There are moments when life feels like a quiet déjà vu — as if the world keeps rearranging itself into familiar shapes. What was thought to be new begins to resemble what came before. You might sense that something unseen is tracing patterns through your days, repeating them not to confine you, but to help you see what remains hidden in plain sight.
Author: Trance
Artist. Writer. Truth seeker.
There’s a quiet current moving beneath the noise — a longing to return to something simpler, more deliberate, more real. Many feel it, though few name it. It’s not about running away from the city or chasing the romanticism of off-grid life, but about listening for what’s authentic beneath the habits and systems we’ve built. Each step, whether toward a village or back into town, becomes a question of belonging — to place, to purpose, to truth.
Beauty is a paradox. It is as primal as it is constructed, as instant as it is unfolding. We sense it unconsciously, yet it’s endlessly dressed up, filtered, and paraded by a culture addicted to façades. In a world so saturated with illusion, the question of what is “real” beauty — and what is simply performance — becomes more than personal preference. It becomes a question of truth itself.
We arrive at every moment already complete, though the world would have us believe otherwise. This reflection is an invitation to release the illusions of control, to see beyond the masks, and to remember the essence that has always been within.
We live in a world where science, industry, and tradition rarely meet on common ground. The question of seeds — their origin, their integrity, and their mysterious resilience — offers more than just agricultural intrigue. It touches the root of human survival, the poetry of nature, and the timeless struggle between mechanized control and living intelligence. When we ask whether plants can rewrite themselves, we are also asking whether life itself resists captivity — and whether intention, memory, and spirit have a role in shaping matter.