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ArtistWe are clothed in yesterday. We inherit names, histories, fears, ambitions, and beliefs. Yet beneath every layer waits another self. The sacred act is not destruction but renewal. To remove what no longer lives. To step from the husk like a seed from its shell. Not because the old skin was evil, but because growth requires a larger form. The world itself performs this rite: spring emerges from winter, butterflies from chrysalides, stars from collapsing clouds, and wisdom from identities that have become too small.
They stood between two suns, each clothed in histories that no longer fit. The garments they removed were not flesh, but identities—old stories, inherited fears, forgotten promises, and names that had become too small.
Xipe Totec smiled.
For the world renews itself by shedding what has become a shell. The seed abandons its husk. The butterfly leaves its chrysalis. The soul steps beyond yesterday.
The ribbons of color flowing between them were the pathways of transformation, linking one life to another. Nothing was lost. Everything was becoming.
Around them rose cities of dream and memory, while above them the heavens opened like a flower of light. The act was neither sacrifice nor destruction, but revelation.
To change skins is to discover that beneath every self waits another self, and beneath that another still.
The sacred mystery is not what falls away.
It is what emerges.
