Dedicated to people with severe depression who are chemically dependent on antidepressants and other medications.
Rocky mountains are bare, sharp, lonely. They ring and rattle. They scream. They are ringing all the bells in alert. Alarm! Gather round, hide, run away. A terrible danger is coming, deadly, black. Clench your muscles, stiffen, tense, shrink, get smaller, just to hide and wait it out. The mountains are screaming in despair, in fear. The tension has reached its upper limit. We will not look beyond it.
In the middle of those mountains there is a lake of peace. At first glance, it looks like it is protected by those mountains, but it has to withstand the noise and shouting from the bells. It has to be a lake of stability in chaos. It has to be its own support and backbone in order to survive and function. Even this result is already a result. The lake has filled itself with medicines to help it not boil over from the cry of the bells. And the lake copes, endures, puts itself together and holds on. But in the middle of the lake there is a boat on fire. And in the flashes of fire, copper bells are reflected.