White temple

Another bike, main roads an untrustworthy sense of direction, lost and looking for a turning place as traffic speeds by and then a sign and the shimmering outline of the temple appears on the other side of the road. 


A glistening dream of sweeping complexities, mirrored mosaics reflecting the sun sparking in the quiet waters. And it's busy, a constant surge and flow of visitors, of poses and selfies; a bridge across pools of grasping hands, symbolism and chaos, a few coins sparkling in a cup. The temple now carved from ice glittering in the high sun, a mirage which has solidified into ethereal stone, a vision of absurd extravagance; weird art escaped from the old Russell comics, a vortex in which it's easy to lose yourself just following the flickers and the distortion flattening out into the mundane world forming as it passes beyond the gates…