Wednesday, July 1, 2026

"Eso es demasiado filosófico"

I must've been between 5-8 years old at the time. All the children that I hung out with in my neighborhood, including my siblings, were all older than me, and I idolized them. I made every effort for them to see me, to let me play with them, to be seen as "part of the gang", and not just as the little annoying drag that I often felt I was treated like. I was smaller, but I was passionate about things.

(Deep cry and reparenting session just now)

That afternoon, we were around 6 people in the group. I don't remember what I felt passionate about, but it was in the realm of either religion, philosophy, or some similar abstract thought (in my own child words). I had realized something important, and I wanted to share it. I wanted to give to this group of people that I admired the best that I had to offer, while also thinking that if I told them this big thing that I had realized, then they would like me more.

So as we stood in a circle making conversation, I found an opening. I began speaking. My words flowed smooth and unimpeded, and I excitedly raised my voice so everyone could hear me clearly. I felt all their attention and eyes on me, it felt good, my energy kept rising and flowing, and I continued to explain this amazing thing I had realized. Then just as it felt like I was coming to the bombastic, magical conclusion, one neighbor kid whom I admired particularly cut me off. He retorted with bored dismissal: "Ahhh, that's too philosophical!", and turned to restart his conversation with the rest of the group, all of whom faced away from me and excluded me from their circle.

I didn't even really know what "philosophical" meant.

"¡Ahhh, eso es demasiado filosófico!"

I was stunned. Simultaneous waves of emotion crashed inside me. My words had been cut off at the peak of my expression, and the remnant energy had nowhere to go, blocked at my throat. The kid I liked the most did not want the best I had to give. The group I yearned to be a part of had ejected me, and I was alone again.

But most saliently, the world had rejected my truth, the best that I had to offer. I shone out the best that I had, and I was shut up and rejected as a result. And from having felt inclusion, truth, and free expression, in an instant I was cut down to feeling excluded, thwarted, and unworthy. I implicitly concluded that my person was not worthy of being in a group. That my expression was not worthy of being heard. That my truth was not good enough. Not good enough for the world.

The silent pain that followed I did not know how to share, nor with whom. I did not understand what had happened. There was no blatant physical or even emotional transgression I could point at, and I did not share enough emotional intimacy with anyone that could help me understand. But what I learned was that expressing my truth was dangerous. That others had the power to cut it down, to devalue it, and to prove to me that I'm unworthy. Unfit for life. Because if the absolute best that I feel I can give is not good enough for the world, then what the FUCK am I doing here?

Unworthiness stuck and festered. Resentment tried to defend my worth, and coated my core with aimless blame towards a world that did not listen, and did not want me.

(I'm just realizing... almost every interaction I've since had with the world has been filtered through this resentment.)

So I stopped sharing my truth. I filtered it every day. I reshaped it, I put it in other people's words, and I spoke only what was demanded of me, and even then with a venom that said "here's your fucking answer", which even I became unaware of after a while. All that remained was a constant, lingering frustration and resentment against the meaninglessness of my life, smeared on almost every interaction I've had since.

Maybe it was then that I took to preferring mathematics over humanities or arts. The answers required of me in math were succinct and precise, and their correctness was determined by sharp rules, which no resentment or frustration, no matter how potent, could color or invalidate. I could carry on my communion with my self-pity and self-recrimination, and all the while my mind could follow the strict rules to find the correct answer and have everyone continue to leave me alone. Humanities and arts required sugarcoating if I was to avoid unwanted attention, however, and to me that always felt disgusting. And Software Engineering, with its (once) deterministic link from code to behavior, felt like a good profession to follow in which I could continue to hide my truth behind sufficient and functional code.

And as time went on, my inner dynamics of expression and relating to others resulted in a sequence (which is not really a sequence) like the following:

1. In general, I felt the need to shut up. I felt that giving out my best was dangerous, for it could be used to devalue my truth. So I spoke with a mistrusting caution that had a hard time getting to the point, and which hardly ever inspired trust in others.

2. The impulse to share and relate never died, it was just suppressed. But somewhere in me I believed that for others to accept me I needed to PROVE myself to be worthy enough. So it induced a strategy in my mind. "Maybe if I can get something REALLY good to share, if I find something SUPER good and interesting, THEN they will like it and he/she/they will accept me."

3. So I went out and searched for lovely, amazing, extraordinary, and miraculous things. But my natural curiosity was tainted with the spirit of the bounty hunter. So when I did find amazing things, my reaction was not to fully enjoy them, nor to integrate them with my own life. I instead captured each pearl with my mind, and encapsulated it with words and models so I could market it as my own, yet removed enough from it that I could claim plausible deniability at any time. I would then seek out potential buyers, baiting them with a little bit when I sniffed out their peeking interest. And only once I knew that they would pay me with their full attention, I would share with them the precious pearl. Only then I could soothe my believed unworthiness a little, and tell myself "at least this thing that you share attracts a little interest. It has some value. You are still a little worthy".

4. And yet, none of those pearls was my truth. I knew it. I was merely regurgitating what other people said and wrote, clothed with my own words and interpretations so I could feel that they were mine. I was just trying to shine and be seen without the danger of exposing my own truth. But because it was not my real truth, it ultimately felt frustrating and unsatisfactory. My true self remained unseen, isolated behind its defensive barriers.

Yet there were times when I did feel my truth rising from within. Times when I felt and KNEW that what I had to say had value, and when I dared to timidly squeeze it into the group or the conversation. And/but/yet when I reached the moment of sharing myself fully, when I felt the excitement rising in me and my full truth was ready to come out again, I'd get nervous. My mind would get distracted. My eyes would dart and avoid direct focus. I would forget the words mid-sentence. I would jumble up the concepts, lose my train of thought. And what actually came out was mostly ever only an insecure, crumpled up, filtered, diluted shadow of my truth. Crumpled up by my mind who repeatedly said "that's not good enough yet" and threw the draft into the wastebasket, filtered by the fears of what might cause the others to reject it, and diluted because my system had learned that showing my truth in its full brilliance was dangerous, because it could be cut down and devalued again.

Even this my writing expression has grown through this pattern. Speaking does not lend itself to drawn-out essays that dance around the point for hours and revises its words again and again while trying to avoid all mistakes and warily cover all refutable points. So these days when something true rises in me and wants to bloom, it simmers for some hours/days/weeks in my subconscious, bits of it peeking out every now and then into my waking awareness. Then one day something is triggered, and it's as if all the words push out from within me, demanding to be born. And one more manufactured pearl comes out to market, asking to be seen. Waiting to be sold.

And today, the trigger were these phrases that showed up in my feed.
- "the peace in being able to admit when you are wrong"
- "the peace in not needing everyone to understand you"
- "the peace in changing your mind"
- "the peace in not proving your point"

Ahhhh... such peaces I long for. A release of my constant fear of judgement and mistrust, of constantly thirsting for external validation while pretending I do not. A release of a need to be right and correct from the beginning, and a release of my fear of being seen as indecisive and wishy-washy. Or of not proving my point with rich and sufficient evidence, ironclad logic, graceful eloquence, and solid proof.

Such states of peace my weary body longs for. weary of adjusting and double-guessing my every expression.

"My opinions always have room to change in the face of growth.
My peace is non negotiable."

peace > opinions. That's worth experimenting with. My mind protests already.

Anyway, reading these phrases today brought me to face the root of my long-lasting friction and frustration with my own expression, and to trace in detail for the first time the chain of events. From that first invisible yet deep fracture, through some of my life experiences, and up to the present day. I had a good conversation about it with my inner child, as well.

toodle-oo
Thank you, Tia Mason






 

Thursday, June 11, 2026

Magia


Magia

 

SpanishEnglish
Dicen que la magia no existe
Que es un cuento, nada más
Pero yo la veo en silencio
Respirando en cada lugar

En la semilla que despierta
Sabiendo como florecer
En la raíz que busca agua
En el árbol queriendo crecer

En la flor que rompe la sombra
para encontrar la claridad
En la ola que danza eterna
siguiendo un ritmo ancestral

Nadie le dice al sol que vuelva
Y siempre vuelve a nacer
Nacie le enseña al corazón el pulso
Y aún así vuelve a latir

Magia
Vive en todo lo que ves
Magia
Vive dentro de tu ser
Magia
En la tierra y en la piel

Lo sagrado está ocurriendo
aunque no lo puedas ver

En la célula que se divide
En el cuerpo al renacer
En la herida que cicatriza
Mientras descansas sin saber

En los pájaros migrando
Sin mapas para regresar
En los bosques susurrando
Bajo la tierra al conversar

En la luna y sus mareas
En las estrellas al girar
En el misterio de la vida
Preguntándose qué es amar

Y nadie sostiene los cielos
Y aún así siguen allí
Nadie recuerda las galaxias
Ni el camino que han de seguir

Magia
Vive en todo lo que ves
Magia
Vive dentro de tu ser
Magia
En la tierra y en la piel

Lo sagrado está ocurriendo
aunque no lo puedas ver

Magia en la tierra
Magia en el mar
Magia en la sangre
Magia al respirar

Magia en el cielo
Magia al sentir
Magia en el alma
Magia dentro de ti

Magia
La más antigua verdad
Magia
Sosteniendo la creación
Magia
En cada forma de existir

La vida creando más vida
Ahora mismo dentro de ti
They say magic doesn't exist
That it's just a story, nothing more
But I see it in silence
Breathing everywhere

In the seed that awakens
Knowing how to bloom
In the root that seeks water
In the tree wanting to grow

In the flower that breaks the shadow
to find clarity
In the wave that dances eternally
following an ancestral rhythm

No one tells the sun to return
And it is always reborn
No one teaches the heart its pulse
And yet it beats again

Magic
Lives in everything you see
Magic
Lives within your being
Magic
In the earth and in the skin

The sacred is happening
even if you can't see it

In the cell that divides
In the body as it is reborn
In the wound that heals
While you rest unaware

In the migrating birds
Without maps to return
In the whispering forests
Under the earth as they converse

In the moon and its tides
In the stars as they turn
In the mystery of Life
Wondering what love is

And no one holds up the heavens
And yet they remain
No one remembers the galaxies
Nor the path they must follow

Magic
Lives in everything you see
Magic
Lives within you
Magic
In the earth and in the skin

The sacred is happening
even if you cannot see it

Magic in the earth
Magic in the sea
Magic in the blood
Magic in the breath

Magic in the sky
Magic in the feeling
Magic in the soul
Magic within you

Magic
The oldest truth
Magic
Sustaining creation
Magic
In every form of existence

Life creating more life
Right now within you

Tuesday, June 9, 2026

Somos Resonancia

 



SpanishEnglish
La ciencia despierta
lo que los antiguos dejaron escrito en el aire.
El sonido sana
La vibración activa
Las células que quieren volver a recordar.

Cada nota tiene un color
Cada frecuencia una forma
Y en ese dibujo invisible
El alma reconoce su verdad.

Somos resonancia
Somos geometría viva
Cuando encuentras el tono
el cuerpo vibra y habla.

El templo interior responde
al sonido que lo nombra
y todo vuelve a brillar.

Tecnología ancestral
Frecuencias que reparan tejidos
Que reordenan la biología
Cada órgano tiene su ritmo
Y si cantas su número secreto
La vida se realinea.

Somos resonancia
Somos geometría viva
Cuando el tono es perfecto
la materia recuerda
que fue creada para sanar.

Un espacio sagrado
Luz y vibración danzando
La música es arquitectura líquida
La arquitectura es música inmóvil.
Y cuando se encuentran
el alma asciende.

Geometrías que se abren
La voz del aire al vibrar
Y el cuerpo se armoniza
cuando todo empieza a cantar.

Somos frecuencia
Somos memoria antigua
Y cuando el templo suena
en su nota divina
el cuerpo recuerda
siempre supo sanar.
Science awakens
what the ancients left written in the air.
Sound heals
Vibration activates
The cells that long to remember.

Each note has a color
Each frequency a form
And in that invisible drawing
The soul recognizes its truth.

We are resonance
We are living geometry
When you find the tone
the body vibrates and speaks.

The inner temple responds
to the sound that names it
and everything shines again.

Ancient technology
Frequencies that repair tissues
That reorder biology
Each organ has its rhythm
And if you sing its secret number
Life realigns.

We are resonance
We are living geometry
When the tone is perfect
matter remembers
that it was created to heal.

A sacred space
Light and vibration dancing
Music is liquid architecture
Architecture is still music.
And when they meet
the soul ascends.

Geometries that unfold
The voice of the air as it vibrates
And the body harmonizes
when everything begins to sing.

We are frequency
We are ancient memory
And when the temple sounds
in its divine note
the body remembers
it always knew how to heal.

Monday, June 8, 2026

¿Y ahora qué?

 




Spanish Lyrics

¿Y ahora qué?
Que puede la guerra premeditada
Con la verdad manipulada
Si todo ya estaba planeado
Si el miedo fue diseñado.

¿Y ahora qué?

¿Y ahora qué?
con el dinero digital controlado
¿Y ahora qué?
si todo queda registrado
¿Y ahora qué?
si ya no hay anonimato
¿Y ahora qué?
si compran tus datos

¿Y ahora qué?
con los coches en silencio rodando
¿Y ahora qué?
con el cambio avanzando
¿Y ahora qué?
si deciden lo que consumes
¿Y ahora qué?
si olvidaste tus costumbres

¿Y ahora qué?
si la Tierra ya no sabe igual
¿Y ahora qué?
si todo parece artificial
¿Y ahora qué?
si lo que sana también enferma
¿Y ahora qué?
si el ciclo nunca se cierra

¿Y ahora qué?
si el problema vende solución
¿Y ahora qué?
si compraste la ilusión
¿Y ahora qué?
si marcan tiempos y dirección
¿Y ahora qué?
si sigues la programación

¿Y ahora qué?
Cuando lo ves,
¿Y ahora quéééé?
¿Qué haces despuéééés?

¿Y ahora qué?
Si todo estaba en ti
¿Y ahora qué?
si siempre fue así
¿Y ahora qué?
si puedes elegir,
¿Y ahora qué?

Vas a seguir
A salir.

¿Y ahora qué?
¿Y ahora qué?

************************************************************************

English Lyrics

Now what?
That the war was premeditated
With truth manipulated
If everything was already planned
If fear was designed

Now what?

Now what?
With controlled digital money?
Now what?
If everything is recorded?
Now what?
If there's no more anonymity?
Now what?
If they buy your data?

Now what?
With cars silently driving by?
Now what?
With change advancing?
Now what?
If they decide what you consume?
Now what?
If you've forgotten your customs?

Now what?
If the Earth no longer tastes the same?
Now what?
If everything feels artificial?
Now what?
If what heals also makes you sick?
Now what?
If the cycle never ends?

Now what?
If the problem sells a solution?
Now what?
If you bought the illusion?
Now what?
If they set the timeline and direction
Now what?
If you follow the programming

Now what?
When you see it,
Now what?
What do you do next?

Now what?
If it was all within you
Now what?
If it was always like this
Now what?
If you can choose,
Now what?

You will continue
To come out

Now what?
Now what?

Loca, ¿quién?



Aunque tiembla el corazón
Nunca calló mi voz.

Loca, ¿quién?
La que ama sin medida.
La que abraza sus heridas.
La que cae y resucita.

Loca, ¿quién?
La que siente demasiado.
La que nunca ha negociado su verdad
ni su latido sagrado.

Loca, sí.
Loca de amor y vida.
Loca, sí.
Nunca se da por vencida.
Loca, sí.
Con fuego en el corazón.
Las locas despiertan
la conciencia y la canción.

Loca, ¿quién?
La que todavía confía
La que transforma la caída
en medicina.
Loca, ¿quién?
La que llora y no se esconde.
La que despierta sueños
donde nadie responde.

Y si amar así es locura
bendita sea la locura
porque las almas despiertas
nunca viven con censura.

Loca, sí.
Pero viva.
Loca, sí.
Pero encendida.
Loca, sí.
Con el alma expandida.
Son las locas
las que sanan la vida.

**********************************

English Translation:

Even though the heart trembles
My voice was never quelled.

Crazy, who?
She who loves without measure.
She who embraces her wounds.
She who falls and resurrects.

Crazy, who?
She who feels too much.
She who has never negotiated her truth
nor her sacred heartbeat

Crazy, yes.
Crazy for love and life.
Crazy, yes.
She never gives  up.
Crazy, yes.
With fire in her heart.
The crazy ones wake up
Consciousness and song.

Crazy, who?
She who still trusts.
She who transforms the fall
into medicine.
Crazy, who?
She who cries and does not hide.
She who wakes up dreams
where no one responds.

And if loving thus is crazy
blessed be the crazy
because the woken souls
never live with censorship.

Crazy, yes.
But alive.
Crazy, yes.
But alight.
Crazy, yes.
With an expanded soul.
It's the crazy ones
who heal the life.

Saturday, May 30, 2026

WhatIs

fire wateri power love energy power fruit apple breakfast lunch dinner food
dance different energy pulsing in the etheric veins of my body
color of rainbows sweetness of ambrosia
hydraulic pressure to move my being into action.
i am open to receive and transmit it
i am a channel
of the energies that be
in the universe
i am a doll
to be played with
by the cosmic directors and intelligences
and I am a willing actor
so that the play may flow
more smoothly
more closely aligned to the Plan.

Ah, the Plan.
The Energy Within Me
Is The Energy Within Us All.
We are its free-willing puppets,
and I am open to surrender
to the designs of the Cosmos that I am yet to understand.
I am open to My True Self,
The Overseeing Director.
The Mystery
Of All of Us
and of What Is.




Saturday, May 16, 2026

Believe

I believe.

I have silently despised that word for decades. Believe? What does that mean?

To know without proof? To trust in the uncertain? To place one's weight upon a hypothesis, while relieving oneself of the onus of proof?

Is believe not the same as guess? Both put forward a statement and presume them to be true. But "guess" is a shaky opinion, while "believe" carries with it the weight of ideals, religions and nations. Is it merely a difference in the intensity of one's guess?

"I believe in you". A strong endorsement of trust, often meant to provide encouragement to a wavering friend. It's very different from "I guess you could do it". That does not sound encouraging at all. Is it only a difference of intensity? Is it in the amount of mental weight I am willing to exert on the metaphorical bridge whose foundation has not been exhaustively determined?

It is all a matter of an approximation to knowledge. To believe, to trust, to guess, to surmise, to suspect, to suppose, to hypothesize. Are these not but varying intensities of the same concept?

Knowledge comes necessarily from experience. That is our only source of information in this existence. There is no other channel through which knowledge may arrive. We perceive, we process, our mind creates frameworks and models of knowledge, and we come to understand our knowledge within our mental web, whatever that may end up being. The tacit presumed goal is to weave a framework of knowledge within the mind which reflects most accurately that same structure as we could find outside. And we find proof of our knowledge through accuracy of prediction, by recognizing patterns of being outside that we can hum to ourselves in our mind's sanctum like a catchy tune. This is how the knower gains value. He perceives, he analyzes, he understands, and he weaves new knowledge into his web of mind so that he can "see and hear the world dance and sing along to the tune he already has within him". That he may follow the rhythms of the world within him, and thus more gracefully be able to weave and to insert his own rhythm into the outside world – the lone dancer amidst the apparent chaos, or an ever-better observer and collector of knowledge within the endless museum of worldly events.


But if knowledge is the strong foundation of our web, the proven and unbreakable foundational elements that support the structure of our web, what are then the rest? Guesses, hypotheses, beliefs? Are they all merely different ways to describe a tentative, unproven new thread in the web? A bridge under construction, but which has not found a solid foundation of experience yet. Perception and understanding cannot fully corroborate this new thread, and thus it remains unproven, uncertain, with a sign. "Warning: Unproven knowledge. Test at your own risk".

And we do. Of course we test unproven knowledge. That is the process by which guesses become known truth. 

What I despise about "believe" in particular is its fanatical connotation. It carries with it the baggage of history. Nations have believed in some ideal and made indelible marks upon history, both for harm and for growth. Religions have flocked millions of sheep into mindless rituals and moral straitjackets for centuries, and believers continue to impose them generation after generation, with no true understanding of what is being done. The problem with "belief" is that it is used as a social badge to mark those who are "in the club", or "out of the club". "Do you believe in God?" "Do you believe in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?" "Do you believe the government is conspiring against its citizens to exert ever-increasing control over us until we are nothing but slaves to them?" "Do you believe the billionaires are taking over the world?" "Do you believe in fairies?" "Do you believe in aliens?"

I dislike that the word is used as a social marker. As a method of pushy contagion from person to person, from group to group, as a method of coercion. I despise the fact that "belief" has been used as a marker of discrimination between the "believers" and the "non-believers", that it is used to separate and polarise sections of the population, rather than to find new avenues of cooperation and union, which I "believe" is the way by which us humans, as a budding collective, can continue to healthily grow and mature.

I dislike that it has been used as a tribal marker of separation rather than as a method or path towards knowledge. So many get stuck in the tribality and separation of "belief" that further refinement towards knowledge becomes impossible. Fallen into the zeal of tribal demarcations based on belief, the "believer" cares more about protecting one's own team and turf, upon feeling superior to the other bands, of soothing their own self-worth with superiority, than with finding and ascertaining actual truth. And that wastage of resources, that misguiding of attention, that chaining down into tribal obligations, loyalty to one's arbitrary personal teams, becomes more important than the pursuit of truth. This attitude holds back the growth of the learning human, for he gets swooshed and smooshed into the metaphorical whirlpool of emotional battles and reactions, charged with generations of blame and resentment, and keeps him unable to move forward, unless he realizes the futility of the conflict, and chooses to move forward into the seldom-trodden path of those who choose truth over tribe.



I find it is this fanatical pull of belief, etched deep into our collective subconscious, that brings me to write today. That has kept me silent until now. I have refused from associating myself with such beliefs, instinctively perceiving it as an icky, sticky substance that would not allow me to be free. I see now that it was not the fact that belief relies upon an hypothesis that made me despise it, for upon this method relies our whole human method of gathering knowledge and visioning truth. No, it was never the uncertainty. It was the tribal stickiness. The competitions. The emotional cesspools of opposing groups judging, despising, and criticising other groups, which kept me removed from the word.

And in the process, as I removed myself from the tribal battles, from the petty feuds, from the decades and centuries of blame and criticism and perceived superiority and competition between so many groups, I gathered all of that criticism, blame, and judgement, and threw it all onto them. Into all those "believers". Into those unenlightened, blind, pitiful masses and crowds of unthinking followers, who rely on others for their dosage of truth, and who give away their freedom in return for group acceptance. I despised all those sheep. I felt superior to all of them. I criticised their pitiful way of life, their stunted path towards truth. "Mindless masses", I thought, and unwittingly gathered all of that criticism, all of that judgement, all of that hatred, all of that superiority into myself. I built a high chair in the middle of my solitary mind, and from there wordlessly cursed and despised their ignorance, silently spitting on their cherished devotions and beliefs. Foolish masses.


The prison of the rebel is his own rebelliousness. In my own zealous rejection of the majority, I created yet another group who fights for superiority against all others: myself. My island of one, my precious high chair... all I did was to take all the emotional baggage of "belief" and projected it from me onto them, isolating me from the world. My mind has been tip-toeing between the slimy puddles of tribal beliefs for a long time now, and it is time to let it go.

To let go of my hatred. Of my separation. Of my perceived self-superiority. I have been depending upon the mistakes and ignorance of others in order to assuage my own insecurities, and as a crutch for my own self-worth. I, he who despised so intensely the ignorant slavery of the mind, have done exactly the same thing unto myself.

"But still, no one else told me to do it", my petty mind still comments. "At least I wasn't scammed by others". Bullshit. My own insecurities are clinging onto the last of their self-determined superiority, and they know it. They know it is not special. That I am not special. That I am also another human. Blind. Ignorant. Bumbling. Scammable. Prone to mistruth. Much less of the unrecognized genius or maverick than I had perceived myself to be. Even writing this my fear grasps at it, points at it, tries to use it as proof of its specialness, but he knows the truth. My discovery is not new. It is not revolutionary. It is not a medal to wear under my shirt, pretending not to notice it. It is my flag of surrender. I am human, and my path towards truth is fallible and flawed. I am not special nor superior, and I have been thirsting along my path for accolades that have kept me a prisoner of my own isolation.


But I am also like them. I, too, choose to believe.

But I cannot use that word with the baggage it now carries. What is to believe? The word implies unproven knowledge, but it carries with it a sense of aspiration, of a nebulous draw towards it that one does not understand. Aspirational uncertainty, I would call it. That certainly carries within it an emotional bias, and thus it is easy to see how such a word may have produced the rifts and conflicts we see in the world today, when our aspirations just happen to differ (or to seem to, anyway). But as I see it, that is what it means to believe. To suspect something is true, and to be drawn towards it aspirationally. To *desire* for something to be true, but not merely by petty desire. By the higher desire – that one we have yet no words for.

The trust to be placed in belief, however, is strong. It is strong enough that one is willing to place one's weight upon it. It is strong enough that we may jump on it, swing on it, and struggle to find a foundation of truth for it. That one is willing to place one's bulk of life upon that bridge, knowing that if the belief turns to be false, one's dear life, accomplishments, and strivings may fall down to the chasm of failure underneath. Belief is a trust one is willing to support one's life upon, encouraged by his aspiration, and willing to risk his efforts upon this unproven truth.

So I propose this new mnemonic-definition for the word "believe". To believe a belief is to "live by that belief". To "live by that uncertainty that we aspire to be true, yet are honestly uncertain about". Without proof, without guarantee, belief nevertheless convinces a man to support one's life upon the weight of that uncertain truth, and be willing to *test* that belief with the gamble of one's own life.

"To live by". That is to believe. This is a high standard, I'd say, and I'm certain that a great many so-called beliefs would not pass this test, particularly when it comes to religious teachings (the most nebulous of all social beliefs). For so many still use belief merely as tribal badges and marks of separation... but that I have written enough about. No need for further criticism, mind. You've made your point.

So what do I believe in? I have sought truth in my way, as have many, and I have gathered opinions, experiences, teachings, analyses, conclusions, and intuitions. I've filtered them in my web of interwoven knowledge, and now I hold a bunch of floating hypothesis strands in it, all of which I've been unwilling to believe, lest I "fall into the same fallacies and stupid sheepish followings as have the many before me". But this is past. I am not thus special, we've settled that much. And by refusing to incorporate any of these hypotheses into my working web of knowledge as tentative beliefs, I've deprived myself of the impelling tool of aspiration. I've kept all of those unproven bridges cordoned off, "out of order", unsuitable for walking upon lest they break and I deem myself a fool, or worse, lest others see me fall, and I may find myself on the receiving end of that intense derision and judgement I felt towards them.

But I now release that hatred. I step into belief. I refuse to define myself by the standards of the world, whether by association or by rejection, and I willingly step into the risk of wrongness, both social and epistemological, of inserting my aspirations into unproven bridges. Of upgrading my unusable strands of guesses between my web of knowledge into usable beliefs that I am willing to test, admit, exercise, and actually risk my reputation, correctness, and life upon. Because the reputation we feel is but an overbloated emotional illusion of the social realities around us, whose criticism is prickly at worst. Because correctness is merely the attribute of "rectitude" with respect to another truth or standard, and thus it is futile to remain technically correct about hypotheses that have never been proven. It is the empty boast that "all my beliefs are correct", while my number of beliefs is zero.


As for my life... well... what good is a life untested? What use is an explorer who walks only the marked streets and safe sidewalks? What service can I provide if I remain publicly forever huddled under the umbrella of the acceptance of the majority? "Only the service of maintenance", responds my mind. A noble service, and one to which all of us are called to throughout our lives in one way or another, most obviously with the maintenance of our own bodies. But this I know: that is not enough. That is but the necessary foundation upon which beauty can be created, truth can be discovered, and the cosmos can be explored. It is but the vehicle upon which adventures and discovery can be had.

Thus I allow aspiration unto my hypotheses, and I step into belief. What do I believe?

I believe in magic. I believe in the soul. I believe in fairies, and in forgotten civilisations of old. I believe in auric energies. I believe in divine light. I believe emotions and thoughts are subtle fluids we spill and litter wantonly onto space and time. I believe in angels. I believe there is no death. I believe our bodies are nourished through the sun and our breath.

I believe we're all children. I believe we all hold pain. I believe humanity has gotten stuck in the fears of failure, loss, and gain. I believe in spirit. I believe in love. I believe that these rhymes are no longer worth striving for.


I believe life is present in every microscopic volume between our eye and each star that reflects upon it, crammed into all space and writhing with vitality. I believe the physical world is a membrane continuously floating upon an ocean of consciousness which flows "underneath", and the shapes and forces we perceive are but the outreach of these conscious waves and currents. I believe that matter is but play-dough, sand to build with, infinite infinitesimal lego pieces sticking, breaking, floating, and available for us to play with. I believe matter, situations, and life hold no inherent meaning, and that meaning is our misunderstood and vastly underutilized prerogative to infuse with life and color our experiences with, much as a child intuitively gives life to the dolls and toys he plays with with his natural gift of imagination. I believe many adults have either forgotten or rejected the value of imagination, and they become thirsting ghouls, begging their peers and society to give them the meaning they long for through recognition and appreciation. Those gifts we've forgotten to give to ourselves.


I believe the wholeness of truth is incomprehensible by our human mind, yet our mind has the duty of building the scaffolding of knowledge and wisdom through which purpose and life can pour forth into form. I believe the mind often thinks of itself as the undeniable master of our life, but I believe it will forever thirst for purpose unless it admits that something exists which transcends it, of which the heart is the mysterious gate.

I believe most of us, both individually and collectively, live blinded in our own emotional fog and miasma, trapped in fears, cycles, and Karpman triangles, and that we require honest introspection and courage to clean ourselves before being able to truly grow. I believe that shamanic breathwork, magic mushrooms and ayahuasca, psilocybin and DMT, can be of great help to realize the fact of what is beyond and within, to realize the depths and the responsibility of our own shit and light, and that they can be used to the point of abuse. I believe the highest form of our passion, joy, or excitement is the marker to our "correct" path in life, and like the fabled white rabbit, it unerringly leads us to the unexpected situations where we can best live, experience, learn, and continue to grow.


I believe the fears associated with money and reputation keep vast swathes of humanity stuck in corrals of their own making, who use their own free will to restrict themselves into spaces where they will never find the adventures their heart longs for. I believe the fear of failure, the fear of ridicule, the fear of poverty, the fear of shame, and the fear of death are the ceaseless advisors to him who does not dare question his own life.

I believe in these very years humanity itself is at a rising inflection point of consciousness and vibration, and that each of us has the choice to either let ourselves be swayed upward, inward, and newward through life, or to continue to cling to the old and familiar even while it increasingly shows itself to be obsolete. I believe choosing the former requires us to face and question our darkest fears, and that it leads us to discovering, to unfolding the true, joyful, blissful light within, which can then pour unimpeded into physical form. I believe that extra-terrestrials are somehow involved in this process.

I believe life is a process of self-discovery, even while most of it seems to hinge upon circumstances outside. I believe our waking life is but a fraction of what the entirety of our true being actually perceives, experiences, and absorbs. I believe therefore in the importance of tuning our sensitivity and expanding our consciousness, so that we may better see and know ourselves, and thus more truthfully, capably, and joyfully play. I believe all is play, if we merely choose to.

I believe we are sensationally, invisibly, and spiritually guided to fulfil our life's purpose, and that many of us fail to see the white rabbits past the stress and rush we impose upon ourselves. And that when we do see them, many refuse to face the fear where the rabbit waits. I believe fear itself is an indicator of concentrated energy within our system, and when felt and allowed to dissolve, this energy reveals itself to be a wrapped gift of joy and power, or at least it releases that energy for more useful service somewhere else in our system.

I believe some people often serve as spiritual channels, tools of communication between invisible or distant entities and humans, and that this is merely a borrowing of this same human tool or vessel that is most always used by our individual soul.

I believe in telepathy. I believe in ghosts. I believe in the power of silence, and in the power of words.

I believe astrological influences, divination, religions, tarot readings, energy healing, and similar systems are based on fact, and I believe they are prone to misinterpretation, and even wilful deceit. Nonetheless, I believe they can hold value to whomever investigates or makes use of them with ungullible, uncynical self-criterion.

I believe there is healing in song. I believe there is healing in dance. I believe there is healing in laughter. I believe love is felt when it is infused into our food, music, or service. I believe there is healing in love, in pleasure, in kindness, in work, in failure, and in pain. I believe healing occurs when we see, feel, and accept what we have not.


I believe in the value of prayer. I believe in the value of meditation. I believe in the value of yoga, of exercise, of art, of sports, of music, of theater, of crystals, of books, of science, of technology. I believe all of these can be used for true growth, and that all can be used to the point of abuse. I believe that abuse carries with it its own gift of growth.

I believe the development of artificial intelligence reflects a corresponding shift or transcendence in the spiritual realms that underlie us. I believe that the next leap of growth for us humans involves crossing that bridge for which the external world provides no concrete evidence or support, which poses a challenge to us who have so long relied on external evidence. The supporting evidence, therefore, must become individual and invisible, and requires us to develop self-worth, self-reliance, and self-criterion. I believe many humans will not do so soon. I believe many others will.


I visualize that in the bridge metaphor, concrete evidence corresponds to columns that support the bridge from underneath, from the solid bedrock of matter, whereas the new beliefs for which no such proof exists will be found to be supported not from below but from above. Cables and tethers from which the bridges hang, which correspond to evidence found only within inner experience.


I believe we are mysteriously yet factually literal reflections of one another across an existential prism that I do not fathom. I believe our consciousness is likewise unfolded and built upon literal geometric reflections through planes of spirit-matter beyond the realm of the seen. I believe that some humans have pierced through the veil into ceaseless and unanchored continuous consciousness, and that some of them come back to help lift us up too. I believe many great teachers, artists, discoverers, and leaders of the ages channel such transcended beings, as well as other spiritual entities of diverse and unknown kinds.


I believe religions are plagued with misinterpretation and burdened with deadened ritualistic cruft, yet that many enlightened helpers serve humanity from within. I believe politics are rife with corruption, selfish ambition and childish squabbles, which reflect onto populations as tribalistic hooliganism and social fractures, yet that enlightened leaders and officers do exist and do their best to serve.

I believe meaning, attitude, and positivity are all a continuous choice as we swim in our universal sandbox and sculpt our castles of sand. I believe this sand and all derived circumstances have no inherent meaning or implication, and that even in the face of death, upon losing that which is cherished, upon being proven wrong, or through social humiliation one can choose to feel acceptance and a true smile.

I believe life is simple. And that all complexity and complications fit within it.
I believe life is love. And that all conflict, struggle, and pain fit within it.

I believe.



P.S.: That text in the last image was ALL ChatGPT's. I like it, though.

"I BELIEVE IN THE ENDLESS BECOMING."

Wednesday, April 29, 2026

Primal Trinity

The embers of my animal trinity
of anger, hunger, and lust
still smoulder strong
in my solar plexus, sacral, and pelvis
despite my long efforts to forget them
and to shut them down.
They burn still, ready
to rekindle me ablaze
when I accept them once again.

My raw primal urges
are inseparable from
my vitality and my joy.

Anger is unfocused purpose
Hunger is latent power
Lust is unrefined passion
Smothering the one dampens the other
no matter how charming and expert its concealment
under courtesies, pretense, and lies.

Tuesday, July 29, 2025

softness

When transitions of consciousness are edgy, the flow is disrupted, and turbulence is induced. It takes an act of will to guide the awareness back to a smooth, continuous flow.

Thus a practice of softness can help the edgy individual. Softness with our choices, with our actions, with our emotions, and with our thoughts. Softness on the inside, and softness on the outside- softness to allow the motions a smooth transition. The one's curve of consciousness can become a smooth (infinitely-derivable?) manifold, and then one can be said to live with grace.

Alwaysness

The always-ness of the Now makes it unnovel, uninteresting to the unstable mind. It knows and assumes It will always be there, and decides instead to focus on the opportunities of escape purported by the tantalizing future, by the known masticated past, or by the immediate fancies of fantasy. Yet even in success, comfort, and achievement, these do not - can not- satisfy wholly. For whole satisfaction is found only in wholeness, and all of these temporary means foe scape (if we could only remember!) are but incomplete fragments of the Now.

Doubt not what you do. Heed only that your consciousness is open, whole, and awake as you do, live, and are.

Continuous, unholding, bright Awareness. Of all you perceive.

Soft, joyful, regretless Choice. At each fluid step.

Live. Whole and True.

Sunday, July 27, 2025

outbreath

Sometimes I write with the intent of inducing a reaction.
Of having others observe my experience
And agree with it.
Of finding support in the readers
in the hypothetical future of my fancy.

But then there are other times
when reception is not the aim
when the written does not need a reader
to accomplish its intent.
These are times when the written
has no goal but itself.
The expression of a truth within
allowed to bloom as a mere outbreath
of the complexity I've become.
Reproduction.

Those times the written holds truth
and need not be read nor remembered
yet exists
as an outgrowth of my being.

Monday, May 5, 2025

Seeker

if you wish to know the truth of this world,
you must come to know yourself.
For there is no seeing without the seer,
no knowing without the knower,
and even the purest lens cannot remedy
the vision of a distorted observer.

Take your unhappiness and ponder, whereby does it come?
"Is it really mine if I never accepted it to be?"
Why feel so much struggle, distress, and frustration
for something that is not of your own creation?

Take your happiness and ponder, whereby does it come?
"Is it really mine if it cannot stay with me?"
Why feel so much pride, attachment, and greed
to achieve an emotion that always recedes?

See the animal you inhabit, consider its shape
its organized tissues in form incarnate.
Are you its desires, its hungers, its needs?
Do you wish to be ruled by this living machine?

Look in deeper and ponder, what steers its actions?
"Am I just a wondrous Rube Goldberg contraption?"
Is the choice I experience a constant illusion,
and if so, what's the goal of such needless collusion?

Sink deeper and wonder, what is this existence?
"Does the flow of pure Being need my active assistance?"
What matter if my hopes and my path diverge,
if all possible roads eventually merge?

Be still then, dear seeker, and merely allow.
What you feel and see is the Truth of the Now.
A gift of experience for you to observe
what occurs when the world tests your strength and your nerve.

A chance to take on the hero's stride
and save yourself from a dreary ride.
Act yet allow, therein lies the key
that opens the door to a life full and free.

Sunday, April 27, 2025

Pristine

In her tiny newborn body,
in the mechanics of her unwilled breath
in her tender reactive spasms
in her immediate responses to minute details
in her frequent frustrations and discomforts
in her unfiltered coos and cries
in her unpolluted nature
I see the gift and plight of humanity.

Absolute sensitivity.
Continuous stream of senses and consciousness,
All of it queueing to be seen, to be felt
To be digested and assimilated,
Incessant, relentless,
very often overwhelming,
and thus much of it ignored.

And initially uncolored.
Merely swaths of data looking for some organization.

Then the new vehicle, this body of old design,
identifies what it knows, and evokes pleasure and pain.
Pleasure towards what helps it grow,
and pain towards what hurts it.
The conscious self then, instigated by these inner forces,
shapes its own mold from the body's opinion.

Thence comes the polarization of experience,
the separation onto the good and the bad.
And if this duality the mind is allowed to believe,
it yields its authority to the happy and the sad.

And in this fall onto desire
due to a lack of mental fire,
lies the crux to the wealth of lamentations
that have lived alongside humans for many generations.

For then one assumes that one's consciousness becomes aware
to serve and fear and slave away to our body's core alarms,
when in fact it is but our vehicle, and though it needs good fuel and care,
Its outer details are minor, like its pleasures, pains, and harms.

And in this newborn's nature, and what I feel her rile in me,
A fractal-like reflection of the human self I see.
When she feels any kind of pain, annoyance, or commotion,
the unfiltered feeling expresses through her coos and cries and motions.

And somehow I, the father, feel pulled to appease her dislike,
much like her hunger was my hunger and her discomfort my own plight.
And if I neglect to first think of why she might be feeling this way,
Inner chains pull at my instincts and coerce me to help her right away.

But if I pause and consciously choose to first think,
I train my mind and will to override that primal link.
To firmly hold the reins while handling her with care,
just like one can feel one's urges, yet walk through life aware.

My newborn manifests in flesh my own inner child,
her body an innocent automaton, unfiltered, raw, and wild.
Her pains and desires I feel just like mine,
and they pull me to attend to her every little sign.

Yet her wellbeing does not always lie in the utter negation
of her every itch, ache, pain, and little frustration.
Her mission in life now is to simply explore,
and my role is to help her without overriding her will,

or to take away from her changes for exposure
to the effects of her actions, to deprive her of closure
for her own choices, for her highest concern
in this life she came into is to gradually learn.

So her body, emotions, and desires, just like mine,
are in perpetual flux, unpredictable in time.
And though it is prudent to heed their signs,
what should best hold the reins are our will, soul, and mind.

Birth

We all come from blood, pain, gore, marrow, and void, 

All of which most humans prefer to avoid.

Perhaps because their first entrance was not soft or clean, 

But felt rushed, unwelcome, tossed, or demeaned.


The essence of newborn is soft and simple,

New body absorbing every tiny speck and wrinkle.

Each whisper, each light wave, each friction on skin

Vibrates the pure white slate of consciousness within.


And just like our own selves when we listen and stop, 

The gentle is pleasing, the rough sudden is not.

Laying down in dark silence with her, I learn to observe

How many mean sensations I've grown to tolerate.


Quick zippers, rushed footsteps, sudden clacks and bangs,

Common plastic rustling, loud voices and fans.

Even soft rustles of sheets and sheers

Can be jagged prickles to a newborn's tender ears.


Each flicker of candle, each unaccounted lumen

presses unto the eyes of this new sensitive human.

And just as our smell carries subtle detection,

She too feels fear, anger, joy, and other affections.


The vast of the world she's thrust into is overwhelming

And her first need, once she breathes, is observing

The myriads of new inputs flooding her brain

And training to deal with her sensorial pain.


For the suddenness of birth can be a trauma

From a dark, red, warm cave to a sudden flood of drama.

One's body is helpless, strange giants are all around,

And the world that was home is nowhere to be found.


So when a new human first comes out to the light,

We ought to imagine that we share her plight.

To pay the utmost attention, and like her become pristine,

So her entry is seen, soft, careful, and maximally clean.