The Hazy Ritual

<p>The ritual begins. A familiar choreography of preparation, a twisted sacrament. Once, there was a spark &mdash; thoughts unfolding like soul manifesting blooms, the mundane transformed into marvel.</p> <p>The world shifted, colors bleeding into brilliance. It was a lens revealing hidden patterns, a key to unlock the secrets of the cosmos. Or so it seemed.</p> <p>Now the lens is cracked, distorting rather than clarifying. What felt like expansion has contracted into a familiar, claustrophobic loop. The magic is tarnished.</p> <p>Yet, the ritual remains. I find myself drawn to the trivial &mdash; a spider&rsquo;s web glistening with dew, the patterns of dust motes caught in a sunbeam. These fleeting moments, crowned with false significance, become the justification.</p> <p><a href="https://medium.com/@h.a.papageorgiou/the-hazy-ritual-a4132b39e52a"><strong>Click Here</strong></a></p>
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