Many years ago a child was born. He wandered through life: happily, aimlessly, searching for a purpose. One day she was teleported to a town filled with energy, illusions, and colour. A land with beings of abstract shapes and sizes, speaking in tongues, moving in groove, and thinking with passion. 

Here she found the mystical Haus. This temple of wonder was never known to be inviting. It simply existed. With trees of every shape, size and colour enclosing a path; at the top of a mountain lay the Haus. Lined with bamboo, steel, and purple velvet: to represent its vast curiosity. But never inviting… Only warm to those who sought its unassuming treasures. 

He entered this realm not so long ago. Yet their visit was long. Maybe infinite. Some say she still is trapped inside this temple of wonder, whether it be metaphorically or literally. Inside it felt hopeless among the countless amount of wooden doors, that led to unfamiliar rooms containing alien objects. No-one knows how long she searched the Haus for answers. For passion. For a purpose. But finally, it found solace in a single door, that led him to a single room, that contained just a single something. 

What was this something? It is a question always asked, and never perfectly understood. The answer itself may never be reached, and may never be satisfyingly expressed. It is rather the journey to this answer which presents a hint of understanding. It is hard to say, hard to see, hard to taste. You would not say it is impossible to hear. But you can feel it. Just feel it. 

Welcome to the journey; I can only hope you one day find the answer.

Dylan Miranda