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The exercise of observing my hands unexpectedly took me to a profound realm of self-compassion and emotional connection. I learned that physically touching one's own body brings me closer to my heart and the present moment. It's incredible how the simple act of touching my hands acted as a bridge to my emotions, allowing me to tap into a deeper, unspoken dimension. As Ruth wisely said, not everything requires understanding. Emotions are meant to be felt, not explained. This experience left me feeling both perplexed and humbled, grateful for the journey it led me on. It highlights the significance of making space for feelings, emotions, open-ended questions, and the absence of immediate answers or explanations in the present moment. It's an integral part of this program, reminding us to be compassionate toward ourselves. 〰〰〰〰〰 In Module 3 of our mindful photography journey, we ventured deeper into the intricacies of self-compassion, emotions, and the profound beauty of the u...

As I ventured through my home, I made intriguing discoveries that would aid me in meeting the course's ongoing practices of mindful photography. It felt as though there was a reciprocal interaction, almost as if different aspects of my surroundings were beckoning me. This sensation was profound. On my part, I emanated a sense of openness - sourced from the belief that if I truly needed something in the present moment, it would find me and reveal itself to me. However, my mind grappled with the possibility of such a phenomenon. It whispered doubts that things wouldn't just appear out of nowhere, that I wouldn't find anything useful, and that I would be left waiting in darkness for an extended period without any glimmer of light or solution. But my commitment was unwavering. I decided to set aside all preconceived notions and approach the course and what it whispered and demanded of me as if I knew nothing previously. In this mindset, I embarked on the journey of mindfulness ...

Have you ever wondered why certain things, places, or objects in our lives become labeled as "boring" or "mundane"? It's a curious phenomenon that occurs when we encounter something repeatedly, and it becomes so familiar that we no longer grant it the fresh attention it deserves—attention born in the present moment and directed toward someone or something right there with us. We pass by the same staircase daily, walk on the same carpet, and barely notice the shadow cast by the bed's foot in the glow of the setting sun. We don't look at them anymore; they cease to exist for us. And if we do happen to glance at them, we dismiss them as mundane aspects of existence. "Why bother with these," we ask, "when there are far more interesting things in the world to gaze upon and give our attention to?" But what if those "other" interesting and dazzling things are not in front of us right now? What if all we have before us is this munda...

In the mad rush of life, we're often swept away by the whole "work hard, make money" mantra. But really, what's the deal with work? Let's be real; flowers don't clock in at a flower shop or file reports in a field. They just stand there, looking fabulous 24/7. They're born, they strut their stuff, and they peace out when it's their time. "But you're not a flower," you might say. True, we're not, but hear me out. Let's take a moment to appreciate nature's chill vibes. Flowers have got it figured out. They're all about soaking up the sun, flaunting their petal power, and spreading their flowery fragrance without a care in the world. They're not chasing paychecks or dreaming of early retirement; they're simply being their fabulous selves. Now, I know we're not blessed with the ability to photosynthesize, and the rent won't pay itself. But let's think outside the cubicle for a minute. Why do we put so much ...

Amidst the fast-paced world of professional photography, I had almost forgotten the pure essence of what it means to "be" in the moment, behind the lens. For years, I had been capturing images as per clients' requests, following their vision, preferences and desires. The initial joy that drew me to photography seemed to have gradually faded away. However, a recent experience has been a turning point for me, as I embarked on a mindful photography course. It reminded me of the fundamental difference between "doing" and "being." I had been operating for so long in the realm of "doing" photography, mainly to sustain my livelihood as a photographer for paying clients. In the process, I inadvertently left behind the art of "being" in the moment or perhaps molded it to fit the commercial demands of the industry. As I delved into the first lesson of the course, I felt an immediate shift in perspective. I reconnected with a sense of joy, sim...