Unfolding
Darkness is part of the timeline of ascent.
At a certain point, you become unable to avoid confronting certain layers.
Things may come into view that once lay beyond the boundaries of conscious awareness.
Beliefs can begin to surface, along with their underlying roots — traumas, family imprints, even burdens carried from previous lives. Countless deeply layered inner conflicts that shape all of our lives, reflected through the circumstances we find ourselves in.
The external world plays them out for us in one form or another, so that the triggers they generate can remind us — there is still something here.
A gradual initiation.
As if the pieces of a puzzle were slowly becoming visible, depending on where you stand. They have always been there, but the possibility of resolving them only opens up at a higher, more conscious level.
Today, there are many techniques that allow these layers to be released in safe conditions, without the need to relive the trauma itself.
And yet, the still water will always be stirred.
The so-called spiritual path first reveals itself like a flower in bloom.
As if a feeling rising from deep within begins to color everything — a quiet sense that there is more to this world than you once believed.
This is far from true faith or knowledge. It is only a feeling that returns from time to time, slowly rewiring your inner world.
Later, as you venture a little further, you begin to realize that this path is not made up of smiles and songs alone.
I once heard someone say that true healing is not the same as pain relief.
That is very much true.
After a while, the trials begin, and at a certain point, there is no turning back.
As if you had taken the red pill.
Looking back, I often found myself unable to understand certain decisions I had made, even as part of me longed to return to the comfort of the life I once knew.
But that was no longer possible.
Thankfully, there were moments when a higher part of me took over, pushing me forward in the right direction.
My main struggle was self-sabotage and an inability to let go.
Sometimes we don’t even realize that we’ve moved to another level. On the contrary, it can feel as if everything has taken a turn for the worse.
And only afterward, once the dust settles, do we begin to notice the positive shift.
Until then, it feels like stumbling through a dark tunnel.
As I mentioned, the still water is often stirred.
In those moments, I would often “escape” back into my old life, immersing myself in sources of comfort that I was no longer truly aligned with.
This is what made the healing process most difficult for me.
I was simply afraid of the unknown ahead, and I wanted to return to what felt familiar.
Eventually, as things began to come together and turn for the better, I learned to trust the process more.
“Everything is alright.”
Even when it doesn’t seem that way at the moment.
After the Storm
In the spring of 2017, all I could feel was that “flower in bloom.”
The rigid beliefs I had carried for so long were replaced by a sense of openness.
Finally.
It took an accident — and the panic disorder that followed — for me to become willing to let something else in.
You could say it was forced.
As the fear of death gradually subsided, it left behind a completely new and unfamiliar quality.
As if it had opened a channel that only became perceptible afterward, once the anxiety had settled.
Something had changed — that much was certain.
Compared to who I had been before… it was like night and day.
The storm had passed.
As for that indescribable feeling, it was as if it had always been there.
I have memories of catching brief glimpses of it while drinking.
I couldn’t visualize it — it was more like a faint inner resonance, something I would let slip away with the next sip.
It was probably always there, waiting for me to unfold it.
A fleeting moment
Strange… the first “encounter” began with a random film, back in the spring of 2016.
Before that, I had never seen anything that could tell such a familiar story with that kind of elegance.
A raw, slightly disturbing, yet somehow beautiful fairy tale.
An ex of mine once told me that after I recommended the film using those exact words, she paused for a moment and thought:
“Maybe I’m dating a psychopath.”
I had to laugh.
It was a Swedish classic — Let the Right One In.
The point is, something in it struck a chord.
It brought a long-suppressed sensitivity to the surface, coming right after the slow fading of a panic disorder that had lasted for over a year.
I didn’t know what it was, but I wanted to get closer to it.
I just didn’t know how.
Maybe that’s why I started drawing around that time.
To somehow reach it through expression.
Eli
Sometimes I honestly feel as if our inner world is being projected outward in one form or another.
There are periods of deep internal transformation that leave an imprint behind.
As if something crystallizes — like salt — within an experience we go through, which the external world then plays back to us, projected from the subconscious.
Sometimes even in the form of a film, carrying archetypes that point toward certain inner shifts.
And that’s exactly why it triggers you — why it moves you so deeply.
Because it’s also you.
A part of you, revealed through symbols.
For me, that was Eli and Oskar, the two main characters of the film.
At the time, I didn’t dare talk to anyone about these inner processes.
From the outside, it probably just looked like I was heading home before the night of drinking even began.
Eventually, I stopped going out altogether.
Instead, I stayed alone with it, trying to understand the feeling.
Connection faded into the background, and after a longer winter of withdrawal, I encountered it again in the spring of 2017 — during that “screaming” week.
This time, though, it left a much stronger imprint.
As if to say — now it’s here to stay.
Maybe by then I had become ready to fully receive what I had only tasted a year before.
Sometimes that’s how it works.
Gradually. Returning again and again, like a recurring initiation.
That week, a dark — yet somehow benevolent — shadow took form in that ink drawing.
Everything was in it.
The accident, the anxiety, and that sensitive, beautiful presence that had opened as a channel through all those trials.
Perhaps the screaming released something as well — something that helped catalyze all of this.
Something that opened a path.
Bóra
What we call artistic unfolding often begins long before the act of creation itself.
At this point, however, it became clear that a new phase had begun — one in which the alignment of inner and outer worlds could start to take shape in a tangible, practical way.
This is where the threads had been leading.
