The quest has always been: searching for one’s own place of belonging.

The Singularity, two halves of a whole. Back to the roots, the origins, the garden of Eden. Original sin, the roots of culture and thought and the seeds of what is to come, scattered in the abundant first earth. To seek oneself one must go back to the beginning, to the womb, to our ancestral history and the mothered secrets of our gene pool hidden behind her drawstrings. To look forwards, we must stand on the shoulders of our past, or risk a weak foundation that can crumble beneath us even as we build up our worth and our identity in the material world. To die is to be reborn: to understand yourself you must know your history. You must know where you come from. Your skin, your mind, your blood, your DNA, the very first strands of your soul woven by the threads of time. Where is the beginning, and how can we reach it?

Our eternity.

In continuity, in change, in tradition, in counterculture. In infinity and in a transient moment that has already become a memory. Memory: to remember, to rediscover what we have lost and to find the truth. I must remember my previous selves and embrace my past incarnations in order to become a whole. I am a half, a quarter, a ghost in the shell. To become real I must free myself from the wood and dive into its roots, down into the centre of the earth where i will find myself, asleep for the last thousand years.

And only then, finally, after all of this time, shall I awaken from the tender grasp of my dreams,

and I will see.