skyward.glow // buffalo (2025)
There are moments in life when an old self has to die. Not in the physical sense, but in the way an organism sheds a skin, discards what no longer serves, and allows something truer to emerge. It is a violent but necessary process — a collapse of what was bound by the chains of the world’s toxicity, the slow cancers of doubt, fear, and compromise.
In real time, it feels like disintegration. The structures you built around yourself crack, the illusions of safety peel away, and the scaffolding of who you thought you were crumbles into dust. But within that destruction is a release. The organism, stripped bare, is free to draw breath without the weight of corrosion.
And then comes the rebirth. Slowly, tenderly, a new form takes shape — one not dictated by the poison of the past but by the clarity of liberation. It is catharsis embodied: raw, unfiltered, and alive. What rises from the ashes is not a version of what was lost, but something entirely other — a creature that carries the scars of collapse as sacred markings of survival, and a heart that beats untethered to the world’s chains.
To witness this process — to live it — is to know that death is not always an end. Sometimes, it is the truest beginning.
skyward.glow // buffalo (2025)
There are moments in life when an old self has to die. Not in the physical sense, but in the way an organism sheds a skin, discards what no longer serves, and allows something truer to emerge. It is a violent but necessary process — a collapse of what was bound by the chains of the world’s toxicity, the slow cancers of doubt, fear, and compromise.
In real time, it feels like disintegration. The structures you built around yourself crack, the illusions of safety peel away, and the scaffolding of who you thought you were crumbles into dust. But within that destruction is a release. The organism, stripped bare, is free to draw breath without the weight of corrosion.
And then comes the rebirth. Slowly, tenderly, a new form takes shape — one not dictated by the poison of the past but by the clarity of liberation. It is catharsis embodied: raw, unfiltered, and alive. What rises from the ashes is not a version of what was lost, but something entirely other — a creature that carries the scars of collapse as sacred markings of survival, and a heart that beats untethered to the world’s chains.
To witness this process — to live it — is to know that death is not always an end. Sometimes, it is the truest beginning.