Complimentary worldwide shipping on orders over $400 · No import tariffs for most countries

0

Your Cart is Empty

Rain awakens the courtyards before light uncurls from the horizon.  A hush like warm iron rises from laterite, sweet-scented, mineral, oddly tender.  I stand at the foot of Pre Rup’s ancient stair listening for language older than words.  The camera waits closed, its bellows folded like lungs neither emptied nor full.  I inhale the presence gathering here—at once thunderous and whisper-thin—until breath lengthens to match the hush.

A palm frond shivers.  Far above, the five towers hover on the rim of cloud, half-erased, half-revealed, as if the gods had just stirred from meditation.  I feel their attention settle—a weightless gravity drawing every sense inward.  I do nothing.  The moment asks only stillness.

Then, without intention, the shutter opens.  Exposure becomes a form of reverence, not capture.  Mist drifts across the lens.  Rain stipples my back.  Each second stretches, luminous and slow; the stair seems to unclasp itself from time.

Stone towers exhale rain—
morning climbs the silent stair,
gods wake in storm-light.

Afterwards, I close the camera with the care of extinguishing incense.  The towers remain, listening.  I leave quietly, a guest who has glimpsed, for a breath, the interior sky.


Also in Library

The Measure of Silence: A Pilgrim’s Reflection on Kingship at Angkor
The Measure of Silence: A Pilgrim’s Reflection on Kingship at Angkor

10 min read

Through the ruins of Angkor, a curatorial pilgrim traces the vanished geometry of divine rule. In the silence of the stones, kingship reveals itself as both devotion and decay—an empire of alignment turned elegy, where even ruin retains the measure of sacred order.

Read More
The Pilgrim’s Guide to Cambodia’s Beginnings
The Pilgrim’s Guide to Cambodia’s Beginnings

8 min read

In the caves of Laang Spean, in the myth of a dragon princess, in the echoes of Funan and Chenla — Cambodia’s beginnings endure. This essay walks with ancestors through soil, stone, and water, tracing how the first Cambodians shaped rice, ritual, and memory into a living continuity that still breathes today.

Read More
I Was Stone, I Am Dragon
I Was Stone, I Am Dragon

9 min read

I was stone, sealed in the earth’s dark marrow, until a single crack taught me the colour of pain and the meaning of release. From silence I tore wings, from pressure I learned fire. I rose into sky and storm as dragon—hunger, flame, and the echo of freedom.

Read More