A thousand years ago, as someone drifted along the Yangtze
River, they lamented the brevity of life, envying the endless flow of the
water. His companion offered a different perspective: "Viewed from what
remains unchanged, all things—both the world and ourselves—are
infinite."
I stayed in a bothy in Duror, Scotland. Night rains
murmured in the forest, streams whispered beneath the meadows, and the voices
of ancient thinkers echoed in my ears.
The click of the shutter became a healing medium—the camera,
an apparatus enforcing eternity upon the ephemeral. Every photograph is art
viewed "from what remains unchanged." A long scroll weaves the
woodland of the valley into a lifeline of scattered perspective. If
reincarnation exists, would it not manifest in such a scene?