 In the liminal spaces between, in the maps that form the sacred and profane, one thing remains the same. Like a song recalled but from primordial echoes, one thing remains the same. We shall be transformed. From the hands of brother moon to the arms of sister midnight, paradise will shine like the moon in the ritual and the rite. Here we explore the curves of a clouded reflection, hear the arcane past of a shattered mirror, we shall not cease from mental flight. From the matter of a hinted dream, there is much to find. When we traverse the crossroads of our mind to find, we shall be transformed. Out of a basement to glory, from the dawn to the denouement of the iridescent dream, from glory to glory, from wish to the watchtower of naked reality, one thing always remains the same. We are being transformed.