The Library gathers the written works of Lucas Varro — journals of the temples, meditations on myth, and volumes of shadow and silence. Here words stand beside images as offerings: essays, retellings, and field notes from Angkor and beyond.
Within these shelves you will find many rooms — journals of Angkor, mythic retellings, meditations on apsaras, and essays on the meaning of sacred stone. Wander chronologically, or enter by theme.
“Before Light Spoke Her Name”
Light hasn’t arrived yet, but she is already waiting. One hand holds the lotus. One breath enters the frame. Something eternal listens back.
“Outside the Gopura, the Breath Waited”
Rain hushes the corridor beyond the gate. I wait, breath held. Her smile remains—unmoved, uncarved, remembering. The shutter falls like a leaf returning home.
Silence Inhales the Stair
Stone inhales, mist lingers, and a single encounter illumines the entire pyramid. This brief haibun lingers in the after-sound of footsteps, inviting the reader to touch the hush that dawn leaves behind.
When Stone Draws Its First Breath
Morning mist beads on stone while a monk and his dog share an unspoken prayer. Across the moat the artist waits, breathing with the temple until film and silence converge, inviting you into the first hush of dawn’s remembering.
The Hush Before the Image
The image begins before the shutter falls. In this quiet haibun, Varro recalls the moment the Deva’s softened form leaned into light—and how the hush became the photograph.
When Light Begins to Listen
Dawn thickens before form. In this field journal reflection, Lucas Varro stands in reverent stillness beside a guardian Deva, waiting for the moment when light begins to listen.
Held Between Realms
Between rain and light, the jetty breathes. A lion does not roar. A palm does not move. In this brief haibun, silence becomes both threshold and mirror.
A Silence That Watches Back
Before dawn at Srah Srang, the artist steps into a silence that watches back. The lake forgets to move. Lions lean forward. A single palm stands, needing nothing.
Rain-Chant at the Eastern Gate
Dripping rain, breathing root, listening wall—three voices entwine in a brief haibun. An exposure as slow as prayer steadies their union; a haiku distils the vow they share. Step under the arch and feel the chant continue.
When Silence Lifts Its First Light
Dawn hovers over Ta Prohm in mist and breath. The artist waits until stone, root, and rainlight meet in one shared silence, then opens the shutter for a single, tremoring prayer—an image that will carry dawn’s hush wherever it dwells. Enter, and listen.
Corridor of Return
A brief passage through light and breath. This haibun recalls the corridor’s sacred hush—where one glance, one gesture, and a single kneeling hand become a threshold into stillness.
The Moment Light Knelt
Late in the day, light returns to stone with reverent hush. The artist recalls a single luminous moment in the corridor of Angkor Wat—where gesture, gold, and breath converge in quiet recognition.
A Prayer Cradled in Brick
In a temple open to sky and shadow, the goddess emerges not from craft, but from light itself. A brief meditation and haiku reveal how Shakti continues to rise through silence.
A Chamber Lit from Within
Light slips into a ruined tower and gathers at Lakshmi’s brow. In this field journal entry, the artist follows that final beam into silence—where a haiku quietly keeps the breath of prayer alive.
Where Hush Becomes Form
A breath held between gesture and stillness. She waits—not for arrival, but recognition. This quiet meditation listens for the moment form becomes presence.
An Apsara Before the First Light
Before the birds stir, she leans into shadow. The artist meets her there—in presence, not pursuit—and breathes with the silence that forms the print before the shutter falls.
Petal of Stone,
Breath of Rain
SpiClouds linger. The apsara waits. One breath and a slow shutter gather the hush of Banteay Srei’s carved dancer. This quiet haibun captures the instant where memory becomes form, and stone nearly takes flight.
Alabaster Dawn, Unspoken
Morning gathers softly over rain-dark stone. The artist waits—not for light, but for the breath between stillness and movement. A haiku blooms like mist within the field journal, where silence becomes memory in silver and tone.
Prayer Not Yet Spoken
Stone inhales and the photographer waits. One exposure gathers the hush before language—the unfinished prayer held beneath a serpent’s coils. The resulting image listens more than it speaks, asking the viewer to enter the space where breath becomes intention …
Unstruck Sound Beneath the Naga
In Angkor Wat’s cruciform dark, a Buddha waits beneath Muchilinda. Dawn threads a single line of gold; the artist answers with one quiet exposure. The photograph is less taken than breathed—an unstruck sound held between heartbeat and light, inviting the reader to pause and listen …
The Moment Before Form
A mist-draped causeway, wet with night. A breath held before the shutter falls. A memory begins to rise—not of sight, but of presence…
At the Edge of Becoming
A breathless hush covers the causeway at first light. The stone waits. The sky forgets itself in cloud. The artist does not frame, but listens—until the lens, like the moment, learns how to receive…
What the Rain Left Behind
Before names, before intent—there was only this: the shape of breath inside stone. This brief meditation and haiku offer a moment of grace that neither arrives nor leaves.
The Moment Before She Moved
A barefoot approach in the hour before light. A gesture weathered, yet awake. This quiet field journal draws us near an apsara poised between memory and emergence, listening for something older than speech.
Where Silence Touches the Face of Stone
Dawn slides through the open roof and touches carved grace. In one breathlike passage, the artist holds a moment of listening—where stillness meets return…
Where Light Listens Through Stone
Morning slips through stone to touch the Devata’s gaze. The artist waits, listens, and receives—not the image, but the hush she keeps beneath centuries of breath…
Stillness Offered
Stillness deepens as corridor becomes breath. This brief haibun offers a soft meditation drawn from within the silence of Ta Prohm, where moss, memory, and shadow lean inward. The closing haiku leaves the moment open—like the image itself.
Where Light Remembers
Morning holds its breath in Ta Prohm’s eastern gallery. The artist stands motionless, receiving the first silver hush of light. A haiku rises like incense within the prose, inviting you into the corridor where stone, shadow, and memory listen in perfect, patient silence.
Beneath the Bite, Silence
Held in the hush before light, devotion clenches with quiet teeth. One bite, one breath, and something ancient stirs—not violence, but the grace that follows it…
Dawn Bite, Silent Vow
Before the sky stirs, devotion bares its teeth in the Western Gallery. A monkey warrior locks jaws with a demon—yet what remains is silence, not violence. One breath, one shutter, one vow…
Lotus Mirror Breath
A brief haibun, light as pond mist, follows the instant Angkor’s towers bloom inside their own echo. Reflection, film, and breath converge—then slip away—leaving only the hush that dawn entrusts to those who wait…
When Silence Blooms
Dawn gathers in breathless hush as Angkor’s towers surface first within their own reflection. This field-journal meditation traces one long exposure—from pond-side darkness to hand-toned quiet—until silence itself flowers on paper, inviting the reader to stand at the water’s edge…
Breath Over Laterite
Mist swallows stone; breath passes through the artist and into the waiting film. A haibun traces this vanishing—a single paragraph, a single haiku—where silence ascends the ancient stair and does not return…
Storm-Lit Stillness
Storm-scented dawn holds its breath at Pre Rup. The artist waits until presence itself leans close and the shutter becomes a prayer. A single haiku lifts from the hush, then vanishes, leaving the stair bright with silence…
The Breath Between Worlds
Rain-slick roots, stone softened by silence, and one breath before entering. This quiet haibun leads into the space between thresholds, where the door does not open, but inhales…
Before the Door That Breathes
Before dawn, amid breath-wet roots and silence thick with rain, the artist stands at a doorway not ruined but living. This journal entry carries the hush between root and breath, where stone listens and memory opens...
The Edge Before Rain
spiritA haibun for the moment before sound: carved breath and rising palm held in sacred alignment. The image does not speak. It receives. A hush, a haiku, and the sky holding its tongue…
Beneath the Listening Sky
The lion and the palm do not face us. They regard a horizon beyond naming. In the hush before stormlight breaks, the artist becomes breath, not observer. A haiku emerges in the silence, folded between reverence and rain…
Breath Beneath the Fig
A single paragraph and haiku trace the breath of fig and lion before light. What is held here cannot be said—only felt, as silence made visible…
Where Root Meets Stone Before the First Light
The artist enters a hush between stone and root—where the light barely speaks and presence lingers long before the shutter falls. A single haiku gathers what remains…
Between Breath and Stone
Light unveils the temple’s two faces—one recalling, one dissolving. The artist stands between them, not to capture, but to receive. A breath held in stone becomes the haiku we almost forgot to remember…
The Moment Between Faces
Two ancient faces meet in a silence beyond vision. Between them, the artist finds not a subject—but an offering. A haiku forms like a breath taken through stone, and the morning begins without a sound…
A Silence That Remains
Mist gathers on the lips of a ruined face tower. In this compact meditation, stone, breath, and memory converge—leaving the reader in quiet dialogue with what endures…
Beneath the Storm, the Gaze Remains
The storm thickens over Banteay Kdei as the artist stands before a ruined gate, breathing with the silence of stone. In the hush before the shutter, a single moment becomes eternity…
Gold and Ash in Temple Silence
As day exhales its final warmth, a solitary shield glimmers in Angkor Wat’s corridor. Varro’s haibun receives this fading light, rendering myth into meditative presence. Gold-toned shadows invite the reader to dwell where memory lingers and the last beam of sun becomes a vow of stillness.
A Stillness Deeper Than Victory
Light settles within Angkor Wat’s western gallery, and a lone stone warrior becomes the quiet axis of the Battle of Kurukshetra. In this photograph, Lucas Varro listens rather than captures, translating the hush after conflict into gold-ash tones that invite contemplative silence.
Stillness Before Time Resumes
Before the sky shifts, the artist enters Angkor’s western gopura in silence. Through incense, shadow, and unspoken breath, Ta Reach reveals not movement, but presence. One paragraph, one haiku—this haibun offers a breath-length glimpse into stillness before time resumes its weight…
A Threshold the Light Remembers
Pilgrims breathe in borrowed dawn, incense curls toward hidden rafters, and Ta Reach—eight-armed guardian of Angkor—emerges from shadow. The artist listens until silence answers, then releases a single haiku like a petal upon stone-dark water…
Shadow and Stone
“There are mornings when the silence is not absence, but presence. Today, in the shadowed corridor of Ta Prohm, the roots held the stone not as conquerors, but as keepers. I stood motionless, watching light brush across a weathered lintel, as if some ancient breath were still exhaling.”
Where Stone Still Breathes - A Meditation on The Bayon
In the hushed light of dawn, two ancient face towers meet in silent communion. This reflection explores the sacred stillness of Bayon Temple — where shadow, stone, and time converge in a quiet breath.
