The Key

Whenever you hit the darkest, filthiest, the most horrific of the rock bottoms imaginable,

thinking, "this is it, this time I am really done", 

just pause for a second and look at the tiniest daisy striking through the dirt, 

pulling through rock-hard unwatered ground. 

Regardless of the weather conditions, 

lack of rain or, on the contrary, its abundance 

that turns everything into a disgusting impotent mud unable to produce any plant or 

killing those remaining ones, nature still finds its way to replenish.

It never fails to try and try again. 

If you are searching for hope and signs of God's grace, love and forgiveness, 

nature is one of the things you should take a closer look it 

for it gives you the final answer. 

Always. 

Even when you - and I - deny it.

Come to think of it, we haven't gone too far from the animals. We, the humans, do mark our territory, just like the animals do. But even more so, we cannot restrain ourselves from marking those who we tend to refer to as "ours". We leave the scent of our deepest affection on them, and before you smirk, let me tell you, it has hardly anything to do with sexuality.

Those we love, those we have the biggest privilege to call "the closest" have that particular mark which is never visible to the naked eye. It is absolutely impalpable and in no way can be examined, tasted, smelled. It is carefully concealed, they themselves might never be fully aware of it, but it is as real as a lingering feeling one gets from being kissed on the eyelids - probably one of the most captivating expressions of tenderness yet.

It stays on them as long as the thread connecting us remains intact and - oddly enough - even after it breaks for all the wrong or right reasons. All of the dear souls who we were fortunate enough to touch and profoundly interlace with in our lives once still have our trace on them. And, I believe, it is one of the most beautiful things one can think of.

Should I start with a "Hello"?

In terms of creativity and - specifically - photography, most of the time I feel as if I am being completely sucked into a world that barely even exists. The world that lives only within me and balances on a rope between reality and a dream. That soft overwhelming feeling which takes over you when you aren't yet asleep, however, already starting to lose the trace of thoughts. They quickly slip through your weakening fingers and you can no longer get hold of them. That's where the World resides. Fierce, startling world that rages, roars and then suddenly murmurs, dividing into thousand more. The world that I get to touch, experience - yet never understand - only through a prism of my own emotions. The world that I will never be able to shape into some kind of meaningful text. Wordless world that requires nothing but music, sensations and images. Images that are born to stay and remind of all the little precious things our lives are made of. 

The Green Doors into our memories.