Rubbing The Sleep From Our Eyes


Order is just another word for chaos, for destruction, for creation. All things exist in the spiral, separation is the cry of life being born, only to fade into the distant impermanence. Silence is the darkness contemplating the spontaneous, the miraculous conception, the being without being, without control. This the holy gift, the sacrifice of power, is the star exploding only to be reborn. Holding within it an entire universe, spiraling, circling, gathering the will, to stretch out and see its own vision. As you awake to find, the sun rising over mountains of smoke and ash, we are here, we have arrived.

– Josh Fleming

Image by: Jakub Polomski


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