When people encounter biblical quotations, liturgical references or fragments of Latin in my music, they often assume they point toward a religious message. For me, it has never been that simple.
These elements are not there to preach, persuade or declare certainty. They belong to the symbolic language in which I first learned to think about the questions that still shape my music: love and guilt, hope and loss, mortality and transcendence. Long before I asked philosophical questions, I already knew the rhythm of the liturgy. Long before I understood theology, I had heard biblical stories, prayers and ancient words repeated through ritual. They did not remain outside me. They became part of the inner vocabulary through which I tried to understand the world.
Over the years, many of my convictions have changed. Some I left behind; others I came to understand differently. Yet this symbolic language remained with me. So did my sensitivity to mystery. And so did the quiet restlessness that keeps searching for permanence in a world defined by change, while knowing that the world itself can never fully provide it.
That is why Evanescent Horizons is woven through with biblical imagery, liturgical echoes and occasional passages of Latin. Not because they offer answers. But because there are still questions I cannot imagine asking in any other language.