Our Story

My story is your story.

“Our Story”

My story is a hymn of lands enchanted, where Thracians laid roots, and mountains kiss the Sun of Creation. My language is sacred, and my people’s blood gushed into the rivers quenching the thirst of beasts now bygone.

My story has faren through time and the ocean in vessels invaded by shape shifting sheep and philoi. This story unfolds with a new set of adventures, in symbols and angels to heal the spread of the yoke.

My story is ready to welcome her crisis with ravishing labour of light. She journeys beyond expectations, with fear afraid of the change. A marvelous guide appeared in colours and shapes loudly whispered.

Your story may travel in search of a guide, for wisdom or comfort, or simply escape into the wild. She is muted and ushered in deafening silence of darkness. Be patient my philoi, your villainized heroes are stationed nearby.

Our story is birthed, as an end of hopeless despair. Like titans they outcry the plugged-in guilt of the shame. Our story is mighty as she carries life in her thighs. Her womb is purple and golden and shi

nes through the heart.

Our story is wisdom, our story is mine and yours and that of the world. Her tales are echoing the songs of the forest. Her voice is the buzz of the bees on the lavender fields. Her tears are covering the stems of the roses in morning dew.

Let’s sit in the sun, showered in waters of mountain origin. Let’s pray for the shadows of broken reflections. Let’s drop on the shore the remnant of spells and grudge of demands. Let’s breathe in the spirit and connect with the land. Let’s breathe out the worries and paint new dreams.

My hair is the wind, and your heart is filled with wild berries, my thighs are the trees holding the horses of creation in galloping embrace. I hear the sheep in the distance and love them all, their lamb is calling upon the rooster’s call. “Don’t fear” the crow squawks from a top the linden branch.

Our story was written, the swallows confirm it with dance above my head in the setting ancient sun. I sit on the bench of my great grandfather and I am full of joy. I have opened my senses back at my home, back at the source of creation.