Priest
It is the illuminated preach.

Truce
It is the peace with reality.

Human
It is the time of the origins.

Vortex
It is the penetrating vision.

Equivocal
It is the ambiguity of truth.



Priest

In the great hall, the mass is said. The cold sets in, the austerity of the place extinguishes all joy. Yet the truth acts like a cloth, it shows a greater version of ourselves. On the way we encounter a glimmer of hope faint in the darkness of a city. The facades reflect the shadows of the inhabitants. As undead they have lost all desire of their own. Guided by the fetid stench of disease, rot eats up the flesh and hate remains the only source of energy. Faithful to his oath, the knight endures the fight, he slays without rest the demons that assail him. Falling into madness, he screams with rage, he will die as he lived: incorruptible.

Truce

It is the peace with reality. When you let yourself go and try to forget. May the sun close our eyes, embrace you with warmth. Reality transported you, on a beach, in the summits, among the birds, through the foam of the sea. As you approach the depths, the laws of physics are reversed, the light comes out of us, we can ride it, the wind sings melodies of clouds, the frost rings through our ears as we enter the stratosphere, the black space dries up our flesh, consciousness gradually flies away and travels through the infinite void.


Human

The time of the origins. When the world was full of mysteries. The souls of animals represented our gods. Life was fragile and merciless. The cold, the hunger, the loneliness. Humans love each other, they want to survive and pass on their knowledge, this pride of consciousness. They see the world as something imperfect that requires an absolute. Painting the caves, capturing the essence of things, coming to define the ideas that underlie reality. And then go towards ineluctable death with serenity, because they know to be connected to each particle of this universe, in the galactic placenta.


Vortex

In an infinite variation, matter is composed and decomposed, born in the bosom in a first to be absorbed by a second. Each cell, identical to the others, resonates in unison, the body as the sum of all these voices. Absorption in the vortex, aspiration of the consciousness, stretching time towards the infinite zero. Facing this wall of inaccessible truth, we relapse into the turpitudes of life. But this is no longer the reality as we know it. The chalices of youth are found in the eternal garden. The laughing fountains flow life, like a child's play filling the heart with sour candies. Caressed by the mother goddess, in her breast, by her milk, everything becomes clear and returns to the origin.


Equivocal

The reality is equivocal, like a musical chord that cannot be resolved, we do not know where it will fall. This odd taste in the mouth, the feeling of strangeness, this ambivalence of state which makes everything dual, there is nothing to grasp, as soon as we try it evaporates. In the absence of illusions there is no longer pain, just a blessed spectator watching life. Facing him is the temple of perception, where sings the guardian of truth. Inside all the strings are intertwined, the divine plan is revealed to the one who grasps it without thinking about it.