The fear of freedom

Is it lonely to stand so tall?
A mountain with nothing, no one else, in its view.
Is it dry to find you have no fear left,
and to know that the length of the universe is nothing but however many steps you take?
Is it terrible to be infinitely alive? 
To have nowhere else, no end, no way to die?
How long,
how long,
how long is it, exactly, to be free?

1912, Gerald E. Jones. The American annual of photography, Tennant and Ward. Harold B. Lee Library via Brigham Young University.


I found myself dashing laughing mad one morning,
running against the sensible current of becoming
I took my wheels off the road home,
and sped down in a direction obviously wrong.
Just some average Monday around eleven.
Just because I could.
Just because I felt good.
Just because I was on my bicycle. 
Just because I was newly freed from the slave world.
And the weather in Colombo was lovely 
with Marine Drive glowing one with the sea.
I had my keys to get back home;
a bit of money in case things went wrong.

The world was mine alone.

2018, heights. Trikansh sharma.

Lessons from the sea: part 2

When you fall asleep by the sea
you must close your eyes knowing that, even before your wake, death is a very real possibility.

When you wake up on the sand—on the lap of the ocean,
you must wake up ready to pick up anything that washes onto your shores.

This is how the sea will set you free.

1912, Horace Sykes. The American annual of photography. Tennant and Ward, New York via Harold B. Lee Library