring back memories. But they are just slices of time and lack the power of now. Being present in a moment is part of what forms who we are.

A moment enhances life.

We erase time when present: John Muir, “Longest is the life that contains the largest amount of time-effacing enjoyment…and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality.”

Sometimes perspective helps. I look at a moment as unfamiliar, each event as new; as when I walk in the sunshine, way too familiar, and view it as starlight—which it actually is.

Look away from this screen right now to the window near you. If conditions permit, see the “sun” as it hits the walls, the trees, the sidewalk, the sand—as starlight.

Welcome your new eyes.

Suddenly, with new eyes I am living in the light of a star in this solar system, galaxy, universe. I encounter another soul, another being, or thing.

Starlight is bounding off them and landing on my retina. It’s light as message—of an other—to an other.

I realize that I can remain in reptilian mind, engaged only in myself, or reach out with acknowledgment of others, greeting these globe trekkers, here for a time—just like me. It involves engaging moments of exposure from which both benefit.

Our Surgeon General says half of Americans have measurable loneliness and that healing that loneliness is hiding in plain sight.

I know that some people are not lonely, they just prefer solitude, so when I come upon people I quickly see if they are open to engaging.

Often, it’s yes—and I make the moment positive.

I think, especially in these divided times, a positive exchange—is a good thing.

One day I a saw a lady taking photos of the jetties, the dunes, the sea—wide angle and close up.

I chatted with Janine who told me she makes water color paintings from her photos. But I was surprised when she emailed a painting she made of me in the distance…

…chatting with these ladies:

I of course bought the gifted Janine Ferranti’s painting.

Most of my encounters are not captured on my camera’s cold sensor, they are stored only in me, and maybe in an—other.

These tiny moments of kindness work two ways: “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion, if you want to be happy, practice compassion.” Dalai Lama

So, one might take a moment to smile, to chat with those trekking the paths we share: the beach, the boardwalk, the avenue, the aisle. Create a good moment, a good memory.

We carry moments forward to another and another. And so our exchange becomes immortal. As John Muir said, “a good practical sort of immortality.”

Whether you believe in the hereafter or not, do you think we might be building something on this mortal plane, in this starlight? Maybe we just don’t know what it is we build because it is far too big—and we are way too tiny.

Could we be the quantum particles of a collective consciousness? A consciousness that is less about me and more about us. Maybe it just has to start with us, because underneath—we are one.

I think when we bury our preconceived notions into a dune—and engage as human to human—we build.

Some camera moments in the starlight:

Be well,

Leebythesea