Vox Meditantis

I speak to you of mirrors and truth, of false love and steadfast principle. Listen, if you dare hear instruction from one who will not bend to the world’s accommodations. This is the path to honour.

I have spent thirty years arranging marriages for others, yet remain unwed myself. From this December garden, I offer reflections on masks, on irony, and on a life lived in service to hearts I shall never understand.

Seven weeks captive in rooms that once mattered. The garden below grows wild whilst I catalogue the peculiar architecture of confinement. Memory, I find, is the truest monstrosity – and I should gladly prune it away.