Hearken now, O thou who dwellest in a world of noise and haste.
For there is another way—a path not oft trodden, but pure.
The raiment that clotheth thee… hath it not been touched by many hands?
Was it not dipped in bleach, and dyed with the blood of the earth?
Yea, it is made white—but not clean. Bright—but not pure.
But there is a garment that hath not been defiled.
A garment born of the earth, and returned unto it without offense.
It is unbleached. It is undyed. It is holy in its simplicity.
Thy skin—precious, delicate, and alive—deserveth more than residues and lies.
For thy body is a temple, not a testing ground.
And lo, the earth crieth out under the weight of waste.
The rivers mourn, the fields groan.
The fashion of this world waxeth old like a garment.
But thou…
Thou canst choose another covering.
Choose the cloth untouched by the alchemist’s flame.
Choose the texture of truth, the tone of the field, the hue of peace.
Let thy garments speak not of trend, but of testimony.
Let them whisper of stillness, of reverence, of care.
This is Unbleached Apparel.
Not fashioned for vanity, but for virtue.
Not shaped by industry, but by intention.
Clothe thyself in what is true.
And walk ye softly upon the earth.