Transmission #003: Morning in Amalfi
Morning in Amalfi Not all mornings begin with alarms. Some begin with open shutters, the scent of citrus, and a melody drifting in from somewhere just out of sight. Transmission…
Morning in Amalfi Not all mornings begin with alarms. Some begin with open shutters, the scent of citrus, and a melody drifting in from somewhere just out of sight. Transmission…
Two circles. One center. A space formed by overlap; neither one nor the other. The Vesica Piscis is not a shape. It is a tension. A moment of convergence.A sacred…
It begins as a single link. Then another. And another.Each one dependent on the last,forming a line that is not a path, but a tether.The chain does not move forward.…
For thousands of years, incense has trailed through temples, battlefields, homes, and rituals, its smoke curling through time like a whisper from the past.Today, it burns quietly in our spaces,…
Balance is expected.Symmetry is polite. But asymmetry, that is choice.That is design with a tilt. A slant. A rupture. A signal. It whispers what symmetry cannot:“I did not arrive by…
Echoes of 1950 Love Not the feeling. The ghost of it. There was a time when love came by post.Stamped. Folded. Waited for. A time of rotary phones, of vinyl…
Before there was language, there was form. And among forms, the circle reigns; silent, endless, and whole. It is the shape without beginning or end. No sides. No angles. No…
Bushidō Discipline. Silence. The Blade Within. Bushidō — the Way of the Warrior, is not a noise.It is not a shout, nor a clash of swords.It is a code, passed…
It began quietly. Not with a grand vision, but with a fascination, an obsession, really, with the worlds that exist behind closed doors. The symbols carved into stone, the whispers…