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Every beginning is also an ending. And for me, the end of Atlantis is the beginning of my paths. When I began to remember, the first thing that came was Khem. Egypt. The place where those who survived inscribed in stone what the water had erased. But Khem was the refuge. The archive. The library built after the sinking. My ancestors came from before. From further west. From where the Sun sinks each evening into the ocean. From the islands that remained when the continent disa

Finding myself at the axis, in the days when the Earth seems to pause upon itself, I moved through the closing of an intense process. It was not an abrupt ending, but a slow decantation. As if everything lived throughout the year had been waiting for that exact point—that instant when the light stops advancing—to reorganize itself from within. During 2025, I began to understand that the serpent was not only a mythological symbol or a spiritual archetype inherited from ancien

Stories have no beginning and no end. They are a constant of instants, an infinite network of finite parts, a fractal reflection of a void that fills the cosmos with chaos, of paths that expand back toward the origin. And perhaps that is why this is not a new beginning, but a new ending that inevitably leads me to a new origin, to the moment where everything began. If I remember correctly, this story also began at Christmas, but clearly in summer, in my hometown in Argentina,