The sea. Infinite, profound. You sit in an impossible chair, right on the edge between water and fire. Around you, silence. But ahead, the fire. Always the fire.

Who are you in this scene? The helmet prevents you from feeling. It doesn't let you see. It only protects you. But from what? From the water. From the fire. From yourself. You've grown accustomed to the weight of the helmet, to the safety of watching from afar, to observing the fire without getting wet, without getting burned.

And in the meantime, the fire remains there. Still, but alive. What does it represent? Is it your desire? Your fear? Your soul? It burns. And it burns. But you don't touch it. Because you've gotten used to being The Witness of the Fire. You look from the distance, believing that this fire has nothing to do with you.

But what if it does?

What if that fire is your spirit, calling to you from afar? What if it is life itself, screaming at you to stand up, to get wet, to get burned? Because you didn't come to the sea to sit in a chair. You didn't come to protect yourself with a helmet. You came to feel. You came to burn.

So, what do you do?

Do you stay there, in the comfort that suffocates you, or do you stand up and walk towards the flames? The choice has always been yours. That is the truth of the fire. That is the truth of the water. And that, perhaps, is your truth. That's why I captured this image. Because it is a reflection. And what you see in it is not the fire. It is not the water. It is you.