// † In the shattering silence of “borrowed vision,” I find myself beneath a veil. This veil is not woven by string. Instead, it is a fabric of threads too thick to untangle. A tapestry showcases embedded paths and ancient theologies. It is meant to lift the spirit. Now, it is grafted upon the lowest branch of the Human condition—The Heretic. Divine truths are distorted and given to those hidden beneath society’s broken pillars.
The Glass-less Hour breaks; no sound escapes the hush of sands falling. Entranced, I slip the lock and enter, yet find not a threshold but a realm within realms. Beneath its mask, rotting fruit hides. Spores of those fallen swell into shores of salted sins. These are the shores of kin who belong with Hell.
I remain in rooms I have not left. Four walls enclose a space that grows darker. Somewhere within stands a pillar to which I’m bound. A tomb, but one my hands once praised. The air is thick with a shade of memories, the eroded love of darker tints—so black it blinds.
Outside, I see the threads fray: bills unpaid. Lights dimmed. Shadows enshroud borrowed vision. Eventually, the road itself splits and turns. Beneath, sands lie slitted. They scrape a silence that even time refuses to disturb. A faint ticking comes from some pool where hollow waters gather like clouds. And there, in the shadow of my own reflection, I see a fox’s burrow, a stasis of forgotten truths. And it stirs.
† That fox—I know it well. It is the old pursuit, my insatiable ally, patient as dusk. Red clouds brew, resting upon each life like rust upon iron.
But know this: to walk this path of initiation into the Higher Levels of Human contentment (not happiness, never happiness), is to submit to a damnation. This damnation predates Nature itself. It is primordial and ordained. It is a journey of profound separateness. It spirals toward an order rooted not in a human heart. Instead, it follows an ancient will to reveal itself—to speak through the symbols of the mundane.
You must see it, at some deeper level—†
∆Remember Us∆ 