Behind Closed Doors : A Ritual of Becoming

There are stories that live in silence. Stories that unfold in the hush of a room, in the flicker of firelight, in the ache of a body curled inward. They are not told aloud. They are *felt*—in the marrow, in the breath, in the spaces between words.

This is one of those stories.

A collage of four images becomes a mirror:

- A man sits before a fire, not for warmth, but for memory.

- A figure dissolves into fragments, mid-molting, mid-surrender.

- Two souls reach across a cracked wall, ink bleeding from the divide.

- A blindfolded woman stands in red, waiting to see, or be seen.

These are not scenes of despair. They are initiations.

They are the sacred choreography of becoming.

They are the rites we undergo when no one is watching.

Behind closed doors, we do not break down—we break open.

We shed. We reach. We remember. We choose.

This is a blessing for all who are becoming.

For all who carry beauty and sorrow in silence.

For all who know that the most powerful transformations happen unseen.