January 21, 2026 – Philadelphia




















Having the time to think, to walk, to read- the new modern day privilege and luxury

Meister Eckhart (c. 1260–1328) stands at one of the most extreme and luminous intersections of Western thought: Christian theology, Neoplatonism, mysticism, and direct inner experience.
This book is not devotional comfort reading.
It is metaphysical and existential stripping.
Eckhart is not trying to improve you.
He is trying to undo you—including your idea of God.
Most Christian writing speaks about God.
Eckhart speaks from within the experience of God.
He asks:
This places him closer to:
than to institutional religion.
Eckhart makes a radical distinction:
God is God only insofar as creatures speak of Him.
The Godhead:
This is pure being, beyond subject and object.
This is negative theology taken to its absolute limit.
This is Eckhart’s central teaching.
Detachment is not renunciation of possessions.
It is renunciation of attachment to self.
True detachment means:
The soul must be as free of God as God is free of all things.
This is not metaphorical.
It is existential annihilation.
One of Eckhart’s most controversial teachings:
God gives birth to His Son in the soul.
This does not mean:
It means:
The same Logos born eternally in God
is born in you.
This is why Eckhart was accused of heresy.
Eckhart repeatedly returns to paradox:
To be full of God, the soul must be empty.
This emptiness is not nihilism.
It is:
Nothingness is not absence.
It is radical openness.
Eckhart teaches that within the soul is something:
He calls this the ground.
This ground is deeper than:
There is something in the soul which is uncreated and uncreatable.
This is among the most radical statements in Western Christian thought.
Eckhart anticipates wu wei centuries before Taoism enters Europe.
The just person acts without why.
This means:
Action flows spontaneously from being.
This is not ethics.
It is ontological alignment.
Do not read this as a normal book.
Instead:
This is transformational literature, not informational text.
You are not meant to understand Eckhart.
You are meant to be undone by him.
Modern life is dominated by:
Eckhart offers:
In a world obsessed with becoming,
Eckhart teaches being.
Use these for journaling or contemplation:
Meister Eckhart does not offer comfort.
He offers liberation through emptiness.
Follow him far enough and:
What remains is pure presence.
The joy of just walking around taking pictures and being around other people in the city is unlike anything in life. Honestly, the more I live my every life the more I realize the simple privilege in life is being able to walk around and be outside and enjoy the sites in the sounds. Yeah, yeah everyone’s just walking around on their phone and going back home from work, with their AirPods in, but it’s still sublime.
This morning I’m thinking about the parasympathetic nervous system and photography — and why I believe photography is downstream from the body.
Photography, to me, is an embodied practice. It’s about being in the open world. Enjoying the sights, the smells, the sounds of the street. Allowing instinct to guide you when you press the shutter.
The goal isn’t to think.
The goal is to respond.
To respond to instinct, I believe you have to activate the flow state. And to activate the flow state, you have to be aligned internally.
I think about the vagus nerve — the channel carrying information from the gut to the heart, lungs, and brain. I believe it’s responsible for far more than we give it credit for.
When I’m out on the street, I want to be aligned physically so the flow state can emerge.
That’s why I often practice photography in a fasted state. No food digesting. The vagus nerve relaxed. The parasympathetic nervous system telling my body that I’m at ease.
From that place, there’s openness. Receptivity. Sensitivity to everything around me.
When I’m on the street like this, I feel deeply. I recognize patterns in nature and human behavior. I watch the light. I watch gestures. I notice the way people move.
This heightened state of being comes from intuition.
As much as we think we see the world with our eyes, those eyes are connected to the brain. And I think it’s important to remove thought while practicing.
By tapping into the subconscious and responding to the irrational pull that guides the shutter click, clarity emerges.
When you look at the word idea, it comes from the notion of seeing — but not seeing reality. An idea isn’t something you see out there. It’s something internal.
So while I’m photographing the world, I don’t believe what you see is what you get.
What you get is often what you didn’t see.
A lot of times, the photograph isn’t what I thought I saw when I pressed the shutter. The image becomes a new idea — something born from the subconscious.
The photograph is a new idea given birth through alignment within.
That alignment happens internally first, then externally. From that, new ideas emerge.
This requires detachment from outcomes.
No anxiety.
No dwelling.
No fatigue — of the body or the mind.
No debating left or right.
No gear obsession.
No projects, themes, or hunting for the next best photo.
I’m not chasing images.
I’m living my everyday life and bringing my camera along for the ride.
Photography becomes receptivity. Sensitivity. An embodied practice where instinct guides the shutter.
The images that come from this internal state reflect outwardly. But it requires returning to the child’s mind.
Vitality is everything.
I believe flow only activates through peak physiological alignment — a state that cultivates curiosity.
Curiosity leads me to walk.
Walking leads me to discover.
Discovery leads to new ideas.
And from there, something new is born. A new world.
When I’m aligned internally — relaxed, open, at ease — creation happens naturally in the flow state.
I believe this is one of the peak experiences a human being can achieve.
These are my thoughts this morning.
The parasympathetic nervous system and photography.
When you’re aligned within, you give yourself permission to trust intuition.
Be receptive.
Stop thinking.
Respond to instinct.
The world within reflects without.
What’s popping people? It’s Dante.
This morning, I’m thinking about living your everyday life. Bringing your camera for the ride and simply snapshotting whatever it is that you find.
Not taking life so seriously.
Transforming the things that you do from work to play.
That’s where this sort of flow state emerges. It’s from play. It’s from the lack of seriousness. From not treating everything you do like it’s heavy or loaded.
Whether it’s your 9–5 job or your creative practice, I think it’s important to approach it as play.
I don’t want to feel like the things that I’m doing are a burden in my life.
I want the things that I create to come from an effortless state.
Creativity flourishes when you stop treating everything like it’s serious business.
When you shift your mindset and start treating work as play, something changes. You loosen up. You move differently. You see differently.
Flow doesn’t come from pressure.
It doesn’t come from forcing outcomes.
It comes from curiosity.
It comes from lightness.
It comes from showing up without expectation.
When you live your everyday life this way—camera in hand, open, playful—you stop separating work from life. It all becomes one thing.
And from that state, you start to flourish creatively.
This is interesting-

Nostr stands for “Notes and Other Stuff Transmitted by Relays.”
It’s a simple, open, decentralized protocol for social communication — not a company, not an app, not a blockchain.
Notably supported by Jack Dorsey, but it’s bigger than any one person.
| Traditional Platforms | Nostr |
|---|---|
| Company owns platform | No owner |
| Account = permission | Identity = keys |
| Algorithmic feeds | Chronological |
| Can be banned | Can migrate relays |
| Ads & extraction | Optional Lightning payments |
What’s poppin, people? It’s Dante.
Today I want to talk about the sublime in photography and how we can evoke the sublime in a photograph.
When you look at the word sublime, it comes from the Latin root meaning:
At its core, the word implies rising beyond an ordinary limit. And that’s where the challenge begins for us as photographers:
How do we engage with the mundane world around us and elevate it into something extraordinary?
For me, the sublime isn’t something you fabricate in post or plan intellectually.
It’s an emotional quality you experience out there — walking, exploring, and photographing.
Lately, the way I’ve been making pictures has felt more intuitive. More liberating.
I’m engaging my senses instead of overthinking, and I’m allowing that feeling to flow through me and into the photographs themselves.
The sublime can be:
Over time, the idea came to represent something even deeper:
An experience that overwhelms rational comprehension —
mixed with awe, fear, vastness, and transcendence.
Something so powerful that it pushes the mind beyond its limits.
When I visit the cliffside behind the Philadelphia Museum of Art, I feel the sublime deeply.
I go there often. I stand at the edge and look beyond the horizon.
It reminds me:
That feeling flows through me when I’m in elevated spaces — and it stays with me when I make images.
When you’re photographing, you’ll notice something strange:
You feel an irrational pull toward certain locations.
For me, that might be:
Watching people move through space, watching systems operate seamlessly — trains, crowds, flows — it can feel overwhelming in the best way.
There’s a sense that everything is interconnected, vast, and somehow holding together.
That feeling is hard to explain with words, but it moves through me when I’m photographing.
In one behind-the-scenes moment from a photograph I made at the cliff, you see two boys running toward the horizon.
But what truly evokes the sublime for me are the storm clouds.
Storms are a classic expression of the sublime:
It’s that fine line between light and shadow where emotion lives.
This is why I’m drawn to high-contrast black and white.
When light and shadow collide, you get:
All at once.
Photography is light. That’s the root of the medium.
When you strip things down to light and shadow, something powerful happens.
I often think about painters like Caravaggio and the use of chiaroscuro.
Light and shadow elevate the emotional weight of a scene.
Crushed shadows create ambiguity.
Ambiguity forces the viewer to feel rather than analyze.
That ambiguity is where the sublime lives.
Photography comes from:
So the simplest way to evoke the sublime is this:
Follow the light.
I don’t go out with preconceived ideas.
I photograph from my gut.
I respond to what I feel, not what I think I should be making.
Sometimes the most ordinary moments become extraordinary:
By:
The moment is elevated.
When you look into the horizon, into the abyss — it gazes back.
There’s an irrational pull:
The same feeling you get from:
To evoke the sublime, you must be in tune.
That means:
You’re not thinking.
You’re responding.
You’re prepared and receptive.
Color can be powerful — but it can also distract.
When you reduce an image to:
You focus on emotion.
A car on fire.
Faces lit at a crosswalk.
Figures emerging from darkness.
The excess disappears.
What matters remains.
In places like Shibuya and Shinjuku, I leaned into this fully.
Using:
I wasn’t chasing moments.
I was letting them happen.
Surprise emerges when you’re present, prepared, and aligned with the rhythm of the street.
The sublime isn’t something you can manufacture.
It comes from:
What’s poppin, people? It’s Dante.
This morning, I’m thinking about failure and photography — and why we have to embrace the process openly. Trust the process. Trust the passage of time.
For me, failure is at the forefront of my practice as a street photographer.
Every single day, I fail.
Every single day, I make shitty photos.
Every single day, I miss a shot.
Every single day I’m out there photographing, I come home with nothing.
But there’s a point where I get something.
And it’s far and few in between.
When you trust the process and you embrace the passage of time — through photographing consistently, every single day — something starts to happen.
Over time, you’re going to find that thing you were trying to say.
Over time, you’re going to find a photo that shines.
But in the meantime?
Embrace failure openly.
Stop thinking.
Start doing.
Don’t make this so heavy. Don’t make it so serious. This is part of it. This is the work.
I’ll show you what it looks like to fail.

Luminus means radiant, shining, full of light.
Etymology
- From Latin lūminōsus, meaning full of light
- Root: lūmen = light
Sense & Usage
- Describes something that emits light or appears glowing
- Can be literal (light, brightness) or metaphorical (clarity, insight, spiritual radiance)
Examples
- A luminus halo around the subject
- A luminus idea—clear, illuminating, unmistakable
- Her face looked luminus in the morning sun
Closely related words:
- Luminous
- Illuminated
- Radiant
- Lucid (light → clarity of mind)