An exine is a mysterious outer layer. It moves through wind and time, invisible to the naked eye, yet capable of siring worlds. The exine endures the elements, protecting the essence and codes it carries, until finally, after reaching its destination of concordance, it sets them free.


I am not the layers I moved through, but I remember them.
I remember trekking island shores and evergreen forests on horseback and foot, often going beyond the trail and off the map.
I remember the systems of control—rowed desks and right answers. Performative relationships, time for pay, and the rebellion that followed.

My catalytic events - cracks in the greater shell - appeared early on:
A giant fireball, hovering above my childhood home.
A near-death experience, entering the void.

Metaphysics, sovereignty and service became my terrain. I forged with and against factions of justice, and the awakening community itself. Assumed the role of ‘mystic and healer.’ I looked outward for answers. Scouted the astral for a way.

And then eventually, I stood back. Rejoined the forests and sea—not as the version who burned, but the one who carries the ashes, and now knows what they mean.

I’m not my identity, titles or lineage.
I’m simply what remains.

A steward and architect of thresholds.
A shield that circles the harbor.
A sword that severs illusion.
A bearer of mystery and paradox.
A silent witness for all.

Sovereign and unseen.