A World Shaped by Fear
From childhood, an invisible matrix wraps around us.
An invisible web of beliefs, prohibitions, mental patterns, carefully woven around each individual.
What most people call Society or the System is, in truth, built on one single foundation: fear.
Fear of lack, fear of others, fear of the future, of making waves, of being rejected, of not being loved, fear of ourselves.
Fear everywhere.
This fear isn’t just a passing emotion: it has become structural.
Governments and powers ruling this world have built their empires on it.
Institutions, religions, media, education systems, governments: all of them, willingly or not, feed this fundamental fear.
Fear as fuel. Fear as a tool for obedience.
These structures we call “governments,” “institutions,” or “media” aren’t autonomous entities — they’re just the reflection of the consciousness, or unconsciousness, of the people inside them.
Most of these men and women are doing the best they can with the conditioning they themselves were born into.
They repeat patterns, often without even realizing it — an invisible inheritance passed on from generation to generation.
That’s why real change isn’t about fighting an impersonal system, but about returning to the individual.
To personal awakening.
Behind every structure is a collection of human stories. And every inner transformation opens the way for collective transformation.
Changing the world always begins with how we meet ourselves.
Endless consumption, overproduction, religious dogmas, political or social dictates — they all point to the same goal: keeping minds half-asleep.
It’s not some secret conspiracy in the shadows, but a well-oiled machine, centuries old.
It rests on three pillars: disinformation, distraction, division.
Many still believe leaders act for the common good.
That elected officials embody wisdom.
That the media faithfully tells the truth.
But it’s all just theater — not to lift humanity up, but to channel it.
Society as it runs today doesn’t value human beings in their sovereignty, but in their ability to produce and consume.
From school on, minds are trained not to think, but to obey.
To fit into molds.
To become “useful” in well-oiled gears.
Health has become an industry.
Wellbeing, a product.
Ignorance, a profitable business.
Even spirituality, in many cases, is exploited to feed markets.
Yep: I haven’t had health or accident insurance for 15 years.
And neither have my daughters.
And no, it’s not a paperwork mistake.
It’s a choice. A conscious one.
Why?
Because I trust myself.
I trust my body, its natural intelligence, its ability to heal if I listen, if I care, if I respect it.
And honestly… if I don’t act like an idiot, what could really happen?
I don’t drunkenly crash a scooter at 3am, I don’t do backflips into empty pools, I don’t swim in shark-infested seas with steaks tied to my legs…
So really… minimal risk.
Even riding barefoot, no helmet, in Thailand.
But I can already see some of you frowning, hands on your hips:
“Yeah but… what if you get sick?”
Ah, the famous “What if…” — the classic of an anxious mind.
Well, not here. The “what ifs” don’t get past my door.
They stay outside with their buddies “maybe” and “just in case.”
I tell them politely:
“Thanks, but today I choose trust.”
And guess what? Nothing bad ever happens to me.
Because I decide so.
I’ve long noticed: between imagination and reality, imagination always wins. We imagine way more disasters than reality ever delivers. Can’t help it…
So yes, it takes some courage, a pinch of craziness, and a lot of self-presence. But that’s what freeing yourself from fear means:
Believing it’s possible to live… without being afraid of living.
I’ve realized resisting the idea of an event is sometimes weaker than imagining the worst… and making peace with it.
It’s become a reflex: before any risky move, I ask myself, “What’s the worst?”
Dying? Okay.
Getting badly hurt? Hurts, but okay.
Losing something? Okay too.
By accepting all those outcomes, I strip fear of its power.
I know my trajectory is right, no matter what shape it takes.
The Illusion of Care: A Society Thriving on Sickness
A wellness system that claims to care for you, but would collapse if everyone actually regained full health…
That’s the contradiction.
What would happen if every person became truly autonomous in their health?
If natural remedies became the norm again?
If the body was listened to, cherished, supported?
Medicinal plants were banned for centuries, healers persecuted, ancestral knowledge erased.
History is full of women burned alive simply because they knew how to heal with plants.
The bonfires of the Inquisition weren’t aimed at the devil, but at free knowledge.
Even today, a healthy population would threaten entire sectors of the global economy.
Hospitals, clinics, labs, insurance companies, pharmacies: what would happen to them if bodies stopped suffering?
If food became nourishing again?
If emotions were welcomed and understood instead of buried?
The obsession with health hides what’s really an organized dependence on illness.
You’re told you need to see a doctor.
You’re told you need pills.
You’re told to believe in chemistry, even when it doesn’t heal anything (cancer, chemo), but just keeps symptoms alive.
Because behind the pills, there’s revenue.
Behind the “prevention campaigns,” there are geopolitical stakes.
Behind the soothing slogans, there are massive interests.
Anything that feeds profit gets amplified, exploited… until it’s abused.
Illness just becomes the visible symptom of a deeper cause: an ego twisted and deformed by greed.
The Mechanics of Submission
From the youngest age, the rules are set: sit still.
Obey.
Don’t disturb.
Respect authority figures.
Fear punishment.
Fit the mold.
Blend in.
But who designed this mold?
And why should we fit into it?
Schools aren’t temples of awakening — they’re adjustment centers.
You’re taught to perform, to compete, to be useful.
Autonomy, creativity, critical thinking — those get sidelined.
The frame is tight.
Step outside of it, and you’re labeled “a problem.”
Always in the back of the class, joking with friends.
It was either too easy, or too boring.
Or the teacher was just… bland, with no fire, no conviction, no inspiration.
My mom asked me to at least “get the average.”
So that became my goal. Nothing else motivated me.
The only things that lit me up: sports and hands-on projects.
German? Forget it.
Maths? Easy, but dull.
History? Just memorizing names and dates, blah…
I’d often nod off in the afternoons, fighting to keep my head up.
Looking back, I can honestly say school did nothing for me.
Every job I had, I learned on the spot. Later, I became self-taught in whatever fueled my passions.
In the end, you always end up learning what you’re passionate about.
The real challenge is exploring, discovering… and daring to follow those passions all the way.
Our father never forced us into studies we didn’t want at 18 — unlike most of my friends’ parents.
That pure, free gesture was like a call to find my own path.
He gave me time, experiences, memories that shaped me.
Always there to guide me, never to impose — he let me naturally discover a field that lit me up.
And once he saw my enthusiasm, he opened the doors for me to dive in headfirst.
Looking at some of my friends’ paths, I realize how lucky I am, at 24, to be in studies I love.
If I’d been shoved into business school “by default,” I’d have been mediocre, unmotivated. The years would have slid by, tasteless.
My level would’ve dropped, so would my self-esteem.
And little by little, I’d have silently slipped out of the field of possibility.
Religions promise salvation in the afterlife, but rarely encourage embracing divinity here and now.
They too impose dogmas, rules, fears: hell, damnation, exclusion.
Even the very notion of time is conditioned: you need a career, a house, kids, retirement.
And above all — don’t step off the track.
Any deviation is suspicious.
Any originality becomes a threat.
Deconstructing Beliefs
Freedom begins with a simple, revolutionary act:
Question.
Doubt.
Unlearn.
Deprogram.
COVID exposed a lot of mechanisms.
During that time, fear crept everywhere.
It was a revelation.
Some people folded. Others resisted.
The fundamental choice: follow fear, or embrace love.
I know the word can be scary, since religion hijacked and twisted it.
But here, I think it fits better.
Love feels too vague; faith means an inner commitment, a chosen direction, even when nothing is certain.
That crisis exposed the system’s contradictions.
The fragility and corruption of leaders.
The greed of industries.
The submission of institutions.
The negative reaction of the masses.
But it was also a wake-up call for some.
A tipping point.
The moment to step out of the script and say: “No.”
To refuse submission, refuse fear, refuse contradictions.
It also showed how vulnerable the system becomes as it goes digital.
When everything is online, the cracks multiply.
Illusions become easier to control.
I’m grateful for those two years I lived during COVID.
Yes, grateful.
Because for me, it was a real wake-up call.
A turning point.
A chance to see behind the curtain.
I saw how easily human values collapse under fear.
Fear of losing a job.
Fear of losing funding.
Fear of fading from the screen, being erased from society’s radar.
Fear, everywhere.
In every form.
And I saw how it dominates, bends, silences.
It was tough. Intense.
But also fascinating. Eye-opening.
A consciousness accelerator.
And to be clear: no, we’re not vaccinated. Neither me nor my daughters.
And it wasn’t just a health choice.
It was an inner stance. Coherence.
Staying true to what we deeply feel is right.
You judge fear, but maybe without always seeing its value.
Fear isn’t the enemy — it’s a guide.
It shows us our limits, our attachments, our shadows.
The real power isn’t about killing fear, but learning to work with it.
Listening to it, understanding what it’s trying to protect… and deciding if that still serves us.
Letting fear guide you can become an inner game, a dance with yourself.
A way to explore your depths without ever letting the outside world impose fears that aren’t yours.
Well… thinking about it…
Honestly, I don’t really have any.
The future? Fine.
Money? Fine.
My body, sickness? Not worried.
Old age? Doesn’t scare me.
But I do have one… and it’s about you.
The fear of losing you. Of something happening to you.
Sometimes it hits me hard.
Every time the thought crosses my mind, I breathe, I let go, and mostly… I trust.
In the Universe.
And I tell myself your mother, up there, is watching over you. That you’re not alone.
In that, I have complete trust.
And then… peace comes back.
Knowing what was really at play behind this so-called pandemic, the three of us chose not to get vaccinated.
At the time, that meant living with fake health passes…
When I talked about it with my friends, around 20–21 back then, most of them laughed at me: called me a conspiracy theorist, mocked my sources, said I was full of it…
With time, I met new people in different countries who had followed their intuition and made the same choices I did.
Those exchanges gave me comfort: I wasn’t alone in seeing things differently, even at my young age.
And today, some of those same friends, as they’ve grown, stepped back, discovered more about the truth of those vaccines — they’ve come back to me with a very different look.
More open. More curious.
Dialogue is possible again.
Prison of Mental Patterns
Every unprocessed emotion, every buried wound, every unspoken shock leaves a mark.
The brain files it away.
The unconscious encodes it.
And the ego, trying to protect, builds patterns.
These patterns become defense mechanisms, automatisms, filters.
They dictate reactions, behaviors, judgments.
They shape the image we hold of ourselves and of others.
Over time, these constructions become prisons.
What was built to protect ends up locking us in.
To break free, you have to go back to the source.
Reconnect with the original emotion.
Relive the scene, without running from it.
Welcome what was, without judgment.
And dissolve it.
The Addiction to “Doing”
Today, time has become a luxury.
We don’t take it anymore.
We have to do.
At all costs.
To the point of exhaustion.
Stretching the body, fueled by a restless mind that never lets us rest.
Modern life celebrates agitation.
Being productive.
Being busy.
Tick all the boxes.
Fill every line.
Answer every message.
Our relationship to time has disappeared — it doesn’t exist anymore because it’s constantly filled with tasks.
We can’t even sleep peacefully anymore.
Even with our head on the pillow, thoughts keep running. It never stops.
Silence scares us.
Emptiness makes us anxious.
Rest feels suspicious.
And yet, it’s in empty spaces that the Universe shows up.
It’s in the cracks of stillness that revelations are born.
It’s in inaction that intuition settles.
Go back to nothing.
Honor nothing.
Reclaim the useless.
Say: “Today, I’m doing nothing. I just am.”
And let Being sink into the body.
Synchronicities don’t show up in busyness, but in availability.
“And anyway, we don’t even notice them with a cluttered mind…”
It’s not stress that attracts magic, but relaxation.
It’s not effort that manifests, but presence.
The race against time is lost from the start.
When the inner noise, the agitation, the tight expectations fade, a new energy can rush in — fluid, alive, creative.
Then the heart becomes more open.
The unexpected finds a doorway.
And what we’d been waiting for, sometimes for years, finally shows up.
We’ve all lived that, right?
Those moments when we weren’t thinking about anything.
When we were off doing something else, relaxed, almost detached…
And suddenly — a phone call. A message. A synchronicity.
Something unexpected but perfectly right appears.
I’ve lived it so often that it’s no longer coincidence.
Very often, during the first days of vacation, when I’m relaxed, light, in joyful energy… I’d get calls from new clients.
As if my inner release opened an invisible channel.
It’s happened year after year.
For me, it’s living proof that when you let go of the urgency to want, you become truly “magnetic.”
Yes, it’s urgent — urgent to reclaim time… just to do nothing.
Imagine a whole day where you simply say:
“Today, I’m doing nothing.”
Nothing productive, nothing useful, nothing justifiable.
Just being there.
With yourself.
In your body.
Listening.
Savoring the moment.
Feeling what you are.
And letting the universe handle the rest.
And I’m not just talking about others: I wrestle with this too.
I fall so easily into the urge to not be present, especially when I don’t want to feel the weight of my existence.
In those moments, I disconnect through action or distraction.
But I also know it’s exactly in those empty spaces — when I resist filling them — that something truer can surface.
I remember you when I was little: working from morning to night, eyes still heavy with sleep, you’d open your laptop and start typing — no real pause, never really putting it away, even on weekends.
It took time, and some pretty heavy life trials, for you to see you could let go of that pressure.
Little by little, you learned to step back from the screen, to breathe again.
And I watched that change happen in you.
Changing How We See Ourselves
How do you look at yourself?
What kind of image does that inner mirror reflect?
Is it full of shame, awkwardness, false humility?
Or is it joy, curiosity, kindness?
If you had an appointment with yourself, sitting right in front of you—what would you see, what would shine through?
A lot of people hold back from shining, afraid of standing out from the group.
Staying average feels safer.
The shadows hide you.
The light exposes you…
Maybe because we were never really taught how.
Some have it naturally, but I think most of the time it’s something you grow into.
In a world where you can shape the image you project—control everything from looks to voice, from clothes to personality—it gets hard to tell what’s truly “you.”
And since most people are terrified of being judged, especially for who they really are, they smooth the edges, conform, just to avoid rejection.
But honestly, rejection can be the best proof of authenticity: it means you didn’t fake yourself just to be accepted.
But why be afraid of being exceptional?
Why believe that shining your light fully is arrogance?
Why so much shame in owning your power?
These blocks aren’t natural. They were drilled into us.
By schools, by society, by cultures that push modesty all the way to self-sabotage.
That twist confidence into arrogance.
That turn success into provocation.
We were never taught how to shine with all our fire.
But shining takes nothing away from anyone.
It’s not about crushing, it’s about lighting up.
We’re not who we think we are.
We are a thousand times more.
Sacred Polarity: Men and Women...
The feminine and the masculine aren’t social roles—they’re energies.
Sacred feminine is the ability to welcome, to feel, to nurture, to connect.
Sacred masculine is the power to act, to be clear, determined, committed.
Too often, women overplayed the Yin, and men the Yang.
But harmony only comes when both poles are integrated.
Women are being invited to reclaim their strength, their courage, their grit, their drive—
without giving up their sensitivity, gentleness, femininity.
Men are being called to dive into softness, tenderness, emotions—
to reconnect with their hearts, their bodies, their inner world.
Without giving up their strength.
That’s how sacred couples are born: two whole beings, not two halves trying to complete each other.
But it’s by meeting both poles inside ourselves that we can actually embody them in full acceptance, in the sacred.
A woman needs to meet her inner masculine to feel safe to Be—to feel seen, chosen—and from there let her feminine flow freely.
And a man needs to meet his inner feminine, to welcome his sensitivity, open his heart—and from there embody a strength that’s alive, connected, not cut off from himself.
For me, my strong arms are there to welcome my partner’s femininity—to protect her, serve her, give her emotional safety—because I know that’s what she needs.
And in that safety, I know she’ll let me—as I love to put it—swim in her inner lake… which in turn lets me open up more fully to my own feminine.
I like that little poetic image 🙂
I see a woman like a mermaid, showing up to guide the fisherman I sometimes am, lost at sea…
Sacred Solitude
Being alone is an act of courage in a world drowning in distractions.
And then the show begins: a whole ballet of heads bowed over glowing rectangles.
No eye contact, no words, no exchange.
Just fingers swiping and brains on autopilot.
Looks like a coffee-break for robots.
And as I watch this zombified scene, I think some people must be judging me back, like: “Who’s this weird guy just staring around without a screen in his hands? A sociopath? A creep?”
Nope. Just a regular human… unplugged.
Silence, boredom, stepping back—those things look suspicious now.
But they’re the gateways to finding yourself.
Nothing deep is ever born in noise.
Many run from solitude, scared of what it might reveal.
Scared of meeting their shadows.
Scared of having no screen left to hide behind.
But in chosen solitude lies a treasure: access to yourself.
A time when TV, still shaky and black-and-white, wasn’t eating attention like today.
It was bland, simple.
And that was a blessing.
Back then we had a rare treasure: time.
Time to drift.
To dream without interruption.
To just sink into pure daydreaming.
Time to lie in the grass, eyes on the sky, finding shapes in the clouds.
To play with bugs in the fields.
Yes, bugs—everywhere. Normal. Alive. Vibrant.
I remember road trips: you couldn’t drive a hundred kilometers without stopping to clean the windshield, splattered with insects.
The fields around us were full of wildflowers.
It was another world. A full world.
Then came pesticides. And silence.
That blessed time feels far away now.
I look at today’s generations with tender worry.
Many don’t know how to get lost in imagination anymore.
The phone became the ultimate reflex, the instant filler of every empty space.
Barely a minute of silence… and the hand’s already in the pocket, eyes locked on the screen.
We even walk the most beautiful beaches in the world staring at our phones…
Scrolling.
Watching what others create.
But not creating anything ourselves.
Worse, the phone became a social crutch.
How many women grab their phone right as they pass a café terrace, just to “look busy,” to have an attitude—because otherwise, “Oh my God, how will I look, doing nothing, just relaxed, at ease? But wait… I don’t even know how to do that anymore.”
It’s sad, yeah.
And no, we can’t go back in time.
But maybe—just maybe—we can slow down.
And relearn boredom.
Relearn dreaming.
Relearn living.
Speak to Heal. Words for the Wounds
Unspoken pain gets stuck in the body.
It hides in the cells.
Turns into aches, sickness, exhaustion.
To let it out, you’ve got to name it.
Give it space. Give it a voice.
“Come out, little pains—I see you now, I’m calling you out!”
Words free.
Words reveal.
Words transform.
Women, since forever, have had this natural access to words.
They talk, they share, they cry.
Men, often, keep it in. They lock down. They control.
Call it a gut, a beer belly, a muffin top, whatever.
And no, it’s not always just beer or midnight tacos.
Not at all.
It runs deeper: the belly is like a storage room for emotions.
A basement where fear, anger, anxiety get piled up… and nobody ever does the cleaning.
We say “tied up stomach” or “a knot in the gut”…
Well, keep piling that stuff up without letting it out, and the belly swells.
It’s not fat—it’s unspoken words, compacted down.
The guy’s not digesting life, he’s just storing it.
And instead of a six-pack, he’s carrying an emotional backpack… right in front.
Partly to prove I could handle myself, partly to make him proud—though he would’ve been anyway.
I hustled on my own, bouncing through all kinds of jobs: an old Aussie pub that smelled like decades of spilled beer, VIP suites high up in the football stadium, a tiny kebab shop by the beach, strawberry-picking on a farm where if you weren’t fast enough, you just got fired.
And then came the worst one: Subway—the fast-food sandwich chain.
The work wasn’t hard, I became efficient, even got responsibilities fast.
But inside, something started to hurt.
The way I saw myself changed.
After a year of dead-end jobs, nothing nourishing for my mind, I started doubting myself.
“Maybe I’m not good at anything. Maybe I’ll never get better. Maybe these jobs are all I’ll ever deserve.”
The big Australian dream—money flowing, freedom, adventure—turned into a cruel joke.
I fell into a deep sadness.
I wanted out.
I buried myself in books—five, six hours a day.
My body ended up speaking for me: I developed painful bunions on both feet.
Agony, every shift, standing eight hours in Converse shoes.
I switched to softer sneakers, but I knew it wasn’t physical.
It was all mental.
My body was screaming what my soul didn’t want to live.
I hated waking up to make those damn sandwiches.
But I had no choice—I needed four months of paychecks to buy my ticket out.
Now, two years later, I’ve healed.
It took time, lots of tears, and real acceptance.
But today I can wear those same shoes for an eight-hour shift… and I feel no pain.
Because I finally love what I do.
It was never my feet that needed healing—it was the energy I was projecting into my life.
Men or women—it doesn’t matter. We all need to find our voice again.
To put words on emotions.
To give sound to the unspeakable.
To bring up what’s been buried.
That process often stirs the body: aches, tightness, sweating, tears.
But that’s good news.
That’s the body releasing.
And once emptied… it can finally be filled.
With love.
With peace.
With light.
It’s fascinating to stop seeing the body as just a servant of the brain, or to hate it for its aches and wounds, when all it’s doing is sending signals, guiding us to real healing.
Since I started treating my body as an equal, letting it speak, I’ve learned so much about myself: how I handle emotions, how I store them, how I transform them.
I’ve also seen how they show up when I try to rationalize instead of feel, or explain instead of express.
The body holds immense wisdom—way too underestimated.
Freeing your voice.
That’s one of the most powerful acts there is.
Daring to wake up what’s been sleeping, rotting in the hidden corners of your being.
The parts buried deep, sealed under layers of silence and emotional concrete.
Over the years, just to protect ourselves, we’ve poured thick cement over certain parts of us.
Thinking it would save us.
But that shield became a prison.
You meet someone.
You talk.
On the surface, all’s fine.
“Everything’s perfect.”
And especially: don’t touch anything.
Don’t stir it up.
Don’t wake it up.
But sometimes it only takes one word, one question, one vibration…
And the mask cracks.
Eyes fill up.
Tears rise.
That’s where it hurts.
That’s where it’s still alive.
That’s where it’s ready to come out.
And that’s exactly where the real healing begins.
So let’s speak.
Speak about what hurts.
Dare to name it.
Give it a voice.
A shape. A breath.
Because the goal isn’t to look good.
It’s to be free.
To reclaim your full self from behind the walls.
And let it breathe again.
Some mornings I wake up sad, angry, irritated—for no clear reason.
And the emotions stick, grow stronger all day…
But sometimes, one simple thing is enough: speaking it out loud.
The moment I share what I’m feeling with someone close, it’s like the knot untangles.
The emotion leaves my body, like it’s released.
And suddenly, I feel lighter.
I don’t need advice or comfort from them.
Just the fact that they know what’s going on in my head is a relief.
I needed to get away from my comfort-turned-prison, break the invisible chains tying me to a boring, predictable future.
Old wounds from childhood were still open, never processed.
I owed it to myself to try to heal.
There, I discovered the power of expression.
I found myself telling strangers, just for a night, raw pieces of my life.
Sharing intimate truths. Finally letting go.
For the first time, I felt supported, seen, held.
Coming back home, my relationship with Dad, already tense, exploded.
I had no filter anymore.
The behaviors I used to tolerate, I started calling out.
He kicked me out more than once, and my anger kept growing.
When shouting didn’t work anymore, we wrote emails instead.
I poured out years of bottled-up rage, wounds, truths.
My sister did too.
And to my surprise, Dad joined in. Raw, unfiltered.
I thought those words had broken us forever.
That I’d lost my father for good.
But at least I had spoken my truth.
And that alone proved it had value.
After the storm, silence.
Months without seeing each other.
Then one day—a message. Then another. Then a meeting.
My sister, Dad and I.
No words, just a hug.
And we cried. Tears of joy.
Because once everything had been spoken, processed, forgiven—what was left was only the essential: the unconditional love we shared.
One of my most beautiful memories.
And when you two were teenagers, I was doing my best.
But I still had my demons chewing me up inside.
I wanted freedom, but I couldn’t find it.
With your mom gone, I carried the role as best I could.
But believe me: back then, I was not the man I am today.
Too much anger in me.
Too many desires too.
So yes, sometimes I pulled rank with my loud voice.
And you fell quiet.
Because that was my goal.
Manipulation, yeah, in a way.
The “slightly macho” dad, too alone, with his feminine side shrunk inside, not yet ready to come out—to you.
That’s where your throat tightness comes from.
And your sister’s too.
I didn’t listen the way I should have.
I didn’t let you speak as much as you needed.
I thought I knew it all, always wanted to be right.
God, if I could relive your teenage years now, I’d change so much!
I’m sorry, my girls…
The past is past—done and gone
Why keep chewing on a past you’ll never be able to change?
What’s done is done.
Carved in the stone of time.
We’ve all got baggage behind us—some shiny, some messy, some loud. Fine.
But honestly, replaying the same movie over and over is just a waste.
A mental torture on endless replay.
And for what?
To feel guilty?
To beat yourself up with “I should’ve,” “If only,” “I was so stupid”?
No. STOP.
You screwed up?
Perfect. Welcome to the club.
You messed up?
Sorry, but you just couldn’t do better back then—with the tools you had, your mindset, your fears, your life context.
It’s not failure, it’s experience.
It’s a lesson.
It’s an update to your inner software.
And that’s gold.
Like falling off your bike so you can learn balance.
You’re not failing—you’re learning.
So: let’s stop obsessing over the past.
The present is where everything happens.
And we move forward into the future, carrying the lesson, telling ourselves:
“Next time, I’ll do better.”
And that’s already huge.
What we do need to let go of are the emotions still tied to it.
But for me, I just don’t care about it anymore.
I’ve got only a few dozen photos on my phone—I don’t spend my time digging in them to remember my past.
It’s all in my head, in my emotions—and I feel lighter without carrying that past.
Probably because it was a bit rough (my childhood)…
Conclusion
Breaking yourself down isn’t collapse—it’s rebirth.
It isn’t chaos—it’s alchemy.
This path is demanding.
It asks for courage, patience, discipline.
But it leads to a bigger truth: the truth of being free, aware, sovereign.
There’s nothing to achieve.
Nothing to earn.
It’s just about finding again what was always there, buried under layers of forgetting.
The essence.
The Self.
The True.
Take your time.
Let these ideas, these words, settle inside you.
Don’t try to grasp it all at once, don’t force it all in one go.
Let them ripen, like fruit still green.
Let them ferment, like wine that reveals itself with time.
Give your mind the space to digest, to absorb, to process.
And above all… be gentle with yourself.
If what you read here resonates somewhere inside you—even faintly, even as a gut feeling—then let’s keep going together.
But remember:
A paradigm shift can’t be declared.
It has to be lived through.
And that takes time.
Like after an energy healing, the subtle bodies need time to adjust.
Water helps integration.
Rest does too.
Silence, most of all.
It’s the same with this book.
It’s not just about reading—it’s about letting it sink in.
So take your time.
Drink water.
Breathe.
And come back to these pages when your heart brings you back.
It takes time for your neural connections to loosen, to break free, to rewire.
Deep down, if you’ve read this more with your heart than your mind—don’t worry, the reconstruction process has already started.
Rome wasn’t built in a day—neither was your mental programming undone in a 30-minute read.
Once your subconscious, or your unconscious, or your higher self, absorbs this, doors to the unseen will start cracking open.
New synchronicities may show up in your life, signaling that you are shifting…
Keep going, please…
This is only the beginning.