Free Shipping On all Orders over $400 · Zero Tariffs for Most Countries

0

Your Cart is Empty

The corridors were wet with silence, still shining from the night’s rain.  One step closer and the scent of crushed moss rose into the lungs like a prayer you don’t remember learning.  I stopped just before the threshold—where stone and root wrapped into one held breath.  I didn’t move again.

In that stillness, I saw it clearly: the doorway was not an entrance.  It was a lung between worlds, drawing in everything that dared to speak and exhaling only the quiet that remains.

 

predawn hush expands
between root and weathered stone—
the soul slips within


Also in My Journal

Stillness in the Shape of Shelter
Stillness in the Shape of Shelter

1 min read

A rain-streaked Buddha sits beneath the coiled naga Muchilinda, not to resist the world, but to hold stillness within it. This meditation reveals a print shaped by breath, not description.

Read More
The Shelter That Remains
The Shelter That Remains

1 min read

Time gathers around the Buddha as breath, not burden. In this haibun, the artist offers a moment that does not explain itself—it simply remains, unmoving beneath the shelter of silence.

Read More
What Light Remembers
What Light Remembers

1 min read

Light rests on the Buddha’s chest without revealing him. In this moment of reverent waiting, the image forms as presence—not picture. The serpent shelters, the stone remembers, and the poem listens.

Read More