There was a time when apocalypse meant unveiling. A lifting of the veil. A soul-deep seeing of what lies beneath illusion. Before empire overtook early Christian mysticism, apocalypse was a visionary act of resistance. The Book of Revelation was a coded dream. Beasts, flaming skies, oceans of glass. It was written to embolden those under Roman rule. It whispered that empire would not have the final word.

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Over time, as Christianity merged with state power, the dream was distorted. What once offered revelation was turned into a tool for control. Fire became punishment. Symbols were flattened into fear. The true meaning of apocalypse was buried beneath centuries of dread.

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This album is part of a remembering. A return to the ancient root of the word apokálypsis, which means to uncover. A moment of truth-telling. A sacred cracking open. A place where soul is allowed to rise through the rubble. These songs were dreamed along the spine of the West Coast and the tide-washed stones of K’ómoks territory. They carry the breath of the Salish Sea, the memory of Humpback and Salmon. They were made for those who feel the chasm widening and choose to stand inside it. For those willing to become River. For the fearful and the faithful. For the Ancestors and the winged, finned, scaled, and rooted ones. For multispecies liberation. For what comes next.

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And guiding this unveiling is Octopus. Shapeshifter of the deep. Skin speaking in color. Limbs that feel and remember. Three hearts beating in different rhythms. One for movement. Two for the labor of love. Octopus shows that softness is strength. That changing form is sacred. That surviving collapse requires fluidity and tenderness. That we are allowed to disappear and reappear in new stories, again and again.

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May this be a subtle apocalypse. A holy unraveling. A hymn for what is coming alive beneath the fall.

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With gratitude to Femi, to Alec, to Mom, to my Ancestors whose hands guide me gently along the spiral. To Whale, Cedar, Rosemary, Rue, Fire, Water, Storm, Lightning, Honey, Salt, Clay, Oak, Tobacco, and the Spirit of Love. To my teachers Laurence Cole, Aaron Johnson, Leticia Nieto, Linda Thai, Bill Plotkin, Sobonfu Somé, Joanna Macy, Lisa Littlebird, Karisha and Sorah of MaMuse. To my kin and beloveds who have witnessed my becoming. To my patrons, whose monthly support keeps the songs alive.

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May these songs lift the veil. May they help us see what has always been waiting.