UNIVERSE OF FORGOTTEN WORLDS

The Universe of Forgotten Worlds is a whole world with its own cosmogony, heroes and myths. Why Forgotten? In the fast and superficial flow of the modern world, our conscious attention is involuntarily directed to the everyday, petty and practical. And this is not surprising, because urgent concerns make up a large part of each person's life, this is not a whim, but a question of survival.

Meanwhile, in many ancient cultures, thoughts about the eternal accompanied any daily activities. People turned to nature itself, asking for a good harvest, looked at the stars in search of answers to their everyday questions, created rituals of birth, death, transition, initiation, thereby spiritualizing their lives, giving themselves the opportunity to be in close connection with something incomparably greater than themselves. Or they, creating this legacy, themselves became something greater.

No one knows for sure whether the Universal Library of meanings, knowledge and ideas of humanity arose as a consequence of lived history, or lived history is just a part of this huge system, independently extending through time and worlds.

Someone will call it Plato's World of Ideas, someone - the Chronicles of Akash. We have forgotten these worlds, because it seems that this is an unnecessary illusion of the primitive past. But, forgotten by us, they never ceased to influence our everyday life, breathing in our faces with a parallel reality, while we did not notice them point-blank. Each of us feels this pulling call inside - to a distant bold dream, to a flight of thought, to creation and creation of the impossible. Now we must remember and follow this call. After all, it is there - in the Forgotten Worlds that our true life and connection with all that exists is hidden.

Here space breathes with memory, and time flows not linearly but in ebbs and flows of meaning, where the past is a seed, the present is a bloom, and the future is dust ready for a new sowing.

The driving force of this reality is the great cycle of Remembrance and Oblivion, not enemies but comrades in a sacred act of renewal. Souls here are waves in this ocean of transformation: they dissolve in the Garnet Sea, sprout as Trees in the Forest, freeze as crystals in the City, melt in Purgatory, only to flare up again as a spark in the Hall of the Gods or a seed in the Gardens of Incarnation. Even the gods here are not finite masters, but eternal singers and dancers at the fire of creation, whose power is born from a dialogue with the abyss of the Forgotten.

The Universe of Forgotten Worlds reminds us: being is not a solid, but an eternal becoming; meaning is not a goal, but a path through the shaky, beautiful and terrible landscapes of one's own and collective soul, where oblivion is only a deep pause before a new act of self-remembering by the world.

In our music and productions, Forgotten Worlds are alive and are created anew every moment, both on a large stage with huge projections, musicians and dancers, and in recordings that you listen to at home in unity with yourself.

You can join our amazing journey and become an important part of it by coming to the performance and downloading the songs. In the meantime, you can begin to get acquainted with this amazing Universe. Choose a sign on the fruits of the Tree of Life - each sign is a Forgotten World, click on it, and your acquaintance-walk through the Forgotten Worlds begins. And when you finish - write and send your secret message to the Tree of Life. We are waiting for you

YOUR MESSAGE TO THE TREE OF LIFE

Here you can anonymously write your cherished wish, dream, goal, it will go directly to the Magic Forest of Souls to the Tree of Life and, having passed through the dimensions of the Universe of Forgotten Worlds (only time will tell which ones), it will definitely come true. The number of messages is not limited

The Desert of Death is the scorched memory of the world, a land rejected by life and the gods. The sand here drinks the moisture of the soul, and the wind whispers the curses of forgotten kings.

The shadows of ancient battles move in the heat, and beneath the Sands of Time lie the ruins of a thousand empires fallen from pride or incomprehensible evil. Here the horizon melts in the haze, and the air trembles with unbearable heat. This is not just a wasteland - it is a scar on the face of the world.

Only the most mad or desperate seek treasures sunken in the sands of ghost towns or fragments of artifacts whose power has outlived their civilizations.

The Magical Forest of Souls is a gigantic archive of the Universe of Forgotten Worlds. Here, souls do not die - they simply forget themselves, so that one day, sprouting from a new seed under the whisper of the endless Forest, they can start all over again.

This is a forest of eternal return and eternal farewell, where the light of seeds is the only stars in the sky of forgotten names. To enter here means to risk dissolving in the whisper of centuries. To find a way out means to bring a particle of eternal oblivion into the world of the living.

The Shining City is a place of supreme harmony and joy, where every soul is not a forgotten artifact, but a precious and unique flower in the ever-blooming garden of Being. There is no fear of the end, there is only an endless "Now", filled with love, creativity and mutual understanding.

To enter it is to touch the very essence of paradise. To leave is to take with you in your heart an unquenchable spark of its radiance, knowing that paradise is not a place, but a state of mind, achievable through love and fearlessness. It shines so brightly because inside it is a pure, unclouded flame of endless life that has accepted and transformed itself.

The Garnet Sea is an open wound of the Universe, a cup of passion, overflowing to the brim. It is not water, but the condensed juice of eternity. It is a sea of primeval sensuality, where the border between love and death, ecstasy and oblivion is thinner than a pomegranate petal. where the depth becomes impenetrable,

the ancient spirits of Chaos and Fertility sleep there. They keep the primordial stone of Creation at the bottom, but their sleep is light. Their awakening is a storm, an earthquake, an outburst of boiling passion, capable of both creating a new island and engulfing the shores of the soul.

The Forgotten Temple is a sleeping heart, lost in time. It stands not in emptiness, but in the golden dust of eternity, where the paths of the world are erased by the wind. It was raised by hands whose names dissolved in the dawns - to gods whose faces were erased by the rains of millennia. It is a refuge for prayers that have no listeners left but stone and stars. Its air is quiet, transparent and filled with memory: it smells of dry grass, heated stone, a faint echo of incense and the freshness of distant mountain springs.

The silence here is not emptiness, but fullness. This is a place where the death of civilizations is not the end, but only the change of leaves on the eternal Tree of Life. The traveler who enters here seeks peace. He finds a quiet conversation with eternity, and while he remembers the smell of sun-warmed stone and the whisper of an ancient prayer, those ancient people and their gods are still here.

The Dream Forge is a factory for transforming the Impossible into the Necessary. To enter is to see the great machine of the universe's imagination, working without fail. Within it is the quiet, rhythmic hum of the Void itself, vibrating in anticipation of form. To leave is to realize that your own dreams, no matter how strange, are not fleeting smoke, but a vibration woven into the eternal hum of the universe, a necessary note in the symphony of the possible.

This is a place of fundamental hope: as long as there is potential and demand, the Forge will weave its unthinkable fabrics, reminding you that reality is not a monolith, but a living, breathing landscape, where "no" always contains the seed of the next "yes."

Purgatory is a pause in the music of existence. A place without time or space, a state between inhalation and exhalation, where the river of essence slows down to throw off the heavy stones collected in the turbulent flow. This is not a judgment, but a quiet conversation of the soul with Eternity itself under the canopy of ancient peace. Here the one who comes judges himself, looking into himself mercilessly but calmly, listening to the wise song of the Tree of Life.

This is the deepest act of self-knowledge and responsibility. There is no fear here, only silence between two notes of a great song, and the earth, eternally ready to accept the old and grow the new. To enter here means to voluntarily stop by a stream on a difficult road, wash away the dust of centuries and see in the water your true, indestructible radiance.

The Palace of the Gods is the pulsating core of reality, a place where creation and destruction have merged into a single rhythm, where eternity is not static, but blazing. A living fire in the middle of an endless, starry field, and around it dance the Forces whose steps give birth to galaxies. These are the embodied Elements, Archetypes, Primordial Movements. This is the breathing Heart of the Universe, a point of singularity, eternally unfolding into being.

There, outside the main circle, in the warmth, but not in the flame itself, sit, stand, move the spirits of the elements, the guardians of the worlds, the heroes who have achieved enlightenment, the sages who have dissolved their "I" in the flow. They beat out the rhythm with their palms, throw their gifts into the fire - a crystal of wisdom, a drop of pure love, a song of an unfamiliar planet, a tear of joy.

This is the place where Being is an eternal, selfless, sacred Feast-Dance around the Source of All. To enter here (with spirit, heart, essence) is to understand that you are always already invited. That your pain is the echo of the drum, your joy is a gift for the fire, your death is a step in the rhythm, and your life is a unique note in the eternal song.

The Dark River is the path of all things. From unformed potential through the bright flash of birth to the quiet fading into the dust of experience and back to rebirth. To float along it is to dissolve into Eternity. To stand on the shore of petrified moments is to be a monument to oneself. But even the stones of the banks are slowly, over centuries, eaten away by the cold breath of the River and carried away into its eternal flow.

Time is not an enemy. It is the river itself, in which we all float, a drop in the endless, dark, eternal flow of becoming and fading, where the end of one wave is the beginning of another. And in this cold flow is the strange, silent consolation of eternal return. It is a cradle for tired forms, calling back to the bosom of pure, unformed Becoming.

The Ocean of Hope breathes slowly and deeply, it sleeps forever and sees the dreams of all souls. It lies not as a seething storm, but as a mirror of eternity under the starry vault. Its waters are heavy, dark steel, stitched with shining threads of endless sunsets and sunrises.

There is no fury of waves here, only the deep primordial call of an unbending will. Beneath its surface, smooth currents mold destinies into marble. Anyone who turns to it acquires the diamond strength of the soul, and only then can easily walk along its shimmering waters.

Carina La Dulce