Ink and Invitation

October 31, 2025

“We call things into being long before we realise what we have invited.”

Some people will say I’m strange for noticing this — but lately I’ve been unsettled by how many walk the streets carrying death and darkness on their skin.
Skulls grinning from shoulders.
Demons curled along arms.
Faces twisted in torment inked into chests and backs.

They remind me of some very bad acid trips I had in the early 1970s — when the veil tore too far, and I didn’t know how to close it again.

People say, “It’s just art.”
But I’ve lived long enough to know symbols aren’t neutral.
They call. They invite. They open doors.

I’m always reminded, when I see rebellious young Greeks covered in tattoos, that in ancient Greece these stigmata were not marks of identity or defiance.
They were punishments — burned or cut into criminals, slaves, and prisoners of war. A permanent sign of ownership — of being claimed.
Our ancestors believed that what was carved into the skin also carved its meaning into the soul.

For thousands of years, humans carried symbols for blessing — crosses, icons, beads, prayers folded into pockets, saints’ names whispered under breath.
We understood that what we placed close to the body had power.
We understood to be careful.

I carry a cross given to me by my mother when I was a child.
She told me it held a tiny splinter of the real cross Jesus was crucified on.
She warned me never to open the locket because the splinter was so fine my breath might blow it away.
So I never opened it.
And I wear it every day.

People ask if I was never curious.
But if it was real — and I breathed it away — what then?

Wearing a cross around the neck is not the same as inscribing a cross into the skin.

I’m not judging anyone.
I’ve walked my own shadowed paths.
I know what it is to open a door without realising what enters with it.
So when I say these images feel like invitations to something dark — I say it softly, from remembering, not from any desire to be right.

Some will disagree. Some will shake their heads.
That’s fine.

But I won’t place an image alongside these words.
I have no wish to give those symbols more room than they already take.
To show them would be to help them travel.

So I speak quietly here, without pictures:

There are forces we forget at our own cost.
And disbelief does not protect us from what we call forth.

No argument here — only a feeling I could not ignore.

That is all.

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Near Shore, Far Out

October 1, 2025

I keep reading about experienced sailors dying close to shore. Not in the middle of the Pacific, not after months at sea — but within sight of land. And each time, something stirs uneasily inside me.

Because I once sailed four thousand kilometres there and back to Nauru. And I had no experience. None. No yachtmaster’s ticket, no decades at the helm. Just a call, a cause, and an instinct that said: go.

I wasn’t alone, though — I joined experienced skippers and crew who knew the sea far better than I did. My leap was into their world, not a solo crossing.

At the time, it felt like courage, or maybe necessity. Looking back now, it feels different. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff without knowing if the parachute on my back would open. I tremble at the thought. I used Astrology for both my horoscope and the horoscope of the Flotillas of Hope to justify the decision to send the Call to Action to Nauru. To justify my, now in retrospect – my need, to stretch my ‘being’.

But here’s the truth: trembling in hindsight is not the same as folly at the time. What we see later is always coloured by what we know now. Back then, I lived as I always have — by leaps. Leaps into the unknown, trusting that my Guardian Angel working behind the scenes of life would catch me.

Others trained, charted, prepared. I leapt. And somehow, I survived. Not because I was wise, not because I was skilled, but because something — call it fate, protection, or really that Angel — carried me through.

Now, when I hear of sailors lost near shore, my heart aches. It reminds me that the sea has no favourites, and that my survival was never guaranteed. It humbles me. It makes me bow my head, not boast.

But it also tells me something else: my life has always been this way. Not straight, not cautious, but here, there and anywhere. Risk and recovery, fall and renewal. And even the trembling I feel now is part of the me that survived — the deepening that comes after the leap.

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Echoes from the Discount Nirvana Aisle

April 14, 2025

“Third eye’s open, but I’m still blind—must’ve bought the knockoff.”
—Whispers from the Algorithm

The Third Eye Is Pointed at the Sky When I Bend Over

This is soul-searching—but not the soft-focus, candlelit kind they sell you in Instagram ads.

It’s the kind of soul-searching that starts when you wake up at 3 a.m. in a cold sweat, realizing your entire personality might be a subscription service. When the thoughts hit so hard you can’t scroll them away.

It’s a tuning of the inner dial—not for good vibes, but to find whatever truth is still leaking through the static. Because let’s be clear: this isn’t about finding peace. It’s about noticing you’ve been sold a leash with a smile.

The revolution?

It’s wearing eyeliner now and dancing on TikTok for likes.

Your rebellion has been repackaged into a hoodie with a brand logo and a mission statement. Every radical thought you’ve had is now available in four easy payments, with free shipping and a 10% discount if you sell your friends out too.

We used to throw rocks at kings. Now we rate their content. Welcome to the age of the black magician. No wands. No robes. Just copywriters, influencers, and people who learned to spell authenticity in Helvetica. And here’s the kicker: they don’t just sell you soap anymore.

They sell you your own face, reflected in a polished screen, whispering:
“You’re almost enough. Just one more upgrade.” It’s not just advertising. It’s sorcery.

And the real spell?

Convincing you that the answers were never inside you—but conveniently waiting in someone’s cart. Let’s talk about the new high priests of this digital cathedral:

Influencers.

They used to be your neighbors.
Now they’re lifestyle oracles.

Curated messiahs with ring lights and discount codes.

Their job isn’t to be real—it’s to look real enough that you’ll follow them straight into the abyss of comparison and consumption. They call it “sharing.”

It’s selling.

They call it “vulnerability.”

It’s emotional clickbait.

And they don’t even know they’re doing it—because the spell caught them first.
They are the product and the packaging, wrapped in digital incense and filtered light.

Their third eye?

Trademarked. Verified. Brand-aligned.

But me?

I’ll take the third eye that ancient Greek playwright joked about—the one that points to the heavens when you bend over. Yeah, that one.

Crude, sure. But it had better aim than the polished, bullshit eye they’re selling me now. That third eye at least had the decency to laugh at the gods, not pretend to be one.

Because the new spirituality isn’t about waking up. It’s about signing up. Log in. Add to cart. Manifest your dream life with our 7-step program and don’t forget to leave a review.

And if you’re not ready to pay for it? Well, then you’re not “aligned” yet. Your resistance is your poverty speaking. They’ll shame you in pastel colors and smiling fonts. This is soul robbery in broad daylight.

And we’re clapping along to the rhythm because the beat’s got a good hook.

The psychic supermarket is open 24/7.

Insight™

Power™

Your Best Self™

All available now, pre-packaged and promise-wrapped.

But here’s the sick twist: no matter how much you buy, you’ll always feel behind. Because the product isn’t transformation—it’s lack. Permanent, bottomless, sponsored lack.

And if you ever wake up—if you ever really see it—someone’s there, waiting, ready to sell you the antidote to the thing they sold you in the first place.

“You’ve always been just one more product away from peace.”
—Echoes from the Discount Nirvana Aisle

Maybe that’s what I’m doing now.

Maybe this whole rant is a spell of its own—an exorcism, or maybe just me screaming into the neon-stained void, hoping someone still knows what it feels like to be human underneath all the branding.

There’s a war happening.

Not with tanks.

With images.

The battle isn’t good vs. evil—it’s what kind of image will sit on the throne of your psyche.

One builds an altar to ego, likes, and carefully measured virtue signals.

The other might actually save the goddamn planet.

Because what’s killing us isn’t evil—it’s performance.

The performance of care.
The performance of identity.
The performance of being real.

We’re drowning in simulations of sincerity, while the real thing starves in a basement somewhere, forgotten.

And so the question is this:

Are you buying a product?

Or selling a piece of your soul?

Are you seeing with your own eyes?

Or watching through the lens of a third eye™ brought to you by the latest mindfulness app?

Because the spell only works if you don’t know it’s being cast.

But once you see it—really see it—there’s no going back.

And maybe that’s what they’re really afraid of.

“Enlightenment now comes with a promo code.”
—Found scrawled in the margins of a mindfulness app

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When the World Gazes Back

November 5, 2024

The old man feathered the last moments of his career with stories, tales that drifted through the room like the whisper of wings. Each word held the weight of years, worn smooth with retelling but still gleaming. He could sense the dual reactions in his listeners—frustration and unexpected tenderness as if his presence coaxed them to teeter between exasperation and compassion. It amused him how people sought certainty and tried to pin down meaning like an insect under glass. Did they not know that meaning moved? That it was as alive and elusive as breath?

How far, he mused, does coincidence extend its net of significance? He had asked himself this a thousand times in the quiet hours before dawn. Could one take any number of random events—snatches of conversation, objects forgotten on a windowsill—and draw them into a pattern that whispered truth? He knew the answer now, in his final years: yes. But not in the way the young or the impatient might think. The act of seeking, the mind’s restless weaving, made meaning spring forth. It was the seeking that revealed the hidden architecture beneath.

As his voice filled the room, he considered the balance between what he called the ‘real’ world and the world of omens, the oracular glimpses he’d chased in private. To him, there was no hierarchy between them. Each world was as substantial, as fleeting, as the next. The mindless churning of existence, with its nerves and synapses, was only one half of the story. The oracular world, though—ah, that required a different lens, a careful marriage of heart and mind until something else appeared, a perception that belonged neither entirely to reason nor to intuition. It was a simple shift, not mystical or eerie. The world turned inside out, and suddenly, what was hidden became visible.

He remembered trying to explain this once to a friend. They had stared at him as if he had grown another head, their eyes blinking slowly as though trying to adjust to a sudden light. “It’s not about predicting the future,” he had said. “It’s about seeing the shape of things as they are, from seed to blossom to decay. Each moment is a whole, a micro aeon within the larger arc. The hexagram from yarrow stalks is just a fingerprint, a snapshot of that whole.”

He paused in his storytelling, looking into the expectant eyes across the table. Why did people seek meaning in things as simple as sticks or numbers? Why did 2 + 2 need to equal 4 for them to feel anchored? “Perhaps it is childish,” he thought. Yet, as he spoke again, he felt the familiar electric hum in the air, the moment when observation shifted. When the seeker stopped being the observer and became observed when the world turned inside out and gazed back with its own eyes.

That was when history became soft, dissolving into a bouquet of time’s petals. All the crimes, victories, and forgotten moments of humankind—each one a petal on a single, magnificent flower—the old man wondered if beneath each word, beneath each silence, there were universes folded up like secret notes, crystalline palaces shining their light inward, into the very marrow of him.

Expression, he thought, was a prison of sorts. Words carved meaning in stone, but the stone always fell short, chipped and weathered. Truth was a living thing, alive only when veiled in a lie beautiful enough to reflect its facets. The more exquisite the lie, the closer it came to capturing the truth’s pulse. Was that not why nature adorned herself with roses, daffodils, swaying palms—her final goal reached in beauty? He realized then, as he looked out at his listeners, that the truth lay not in what was said but in what shimmered in the silence, what was caught between the eye and the breath.

And the old man, with all his stories and musings, felt the joy of the garden before him—a place where the botanist’s microscope held no power, and each listener stood barefoot, waiting to sense the bloom.

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Transcending the Swarm Mind: A Journey to Freedom and Grace

August 16, 2024

Where there is freedom, there is grace. Where there is freedom, devils dance with angels. Yet, in the heart of the Swarm Mind, these forces are chained, bound to the Swarm World.

Freedom is not the result of seeking an end; it is the means to an unknown destination, a state imbued with grace. The Swarm’s concerns strip away the soul, leaving only husks of social beings. To be free is to be true to oneself, and to be true to oneself is to give of oneself—for in the act of giving, the bud of truth begins to bloom.

We must ascend to Heaven while keeping our feet firmly on Earth. Renewed energy—a gift from Above—should radiate through us into the Earth. This emanation is not ours but from Heaven itself. As men and women, we are merely the medium through which Heaven meets Earth.

Through freedom, we move both upwards and downwards, both inwards and outwards. Riding the Devil’s back, we touch the soles of God’s feet.

The Swarm Mind, a pivotal concept in this post, symbolizes the collective consciousness of society. It is often driven by conformity, fear, and greed, and stands in stark contrast to freedom. The Swarm Mind restricts individual thought and action, leading to a homogenized worldview.

How can I let life unfold when I crave control? The part of me that is a control freak, the “I” that seeks a result, is the Swarm Mind within me. Freedom lies in recognizing this Swarm Mind, though “seeing” might be the wrong word. It is always a feeling, a quality beyond words—a heart’s clarity.

The Bay: A Sanctuary Beyond the Swarm – The Bay is a metaphor for a state of mind that transcends the limitations of the Swarm World. It represents a place of solitude and introspection, where one can escape the noise of the collective consciousness and connect with a higher truth.

I stay by the water at the Bay to escape the crowd and find solitude. To reach it, one must be guided by an inner need—an undeniable, real need—not a mere whim. The Bay is where physics and direction blur, where up and down, in and out, are part of a continuum. Everything connects in a multidimensional Möbius Strip, defying the Cartesian Spread.

Goethe said, “In nature, we never see anything isolated, but everything in connection with something else which is before it, under it, beside it, and over it.” Yet, he missed the “inside”—the entry point to the World beyond the Swarm World. Inside everything, on the beach, far from the Swarm’s buzz, lies the path to the North. The compass is our conscience.

Transcending the Swarm: A Call to Personal Growth

The Swarm Mind, in its rawest form, incessantly buzzes within a Bell Jar, a metaphor for the limitations and constraints imposed by the Bell Curve—Consensus Reality, the 3D World, and the perspective of the Vegetative Eye. The journey to transcend this requires a relentless battle against the hypnotic motion and buzzing of our busyness, a struggle that engages us and fuels our motivation.

Our journey beyond the Swarm World requires substantial assistance—help free ourselves from the Swarm Mind’s buzz and go beyond fear and greed. Yet, we must also function effectively within the Swarm World, for our physical survival depends on it. This paradoxical position requires us to engage with the World while detaching from the noise that obstructs our vision of another world beyond the Bell Jar.

The Digital Revolution and the Dematerialization of Reality

As the World transitions from material to digital, the concept of physical location dissolves. Modern telecommunications have made global video conferencing a norm, and advances in holographic technology will soon allow life-size interactions in our living rooms, simultaneously placing us in multiple locations. This digital revolution, coupled with modern physics, has led to a dematerialization of our World, challenging our understanding of reality.

Yet, these advancements are accessible to only a fraction of humanity, highlighting the growing concentration of power. While the Swarm World’s telecommunications system connects every inch of the Earth, most still need to be more nourished and impoverished.

Seeking Balance and Clarity

At the Bay, the 3D World becomes porous, held together by dimensions beyond our usual perception. The Swarm Mind clings to the sweetness of its 3D existence, unable or unwilling to see beyond.

In this ever-changing reality, we must actively seek moments of clarity and higher consciousness—our metaphorical ‘Bay.’ This balance, found at the intersection of physical and digital existences, is not just beneficial but crucial for our survival and spiritual growth. It serves as a guiding light, reassuring us that we are on the right path.

Let us continue to ask: How can we maintain our individuality while benefiting from our interconnectedness? How do we balance our physical and digital existences? And ultimately, how do we use these insights to create a world transcending both the physical and digital realms?

We seek clarity, question our perceptions, and strive for freedom, transcending both the physical and digital worlds.

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Unlocking the Mysteries: Pavlos’s Surprising Transformation in His Grandfather’s Study

July 27, 2024

Pavlos sat alone in his grandfather’s study, a place steeped in memories and the faint scent of old books and leather. The room was his sanctuary, a haven where he found solace among familiar objects: the fruit bowl on the side table, the worn chair, and the portrait of his grandfather gazing down from the wall. The dim light filtered through the dusty curtains, casting an ethereal glow on the room. But today, something was different.

The call—he couldn’t think of a better name for it—began as a subtle warmth in his palms. It grew, radiating from the center of his hands to the base of his fingers, eventually reaching the tips. The warmth transformed into a quivering tingle, like millions of tiny feathers stroking under his skin. Startled, Pavlos looked around the room, his eyes landing on the picture of his grandfather. The warmth in his hands faded as he focused on the portrait, but when he redirected his attention back to his hands, the warmth returned.

Intrigued and a bit unnerved, Pavlos decided to experiment. Could he maintain the warmth in his hands while being aware of something outside himself? He chose the picture of his grandfather as his focal point. As he concentrated, a surge of energy raced up from the soles of his feet, halting abruptly near his navel. The energy solidified into a powerful sense of centeredness and balance, filling the emptiness within his chest with a newfound strength.

The sensation intensified, spreading through his body until he felt as though he were aflame from within. Strange symbols and geometric shapes, hieroglyphics, and formulas began to rise in his mind like smoke. His body blazed with a profound understanding that transcended mere thought. “This must be what religious sighs are about,” a voice said. Was it his own thought or something external? Pavlos could no longer distinguish between inner and outer reality. The posture of his body, the position of the furniture, and the entire ambience of the room reverberated through his nervous system, tingling with a new sense of expectation.

Pavlos’s heart raced, his mind spinning with questions. What was this sensation? Why was it happening now? The study had always been a place of comfort, but now it felt like a portal to another dimension, charged with an electric anticipation that made his skin prickle.

The sense of expectation coiled upwards from the base of his spine like a neon curl, sparking into his body’s nerve circuits a shock of recognition. Pavlos felt a connection to something greater, something ancient and wise. The room seemed to pulse with life, as if it held secrets waiting to be discovered. He could hear the faint ticking of the old clock on the mantle, each second amplifying the intensity of his experience.

He closed his eyes, allowing the sensations to guide him. His breath deepened, and he felt as if he were floating in a sea of energy. The warmth, the symbols, the voice—they all merged into a single, harmonious experience. When he finally opened his eyes, the room looked the same, yet everything had changed. He felt more alive, more attuned to his surroundings and to himself.

Pavlos realized that the call was an invitation to explore deeper aspects of his consciousness, to unlock potentials he had never known existed. A wave of emotions washed over him—curiosity, excitement, and a bit of fear. With a sense of purpose and curiosity, he embraced this new journey, eager to see where it would lead. The study, once a place of solace and memories, had become a gateway to a realm of profound discovery and self-awareness. As he stood up, the portrait of his grandfather seemed to smile down at him, as if approving of the path Pavlos was about to embark on.

The adventure had just begun.

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Life – Backgammon or Chess?

April 20, 2024

Which game truly mirrors our experience of life? While chess is a formidable contender, Backgammon emerges as the superior choice. Backgammon, with its inherent element of chance, resonates more closely with life itself. As the poet aptly put it, even the most meticulous plans can veer off course. A shrewd backgammon player, much like a strategist in life, anticipates all possible outcomes of the dice. Which move would secure the best position, regardless of how the dice may fall? In Backgammon, you’re not just pitted against your opponent, but also against the capricious nature of the dice, adding a layer of complexity and strategy that is truly engaging.

Some think Backgammon is just luck from one game to the next. But matches are many games long. With the doubling cube, the better player will win the match even after losing some single games. It is like Napoleon beating a general despite losing some battles.

Life, much like Backgammon, is a game of resilience. The dice may sometimes roll in your favour, but chance can just as easily disrupt your plans. It’s about adapting to your current position and the possibilities that lie ahead, even when the universe seems to conspire against you. It’s about making your moves, knowing that even if you lose today, there’s always another day to try again. It’s a lesson in perseverance that both Backgammon and life teach us.

When facing uncertainties in life, I often consult the I Ching. The ancient Book of Changes reveals insights through chance that crystallise into 64 hexagrams. I toss the coins, or if I feel more meditative, I shuffle the yarrow stalks. The resulting hexagram offers wisdom for my situation. I may gain a more appropriate strategy if I’m sensitive enough to such meaningful coincidences. The I Ching helps prepare me for how fortune’s dice may tumble. I follow its advice to better navigate life’s changing tides.

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Portal of Enigmatic Shapes

December 29, 2023

The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination being the soft glow of the street lights filtering through the half-closed blinds. A man sat at a cluttered desk, his fingers dancing with a pen over a blank page. At first, the shapes that came from his fingers were geometrical doodles, spirals that began anticlockwise but ended up snaking clockwise. Now a triangle that grew into a star. The shapes flowed from his pen as if the pen itself inscribed the signs. Still, the scribble continued, now over half the page from the center was filled with shapes and lines.

The stars on the page weren’t even noticeable, only the light blue of the sky ran down the page making a huge teardrop. As he picked up the page with the letterhead, he noticed that the stars had grown a little brighter. He held the piece of paper up to face the window, as he did light streamed through the stars as if they were holes. He touched the spot where a star was, and he knew that it wasn’t a hole. The star, in fact, seemed to radiate more heat. Leaving it on the desk, he picks up the phone and calls Tony. No answer.

He sat down and began to scribble on a piece of paper he found on the shelf. It’s not as if he had a message for anyone in particular. In fact, he didn’t even know how he came to be in this room. The scribbles continued, forming a maze of lines and shapes that seemed to have a life of their own. The room, now filled with a quiet tension, held the secrets of the man at the desk and the enigmatic symbols he was creating. Tony walked in, the door creaking slightly as it opened.

“What’s going on, Joe?” Tony asked, eyeing the chaotic patterns on the paper.

“I don’t know, Tony. It just started. The shapes, the symbols. They won’t stop,” Joe replied, his eyes fixed on the mesmerizing dance of ink on paper.

Tony took a moment to study the page, then looked around the room. “It’s like you’ve opened a portal to another world in here.”

“Yeah, a world of shapes and lines,” Joe mumbled, almost to himself.

The two men sat in silence, watching as the scribbles unfolded. Joe pulled the blinds open. The stars outside the window seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, casting an ethereal glow on the room. The air was charged with mystery, and the wall between reality and imagination blurred.

As the night deepened, Joe continued to sketch, and Tony remained, captivated by the unfolding spectacle. The shapes on the paper seemed to tell a story, a story that transcended the boundaries of ordinary existence. The room became a sanctuary of creativity, a realm where the ordinary transformed into the extraordinary.

And so, in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the enigmatic symbols and the soft hum of the city outside, Joe and Tony witnessed the birth of something beyond comprehension, that defied the constraints of the mundane.

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Horizons Expanded

November 30, 2023

In the past few days, my perspective has broadened, expanding my horizons in unexpected ways. It’s as if everything has aligned serendipitously, forming a delicate snowflake of coincidences.

My mind races, breaking free from the monotony that once plagued my existence. Mundane surroundings take on a new significance, their dullness transformed into the building blocks of something extraordinary. But just as suddenly, the light illuminating this newfound perspective flickers and vanishes.

Leaning back, I consciously straighten my posture, akin to a cobra poised to strike, attuned to its melody. The familiar form remains, but the essence within undergoes a subtle transformation. I feel a fleeting sense of displacement like a fish momentarily out of water. Above me, clouds drift lazily, their ever-changing shapes mirroring my shifting thoughts.

Seeking solace, I find myself lying on the grass, immersed in contemplation. It is here, in the vastness of nature, that I ponder the metaphorical vessel that sails into my mind. Like a ship arriving through a door, it carries with it new ideas, inspiration, and possibilities.

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To Those Who Know……

July 22, 2023

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