I remember being led to a shed by my father for the unveiling of a beautiful bicycle, equipped with stabilizers, on Christmas Day. I must have been four or five and realized that this was my first ride into independence.

Writing is both mask and unveiling.

You dream of a new world to come, a new world to be birthed, a new dream to be dreamt. In the dream, a flower grows, a lotus from which the creator and the creation will unfold. From which light will begin to shine upon this vast dark sea, unveiling all the magic sleeping within. From this flower, infinite worlds and universes will be born. Each will contain a seed of light. And these seeds will light the heavens for all to guide their journeys by.

Veiling truth in mystery.