I’m here. I haven’t disappeared. I just feel good.
The bright circles of Samsara are behind me.
The composition of Bardo ends with gentle notes in my soul.
Life.

I sit under the sun.
White dandelions grow around me, and a cool breeze is blowing.
It’s so peaceful here.
Sometimes I’m afraid to leave this place,
but it’s an essential part of the cycle—
a cycle that will repeat again and again,
as long as I live.

Traces.
Many traces remain in my soul.
I’m so grateful that, despite this,
I accept every challenge.
I don’t hide.
I know it can hurt,
but isn’t that where all the beauty lies?

A conversation on the phone.
So subtle and beautiful,
yet it left two souls frightened and unready.
I felt it.
My goal was to float in a boat on calm waters—
not to jump on a speeding train.

— Have you come back yet?
— No.
— Why?
— Because I feel good here.

I observe and trust life.
Sometimes people call me “an elephant,”
but I honestly don’t care anymore.
Why explain to others that I’m not an elephant,
when deep inside, I know it’s not true?

There’s beauty in that too.
All the blind return to the darkness,
and only a few remain
on the sunny meadow with the dandelions.

Rube. Scar. Scar.
Some eat the others. Hum. Time.

Suede hinges open the way.
The way is shut. Your hands — they’re gone. That doesn’t stop the closing.

Scar. Scar. Scar.

No hands, yet the way is open.
Have you really learned to love. Yourself.

Kyiv is very elegant today.

Dark gray shades of the sky spread across the concrete structures filling the city. Every half hour, the dark gray transforms more and more into a dramatic blue.

This is how it is up here.

But if you go down, you will see how huge fragments of space are scattered with green. As gray flows into blue, it deepens more and more, drawing everything into a dark green shade. This very dark green gives rise to a profound mysticism and turns the inner world upside down.

At times, the space looks as if you’ve stepped into a picture created by Juergen Teller. And this picture is filled with sounds—millions of droplets fall from the dramatic sky, breaking against the asphalt, creating the effect of a soul falling to the depths of its own essence.

Like the effortless flow of fingers over piano keys, life wraps around me, drawing me gently into luminous waves of feelings.

A symphony of pure heavens.
Everything here is deep green, adorned with brilliant stars that flicker inside me.
I feel the warm wind caressing my face, playing with my light brown hair.

Sinking into sleep was never really sleep—for here, waking is not possible.

Earth and sky.
The alchemy of thought and chaos.

Two worlds living in a single vessel.
It is like a delicate dance, turning the ground beneath your feet into soft celestial embrace.

And now you soar, crossing the sky and touching mystical stars with your soul.

A divine touch that spins the kaleidoscope of the soul, stripping away the flesh. Now you are everything and nothing.

The kaleidoscope has turned, feet once again upon the earth, the journey continues.

A path of new union and the desire to spin the kaleidoscope over and over...

Wandering through the worlds of consciousness and subconsciousness, you chase the truth.

But can the truth be found if your world has become your enemy?

The light that once guided you has dissolved, leaving behind only a hazy veil of memories.

You stand in the darkness of your apartment. Your eyes are closed. There is only you and the city, suffocating in the madness of the night—its echoes seeping through the window, blending with the chaos inside you. You reach into the void, touch the air, search… trying to feel the truth not just with your mind, but with your entire being, giving birth to both ****** and creation.

Every movement, every cell of your body screams with pain, despair, love, and hatred.

Silence…

You lie on the floor, listening to the heavy echo of your breath in the empty apartment.

The light is gone. And with it, so are you.

And then… you awake.
Or merely change the dream ?

Lying in the darkness, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes, he traveled through a world created by sound. A calm melody, like a shamaness of ancient jungles lulling her child to sleep. She guided that marvelous instrument woven from wood and strings with her voice. A smooth flow, a gentle transition. Her voice shifted—she nurtured, she defended, and she attacked. It was incredible how this act of connecting soul and physical object revealed the multifaceted depths of her personality.

Her voice slowly faded away, leaving behind soft waves of this act, still drifting through the slumbering forests of the jungle. She set down the ukulele, stepped outside, and sat under the cool waves of the summer wind, gazing at the stars for a long time.