Amongst the bustle of thousands of daily tourists, these two cats relax in the winter sun, in Granada, Spain, and Venice, Italy.

Camel Ride - Diary

I rode a camel today, along the Moroccan coast. I had just walked several kilometers along the beach at Essaouira and was sitting at the base of the sand dunes, lazily watching kite surfers and reading a travel book. The author was describing the joys of packing one’s bags, getting on a plane and letting the world revolve around you. I was half asleep, enjoying the warm, cloudless day, relaxing for the first time in weeks with my shirt off. Pausing from my reading I casually took photos of the surfers and people riding horses in the sea. Occasionally a camel wandered past carrying a bemused tourist. What a contrast, I thought, to the first class travel experiences I was reading about.

I often have a plan when I leave my room. I walk through the medina, past shop owners opening their shutters and setting up products on the footpath, to the port. There I photograph the fishermen in the early morning light as they repair nets and chat, preparing for the day at sea. Then I buy a paper, eat breakfast in a quiet cafe, and go to the beach. Sometimes circumstances conspire to turn my broad outline for the day into unknown challenges and excitements. I am prepared for a change of plans, a chance meeting or an unexpected event.

I was salivating with the author about Portuguese pastries when I saw Mimoon approaching. I had noticed him the day before sitting in the sand near the dunes, a colorful intrusion amongst the other animals. He was saddled in multi-colored shreds of cloth interwoven into a blue plastic base, haughtily looking at me. I stopped and took his photo. I recognized him immediately today. He sauntered over with his owner, and stood towering above where I lay.

I looked up as the camel looked down, and our eyes met. Camels have a sad, smug look, and when I smiled he turned his head away to look at the sea. I said hello to the rider, who jumped down and introduced himself. Yassid asked if I would like a photo taken of me on the camel. I mildly protested as thoughts of hundreds of dirham being extorted from me flashed through my mind, and said ‘Yes’. My book could wait. Here was one of those travel moments that demanded attention. It wasn’t every day that a camel interrupted my reading. In fact never on any day had it happened, and may not do so again.

I got up and handed my camera to Yassid and climbed onto the camel. Yassid took a photo and then, with a mild command, the camel stood up, jerking me into reality. Trapped two meters above the ground, I was involuntarily taken into the water for more photos. Suddenly, I was one of the bemused tourists I had seen earlier.

Men at Work - Morocco

There is another world. I know it, I feel it, and I breathe it. Where it is I cannot say other than it is here within my mind and pulsing through my being. I feel a parallel universe and an empathy with all that is out there, knowing that I cannot know it all but at least try to understand some.

My photos create my thoughts and my thoughts produce photos. I seek out neither. They have come to me in places I’m at, scenes to be seen and there to be taken. I, as the beholder of the camera, sometimes see it differently, but see it I

will, and take it I do.

There is a timelessness, an overlapping of ages passing through DNA, heritage, ancestry and nationality into my being.

Of all the places I could be I am here, at the centre of my existence in this body at this time. Where else could I be, unless so removed from the realities of life that I’m not here at all.

My photos are proof of my existence, not because I am in them (I am not), but because I am behind them, the finger on the shutter button to eclipse a moment in time.

Landscapes appear seasonal, lost in an environment of their own. It is the lifelines on the faces of the people I see that betray the hardships of existence.

Shots From Morocco

There must be layers in space where our consciousness goes. Like layers in the stratosphere, perhaps there are corresponding layers of consciousness, awake (the Earth’s surface), subconscious, super conscious, and ultimately divine consciousness (Heaven, Nirvana). It is this divine consciousness that we visit in our sleep, and are guided by in our dreams.

There is continuous interaction between ourselves as we physically exist within our bodies, and divine conscience, that which we came from, visit regularly, and will finally go to completely. Our bodies are purely here to give this power an Earthly parameter in which to exist.

Perhaps the layer of Heaven is closer than the outer atmosphere. It could be the invisible energy that pulses through our lives, in our genes, heredity and ancestry. Although we don’t always realise it, we are the physical manifestation of what has gone before. The life force that has pulsed through everyone before us is the same energy that we all feel in our lives. This energy exists eternally and the human body is merely the plug that is inserted to create physical manifestation.

In fact, all earthly life, plants, animals, the seas, winds and clouds are conduits of energy realising physical existence. Perhaps Heaven is a place on Earth.

Boats i've known.

Every day i awake hoping for a breakthrough in creativity. How to tell a simple story in a simple way, that is what i want to do. To elucidate what is in the head, to look at the sky and read the clouds, to see the wind work it's magic in the shapes and pulsating movements of words.

Dye Vat, Fez, Morocco

i am a rag, a cloth, a worn piece of material dying in ox blood and piss.

Monkey Friends, Botswana and Zambia

24 April, 2011.

Always upon a time there is magic. The door of the mind, opening onto a magnificent panorama of many worlds, leads into the endless cycle of possibilities and probabilities. Anything can happen.

Set in motion, the thought processes create a reality so vivid that all else seems a dream. The mind flows. Nothing can hold back the power of the imagination.

AJK

Walk to Nagarkot, Nepal

18 October, 1986

Today i walked to Nagarkot, on the north-east valley ridge. i meandered along paths, besides streams and up long hills of forest. It has been one of the most enjoyable days i have spent, taking many inspirational photographs.

The early bus from Kathmandu to Bhaktapur passed through rice fields and pockets of houses with small hillocks everywhere. Bhaktapur is a mediaeval town with narrow streets of crumbling brick buildings in orange and brown tones.

The magic started about three kilometres out of town. i was off the beaten track and seeing the most incredible visions of beauty, golden terraced hills of rice, groups of people harvesting in the fields, and girls scattering husks to the wind.

Time travel exists. Past, present and future are integrated into an everlasting and ever changing process of birth, life and death. i can never understand why people fail to accept that the greatest imaginable elements of existence are within and around them. The variety and creativity of nature, and man living complimentary to it, cannot be surpassed.

Perhaps it is difficult for the west to comprehend the esoteric knowledge that is the foundation of Eastern customs and beliefs. Individual perceptions and interpretations through the elementary senses are personal and powerful. It is not surprising that conflict arises from the righteousness of self.

No self, no conflict, no suffering.

Today i walked through the valley of visions.

Tonight i sleep with the gods.

My body grows older.

My mind becomes wiser.

But when i re-read my thoughts, they do not say or convey the intrinsic changes that take place in the mind. My photos are externalisations. Is a picture worth a thousand words? It need not be, as long as it gives a smile on the face of the viewer.

Cisterne Portugaise, El-Jadida

Morocco

Here and There

Cremation, Kathmandu, 1986

Water Lilies, Botswana