justaglasscreature

[justaglasscreature]

I can't tell you how many times I've sang this at full volume in my car

Story Behind The Song

This song is about when you know you’ve found your purpose, your nature, that thing you’re supposed to do. It’s like, even though you feel lost or scared, you have this voice in your head telling you that you’re on the right track. That you’re doing what you’re supposed to do, and it gives you comfort, even though it’s hard and cold and even though you want to give up. I’m not religious, but it almost becomes this spiritual experience, you’re following that voice, hoping that it will lead you to where you’re supposed to be. I believe that there’s a call for all of us, there is something we’re supposed to do. And when you find it, you’ve got to have the courage to follow it.  The line “I’m dropping wax in the mid of my palms” is the picture and the feeling I lived with for so long while wandering homeless from town to town trying to find my way and get my music out. It felt like I was destroying myself, hurting myself both physically and mentally, but I couldn’t stop because I was fascinated by it. I wanted to see how far I could push myself, how far I could go. Later in the song I’m singing  ”I confess, this is all a test, how long can I survive?” and that’s what it felt like. I couldn’t stand the thought of doing anything else than playing music and living free with no commitments, but at the same time I knew it was tearing down my body and my mind.  I wrote it one night by the river in London, when I had nowhere to stay for the night so I decided to stay up instead, and it’s one of my favorite songs of all the songs I’ve written. Because when I wrote it, I was in a different universe. I was completely lost in myself, and every time I sing this I go back there.

[justaglasscreature]

Sometimes, I go to bed at night, beside someone I love, and I feel this enormous state of just pure joy. I feel safe and calm and lucky to get to spend another day filling it with beautiful things and it’s all you can ask for. But then the clock strikes 3am and BOOM, my eyes are wide open, my heart is pounding like a beating clock and there are just too many cars outside. I hear every sound in the whole building and it’s so damn dark! I turn around, try to calm my breath, focus on the third eye. It’s all okay, it’s all okay, you’re just tired, go back to sleep. shhh… But the feeling won’t go away and I sleep in a worried state of worry the rest of the night, half open eyes and slightly on the edge. The morning comes and I try to greet it with tenderness. Be kind to me, okay? Just today. A little softer, just today. I think of all the things I can do today, to be kind, to myself. I can go to my favorite coffee shop, read a book in the sun and just be still. And it’s sun and summer and think of all the wonderful things ahead! and and and but the sun is shining way too bright and people are everywhere I don’t know where to go with myself and my room is too messy and plans too many and I can’t grasp one at a time and everything flies too fast. My heart keeps beating twice my pace and I’m worried about what?? I.do.not.know but the anxiety is creeping up and my chest tightens and I lock myself in the bathroom to breathe. I escape wherever whoever I’m with when this happens and I still don’t know why it keeps happening but it does and I just get so fucking sad and worried and unstill and I can’t stop it.                                    xx   x It’s Monday. It’s January. I hurried home like I always do and closed two doors behind me. Made coffee. Meditated. Watered my plants. People went to their jobs this morning, knowing where to put their bodies on days like this and on days like this I really wish I had somewhere to put my body and focus my mind because freedom is a privilege that can suffocate you if you don’t know how to handle it and on days like this I don’t know how to handle it. Sometimes we just have to make it through the day. And that’s okay. That’s more than fine. Some days.

Charlotte Eriksson (via theglasschild)

[justaglasscreature]

"To define is to limit."

I’m having a conversation with one of my friends and I ask him, “What defines you?” and he responded with, “Nothing. A definition excludes the possibility for change.”

This is one of the best responses I’ve ever received to any of my questions.

[justaglasscreature]

I know there are days when even one single positive thought feels like too much effort, but you must develop an unconditional love for life. You must never lose your childish curiosity for the possibilities in every single day. Who you can be, what you can see, what you can feel and where it can lead you. Be in love with your life, everything about it. The sadness and the joys, the struggles and the lessons, your flaws and strengths, what you lose and what you gain.

Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps (via theglasschild)

This has been really difficult for me lately

[justaglasscreature]

5.57am and I’m finishing the last poem to the taste of the last cigarette. Smoke in my lungs, poetry on the paper. Inhale, exhale, it doesn’t get much easier. I heard them say goodnight seven hours ago and in three minutes I will hear them click snooze three times before they fill the kitchen like zombies, dead people, eating dead meat with their eyes shut.   I sneak in and up the stairs, into my bed, under the blanket. Curtains to delay the start of a new day — I’m not done with this one yet. There are still things I need to do. Still things I need to say, need to be, need to feel.              But we’re never really done, are we? I watch them through my window every morning, observing as they walk with heavy steps down the street. Clean costumes with no trace of identity. All marks of a past or a future, dreams or visions are cleaned and carefully hidden away. Nine hours later I watch them stumble in through the door again, straight to the kitchen like zombies, dead people, eating dead meat with their eyes shut. I observe as they half-sleep in front of the TV, one beer, two beers, what the heck why not a whiskey. Then it gets dark and they stumble to bed, alone, often drunk, and I make my way to the front porch, getting ready to inhale smoke, exhale poetry. And this is how we live. This is how we get by, holding on to ourselves best we can. Who says I’m using my time better than they do? We’re all just trying be alive, feel alive, and who knows what that means? It’s struggle-some to see through the dark when it’s October again and I’m not done with today, or yesterday, or the day before that or the year before the last one, and I wish I had more time but time is all there is and who am I to complain? I’m just 21, what do I know about the passage of time? We could go on like this for years.                                       We’re all just trying to get by.

Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps (via theglasschild)

[justaglasscreature]

My Story

Hey Charlotte,

I love what your doing with this community project and I can't pass up the opportunity to take part. I've elected to share what I have to say with you via email because going into this, I have no idea what I'm going to say, but I've promised myself to be completely honest and hold nothing back, and I don't know how personal it's going to get. Maybe I'll share it publicly on Patreon afterwards, or maybe not. Either way, here goes...

I suppose a good place to start would be the story of how I came to find you, who and where I was in the moments before, and just why it is that you and your work have come to mean so much to me. And if it seems like I'm starting to get off topic, forgive me, I promise I'll get to the point eventually.

But I grew up in the church. For my whole life, God and religion and Christianity were always a really big part of my reality, but especially so after I moved to Panama City when I was about to turn 15. And maybe in my tone, when I write and speak about this time, I say it like it's a bad thing, and I don't mean to come across that way. Because I truly loved it. When my father, sister and I moved here while my mother stayed behind to keep her job and maintain an income until we got settled, the three of us made a plan to take two months and try out four different churches in the new town, two weeks apiece, and decide which one to make our home out of. Halfway through the first week of the first church, we all looked at each other and said, "This is it; we've found it." 

And for the next two years, it was our home. I felt that I belonged and I felt a part of something. Something that explained the world around me and made sense out of difficult questions. Something that gave me purpose and meaning, and told me that I was priceless, worth dying for even. During this time, the youth ministry was extremely important to me. The majority of my friends were people that I knew from there, and the youth pastor became almost like a second father to me. I sought his wisdom on issues that troubled my heart and we navigated them together. It was one of the closest relationships I had known until that point.

And then disaster struck.

The youth pastor (who I don't mind calling by name in this context, considering how far removed you are from everyone involved; his name was xxxxxx.) had two young daughters. One was brand new, probably less than a year old, and the other was three. One thing that's important to know is that up until this point, I was very good with children, and everyone knew that. I loved them and they loved me. One of the things that I spent a large portion of my time on in the church was serving in the children's ministry: teaching Bible stories and leading arts and crafts, or even just looking after the young ones in the nursery. xxxxxx's 3 year old daughter and I had somewhat of a relationship. She was a very shy child and had taken almost the entire 2 years to come around, but was beginning to open up and interact and play with me within the last several months. 

On the night of Dec 19, 2014, a Friday, the high school students in the youth were having a Christmas party at the home of one of the families in the church. We had held several events there in the past, and it wasn't uncommon for me to arrive a little early and keep the little ones occupied while the adults set things up to get ready. This night was no exception, and the youth pastor's daughter and I set into our routine of playing with the toy kitchen set that she adored. She'd serve me plastic pizza and cookies, and I'd hide them behind my back when she wasn't looking and I'd go on and on about how yummy it all was. As it happened, the toy kitchen set was back in another room, and it wasn't out of the ordinary for us to go back there to play. No one batted an eye, and xxxxxx would walk back occasionally to be sure that everything was going well. 

On one such occasion, he came back to check on things, saw something that he misinterpreted, and quickly said that it was time to do something else. The rest of the night, he acted normally and all seemed well. Then the next Tuesday, two days before Christmas, my father called me. He said that he had left work early and was on his way to pick me up from the house because he'd received a phone call and I was expected at the Sheriff's office for some questions. Neither of us knew what it was about, but it sounded serious.

When I got there, I was told that xxxxxx had turned in a complaint, and had accused me of making inappropriate advances on this young child. And I'm hesitant to tell people about this because even though nothing came of it legally, and even though I could explain the entire thing, sometimes accusations alone do more to a reputation than uncovering the truth. 

In the coming weeks, a chain of events unfolded, and a number of people handled situations in ways that I would come to hold against them for a period of time during the following years. At the end of it all, it was determined that no legal charges would be pressed, and I was cleared on that front, but it was decided that it would no longer be appropriate for my family to attend or in any way make contact with the church that had become our home.

And what's important about this is timing. Because like I said, I came to xxxxxx about issues that were heavy on my heart, and he was my mentor. And only a couple of weeks before all this started, I had come to him and said that I was questioning my faith as a whole. I had realized that I only believed what I did because I always had, because my parents did, because when I was young it wasn't presented to me as belief, but as fact and I was never given a choice. I told him that I had never independently chosen to accept my beliefs and for the first time in my life, I felt that they weren't my own. And at the time, that frightened me. We had just agreed to meet regularly and to discuss these things from a theistic point of view, and then suddenly he was gone.

At first, this felt like a terrible loss. After a month or two, my family finally found a new church, but I never settled into it. During that time, I continued to question my faith, beginning down a path that would lead be to leave it behind entirely. 

Right about here is where you come in. It was early summer of 2015, some months after these events, and I was still struggling to come to grips. I found myself confused about the world around me, and locked in a hellish fight with anxiety, panic attacks, and a constant state of unease. I had just discovered Spotify and spent most of my time listening to music on it (I still do). I loved to discover new music by going artist by artist, and looking at the "similar artists" page and clicking one after the other after the other until I found myself listening to something completely different from where I started. One day I did this, starting with a favorite band of mine named Sigur Ros. After about an hour and a half, I was listening to an artist named Melissa Horn. I'd always loved listening to music in other languages, that way I could hear a song and have only the emotion come through, leaving me to project my own personal significance onto it. But I'd never heard anyone sing in Swedish. Her voice, though, was so beautiful and so soft and connected so deeply with something within me that I waited two weeks for a used CD to be shipped to me from a young man in China because I couldn't find it anywhere else. 

At the time, I was much more active on Twitter than I am now, and that July, I sent out a tweet, saying something to the effect of  "I don't care if you don't speak Swedish, I don't either, but everyone needs to listen to this album right now." An hour later, a notification appeared, saying that the tweet had been liked by this random person calling herself The Glass Child. I ignored it at first, and that was nearly that. Later in the day, I became curious over who it was, and investigated the twitter account. When I saw "songwriter" in the description, I scoffed and said hmph, I've never heard of you. I opened my trusty Spotify, expecting there to be no such thing as an artist called The Glass Child, and to walk away laughing. I found you though, and that was a turning point in my story. After listening to the first 10 seconds of a couple of songs, quickly browsing through, I put on a pair of headphones to listen more closely, and I pushed play on a little song called Heroes. 

In minutes, I was speechless. In that moment, I felt so small. Here was a boy alone in his grandfather's workshop while the old man was inside napping, tears welling in his eyes at the words of an artist he didn't believe existed moments before. After having spent months asking myself where to turn, what to believe, and who to follow, I stumbled on the first answer that seemed viable. xxxxxx wasn't enough anymore. My father wasn't enough anymore. The shell of a god that I had put to rest was no longer enough. I was being told then and there to follow the heroes, who're telling me to walk on on my own. That as long as I am moving, I'm right on the path I make. That I'm right where I belong. I made my own path, and I followed only those heroes whom I chose to follow. It took me quite some time to find any others, but I immediately had one hero to follow. And it was a brave little soul called the glass child.

In the coming weeks, I found all that I could, just little quotes and excerpts from goodreads or brainyquote from Charlotte Eriksson, while I waited on your first book to arrive in the mail. And I saw someone who had begun to live the life I thought I was crazy for dreaming about. I couldn't tell you how often I thought about, "how easy would it be to just take one bag I can carry on my back, buy a bus ticket and just leave all this bullshit behind?" That was never the answer or the right path for me to take, and I'm glad I stuck it out to see myself come to where I am today, but to finally see someone else not only thinking the same thing, but acting on it, made me finally feel again that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't crazy. 

And since then, it's been an incredible honor to watch you grow along even these most recent couple of years on this journey. Having started with I Must Be Gone as my first Glass Child album, and going back to the previous work, I got the chance to see and hear what I needed at the time; someone who wasn't afraid to ignore the system or the normal way of doing things and become fiercely independent. But through Under Northern Skies, and your writings and chats and vlogs since, to see you turn into someone who's beginning to find peace, beginning to find a home in this world, has become what I've needed over time as well. Over the past two years, watching your growth has facilitated my own. You remind me that not every day is going to be a day when you feel that you're at your best, but that it's all just a part of it and a new opportunity will come. Your voice stills my heart when it's slipping away from me, and your words remind me of where I am. I hope I've shed more light on what I mean when I tell you I'm grateful for you.

But I'd like to address another part of what you've asked us for, because it speaks to me and it's a part of what I have to say that I think others are more likely to be able to relate to. You've asked about what keeps us up at night, and I hate how quickly the answer comes to mind. 

I don't suppose I'm very good at relationships, and though I've been learning that that's okay, it troubles me. And the thoughts that I can't shake when I'm staring at the ceiling are thoughts of a past lover. I've only ever had two of them; one was incidentally at around the same time I discovered you, and the other was about a year ago. Neither relationship lasted nearly as long as I expected. In fact, retrospectively, you could say that they never really got off the ground. But the latter one haunts me.

And again, because you're so far removed from everyone involved, I don't mind telling you her name, if for no other reason than for ease of storytelling. Her name was -------. I suppose from an objective, outside view, there was nothing really noteworthy about our relationship. We went to school together every year since I moved to town, and I think we both admired one another from afar, but never really knew each other well enough for anything to develop. As school ended and graduation approached, we began to speak and probably got far too close, far too quickly. But at the time, I planned to move out of town for college while she planned to stay local. When those plans fell through and I learned that I'd be staying as well, we began to take the idea of a relationship seriously for the first time. 

And from then on, it was the biggest cliche anyone's ever heard. It was cheesy and it was innocent and it was cute. She was out of town vacationing with her family for the summer, but we talked on the phone for hours every night. We didn't want to "officially" become a couple until she got back to town and we were sure we had the same chemistry in person. On our first date, I was an hour and a half late after an unexpectedly long day at work, but she still smiled like the moon when she saw me and my shame, fear and nerves melted instantly. We visited the spot that night where all the local old folks did karaoke and I sang her Frank Sinatra. A week later, our first kiss happened under literal fireworks on Independence Day. If it was fiction, no one would ever read it because it was too fantastic and didn't seem real. 

And just as it started to feel as if things were starting to settle into normal, the rush of something new had given way to a certain steadiness, like we were preparing to last over time, it ended out of the blue. It was her idea at first, and I tell myself now that after talking, it became mutual, but I still don't really know if that's true or not. But if one thing's certain, it was on good terms. She even asked to stay friends at first. I was hesitant because I've heard all the stories and I'd heard that staying friends never works. Eventually, though, I decided to give it a try, and learned firsthand that all the stories are true. 

I'm still not sure what happened, other than that it was my fault. I'm notorious for overthinking, and I let my fears get ahead of me. Ultimately, my fears of being too much of a burden for her to handle in her life became a self fulfilling prophecy, and she asked for some breathing room. That hurt for a longer time than I was comfortable with. And even now, its been twelve and a half months, and I don't think I've gone a day without her crossing my mind. That makes me uncomfortable as well. We've spoken a few times; I found an old book that I knew she'd love and she agreed to meet up so I could give it to her. She runs a crafting business and I've picked up a few orders because her stuff is actually really nice. I got a little tipsy on New Year's and called her when I shouldn't have. And every time, it's gotten a little easier, she's been a little warmer, but I don't think we'll ever be on "speaking terms," regularly again.

And I suppose that I'm left grappling with all the what if's and the possibilities that never came to fruition. Because ultimately, we knew each other for far too short a time for her to still be as big a part of my thoughts as she is now. I don't think either of us were at our best emotionally or mentally, and there just wasn't room for one another. What if I'd spoken to her two years earlier when I first noticed her? What if we were both doing a little better when we met? What if I'd known what to say to navigate through the difficulty and be enough even at the time? I know that these are absurd questions, and that there's nothing I could have done, and that it borders on insulting even to think in that way. But I look back and I feel as though we were just objectively good for one another, even just on a level of compatibility with all external factors aside. I remember resting beside her and being absolutely in awe of the fact that another rising pair of lungs could fill my every need and desire in the world. How the heavy eyelids beside mine could make it so that nothing else mattered, nothing else could touch me. And I suppose that she just set a high bar for love. That everyone I meet from now on, I'll keep comparing to her, that she'll be the gold standard that I missed out on. 

And I hear myself think these thoughts and I read them back as I've put them into words and I recognize that everyone who's lived on this spinning rock before me has felt this way, that this isn't unique, but that doesn't make it any more clear what I should do, where to go from here, or how to break this pattern of my thoughts. I know that I loved her. I believe that she loved me. I know that I remember her fondly. I know that she'll always have a piece of my heart, and I accept that that piece is hers to keep. I just wish that I could reclaim my mind from her. But until I learn to do that, ------- keeps me up at night. This is probably the longest email I've ever sent you and I know you promised to read everything, but gosh I'm making you work at it. The truth is there's loads more I could ramble about for hours, but I think this is a good place to leave it. I hope this is what you were looking for. 

Thanks for being you; love you. D. Roncaglione.

[justaglasscreature]

Look what I woke up to!

[justaglasscreature]

Dear Me, one day I’ll make you proud.

Charlotte Eriksson   (via fyp-science) @theglasschild CHARLOTTE IT'S YOU!!

[justaglasscreature]

Yesterday it was sun outside. The sky was blue and people were lying under blooming cherry trees in the park. It was Friday, so records were released, that people have been working on for years.  Friends around me find success and level up, do fancy photo shoots and get featured on big, white, movie screens. There were parties and lovers, hand in hand, laughing perfectly loud, but I walked numbly through the park, round and round, 40 times for 4 hours just wanting to make it through the day.

There’s a weight that inhabits my chest some times. Like a lock in my throat, making it hard to breathe. A little less air got through and the sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories, but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk tick tick tick me not making a sound and some days I just don’t know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind, but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine. This is not beautiful. This is not useful. You can not do anything with it and it tries to control you, throw you off your balance and lovely ways but you can not let it.

I cleaned up. Took myself for a walk. Tried to keep my eyes on the sky. Stayed away from the alcohol, stayed away from the destructive tools we learn to use. the smoking and the starving, the running, the madness, thinking it will help but it only feeds the fire and I don’t want to hurt myself anymore.

I made it through and today I woke up, lighter and proud because I’m still here. There are flowers growing outside my window. The coffee is warm, the air is pure. In a few hours I’ll be on a train on my way to sing for people who invited me to come, to sing, for them. My own songs, that I created. Me—little me. From nowhere at all. And I have people around that I like and can laugh with, and it’s spring again. It will always be spring again. And there will always be a new day.

So, if you’re like me, just trying to make it through the day, I’m here to show you that you can. You will always be okay. You will bloom again.

– Charlotte Eriksson

[justaglasscreature]

We love you so much, Charlotte! I can't wait for this one! 😘

✦ * . · I’m so proud to announce that my new EP “THIS SILENCE NOW” will be released worldwide April 21st. The artwork is made by the extremely talented Anindito Wisnu, and I feel so lucky to get to create art with inspiring people like him. The EP will be available for purchase and streaming on all major sites, and also as a limited edition CD of 100 signed copies, that I will personally send outtogether with some extra The Glass Child gifts. The pre-order of both digital & physical CDs will go live next Friday (April 7th), so make sure to pre-order your signed CD fast if you want to be sure to get one. This one is about missing. It’s about the lack of something or someone. The title “This Silence Now” stands for how the absence of someone can take up so much space that you feel trapped in your own loneliness. How silence can be so loud. This EP is the first chapter of a bigger seasonal EP project I’m starting this year. I’m going to release one new EP every season, to lead up to my 4th full-length album to come out 2018. The EPs will all sounds very different. I didn’t want to restrict myself as an artist anymore. I no longer want to try to fit into a scene, a genre or a sound. I want to let all my sides, personalities, voices and emotions be heard and expressed. There are so many sides of a person; I have befriended so many versions of myself. I’m a universe. I’m both happy and sad. I’m both angry and calm. I still feel small, but also confident. I’m scared, but also safe. So I just let myself write and create, shape and sing, like an artist should be able to do, freely. From the bottom of my little heart: thank you for giving me the time, space and courage to grow, develop and create like this. I feel free as an artist and writer, finally. And this is where I’m sure I will create my very best work. I still believe that music can change a life, because it changed mine. www.TheGlassChildOfficial.com * . · ✦

[justaglasscreature]

A creation between me, whisky and the moon: here’s my new song BLACK ROSE ✧ Maybe music is what escapes when a heart breaks 🌹♡

Spotify  //  Youtube  //  Soundcloud

[justaglasscreature]

Hello everyone! I didn’t have any real friends to give presents to this year so I’ll do my giving to you all instead ;) until tomorrow evening at midnight I’m giving away MY WHOLE CATALOG OF MUSIC AND RELEASES FOR FREE (like a bird) on www.TheGlassChild.bandcamp.com !! The best x-mas gift you could ever give me is to share my music or books with someone you think might like it. Share this post with them, tell them to download this little museum of my heart for free, or simply put my music on your New Year’s playlist :) I hope these melodies can reach the right ears and find new homes. Love always ♡❄️

[justaglasscreature]

Don’t forget that the land is always out there, making its way, doing everything it can so you can breathe fresh air; so you can eat fresh food; so you can move and see and feel and think, and it’s on your side. The world is out there doing what it’s been doing way before you came here, it’s firm and strong and it takes a lot to bring it down so from time to time, just go outside and look at this spectacle. This pure painting right in front of your eyes. No one created it. No one owns it. It doesn’t want anything. It doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone. It simply is. So maybe, try a little tenderness. Just give it a chance to do what it can do. Just let it help you breathe and eat and move and see and maybe just try to live your life in a way that doesn’t kill this force of nature that is just trying to give you a world worth living in. A clean world. A fresh world. Paths, forests, oceans, animals, oxygen, water. That’s all it takes.

Just try a little tenderness towards this world we’ve been lucky enough to build our homes in. If you take care of it, it will take care of you.

|| Charlotte Eriksson

[justaglasscreature]

I'm so excited to see AURORA on here!!

As I’m writing & producing my new record, I thought it could be fun to share what music I’m listening to nowadays, since those songs will most definitely influence how my new music will sound :) Hopefully my record will be a big beautiful mix of all those songs blended together with my weird little mind and voice. I hope you find something you like! 🔮🌙💕 

GO HERE TO LISTEN >>>

[justaglasscreature]

Another personal favorite:)

[justaglasscreature]

[justaglasscreature]

I loved your goal about creating visual worlds around your music! When I heard you say that, the first thing that came to my mind was something that a band I love called Sigur Rós did a few years back. When they released their record Valtari, they put on what they called the Valtari Mystery Film Experiment. Basically they released the audio into the world and invited filmmakers, hobbyists, amateurs, and professionals alike, to take whatever inspiration they found in whatever track they chose, and to create a short film set to it. The best film from each track was chosen to be that song's official music video! They got tons of submissions and some of them were absolutely breathtaking and I think that if we could get people's attention to do something similar, this would be a wonderful direction to consider taking! It wasn't exactly what you had mentioned about the TV shows, but maybe this is the first step?

My new November vlog is up, where I’m telling you about my new vast visions, new music, goals, dreams and intentions for 2017. I hope you like it :)

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ― Anaïs Nin