Through frozen glass, they raise the mirror, the notes that raise the octaves, are found within dirty pools of addiction and squalor, within silent halls of monastic scholars. Each are fractions of accumulations, the subtle elements embrace what is needed to progress through passages. It is the experience of oneself, divided within the dark ocean of chaos, then made whole again upon the path which leads back to the source.
– Josh Fleming
Image by: Vivien Bertin