A ‘seeker’ for many years, one thing he quickly realized on his quest for spiritual truth was that authentic ‘learning’ is actually inner transformation. We may not always be aware what it is that we gain from an experience, yet something changes in the way that we go about life, and in the way that we make our decisions. If an experience alters the way we look at life, at each other, at our environment, if it moves our perspectives into a deeper mode of seeing, then we have done more than just learn, we have become wiser.

A Flight Story

Life doesn’t always give us a free pass. But it does hand out boarding passes. And sometimes getting the window seat can change your flight plan forever.
That’s hardly what he was thinking as he raced up and down escalators and through security checks at airport, an early morning flight to Dubai. Fortunately, he made it – though his luggage didn’t – but this would turn out to be unexpected as well.Most fellow passengers stuck sullenly to their headphones or mingled through newspapers.
Settling into his aisle seat and involuntarily gazing leftwards toward the aperture view of the platform, he glimpsed instead a shaggy wave of dark, straight hair, a lovely smile, honey sweet lips, wearing a vibrant dress, an elegant profile. A pair of arched eyebrows looked down on sweeping eyelashes. A set of dazzling, white teeth gleamed as she blew gently on her red fingernails sitting next to him . That for some reason made him instantly utter out the thoroughly unsubtle opener: “Are you British?"
Her confirming answer allowed him to nervously show off his long, if somewhat distant, association with all British things.When she introduced herself with a decidedly un-british name, he deduced she was already committed– and this relieved him of any further pressure to make an impression in the pressurized cabin. Yet their high-altitude small talk seemed to speed the flight . For a nervous travellor who usually counts down the minutes of potential disturbance, he couldn’t believe how quickly they slumped for landing.
Still, their connection might have ended right there had he not needed to wait for his missing bag on an ancient conveyer belt in Dubai's terminal. This gave the woman, who went by the name Sandra, enough time to rush up and slip him her hastily scrawled phone number, even in the presence of the male companion with whom she had been reunited.

A SCENE STRAIGHT FROM DREAM

Walking down the street , I found myself in the nucleus of a bridge surrounded by steep mountains that drop suddenly into the deep blue Mediterranean. The mesmerizing view which can never be escaped. The breathtaking sights, colour and characteristic ness. Seeing from the bridge picturesque fishing villages were scattered in clusters, upon the front face of the mountain. Divine? Yes it was.

Traveling tales

There will come that moment when you will find yourself in the heart of the city, surrounded by people and motion. And you will feel utterly still. You will hear yourself speak but have no voice.
You won’t even know what direction home is in (or at least that which is familiar), and you’ll lose sense of why you chose to cross this distance in the first place. And in every direction all there will be is distance and no fairy will appear to turn your pumpkin fears into a golden carriage of determination. You will simply have to move forward on rusty willpower.
In time it will become an art, the Art Of Displacement.

Through the Desert

I woke to find myself trundling through a huge, bleached white desert stretching out as far as I could see. Only the occasional spectacular rock formation broke up the ocean of sand as it jutted up towards a sky that even this early in the morning, still appeared to be almost surreally blue and bright. To the side of my pillow lay two cans of peach flavoured non-alcoholic lager - a gift from a friendly fellow passenger who had insisted that I take them as I was crawling up into my bunk for the night.

My journey through Iran from the holy city of Mashhad to the desert oasis of ancient Yazd could not have been easier. As soon as I walked into the train station, I had been taken under the wings of the friendly locals and guided up towards my surprisingly comfortable high rise cradle. Soon after lying down between the crisp white sheets - and to the side of a small mountain of sustenance I'd been gifted by my berth mates - I was drawn into a deep, fulfilling sleep by the relentless rhythms of this galloping iron horse.

As our carriage rumbled on though this wide open space, one of the oldest cities in the world began to emerge from out of this brutally beautiful wasteland. Like a mirage set amongst the desert haze, the wind snatching towers and the holy minarets thrust up from the sands towards the unforgiving sun.

Cotton candy clouds in Manhattan

Golden Hour