Transcendence Disguised as Failure

What failed was not the purpose,
but the illusion of permanence.
And what remains, untouched by goals,
is the shape of something whole.

I’ve started photographing ruins differently.

Not as tragedies.
Not as records of decay.
But as portals—where what once was collapses into what now matters.

Factories with ivy bleeding through windows. Burnt-out kitchens with pots still waiting. Chairs missing legs, still facing a sun that no one sits to watch.

Each of them carries the aura of loss. But also something deeper—transcendence.

In Vedanta, the world of forms is maya—illusion. But illusion doesn’t mean falsehood. It means veil. These ruined places veil something real. And as they crumble, the veil lifts.

Existentialism teaches that failure is inevitable, but meaning is not. Meaning must be made—again, and again. With a camera. With a choice. With a gaze that sees not just what broke, but what remains: poise, mystery, dignity.

So now, when I see a rusted door that no one opens, I don’t photograph its uselessness. I photograph its resilience.
Its capacity to become something new—an icon, a question, a poem.

Because transcendence doesn’t always rise in triumph.
Sometimes it just lies still.
Covered in moss.
Waiting for someone to see it.

Photowalk Prompt: Transcendent Failures

Walk through places touched by time.
Don’t look for success. Don’t look for story.
Look for what refused to vanish.
Frame objects or scenes that “failed” in function, but glow with presence.
Let your lens be reverent.