Stylized text reading 'Adriata' in a distinct font

rewriting narratives through presence & beauty

Chapter I: where souls are free

Once upon a time, there was a small island in the middle of the Mediterranean. History books had long forgotten it. Yet, it was there that the goddess Adriata was born.

“How could the island of a goddess have been forgotten?” you might ask. Well, because her birth was treated with the same simplicity and joy as that of a human being. Adriata’s parents had never had any connection with Olympus and its reactionary gods. They were among those utterly ordinary people, yet gifted with the ability to give birth to a god or goddess.

There is a well-guarded secret that the gods of Olympus have long suppressed: the most precious births do not take place upon the sacred mount, corrupted long ago, but far, far away, where the soul is free.

Such births occur when two mortals together cross the three layers of truth: the physical world, the energetic world, and the spiritual world. Thus, the only child born of such a union becomes a being without a karmic past.

These rare beings go unnoticed by most. Yet one of the most powerful entities recognizes every one of them: Mother Earth, the one who gives abundantly.

This is also why the island was erased from maps. When a god or goddess is born, it is a tremendous act of rebellion, orchestrated by Mother Earth. And once the soil of the Earth has been touched by a goddess, it is protected, hidden from corruption.

It is not impossible that the island will reappear one day. It is not impossible that you have already set foot on it without knowing you had crossed a powerful barrier that allows passage only to those whose hearts and intentions are pure.

And so Adriata grew among olive trees, sun-warmed rocks, and the endless sea.

Chapter II: the coming of age story

I know a question is on your mind: what, after all, is she the goddess of? What privileges does she hold? Well, know this, she began her life with an immense gift that few beings ever receive: she was born to two serene, introspective parents in harmony with their surroundings. To grow up with the gift of unconditional love is an immeasurable privilege, a rarity in the world of humans of that era and beyond.

Thus Adriata moved through life with an almost mystical certainty that life was full of delight. In the mornings, in the shade of the olive trees, she would sink her teeth with pleasure into sweet oranges and tangy lemons. In the afternoons, she played the harp and discovered other musical instruments from the Levant. She had chosen to dedicate her time to music. At the end of the day, as the sun began to fade, she would go bathe in the Mediterranean Sea. At that time, the island was sparsely populated and largely unknown. Adriata would swim naked, watching the moon rise. She belonged to a world in which femininity was treated with the utmost respect.

One day, however, Adriata thirsted for more. She did not know exactly what she sought, but she felt that visiting nearby islands and other lands of the Levant would be a good start. She longed to meet other musicians, other voices, and to share beauty through music together.

And so it was: one morning she found herself aboard a boat, with a small bag and her harp. Excitement burned in her chest, and joy wrapped her gently. Only those who have walked toward the unknown know that feeling.

Adriata arrived in the Great Elsewhere, still unknown to her, yet the place of her dreams. Until then, she had grown up in a peaceful, sacred, and calm world. What she did not yet know was that in the Great Elsewhere, a strange illness gnawed at the people: the fear of scarcity in the midst of abundance, the urge to dominate in the very heart of freedom.

Chapter III: the remembrance

Very quickly, Adriata made many friends in the music world, but also enemies. Many could not stand to see her relish life, to watch her take such pleasure in connecting with others, sipping her tea, or dancing to the melodious sound of sitars.

It broke Adriata’s heart. She could not understand why her presence stirred suspicion, contempt, or anger. She, who carried within her the gentleness of the Mediterranean and the wisdom of Mother Earth, began to make herself small so as not to disturb, to protect herself. Eventually, she defended herself against those who oppressed her. Yet nothing bore fruit. The calm she once knew became a memory of better days, and she touched her harp less and less, for fear of being judged.

She wondered then whether she had taken the wrong path, whether it might be better to return home, to where she had always felt loved, seen, and accepted. She remembered her parents, her friends, her harp lessons under the olive trees, and the nights playing in taverns.

Never underestimate the power of the memory of having once been loved, it changes a being. Adriata remembered that feeling of sovereignty, free of all doubt. That evening, she decided to join her new friends to play in a town square. Her nostalgia and her memories of a lost paradise moved her to play a piece she had composed and performed many times on her native island.

She swayed under the moon, and her fingers drew from the strings a calm strength she had never known. And something shifted, imperceptibly, in the hearts of those who listened. It seemed to them that a distant memory wrapped around them with tenderness, a memory tinged with nostalgia for a world they had never known, yet would dedicate their lives to restoring.

Today, every time you choose to answer cruelty with beauty, to reject polarization for presence, or to choose memory over reaction, know that you too set foot upon Adriata’s island, an invisible island once walked by those who chose to honor the Earth.