Greg Molyneux’s latest photographs and words presented in reverse chronological order.
Saturday night brought the goods. A smoldering burn presented as the centerpiece of a summer salt marsh bouquet. Things are not fine but the lighting is good. A moment of peace in the otherwise steady stream of turbulence that is our current times. My wish is only that the headwinds fade and the sunsets keep burning lest we all go to ash together.
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I’ve started listening William Scott Wilson’s translation of Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings on Audible. As something of a budding Japanophile, and a person long into all things history, the study of The Way and Samurai culture rings true to my soul as a monk’s bell meditatively struck in morning. In the forward, Wilson translates the final lesson handed down from Mushashi to his disciples: 21 precepts outlining The Way of Walking Alone. The teachings of Japan’s sword-saint are open to us all, and I thought I’d share a bit here.
- Do not turn your back on the various Ways of this world.
- Do not scheme for physical pleasure.
- Do not intend to rely on anything.
- Consider yourself lightly; consider the world deeply.
- Do not ever think in acquisitive terms.
- Do not regret things about your own personal life.
- Do not envy another’s good or evil.
- Do not lament parting on any road whatsoever.
- Do not complain or feel bitterly about yourself or others.
- Have no heart for approaching the path of love.
- Do not have preferences.
- Do not harbor hopes for your own personal home.
- Do not have a liking for delicious food for yourself.
- Do not carry antiques handed down from generation to generation.
- Do not fast so that it affects you physically.
- While it’s different with military equipment, do not be fond of material things.
- While on the Way, do not begrudge death.
- Do not be intent on possessing valuables or a fief in old age.
- Respect the gods and Buddhas, but do not depend on them.
- Though you give up your life, do not give up your honor.
- Never depart from the Way of the Martial Arts.
Second Day of the Fifth Month, Second Year of Shoho [1645]
—Shinmen Musashi
Shout-out to Digital Dao for providing the online text as I did not transcribe this from the audio text.
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That green. That blue. That pink. Total chef’s kiss bliss. I’ve written early and often about the June color palette that dials it up to 11 each June here in southern Ocean County. There is nothing quite like the way newborn marsh grasses radiate a fresh green far beyond anything I have the ability to articulate. I’m never sure what to call it; nor am I worthy to give it a name. It’s something of a perfect merger of chartreuse and emerald. The dance floor of life. It last but a few weeks and there is nothing like the way it plays at sunset. It dances in perfect step, leading the grooving blues and pulsing pastels to waltz in triumph at day’s end. May this look never get old.
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I called 9-1-1 this week. Tuesday, May 31, 2022, at 11:25 p.m. Hopefully a first time, last time situation. I was sitting on my couch playing Hollow Knight when my left side chest tightened and within moments my heart rate spiked, and I felt as though a 200 pound person was standing on my chest. A contradictory numbing yet tingling session worked its way down my left on. In a panic I called my mom.
Even though she was on her way to check on me—we live in the same neighborhood—my condition deteriorated. The pain and pressure increased, and I feared I was going to lose consciousness. As I did on March 17, 2022, in Epcot. Worried and frightened, thinking I was having a heart attack, I dialed 9-1-1.
Within a few minutes of interview style questioning, my mom showed up. Immediately followed by a police officer, and then followed by two ambulances and five paramedics. Fortunately by the time everyone was there the acute chest pressure had nearly subsided in full, and my heart rate was back in check. From there it was standard procedure: EKG, blood pressure, some standard issue question and answer. Upon first look there was nothing wrong but I still took the ambulance ride to the hospital. My second such ride in 10 weeks. It’s not what you want.
No one knows what went wrong. Why it went wrong. Or how it went wrong. I guess panic attacks can result in this kind of chest pain and pressure? The lack of answers is unsettling, and I have been dealing with heart issues for years now, which deepens my fears. Diagnosed with atrial fibrillation in 2016, followed by hypertension, followed by high cholesterol. Suffice it to say my ticker ain’t it, and it really bums me out. Now I sit here and can only describe my headspace as shaken.
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Folks, it’s been a while. I’d like to send a shoutout to whatever or whomever helped float a mote of motivation across my frontal lobe. However it happened something triggered the following series of seemingly unrelated events: a five mile evening run soundtracked by Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy (Book III: Lesser Evil); followed by mom’s chicken tender face stuffing immediately nullifying said run; followed by a wholly unplanned and long overdue drive out to Dock Road—camera in tow. This moment of spontaneous inspiration proved useful as those storm clouds were rolling and the light show was doing that whole sunset drama thing. It was all happening.
I have to be honest, though, part of me wondered if I still knew how to do this whole landscape photograph thing. I am happy to report it was like old hat and all that. It felt good to be back. Good to be rolling on. Oh, and the motivation is still going strong as I even edited and posted my shot same day! And yes, as if it wasn’t already painfully obvious, I am a total Star Wars nerd.
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The Longwood Gardens conservatory is a sight to behold. The crowning jewel atop acres of grounds fit for any court. It stands anachronistic of a place and time far more European in nature.
Within the conservatory, under the eaves and broad glass panes spanning the angled rooftops with ease, light pours in from above and all sides; filling the open spaces to funnel the outside in. Packed within this elegantly manufactured nature is an impressive amount of growing life. Flowers of every color and type make their meticulously manicured presence felt backlit by an endless sea of green. From wall to ceiling everything is grown to perfection. There is deep experience here, and its experience shows off with a studied ease.
It is a display for the senses. A panoply of light, sight, color, and smell conducted in well choreographed step. The entire design working its way from one simulated climate to the next. All interconnected with well grown corridors. Old growth holds sway here, and they serve as natural portals between zones. It is here I encountered the majestic hanging baskets bursting with hydrangea paced about 20 feet apart. A satellite welcome, a floral chandelier locked in standard orbit guiding me about this aged greenhouse manse. A natural footman speaking to the legacy of its Du Pont past.
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I finally found myself at Longwood Gardens. An exquisite bit of preserved property open to the public—for a fee, of course. And I do not mean to be cynical. Such a place needs and deserves its funding. I am happy to contribute to such conservation and presentation. My brother from another mother took me with his family, and we had ourselves an afternoon. Wandering the grounds, exploring the conservatory. An exceptional afternoon.
Worthy of its name, flowers were everywhere. Color and smell played upon the senses on what proved an idyllic spring day. It was wonderful to take it all in. More uplifting, however, was to be among the people. The families families and friends; the solo wanderers, all brought together to experience a garden in springtime. I cannot wait to return.
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You don’t need me to tell you life is an all out blur these days. An all out conflagration of the senses; body, mind and soul blasted by a raging inferno of the world’s lit fuse. Our defenses bested, our heat shields destroyed. Systems are critical and who will quench us now?
It is here and now we must look to ourselves and to our small pockets of control. Let’s do what we can to keep things neat and tidy, lest the traveling embers of wonton destruction set our own backyards ablaze. Things may look and feel hopeless, with authoritarianism, strife, conflict, and death on the move. We must not allow such malevolent actors strip away the clear view to what matters most in this world—each other, our children, our communities. Instead of a sniping some stranger with a quick hit feel good response of toxic emotion, give yourself a moment or three to respond with the soothing power of love and grace. It is our kindness and compassion that will save the world.
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Here we are, or here I am, anyway, whiling away an unremarkable Friday night in mid-February, cracking a beer or three, looking through old photographs. Overthinking my overthinking. Trying to unwind after another week on the grind. I’ve been sitting on this photograph since November. It’s from the last batch of pictures I made in 2021, and it’s sat in the digital dustbins since. Somehow processed and ready, but sitting on ice. The Lightroom equivalent of all dressed up with nowhere to go, I suppose.
Somehow this high powered sunset sat on indefinite hold. In a way I am glad. It’s given me something to do this night. I’ve been itching to make photographs these past few weeks, but there’s been a bit of a lull in the natural light show. To wit: hooray for the unposted backlog. All this has me thinking—what other hidden or forgotten gems remain lingering in my hoard? For the longest time I enjoyed the process of making photos and immediately moving on to this next round. A real never look back approach—something entirely anathema to my typical modus operandi. Yet now I’m questioning the current validity to this application. Does it still serve me? What of all the other past glory I’ve let slip through the five hole? Should I revisit the thousands upon thousands of photographs to see what’s hiding in not so plain sight? I honestly do not know, but for tonight I’m sure glad I did.
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