Have you ever felt the music take over so completely that you dissolve into it? At Daybreaker Miami, the yoga and dance party isn’t about amplifying the vibe with alcohol, drugs, or other using toxins. It’s about celebrating life with friends and family. In these photos, Daybreakers are moving as one, in pure presence as their bodies blur into light. You can see more of these morning rituals and behind-the-scenes images on my Instagram, @adamphotolove, where I share ongoing projects exploring light, movement, and the human connection to place.
At sunrise, the Miami Beach Boardwalk becomes an open-air playground, a living rhythm between ocean and sky. The city hasn’t fully awakened, yet the beach is already alive. Runners carve their paths along the shoreline, volleyball players leap and dive across the sand, while cyclists glide past palms, wheels humming in sync with the heartbeat of the morning. There’s a quiet electricity in the air, movement meeting stillness, breath meeting light.
Have you ever experience sound as a vehicle for healing? Miami Beach has become a sanctuary of wellness practitioners and seekers. In this photographs, can you feel the vibration of the gong, the resonance of a crystal bowl, or the gentle shimmer of chimes? Grateful to share this sacred space with @radha_krishnalila, whose sound healing continues to open hearts and align energies within.
You can see more of these rituals and behind-the-scenes images on my Instagram, @adamphotolove, where I share ongoing projects exploring light, movement, and the human connection to place.
Every Sunday, under the wide Miami sky, a circle forms in South Pointe Park of acro-yogis, athletes, and dreamers of flight who gather for a moveable feast of balance and breath. The gathering began with Cristina Ortega (@highonyoga) and Pablo Milán (@murdoc305), two souls who believed that connection is the real art of flight. Photographed below, witness their dance of strength and surrender
a poem written in motion, a celebration of community, and a reminder that the ground and the sky are never far apart.
Every sunrise on Miami Beach, the lifeguard station stands as both sentinel and stage. It is a quiet witness to the rituals of human figures in silhouette, framed by clouds breaking open for the sun like a celestial window. The world hasn’t yet found its rush, and in that stillness, someone new steps into the frame.
In the Amazon’s Madre de Dios, the Amazon presses against the shoulders of the Andes. Canopy trees rise like cathedrals, their crowns weaving a living roof of green. Beneath them, the forest floor glows with life. Brazil nut trees dropping their heavy gifts, rivers winding like silver veins, orchids clinging to bark.
Scarlet macaws burst across the sky in flashes of red and gold, monkeys leap branch to branch, their cries echoing through the morning mist. Every sound, every scent, every shadow is alive, reminding us that this rich jungle forest is not just a unique place but the world’s primary source of oxygen.
To walk through a Peruvian market is to be transformed, by taste, by color, by the living spirit of Pachamama. In Quechua, the common word for “market” is qhatuna. It refers to the gathering place for exchange, rooted in the Andean tradition of bartering and reciprocity (ayni). In these markets you will find vast pyramids of produce. From over 300 types of potatoes, corn in gold and purple, chilies glowing like fire. Alpaca scarves, gloves, and hats are sold everywhere. At the heart of el mercado are the women: keepers of stalls, weavers of cloth, guardians of harvest. Their hands, steady and strong, measure each exchange with dignity.
The women of Peru wear their stories upon their heads or Uma Chuku. From valley to valley, each hat is a crown of identity, broad straw brims in the Sacred Valley, felt bowlers in Cusco, tall white towers in Arequipa. Color, shape, and height speak in silent language: who they are, where they come from, the lineage they carry. In the plazas they sit for hours, sometimes days, their hats shielding them from sun, rain, and wind, as though the Apus themselves had gifted protection.
In Quechuan ways, these hats are not adornment but covenant, emblems of ayni, the sacred reciprocity between earth and human hand. Each brim frames a face marked by endurance, each crown a reminder that survival and beauty can be carried together.
Through their labor, through their presence, through the quiet grace of their hats, these women hold the memory of mountains, the fertility of valleys, and the unbroken thread of culture woven into the heart of El Peru.
At dawn we arrive in Aguas Calientes, the long-awaited threshold to Machu Picchu. The train and bus ride feel dreamlike, carrying us toward a place where stone, cloud, and myth converge.
Crowds gather for the final ascent, their excitement echoing ours. Yet beyond the lines and the cameras, something deeper stirs. Machu Picchu is more than a world wonder, it is the bridge where the Andes descend into the jungle, where mountain breath meets the green pulse of the Amazon. Undiscovered for so many years.
When we finally stand before her terraces, breathless from anticipation, we turn our backs to the camera and lift our hands in joy. The gesture is simple, and staged, yet the feeling that rises is undeniable. Behind us, Machu Picchu rises from stone and mist, an ancient city suspended between mountain peaks and jungle valleys, between sky and earth, reminding us that some places are not merely visited, they awaken something timeless within us.
In the Sacred Valley, the Inca trail winds upward, while our Quechuan guides lead us through arid highlands, hidden valleys with 700-year-old bridges, ridges crowned with burial tunnels, and cairns marking ancient grounds. With each ascent, Pachamama reveals shares her story. By nightfall we arrive at Huchuy Qosqo, the “Little Cusco,” an Incan sanctuary suspended above the Sacred Valley. Our tents stand alone. Camping here is more than a stop on the Inca trail, it is a reminder that we walk not only across land, but through the body of Pachamama herself. Beneath the full moon, we cuddle in our tent, protected among the whispers of the ancestors, their presence woven into the ancient stone and night.
Under the shadow of the Andes mountains, we gather in circle. Quechuan Shaman Don Benito lays coca leaves, flowers, seeds, and multiple other items gently prepared and wrapped in the daily newspaper. The items are prayers folded into the Despacho. Each offering whispers gratitude to mother earth or Pachamama, each symbol a thread of reciprocity. The bundle is tied, placed in fire. Flames rise, carrying our fears, our blessings, our hopes into the night sky. Smoke curls toward the Apus, the mountain spirits, as silence holds us steady.
In the glow of embers, we feel lighter—rooted in earth, lifted by spirit. The Despacho reminds us: to give is to receive, to honor Pachamama is to remember who we are. You can see more of these morning rituals and behind-the-scenes images on my Instagram, @adamphotolove, where I share ongoing projects exploring light, movement, and the human connection to place.
In the Sacred Valley of Peru, Willka T’ika blooms as a sanctuary of Pachamama’s energy (mother earth) shaped by visionary founder Carol Cumes. The Seven Chakra Gardens is an amazing wonderland of living mandalas of color, scent, and sacred design. Beneath the thousand-year-old Lucuma tree blessed by Shaman Benito, silence becomes prayer, and the Earth herself whispers.
Here, you don’t just walk through gardens — you walk through your own energy body, guided by the heartbeat of Pachamama. You can see more of these morning rituals and behind-the-scenes images on my Instagram, @adamphotolove, where I share ongoing projects exploring light, movement, and the human connection to place.
Walking through Kingston, Ontario, I found myself drawn not just to its limestone walls and historic streets but to the energy hidden between the lines. My lens moved beyond the obvious landmarks and into the blur of motion, the streak of color, the fleeting shadows that live in the city’s in-between spaces. In abstraction, Kingston reveals itself as both timeless and impermanent.
There are moments you never forget , and watching my son see his bride for the first time at McIntosh Castle is one of them. Tucked behind the historic stone walls, away from the world, they shared a quiet first look. He turned around, and in an instant, I saw everything change in his eyes: love, awe, and the deep knowing that this was his forever. She smiled, and the moment stood still. I stood back, hidden with my camera, but close, and let the tears fall. Not out of sadness, but out of a fullness I can’t quite describe. Gratitude. Pride. Love that spills over and doesn’t need to be explained. It wasn’t grand or loud , just honest and full of heart. As a parent, witnessing that private exchange was a gift. A glimpse into their love before the world joined in. A quiet beginning to a beautiful forever.
I got up early, as I often do, ready to begin my week with a peaceful ritual: a walk to the ocean, coffee in hand, and a few minutes of listening to YouTube shorts filled with uplifting thoughts and positive affirmations. But as I went to grab my phone and AirPods, I realized they hadn’t charged overnight. So for the first time in a long while, I decided to leave the house without any technology at all.
The full moon had been heavy in the sky, and like it often does, it had stirred something inside me. I walked out the door slightly grumpy and could feel the emotional residue clinging to my thoughts. As I walked toward the beach, I found myself replaying the past week’s work and internally criticizing a business partner. I caught myself mid-thought, and recognized how out of sync that negative energy was with my intention for the morning. So I let it go.
I reached the beach just before sunrise. There was no spectacular show of color in the sky today, just a thick stretch of clouds with slivers of golden light breaking through. What caught my attention, though, was the water. It was glass-flat, like a lake. It was one of those rare mornings where the sea looked like a mirror, holding the sky.
Drawn in by the serenity, I walked to the edge of the water, I immediately regretted not bringing my camera or even my phone but figured the least I could do was jump into the ocean. I took off my shirt and glasses, tied my key into the pocket of my Quicksilver, and slipped into the sea.
I swam out about 300 feet, further than usual. Alone in the ocean, thoughts come and go. Some are beautiful. Some are unsettling. I even thought of sharks how strange it is to drift so vulnerably in a vast body of water. But the sea held me gently, and soon those thoughts passed. When I finally swam back to shore, I wasn’t ready to leave. Instead of walking on the sand as I usually do, I stepped back into the water. It was so calm and clear that I walked waist-deep along the shoreline, quietly watching the ripples in the sand shift beneath my feet.
Then, just a few feet ahead of me, something caught my eye. A large grey shape moved towards me, a manta ray, I thought. But as it came closer, I saw that it was a nurse shark. It was maybe about five feet, graceful, curious and glided right in front of me. It was not hurried or startled. Just… present. I didn’t flinch or feel fear. I simply watched it with awe. The moment passed quietly, and the shark swam away.
I kept walking in the water until I reached South Point Pier, where the rocks meet the sea. As I stood there, small schools of fish began to appear at first a few, then dozens, and then what felt like hundreds. They circled me gently. I stood perfectly still. They came closer and closer, brushing against my legs, my arms, even my torso. Some nipped at my skin like little kisses. Others snuggled up around my body as if they were trying to embrace me. For what felt like an eternity but was probably like twenty minutes, I was surrounded by life soft, loving, innocent. As the fish circled around me, brushing against my legs, arms, and chest, I felt their presence not just as wild creatures, but as companions. They weren’t just curious—they were gentle. Tender. It felt as if they were offering love, comfort, and trust.
And in that sacred exchange, something shifted inside me. I realized this wasn’t a one-way moment of receiving. It was mutual. As much as I felt held by them, they seemed to feel safe with me. My stillness, my attention, my presence, it all mattered. I wasn’t just a visitor in their world. I was a part of it. That’s when a deep and unexpected sense of responsibility washed over me.
These fish weren’t just showing affection. They were reminding me of something essential: that we, as humans, are not above nature, we are its guardians. We belong to it, and it belongs to us. And in that belonging comes a sacred duty. Not to dominate, but to protect. Not to take without giving back. But to care for all living things, just as they sometimes care for us. Their trust was a gift. But it was also a calling. To watch over them. To be gentle with their waters. To honor the life that pulses quietly beneath the surface of things. In that moment, I felt what it means to be human in its highest form, not just a receiver of beauty, but a steward of it.
It’s a scorching summer afternoon on South Beach, and Muscle Beach is alive with motion. Amidst the crowds, two bikini-clad women curl dumbbells under the blazing sun, their focus unshaken by the heat or the stares. This isn’t just about aesthetics—it’s about power, presence, and pushing limits. South Beach has always been a place for expression. Here, strength is style, and confidence is currency.
I sit with Swami Revatikaanta as the sun sets over downtown Miami. We speak about life, love, ego, and silence. It doesn’t matter where the conversation goes—what matters is the space we create together. A safe circle. A place to ask the big questions without needing all the answers. In this shared stillness, I’m reminded that the search itself is sacred. And that sometimes, the most powerful form of growth happens in the quiet presence of others who are also seeking.
You can see more behind-the-scenes images on my Instagram, @adamphotolove, where I share ongoing projects exploring light, movement, and the human connection to place.
Early morning on Front Street in Phillipsburg, Sint Maarten. It’s a sacred moment before the shops open, before the cruise ships dock—when the town belongs to its own rhythm.
As the sun rises, colors soften and blur into warm vibrations: coral pinks, ocean blues, banana yellows—all gently melting into the air like watercolor on textured paper. It is here, in the golden hush of morning, that the island reveals its true soul—not the one sold in duty-free stores, but the one pulsing with Caribbean warmth, resilience, and joy.
A Moment in Black and White with @BeluBergman captured in a fleeting instant, as the contemporary circus artist defies gravity through her yoga practice, transforming a simple pose into an expression of resilience and beauty. Her body bends with purpose, her breath aligns with intention, and in that moment, she becomes art in motion.
Lincoln Road in Miami Beach - lies quiet, with boutique shops and sidewalk cafés preparing for the day’s events and activities. Brightly colored umbrellas line the walkways, casting playful shadows over neatly arranged tables. Eye-catching street art decorates every corner, offering the staged backdrop for photos and selfies.
As the wheels turn slowly over cobbled paths, time seems to soften—fabled moments merging with the present in a ride that is as much about memory as it is about movement. The streets from Helene’s pedicab in Key West feels like gliding through a living postcard. The pastel-hued homes, each with their own storied past, blur into one another like chapters from a sun-washed novel. Gingerbread trim, wraparound porches, and swaying palms whisper of old seafarers, writers, and dreamers who once called this place home.
In the early morning light of San Pedro, boats gently sway with the rhythm of the tides, their reflections dancing across the water in a kaleidoscope of shimmering colors. The air is thick with the scent of salt and sea, a briny perfume that awakens the senses. It’s a moment of calm and quiet beauty—where the day begins not with noise, but with nature’s gentle breath.
As I walk the polished streets of Rodeo Drive, my camera captures a world where beauty flourishes in every corner. Perfectly manicured lawns line the sidewalks, while elegant white umbrellas shade chic café tables. Playful pink signs pop against the clean facades, adding a whimsical touch to the timeless glamour. Every storefront whispers luxury—designer names, gleaming glass displays, and the soft rustle of high fashion in motion.
Getting upside down requires far more than physical strength and balance; it demands a surrender of the mind. The moment your feet leave the earth, there’s a flicker of fear—and then, the magic of letting go. It’s an invitation to release expectations, and to find stillness in motion. With Belu Bergman’s calm guidance, the practice sculpts not only muscles, but confidence. Each attempt, whether a triumph or a tumble, teaches you to meet your edges with curiosity, to trust the unknown, and to fall in love with the freedom of flight.
Ocean Park Beach at sunset is pure magic. As the golden hour settles in, the last swimmers take a final, refreshing dip in the warm Caribbean waters. Nearby, friends linger with cocktails in hand, their laughter softening as the day begins to fade. The sky turns brilliant shades of orange, pink, and violet, casting a dreamy glow across the sand. In the distance, the sun dips slowly behind the silhouettes of San Juan’s buildings, painting the horizon in quiet beauty. It’s a moment of calm, of connection—where the rhythm of the island slows and everything feels exactly as it should.
