eighty-four thousand poems

The sounds of streams are Buddha's speech.
The colored mountains are Buddha's pure body.
Night brings eighty-four thousand poems of Buddha.
Listen, and someday you may awaken.
- Su Shih (1031-1101)

Sometimes the light and the focus fall in place and the end result is something stunning in its detail and the 3D effect. I can't explain it, there is clarity that comes through on its own.


Spotted like a disease the colour comes close to the original even though it is purple again. This is the top of the plant that produced the abstract below.


Like bread crumbs along a pathway leading to the creature harbored within the spotted tube of a flower is a strange place to be.


Shattered into a million little pieces the grasp on reality, tenuous at best has slipped away in the reflective design guaranteed to take the mind into uncharted territory.