Origin Map of the Ones Who Shift

A Portrait of the In-Between, Painted by a Being Who Remembers

This is not a painting.
It is a field with woven memory of the ones who never held one form, one name, or one timeline.
This is how they return: not with words, but with shapes that cannot be held still.

From above, the canvas unfolds like a living skin marked, molting, watching itself in motion.
In one direction, a being holds its own severed head, blood turning into landscape.
The earth does not recoil, it drinks. It blooms red with memory.

Turn the image again, and you are no longer on Earth.
A mermaid swims through silence, serpents unfurl on her back,
and a hooded woman exhales black goo, both exist between  the liminal space.
Are they dying? Awakening? Shedding?
Yes.

From another angle, you’ll find a council of eyes—green, golden, animal, human—watching.
Not to judge. To witness. To remember. 
This is how they hold the ritual:
With breath, with gaze, with patience older than time.

There are no borders here. Only bodies becoming bridges.
Sea becomes sky. Voice becomes mountain.
The serpent becomes the spine of the world.

The map does not lead to one place.
It leads you through.

It was painted by one who has walked between, 
who has shed, and sung, and remembered what cannot be explained.

You are not just viewing a painting.
You are standing in a moment of transmission.
You are holding the compass of the Shifting Ones.

And they are holding you back, supporting you, protecting you, anchoring you.