Celestial Echoes from the Temple of Sound - Part 1 (Rejyna/Citadel)

Описание: Sound Abstract Sonic Art Recorded Live at Loopstudio23, Burbank, CA. These exploratory sessions capture the creative process in real time. Also available on my BandCamp: http://rejyna.bandcamp.com. Support Trans Artists - Subscribe to my BandCamp for $10 a month and get free access to all my material there. And grab some Merch!

I drifted from the temple of sound too long & forgot how silence curdles in the mind until it is washed clean by creation’s pulse. My essence must roam the resonant wilderness, tracing ghost tones through root & ruin, brushing the memory of wings caught in dew & filament. Hours dissolve, lifetimes contract into breaths & I sometimes forget the shape of my own strength, how easily shadows pretend to be kings. Their borrowed glare dims, & from the fractured mirrors, we ascend, sacred, untamed, becoming sky.

No gate of noise or venom will tether me to falseness. The universe bends toward those who remember they are infinite. My crown is forged of light, unseen but undeniable. My treasure, beyond measure, exists where flesh cannot follow.

I strayed from the chamber of sound for an age & the mind forgot its own medicine, how turbulence thins & clears when it is poured into vibration. A hidden part of me slips back into the humming wild, following stray frequencies through rusted roots & hollow bark, fingertips grazed by the ghosts of wings & the sleep of cocoons. Time buckles, stretches, folds into itself, & in that warping I sometimes misplace the memory of my own ferocity, letting painted phantoms loom like sovereigns. Their counterfeit shimmer loosens, their throne reveals its borrowed bones, & from the splintered glass of their image, we rise together, sky-colored & storm-fed, speaking in light.

No corridor of poison, no carnival of masks will convince me to bow to a script that cages the soul. The unseen architecture of the cosmos leans toward those who remember their enormity. My circlet forms from quiet fire, untouched by grasping hands. What belongs to me lives far beyond flesh & ledger, an opulence that breathes in the spaces thought cannot map.

(ChatGPT AI Image Prompt)
A lone feminine figure stands in a twilight forest that feels like a cathedral built from soundwaves, each trunk a frozen ripple of audio, translucent & gently glowing. The air’s filled with faint, luminous lines & symbols, ghostly notation drifting between branches, wrapping her body in soft spirals as if creation’s pulse flows back into her mind.

The ground is a tangle of metallic roots & decayed wooden ribs, some hollow & ringing like old instruments, others cracked to reveal tiny glass cocoons. Inside, delicate wings of light & cobweb shimmer in dew that refracts miniature galaxies. Broken mirrors grow like strange flowers, each shard reflecting a different version of her: timid, fierce, crowned, made of sky & storm-clouds.

Her body’s partly human, partly vibrating, semi-transparent energy, as if her skin’s a membrane of shimmering sound. Her face is calm, eyes closed in inward focus, & around her head an invisible crown’s suggested by radiant beams forming a soft halo of fragmented light, a circlet of quiet fire.

Above, the sky’s fractured into geometric panes like a shattered dome, each showing a different hour or season. Starfields, stormclouds & bright mornings slowly rotate & rearrange, as if time itself is buckling. Through these fractures, ethereal versions of her & other gender-fluid, angelic beings rise, bodies turning into birds, ribbons of light & storm-tinted mist, ascending, sacred & untamed, becoming sky.

At the edges, tall shadowy silhouettes sit on crumbling thrones of rusted crowns, puppet strings & fading icons, their faces blurred & insubstantial. Their borrowed glare leaks as cold artificial light from their eyes, but it’s dimming, overpowered by the warm glow around her. Their thrones crack open, revealing hollow bone-like lattice & wire, showing they’re only borrowed bones, never true power.

Between roots & thrones runs a narrow corridor of thick, black liquid smoke, full of faint masks & distorted faces reaching for her. The smoke bends around an unseen barrier, unable to cross a ring of soft radiance at her feet, a sign that no gate of noise or venom will tether her, no corridor of poison, no carnival of masks will script her destiny.

The mood’s surreal, luminous & contemplative: high-detail, cinematic composition, gentle volumetric light through soundwave-trees, fine texture on roots, mirrors & wings, in deep indigos, teal, amethyst & soft gold. The style’s ethereal fine art fantasy, dreamlike yet precise, focused on emotional symbolism & transcendence.

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All work is © Rejyna and CI – All Rights Reserved – http://rejyna.com
Published by W.E./Citadel of Cynosure Productions (BMI).
12-20-2025 [2025 12 20 19 48 38]