AgionVox

Not My Name by AgionVox

I wrote “Not My Name” because for a long time I believed the worst parts of my past were my identity.

The world loves labels. Your failures become your name. Your addictions become your name. Your shame becomes your name. Your past becomes your name. And after hearing those voices long enough, you start believing them.

There was a season of my life consumed by darkness, occultism, deception, lust, pride, confusion, greed, and chasing things that only hollowed me out more. Sin promises freedom while quietly building chains around your soul. I know what it feels like to search for meaning in places that cannot give life.

But Christ does not call us by the names our brokenness gives us.

He calls us by name.

That’s what this song is about. Not pretending the past never happened. Not glorifying it. But standing in the truth that redemption is real. That repentance is real. That mercy is real.

The enemy accuses. The world labels. Shame repeats your history like it’s your destiny.

But Christ speaks something greater.

“Not My Name” is a declaration that I refuse to be defined by who I was before Christ pulled me out of the darkness. I am not the chains. I am not the confusion. I am not the shame.

I belong to Him.

Written in blood, not shame.

War in the Mind by AgionVox

Some songs are written from imagination.
Some are written from observation.
And some are written because silence becomes too heavy to carry.

“War in the Mind” came from the reality that not every battle ends when the moment is over. Sometimes the war follows you home. Sometimes it lives in your thoughts, your reactions, your sleep, your memories, and the parts of yourself you try to keep hidden from everyone else.

This song is about spiritual warfare, PTSD, intrusive thoughts, fear, shame, hypervigilance, and the exhaustion of fighting battles inside your own head while trying to appear okay on the outside. It’s about knowing what truth is, but still struggling to silence the lies that echo louder some days.

There are moments where trauma makes your body feel like it’s still trapped in a past situation even when your mind knows you survived it. That disconnect is difficult to explain unless you’ve lived it. The mind becomes a battlefield. Memory becomes a trigger. Silence becomes loud.

But this song is also about Christ meeting us there.

Not after the struggle.
Not after healing is complete.
Not after we finally “have it together.”

Right there in the middle of the panic, the memories, the fear, and the mental warfare.

“War in the Mind” isn’t a victory anthem pretending the fight is easy. It’s the sound of surviving another night and realizing God never left the room.

If this song resonates with you, you’re not alone in the fight.

Borrowed Breath by AgionVox

I wrote “Borrowed Breath” from a place of humility.

There are moments in life when you realize how fragile you really are. How much of what we call strength is actually mercy holding us together. We wake up, breathe, move, work, love, struggle, fall, repent, and keep going, but none of it is truly ours by right. Every breath is a gift. Every heartbeat is permitted. Every new morning is grace before we even have the words to thank God for it.

This song came from that realization.

I have had seasons where prayer felt heavy, not because I did not love God, but because my flesh resisted Him. I have had moments where I knew what was right and still felt the pull of old habits, old wounds, old sins, and old ways of thinking. I have felt the shame of falling short and the quiet conviction that follows when you know God is calling you back.

But what humbles me is this: even when I forget Him, He does not forget me.

“Borrowed Breath” is about remembering that I am not self-sustaining. I am not saved by my own strength. I am not standing because I am strong enough. I am standing because God is merciful. I am breathing because He allows me to breathe. And if my breath belongs to Him, then so should my life.

This song is not a declaration that I have figured everything out. It is a confession that I have not. It is a prayer from someone still being healed, still being refined, still learning to surrender one breath at a time.

Every breath I take is borrowed.

May I learn to give it back to God.

Standing at the Door by AgionVox

I wrote Standing at the Door out of a place that’s more real than I usually admit.

I don’t struggle to love God.
I struggle to come to Him.

That’s the part people don’t see.

I love prayer when I’m in it. I love the stillness, the clarity, the sense that everything in me finally aligns the way it should. I love the Church, the liturgy, the presence of God that you don’t have to manufacture.

But before all of that, there’s resistance.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just enough to delay me.
“I’ll do it in a minute.”
“I’m too tired.”
“I’ll make it up later.”

And sometimes I don’t pray.
Sometimes I don’t go.

Not because I don’t believe. Not because I don’t care.
But because something in me still resists dying.

That’s the part I had to confront.

There are passions I’ve asked God to take from me that I still choose. There are habits I’ve repented of that I still return to. And every time, there’s that quiet conviction. Not condemnation, but something heavier in a different way. The awareness that I’m being called higher, and I’m hesitating at the threshold.

That’s where this song lives.

Not in the moment of breakthrough.
Not in the moment of peace.
But in the seconds right before it.

Standing at the door.
Knowing what’s on the other side.
And feeling the weight of choosing whether I’m going to step in.

What I’m learning is that God doesn’t withdraw in that moment.
He doesn’t shut the door because I hesitated.
He stays.

And even when I’ve walked away, the invitation is still there the next day.

This song is about that tension. The fight to show up. The reality that obedience isn’t always loud or heroic. Sometimes it’s just taking a step you’ve already avoided ten times.

If you’ve ever felt that resistance, that hesitation, that internal pull away from the very thing you know gives you life… you’re not alone.

And the door is still open.

Catechumen by AgionVox

I wrote this song during a season of becoming.

There was something deeply personal about stepping into the life of the Church, not as someone who already belonged, but as someone standing at the threshold. That place between what I was and what I am becoming. It is not just a transition. It is a death and a rebirth that unfolds slowly, prayer by prayer, service by service, step by step.

This song came from that tension. The longing. The hunger to be united to Christ in a way that is not just intellectual, but fully lived. I found myself attending the Liturgy, praying more intentionally, trying to quiet the noise in my mind and in my life. And yet, at the same time, feeling the weight of not yet being fully received. Not yet baptized into this life. Not yet able to partake of the Eucharist. That ache became a central theme in the song.

There is something powerful about desire when it is directed toward God. It refines you. It humbles you. It exposes everything in you that is not yet surrendered. Writing this forced me to confront that reality. I am not who I was, but I am not yet who I will be. And in that space, God is working.

The imagery in the song, the water, the oil, the breaking of chains, all of it reflects what I know is coming, but also what is already beginning. Even before baptism, there is a dying to the old self. Even before chrismation, the Spirit is already drawing me, convicting me, reshaping me. This journey is not passive. It is active participation in grace.

The line about longing for the Eucharist upon my tongue is one of the most honest things I have written. It is not just poetic. It is real. To stand in a place where you believe something fully, where you know Christ is truly present, and yet you must wait. That waiting does something to you. It builds reverence. It builds desire. It builds love.

This song is not just about theology. It is about transformation. It is about surrender. It is about leaving behind everything that once defined me and stepping into something eternal. Something true.

More than anything, this song is a declaration. I am no longer running. I am no longer searching aimlessly. I have found the Church. I have found the path. And even though I am still on the outside in some ways, I am moving forward with intention, with faith, and with hope.

This is the sound of a soul approaching Christ.

Grafted Into Glory by AgionVox

This is one of the most personal and powerful projects I’ve created to date. Every track carries weight. Some come from places of struggle, others from transformation, and all of them point toward something greater.

These songs hit hard for me, but they’re not just my story. They’re for anyone who has wrestled with identity, fought battles in the mind, faced their past, or searched for something real and lasting.

This project is about being changed. About leaving behind what once defined you and stepping into something new.

Grafted Into Glory releases Bright Monday, April 13 right after Pascha.

Are you ready to come and see?

Sneak Peak at the Track List:
1. Catechumen
2. Standing at the Door
3. Borrowed Breath
4. War in the Mind
5. Not My Name
6. ICONOCLAST
7. Pray for Them
8. Blood of the Martyrs
9. The Mother and the Son
10. Wrapped in Glory
11. Come and See

A new album is in the works to be released on April 13, 2026 on Bright Monday, right after Pascha. It’s the perfect time to release this work and praise our Lord and Savior.

Song List:
1. Catechumen
2. Standing at the Door
3. Borrowed Breath
4. War in the Mind
5. Not My Name
6. ICONOCLAST
7. Pray for Them
8. Blood of the Martyrs
9. The Mother and the Son
10. Wrapped in Glory
11. Come and See

I want to take a moment to share why I created this album and what it truly means to me.

For a long time, I kept this project to myself. Not because it wasn’t important, but because I didn’t know if I would ever release it. I’m self-conscious by nature, and this album is deeply personal. There were many moments when I wasn’t sure it would ever leave my hard drive. So I worked on it quietly, letting it become what it needed to be before deciding to share it at all.

This album was not written randomly, and it was not rushed. It took me months of prayer, reflection, writing, listening, revising, and starting over to bring it together. Every track was placed intentionally. The order matters.

Each song represents a step in a journey of faith. Not just belief, but transformation. The album begins with the Nicene Creed, the Christian confession of faith, because faith starts with what we proclaim and hold as true. From there, the journey unfolds through awakening, wrestling, repentance, silence, surrender, and trust. It ends with a doxology of Amen, the final word of prayer, the word that says, “So be it.” The progression mirrors the spiritual walk itself. From brokenness to hope. From searching to resting. From the noise of the world to stillness before God.

The narrations are part of that journey. They are not standalone moments. Each narration speaks directly to the prayer unfolding and builds on the song before it, carrying the listener forward into the next step. Together, the music and the spoken word form a continuous thread of prayer.

Every track on this album is a prayer. Some are spoken. Some are sung. Some are quiet. I didn’t want this to be background music. I wanted it to be something you walk through. Something that invites you to slow down, reflect, and breathe. Something that points beyond itself.

This album is called The Symbol of Faith because faith is not just something we confess with words. It is something we live, struggle through, and grow into. Faith has shape. It has movement. It has seasons. This project reflects that.

Some of these tracks were born in stillness. Some were born in spiritual struggle. Some came after long nights of rewriting because they didn’t feel honest enough yet. I didn’t release this until it felt true.

If you choose to listen, I encourage you to listen in order. Let it unfold the way it was written. This album is an offering. Not of perfection, but of honesty.

Thank you to everyone who has supported this journey, prayed for me, encouraged me, or simply listened. It truly means more than I can put into words.