Perhaps the magnum opus of all enquiries and processes in search of a 'truth' is this. We end up at the crossover of the purest dimensionalities of art. It is everything we know of a mirror, and the semi-evidence of it is what propels me to dig deeper, hoping that enlightenment is within my horizon, if there is such a thing. And to share that with the world.

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These are maybe just communiques of a selfhood clashing with the agencies of the universe, in constant flux;  the beauty of that friction and the brilliance of its summation. 

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That every attempt to describe this is an attempt at describing life, god, sadness, frailty or delusion. I'm sick, I'm counting days and only asking for existence between each story I get to tell. Some of these have made it to the surface and are ready for you to engage with, if you're willing.  

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The underdog of the stories I am telling is just a prism. It is love itself. Life refracts as light and breaks into a million conditions where love is the conquering force. It is the coparent of these wonderful offsprings. The ultimate paradox is in figuring out if this is the inception or the entropy of my own life's purpose. 

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I implore you, come. Meditate with me.