:: PhiloSOPHIEs ::

From the ocean we are born in death to it we return. For every tide that ebbs another flows breathing new life from the whispers of old spirits as they fly overhead and flower underfoot. All that we are all that we are not Is mirrored in the water if we just take a moment to look. To listen to the miracle Of all life. Of all love. Of all loss. Everything in this world is cyclical in nature; Constantly evolving. Constantly revolving. Forwards. Around. Back. Life. Death. Life.

Holding onto baskets full of moments passed; some of which will never come again others which will but not quite the same. Rummaging through old chapters of a recent past, in an attempt to discern where one ends where another begins where yet another draws to a close… Listen closely enough and a whisper of longing can be heard, not of how things were or how they could be.. But a whisper which recognises the awareness that accompanies any true metamorphosis. The acknowledgemen

The dots. The lines. The smallest detail in any pattern… Both the action of making a mark and that of leaving one behind. They allow me to untangle a string of thoughts into an intuitive thread to follow whilst the next step makes itself known. A reminder to look a little closer at the world around me, for the greatest of things are built upon the smallest of details. Every dot, every line; A direct product of what has come before yet whose present form defines what comes nex

To turn a half formed thought into a fully fledged idea takes a mind which understands that Things are what they were and will be what they are. The greatest gift of all is an uparralleled presence Of mind. Of matter. A whisper from afar so faint one might mistake it For the wind which passes over head. For the water which passes underfoot. Known elements from which we sculpt the world around us; we sculpt the space which holds us. Caught upon the precipice of the unknown and