artworld 🌐

the earth trembles beneath careless hands, its breath grows thin, its rivers weep. wars rise like tides, hatred blooms like weeds— a harvest sown in the name of power.
our minds are but a restless storm, a dream where a thousand voices speak, yet no soul listens, no heart understands. a great mitote—a veil of noise, blinding us from what we truly are.
we are born into stories not our own, woven into threads of thought unseen. beliefs like rivers carve their course, shaping us before we learn to choose.
and so we raise walls made of words, names, borders, truths unchallenged, casting stones at those beyond, as if the sky itself were ours alone.
yet beneath the noise, the silence waits, beneath the blindness, an ancient sight. to see, to truly see, is to unweave the veil, to hear the whisper beyond the storm.