2001Jul29
[approximate date continued]

And there my moon sank into the morning fog, elegantly and beautifully, and in the west rose my Shiva, the fire within me. The moon, she left a trail of yellow, red, then purple. But as her hue faded there was the sun emitting those same colors, one after the other through cracks in the veil of distant clouds. And when his majesty was fully realized the Lord gave me a white rainbow.

The fog-filled valleys became oceans of mist with waves gently extended from the surface and sprays of slowly moving mist. Dissipating, the sea rolled up the mountain going faster and faster. First it teased us with little gems of light sweeping past our eyes. Then, as by surprise we became engulfed, enrapt in the cloud.

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A secret love? My feelings, they run too deep to express! I want to show the world the completeness, the perfection, of real love. My sadness has a name, but even that has little meaning to anyone else. My bliss, or joy, could be the part of a thousand holy books that still would not do it justice. Can photographing extravagant people really capture their soul? One can only glimpse the photographer’s full intent. Or the poet; Isn’t poetry ‘good’ when it is deeper than the comprehension of the reader?