The Currency of Laughter

Childhood is a country where the borders are drawn in chalk and erased by the first rain. It is a place where time does not tick; it only pulses in the rhythm of running feet and the sudden, sharp intake of breath before a secret is shared. We spend our adult lives trying to map this territory, building fences of logic around the wild, unkempt gardens of our memories. We forget that joy is not a destination to be reached, but a frequency to be tuned into, like the way light catches a dust mote or the way a dandelion seed knows exactly when to let go of the stem. To be truly present is to be like a river stone—worn smooth by the passage of others, yet holding the warmth of the sun long after the day has begun to cool. When was the last time you let your own gravity pull you toward someone else’s orbit, without asking where the path might lead?

Ryszard Wierzbicki has captured this fleeting, sun-drenched orbit in his beautiful image titled Bodh Gaya Gang of Friends. Does looking at their faces make you remember the weightless feeling of a day spent with no agenda at all?