Empty Hand


There is an empty hand in the center of the fortress. The light sways over head. The stronghold opens and closes.

There is a force field of sound drumming shock-waves of breath.

We breathe here. We know things will be alright.


I was watching the news the other day, counting the bodies, praying during the commercials.

The lies warm me. The glow washes away time.  The voice of the broadcaster feeds me to sleep.


I found hope there, in the water between waters, with the ghosts. Not really here or there, just safe in the stronghold.


The pulse was slow. The waters washed the Mother. She asked me, “What are you holding onto when you clench your fists so tight?”

I told her, “I am holding onto the power I found inside.”


I went on a few photo walks this week. I snapped a few, and I’m searching for a couple shots to share on a post in the coming weeks. Whatever you’re doing, or wherever you are, I hope you find something compelling and spiritual to stir the soul this week.

There is always clarity in a story and inspiration in keeping a promise you make to yourself.

Photographers in order top to bottom: Robson Hatsukami Morgan, Zane Lee, K8, Clay Banks