You descend.
Not because you fell—
but because you remembered.
There was always something below.
Deeper than breath.
Quieter than thought.
Older than fear.
And so you sank—
not in defeat,
but in return.
Because this is where you came from.
Not a house.
Not a nation.
Not a body.
But silence.
Stillness.
The arms of light
piercing through the unknown
just to hold you.
You curl into yourself.
And for once,
it is not shame.
It is not hiding.
It is the fetal truth—
the posture of remembrance.
Of the soul folding inward
to whisper:
“I never left.
I only forgot.”
Down here,
there is no war.
No schedule.
No image to uphold.
No voice screaming “be more.”
Only weightlessness.
Only truth.
It is not loud.
Not triumphant.
It is kind.
So what is this place?
This dark, radiant cradle?
This pressureless womb?
It is Home.
Not the place you run to,
but the place that waits
beneath every breakdown—
the place that never stopped loving you,
even when you stopped listening.
Because you tried, didn’t you?
To find it in applause.
In titles.
In lovers.
In the mirror.
But Home was never out there.
It was always
this descent.
This letting go.
This breath held at the bottom of the ocean
that finally says:
“Okay.
You win.
I surrender.”
And in that surrender—
you rise.
Not to the surface,
but to the self.
The self that was never missing—
only misplaced.
And the light finds you here.
It always does.
Because light doesn’t chase.
It waits.
So let this be your prayer.
Not to the sky,
but to the deep:
Let me fall back into myself,
until I remember
I was always held.
You are not lost.
You are not late.
You are not broken.
You are simply
on your way Home.
—BV
The Monoliths are one-of-one, eternal creations—each forged as a testament to uniqueness. Printed on the finest materials known to the art world and framed in custom, museum-grade designs tailored to the collector’s wall and space, they are not shipped—they are delivered. Personally. By Benjamin Viulet. Wherever you are in the world.
