As the late French comedian Coluche used to say, “You can’t make people blind without breaking their eyes”. Personally, I prefer omelettes—shells and all! Because, in the long run,
spending your life watching every word you say, polishing every sentence, and
strategically placing every comma with the right emojis, so as not to unleash
a tsunami among fragile egos, is exhausting.
You know, the ‘self-centred’ individuals who feel ‘under attack’ by the
slightest nuance of analysis, which they interpret as a full-scale assault on
their little egos. You see, they’re obviously important enough in your
‘no-life’ for you to devote all your energy and attention to targeting
them—you, the ‘agents of the Matrix’, the ‘know-it-alls’ or ‘whatever’, to
keep it short.
The very same people who, incidentally, have absolutely no qualms about
hammering their ‘truths’ home with all the delicacy of a 40-tonne lorry. It’s
actually the big trend these days on social media:
selective victimisation. The rule is simple: “I’ve got the right to criticise and trample all over your convictions, but
you don’t.” The reasoning is straight out of the school playground. What about
reciprocity? Never heard of it.
What a circus! And then there's the ringmaster. He runs the arena, makes the
announcements, preaches kindness and listening, but as soon as a performance
goes beyond compulsive ‘liking’, he wastes no time unleashing his beasts—his
armies of closed minds.
French singer Jacques Dutronc had it right: “Life is full of cacti. I pride myself on knowing it. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”
I hope you enjoy this deceptively light-hearted little song with its tangy
bite and the accompanying music video. I put my heart and soul into it without
any help from AI (apart from the music, of course).
Les Armées Psychorigides
Spending your life walking on eggshells Tiptoeing on self-righteous
egos Fragile Fragile
Beating about the bush Tying yourself up in knots Agile Agile
Out there on the web of social media On my feed, I come crashing down To
the muffled echoes of the void Of the armies of closed minds
Out there on the web of social media Viral posts scroll by, The
unwavering mantras Of the armies of closed minds
And on my tightrope Suspended above these bubbles Fragile Fragile
Always playing the acrobat Between humans and bots Hostile Hostile
Out there on the web of social media On my feed, I endure the
onslaught, The insidious ravings Of the armies of closed minds
Out there on the web of social media I watch the dance of egos From
free-thinkers to guides Of the armies of closed minds
Out there on the web of social media On my feed, I come crashing down To
the muffled echoes of the void Of the armies of closed minds
Out there on the web of social media Viral posts scroll by, The
unwavering mantras Of the armies of closed minds
As mentioned in my previous review, this new two-part series by Leigh Bardugo, also set in the Grishaverse, more than fulfils all the promises that the Grisha trilogy failed to fully deliver. Somewhat more than that, even. I absolutely love it!
The Six of Crows duology—whose title both refers to card games and the Crow Club, the gambling house run by Kaz Brekker—takes place two years after the events of the Grisha trilogy (unlike the Netflix TV series, which set them at the same time, whilst deviating significantly from the original storyline) and focuses primarily on Ketterdam, the capital of Kerch, an island nation inspired by the 19th-century Dutch Republic and, to a lesser extent, by New York (New Amsterdam), Las Vegas and Victorian London.
Leigh Bardugo, 2015 - Macmillan - 1059 pages
Welcome to the Crooked Kingdom
The underworld of Ketterdam is ruled by rival gangs. Kaz Brekker, the youngest and most ambitious player in the local mob, who combines intelligence, secrecy, charisma and danger, is best known for being a master thief. Willing to do anything for money, he is tasked by wealthy merchant Van Eck with rescuing a Shu scientist from the Ice Court, an unbreachable stronghold in Fjerda. The prisoner is the inventor of jurda parem, an extremely addictive and deadly drug that greatly enhances the abilities of Grishas. Should it fall into the wrong hands, it could have devastating consequences.
For this heist of a lifetime, in great Ocean’s Eleven style meets Game of Thrones (according to the author), Kaz aka Dirtyhands—quite an ironic nickname for someone who never takes his gloves off—starts recruiting his dream team: a spy who defies the laws of gravity, a runaway with a privileged past, a sharpshooter who can't walk away from a wager, a convict with a thirst for revenge, and a powerful Grisha.
The storytelling is structured around the different points of view of the Crows—a motley crew of battered teens who, at first glance, may have nothing in common, but are driven by a shared desire: taking revenge on life.
Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too.
Not only does such a narrative choice provide the essential psychological depth to understanding the characters and their interactions by allowing us to get inside their heads, it also enables the author to withhold certain details in order to preserve the element of surprise surrounding her many plot twists.
And despite these glimpses into their past and wounds, the story never loses momentum and maintains a brisk pace. For in Ketterdam, anything can be traded. Not just blows. People too.
When Everything and Everyone Has a Price
Ketterdam is, quite literally, a city built on trade, but one in which commercial logic ultimately comes to encompass even human beings.
Kerch had been built on trade, but how much of that trade had been the human kind?
Young Grishas, snatched from their families in their homeland by Kerch slave traders, are sold into brothels in Ketterdam; while others, fleeing the civil war in Ravka, get exploited in different ways, under the guise of contracts and unrepayable debts. And the more one pays, the more they believe they own the other person.
The Menagerie was one of the most expensive pleasure houses in the Barrel, but its customers were no kinder than those who frequented the dollar houses and alley girls. In some ways, Inej came to understand, they were worse. When a man spends that much coin, said the Kaelish girl, Caera, he thinks he’s earned the right to do whatever he wants.
A child unfit to take over the business empire? No problem: you get rid of them as if they were a faulty appliance and father a new one to replace them.
Sickening political correctness and corruption go hand in hand. Wealth breeds impunity. The Merchant Council governs in the name of prosperity, with the blessing of the gods. Any resemblance to our present-day society may not be entirely fortuitous.
A minister of Ghezen might stand at that altar and rail against slavery, but how much of this city had been built on taxes from the pleasure houses? How many members of his congregation employed boys and girls who could barely speak Kerch, who scrubbed floors and folded laundry for pennies as they worked to pay off a debt that never seemed to grow smaller?
In te, Domine
The gods in this series are not mere symbols. In the Grishaverse, every society has its own beliefs, and these can be used to justify behaviour that ultimately has little—if anything—sacred about it.
Thus, whilst in the Grisha trilogy Leigh Bardugo explored how faith could transform people into saints or monsters, in Six of Crows she pushes this much further by showing how beliefs can serve as a moral veneer for a deeply corrupt system.
Sacred is Ghezen and in commerce we see His hand.
Not only in Kerch, but also in Fjerda, where faith is used to breed and legitimise hatred.
What stands before you is the next generation of drüskelle, the holy order charged with protecting the sovereign nation of Fjerda by eradicating your kind.
In te, Domine. Who truly dominates? Djel through the Drüskelle, or the Drüskelle in the name of Djel to justify their savagery?
For hatred is a poison. A fiery blaze that consumes from within and requires constant nurturing, like an insatiable demon, forever demanding more offerings to keep it under control.
An illusory sense of control that traps you in a spiral of violence and pain until the vessel implodes. Hell is an inner prison that we hold within.
The Prisons We Hold Within
What wounds had his commanders exploited to put that look in his eyes?
Of all the things that hold us captive, hatred is rarely innate. It often stems from a wound that is exploited to fuel this dependence.
So as mentioned in my review of the Grisha Saga, behind the hatred for Grishas is envy, a sense of being deprived of something, and the need to destroy what one cannot possess: “What did it mean to aspire to serve Djel, only to see his power in the gifts of another, to know you could never possess those gifts yourself?”
And, of course, drugs as a literal poison—jurda parem, which alters perceptions and disrupts the body’s chemistry, ultimately destroying it.: “Once the drug has run its course, it leaves the Grisha’s body weakened and the craving is intense. It’s quite debilitating.”
But addiction does not arise solely from a poison, whether real or metaphorical, that enslaves the individual. One can also get hooked on something that momentarily gives them the impression of regaining control.
Thus, the characters spend their time trying to break free from something, whilst stuck in their own wounds, obsessions or needs, which they seek to numb or channel: violence for the gangs, gambling for Jesper, or revenge for Kaz. “Brekker, his Wraith queen, his rotten little court of thugs. A fearless breed, hard-eyed and feral, hungrier for vengeance than for gold.”
And, of course, the most powerful of them all: fear—particularly the fear of death.
Zoya used to say that fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.
No Mourners, No Funerals
The Crows' motto is a cynical reminder of their invisibility in the eyes of society. Outcasts who struggle to survive, against all odds, in the lawless grey areas of the underworld, and who, upon their death, are piled up like dregs onto a funeral barge.
We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.
“Stop treating your pain like it’s something you imagined”, Inej tells Jesper. “If you see the wound is real, then you can heal it.”
It is only by taking a clear look at the Real that we can free ourselves from the illusion.
Wounds and scars are not exclusive to the nobodies. Kings bear them too, as King of Scars—the title of the next instalment in the Grishaverse which I’ve only just started reading—already suggests.
New Age spirituality teaches us that we choose. That there's no such thing as
fate. That we are responsible for everything that happens to us. It calls this
‘empowerment’. A promise to reclaim our sovereignty, under which we are led to
believe that, since we are the cause of our own ‘misfortunes’, we also have
the power to ‘turn things around’.
In theory, it’s brilliant. But in practice, there’s a snag. A serious pitfall.
Indeed, assuming that we are living within a vast simulation—a structured
matrix rather than a cosmic accident—the idea that we are the architects of
our own programming is a futile illusion. A dead end that can only wear us
down in an endless loop. We are not the action; we are the reaction.
And whilst we struggle with guilt and discouragement, whilst we waste
considerable energy trying to ‘fix’ things, accepting our fate as ‘karma to be
paid off’—we are merely powering the dynamos of the system, like hamsters in
cages with invisible bars. In believing that we are working towards our
liberation, we are simply providing the emotional fuel—the famous
loosh—that keeps the simulation running.
On the one hand, some look for esoteric drama behind the slightest pain, in
order to peddle decoding and guilt. On the other hand, in reaction to this,
others prefer to reject all dogma, shifting to a cold, mechanical view in
which the body is nothing more than a vehicle needing an MOT, thereby denying
what science itself recognises about the links between mind, body and stress.
Moving from blind faith to the cynicism of a dehumanised engineer is by no
means a form of empowerment. Quite the contrary: it is simply swapping one
mask for another. Once again, extremes are nothing more than poles activated
to power the circuit. The Real lies elsewhere.
So what should we do?
Wrong question! Don’t wait for external solutions. Become aware and start
thinking for yourself. I know this is a worn-out cliché, but nothing is black
and white. So don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater on the pretext that
everything is corrupt.
Offering a turnkey method for flattering a spiritual ego or posing as a
spiritual guide would be a complete sham. In fact, I have no solutions to
offer you—only an observation. Providing you with set answers would mean
substituting myself for you and thereby fuelling the system. In the long run,
this could only be detrimental to both you and me.
Ultimately, trust yourself and let your own judgement sort things out.
This sorting doesn't involve your mind (which is itself a programme designed
to doubt and analyse), but your spirit. No need for meditation or lengthy
introspection. Mere fractions of a second of raw clarity that hit you like a
lightning strike and cut through the scene before the mind even has time to
step in and start decoding.
Dare to break out of your echo chambers to hear the silence of the Real.
In these troubled and uncertain times, most people are overwhelmed by
confusion and anxiety and no longer know who to turn to. This is a godsend for
self-proclaimed gurus of all kinds. Remember, there’s no shame in being
fooled. The key is to accept the times when we lose our way, and move on.
Move on, okay—but where to?
Moving from devoting ourselves to a spiritual figure or guru to relying on AI
to do the thinking for us, or rejecting New Age to embrace a new,
pseudo-scientific dogma, is by no means breaking free from control, but merely
changing the narrative or the master.
The question we need to ask ourselves is: have we really developed our own
discernment? Or have we simply swapped one crutch for another?
Also, when a dogma or an external tool begins to think for us, it always comes
with its own defence mechanism, labelling any criticism as ‘cognitive
dissonance’, ‘Matrix attack’, ‘egoic reaction’—or even 'animic'reaction'. And
ultimately, the individual refrains from examining the consistency of the
facts for fear of being ‘invalidated’.
But recognising a factual trap is neither a sign of victimhood nor of
cognitive dissonance: it is simply a matter of using common sense.
True autonomy does not lie in adopting complex jargon in order to create the
illusion of knowing, nor in redefining dictionary terms to suit one’s purpose.
It begins on the day when we no longer need any filter or third party—be it an
entity, an AI or a proprietary concept—to validate what we observe for
ourselves.
After suffering from a severe bout of literary indigestion caused by cheap, disposable domestic thrillers, immersing myself in Leigh Bardugo’s Grishaverse was truly delightful. This rich world, which I discovered through the Netflix series Shadow and Bone, comprises a trilogy and two duologies, along with a handful of short-story collections and a graphic novel. A fictional world largely inspired by early 1800s Europe—particularly Tsarist Russia as the model for Ravka, where most of the Grisha trilogy takes place.
Grisha are considered sorcerers, although they themselves refer to their gifts—which they call Small Science—as extensions of the natural world, since they cannot create anything, but only use and alter what already exists. Both feared and revered, they serve the war-ravaged kingdom, fighting in the Second Army under the command of the Darkling, a Shadow Summoner. Ravka is cursed. It is split in half from north to south by the Shadow Fold (or Unsea), a swath of malevolent darkness populated by monstrous creatures known as volcra, which feast on human flesh.
While crossing the Unsea with her First Army regiment to resupply the eastern part of the country—which has been cut off from its shipping ports—Alina, a young orphan and cartographer, discovers her power as a Sun Summoner while trying to save the life of her childhood friend, Mal. A discovery that will change her fate—and that of the entire nation—forever. For what do we do when faced with something we don’t understand? We either fear it, fight it… or turn it into an object of worship. And in the Grishaverse, these three different responses can sometimes overlap.
Leigh Bardugo, 2012 - Macmillan - 1248 pages
Otkazat'sya and Grisha
Alina goes from being an ordinary citizen to becoming a Grisha and discovers what goes on inside the Little Palace, where members of the Second Army—regarded as an elite force by the Ravkan masses—are trained and prepared.
One thing did stand out to me: the word the philosophers used to describe people born without Grisha gifts, otkazat’sya, “the abandoned.” It was another word for orphan.
Certainly, the term Otkazat’sya, used by Grisha to refer to the ‘ungifted’, speaks volumes about how this minority views the majority. But this distinction works both ways, thereby creating a grey area that allows for a better understanding of the motivations and stakes of both opposing forces. For while Grisha consider themselves a class apart, their difference also becomes, in the eyes of others, a source of mistrust and fear, even as defects to be eradicated: “When they were in their cups, some of the nobles made it clear they think all of the Grisha should be rounded up and executed.”
Except for Ravka (and for a very specific reason that I cannot reveal without spoiling the plot), reactions range from rejection to persecution, including exploitation, slavery, and human experimentation, but the underlying mechanism remains the same: the other becomes a thing simply because they are different—a difference that inspires both fear and envy.
Most rogue Grisha ended up in Novyi Zem. Aside from Ravka, it was the only place where they didn’t have to fear being experimented on by Shu doctors or burned by Fjerdan witchhunters. Even so, they had to be cautious about displaying their power. Grisha were valued slaves, and less scrupulous Kerch traders were known to round them up and sell them in secret auctions.
The Fjerdan Drüskelle take this logic to the point of absurdity by justifying their barbarism in the name of faith, even though their behavior contradicts the moral principles they claim to defend: “There are witchhunters who don’t eat animals, won’t wear leather shoes or kill a spider in their homes, but they’ll burn Grisha alive on the pyre.”
The Lives of Saints
But faith isn't just about targeting enemies. It can also produce saints. And when Alina herself becomes the object of a cult, the line between belief, devotion, and manipulation becomes much harder to define.
Peasants love their Saints. They hunger for the miraculous. And yet they do not love the Grisha.
Once again, the polarising clichés of good vs. evil and light vs. dark are brought to the fore. Alina becomes the chosen one, the object of a collective projection of hope, fear, faith, and a longing for miracles: “There is a fine line between fear and veneration.”
Ultimately, deifying a person is not so different from demonising them. In both cases, the human being disappears behind the symbol. This is illustrated by the account of the martyrdom of Sankt Ilya, who was drowned in the river by the villagers for bringing one of their own children back to life after a tragic accident while ploughing: “Maybe it was not just horror or righteousness that drove them, but anger as well.”
Likewise, this so-called devotion to Sankta Alina is also beginning to take on predatory overtones: “The bodies pressed tighter, pushing and shoving, shouting at each other, each wanting to get nearer. My feet lost contact with the ground. I cried out as a chunk of my hair was ripped from my scalp. They were going to tear me apart.”
Faith does not merely produce saints. It can also become a powerful means of mobilising crowds, for good or for ill, ultimately transforming sacrifice into a virtue and death into a reward. As the Apparat points out: “They will make war without fear and die rejoicing. There is no greater power than faith, and there will be no greater army than one driven by it.”
The Black Heretic
What is infinite? The universe and the greed of men.
The lust for power does not stem solely from those who lack it. Those who hold it may, too, come to crave more, as illustrated by the Darkling’s journey—a man whom injustice transformed into a blind avenger, to the point of committing acts from which there is no going back. At the outset, however, his intention was both honourable and legitimate: he wanted to protect the Grisha, who had long been persecuted and forced to live in fear: “We would be Ravkans, not just Grisha. That dream was the seed of the Second Army.”
But in his determination to protect his own, the line between defence and domination eventually became blurred. And when power over matter was no longer enough, the temptation was to draw upon what is forbidden: Merzost.
In Ravkan, the word for magic and abomination was the same. Basic Grisha theory stated that matter couldn’t just be created from nothing. But that was a tenet of the Small Science. Merzost was different, a corruption of the making at the heart of the world.
However, it would be too convenient to reduce the Darkling to the embodiment of darkness in direct contrast to the Sun Summoner. His journey is also that of a man shaped by persecution, fear and anger, who ultimately ends up replicating some of the very violence he sought to combat. And here, we can clearly see the extent to which fiction mirrors the reality of the Matrix. Suffering may explain actions, but it does not justify them.
Shadow and Bone
Behind its apparent contrast between light and darkness, the Grisha trilogy ultimately questions our relationship with power, difference and faith. It is, however, a pity that the romantasyelements and the heroine’s endless dithering all too often prevail over the rest of the plot, at the expense of its narrative flow.
The Darkling would also have benefited from deeper characterisation and a greater presence in the story. But my judgement is probably biased by Ben Barnes’s excellent performance in the TV adaptation, which, for once, does the story justice, even if it doesn’t always strictly follow it to the letter.
I also think that combining the Grisha trilogy with the Six of Crows duology was a brilliant idea, even though Netflix ultimately decided to cancel the series after two seasons. Fortunately, Six of Crows—which I’m currently reading—fulfils all the promises that the Grisha trilogy failed to fully deliver.
In order to cope with its hosting costs, the Crowdbunker platform decided, without prior notice, to clean up its servers and remove videos that aren't financially supported. From an economic perspective, this decision is logical. However, it's difficult to deal with when you create content for free and then have to pay to host it.
Given that this isn't possible for me, I find myself with my back against the wall. So I simply pointed out that volunteer work already takes up a considerable amount of time, and that this situation raised a real question about the sustainability of what we share.
And then, surprise! Instead of a constructive exchange, here’s the completely off-the-wall response I received:
“Well, your personal life is going to be swept under the rug then! If you even have one, that is! Everyone decides how to manage their own time as they see fit. You could also sell all your belongings, your home if you have one, go begging, and flagellate yourself… At some point, I think it’s good to find a balance for yourself… Have a nice day.”
Just look at the reaction—which doesn't even try to be funny—consisting of twisting the other person's words, attacking them over their private life, and politely explaining that they have “an issue with balance” or “no life.” Always the same old story of that damned pot calling the kettle black.
From Audiard’s “jerks who’ll stop at nothing” to Dirty Harry’s “opinions are like assholes” (sorry for the vulgarity, I’m just quoting)—I’d rather picture myself as Obelix when he sees Roman soldiers. After all, if you hand me a whip to flagellate myself…
Don't worry, I remained polite and called him out on his hypocrisy by wishing him a good day as well (which I hope matched his level of crassness).
A classic case of apparent kindness that, in reality, masks deep toxicity and a form of unhealthy self-absorption.
This kind of cruel cynicism reflects a desperate need to believe that life is “fair” and that if somebody struggles, it must be their own fault. It’s a way of reassuring themselves about their own lot by belittling others.
People like this often claim to be system-resistant, spiritual, or awake. Yet, beyond forms and feelings, their cold judgment and total lack of empathy carry the same vibrational signature as the very predation they pretend to be fighting.
And of course, pointing this out to them will inevitably brand you as someone who’s oversensitive and imagining things. Unbeatable! There’s even a term for this particular kind of manipulation: “gaslighting.”
True balance (since he brought it up) doesn't mean imposing your definition of success on others. It begins with respecting each person’s path, with no judgment and no false compassion.
Sharp words may indeed reopen old wounds, but they do not cut through the fog of ignorance.
The light of your spirit, however, needs no eclipse to shine.
During this brief summer break, I'd like to share a yummy, healthy, low-calorie recipe you can make at home without an ice cream maker. Trust me, it’s absolutely delicious!
Ingredients
Makes 8-10 servings:
Ice cream
- 150 g cashews - 90 ml coconut cream (21% fat content) - 20 g coconut oil - 1½ tbsp peanut butter - 1½ tbsp agave syrup
Coating
- 125 g dark chocolate - 1-2 tbsp coconut oil
Instructions
Soak cashews overnight or for at least an hour in boiling water, then drain well.
Transfer to a mixing bowl or blender jug with the other ingredients and blend for several minutes until you have a smooth, creamy consistency that is not runny.
Pour into silicone moulds and leave to set in the freezer for a couple of hours.
Melt chocolate in a double boiler. Add oil to make it smooth and runny.
Unmould ice cream lollies and dip thoroughly in chocolate coating. Use a fork to drain and place on a sheet of baking paper.
Wait a few minutes for the chocolate to set completely, then put them right back in the freezer.
It’s best to take them out at least 15 minutes before serving.
NOTE: Feel free to adapt the recipe by trying other flavours. Personally, I’ve tried praline (using hazelnut purée) and coffee (using strong coffee), but definitely have a preference for the toffee-like flavour of peanut butter.
As for moulds, I’ve also tested different shapes and sizes, and it turns out that the cereal bar ones are the most convenient for me, since I don’t have any proper popsicle moulds with wooden sticks.
Thirteen valleys lying silent in the haze, Filled with promises And spirits that we raised. But the spirits all are ghosts Of the ones we hurt the most And they wander thirteen valleys crying out.
Considered ill-fated by some and magical by others, the number 13 undeniably carries strong occult symbolism.
For alchemists, it can turn lead (Saturn) into gold (Sun), matter into light.
Kabbalists associate it with the Hebrew letter Mem, the Great Mother or Mater—matter.
As for taromancers, it corresponds to the Card with No Name (related to Scorpio, believed to cover part of the thirteenth hidden sign of the zodiac). In modern versions of the Tarot of Marseilles, it is the Death card, which stands for nothing more than a change of state, a transformation—and, for occultists, purification.
To put it more simply, today (Transfiguration Day) marks the thirteenth anniversary of this blog. Having completed a twelve-year cycle of observing the mechanisms of illusion, reaching the thirteenth year is by no means a coincidence. It is the exact moment when you finally break the cycle, transforming leaden beliefs into golden silence—the voice of your spirit.
But thirteen is also the number of muscles it takes to smile—as opposed to forty-seven needed to frown.
Perhaps that is where the real treasure lies: observing the theatre of this world with the light-heartedness of those who are no longer falling for it.
Modern technology has reached a point where anything can easily be falsified. Indeed, even experts sometimes find it hard to discern what is real from what has been generated by artificial intelligence.
In everyday life, apart from social media—where fewer people are truly who they claim to be—you can all too easily be deceived. Not only by gurus or scammers, but also by manipulators, narcissists, or false friends.
However, there is a sure way to know who you’re really dealing with: the vibrational signature. It is recognised not by what you see, hear or feel, but solely by its vibration.
New Age circles are full of talk about raising frequencies, high vibrations, vibratory rates and vibrational signatures, often mixing up these terms as if they were all pretty much the same thing. So let’s set the record straight: your signature is not a frequency.
Vibration is the oscillatory motion of an object around a fixed point. Think of a guitar string being plucked: the motion of the string produces a vibration.
Frequency is the rhythm, pace, or beat of this vibration—the number of cycles of this periodic phenomenon per unit of time. For example, 440 Hz corresponds to 440 oscillations per second. This is the frequency of the note A. If the string vibrates slowly, you get a low-pitched note. If it vibrates quickly, the note will be high-pitched. The same applies to colours, where high frequencies produce cool colours and low frequencies produce warm colours.
Finally, a wave is the carrier through which vibrations and frequencies are propagated through a given environment.
As for amplitude—often wrongly referred to as the ‘vibratory rate’—this is the intensity of the resonance. The harder you pluck the string, the greater the difference between the maximum and mean positions on the vertical scale will be, producing a powerful sound. However, the number of cycles per second will remain unchanged, as the string will always vibrate at the same speed (or frequency).
And what about the vibrational signature?
It is the unique structure or pattern that defines an individual or an entity. A unique energy imprint.
This signature remains relatively stable. However, the frequencies it resonates with may vary depending on the individual’s condition, their emotions, environment or the influences they are exposed to.
Entities may mimic form, voice or behaviour, but they cannot conceal or falsify their vibrational signature. It is their hallmark, a subtle imprint that remains unaltered and recognisable to those able to read it.
That is why it is essential to train yourself to perceive the energy beyond all appearances and forms. For discernment, do not rely on your senses or first impressions.
Reading vibrational signatures is something you learn through practice. The secret to achieving pure perception relies on three basic principles:
1. Neutral observation
Do not get attached to or fixate on either form or discourse. Instead, focus on the density and consistency of the whole.
2. Stable presence
When you maintain a calm, non-judgmental focus, you create a natural alignment—an inner coherence that acts as a revealer. As soon as the form or discourse sounds false, this coherence is immediately lost.
3. No backstory
Don’t believe anything, ignore the stage setting, look at the structure. Just as software recognises a file’s signature regardless of its name, your presence recognises the quality of a consciousness even before your mind processes the words.
In order to develop your ability to read vibrational signatures, you must remain centred. In silence and with full awareness. That's when your spirit fills the whole space for a microsecond, before the emotions and beliefs injected by the simulation have even had a chance to create an impression. The so-called flash of insight.
This flash of insight might, for instance, make you notice a fleeting shadow in someone's eyes, a brief dissonance in their laughter, or a glitch in the tone of their voice…
Masks shift—signatures stay.
⚠️ Important note:
This video is back online after having been removed, a couple of months ago. I have suppressed all borrowed material, despite it having been properly credited and shared with the author's permission. I've also added some important clarifications about the fundamental distinction between frequency, vibration and vibratory rate—terms whose confusion is often deliberately maintained by those who benefit from it.
I encourage you to start following me on Crowdbunker (or Odysee) from now on, as from September 1st, I will no longer publish on platforms that require age verification.
Lately, I’ve been seeing a lot of social media posts from spiritual or supraconscious people expressing their 'I-don't-give-a-crap' about the matrix, its scripts, their persona, their emotional ties… whilst promoting emotional neutrality.
And these posts are generally wildly embraced by commenters eager to say that they, too, couldn’t care less.
Fair enough, they have every right to think so, and that's alright, I'd be tempted to say.
Except that hardly anyone seems to notice the huge paradox here: if you are so completely detached from the simulation, where does the urge to post almost daily to share this state of being come from? Wouldn't this be simply a quest for validation?
Also, whether you care about something or choose to ignore it has nothing to do with neutrality. These are two polarities stemming from the concept of attention.
Duality is the very fabric of the matrix. It cannot be ignored. Thus, neutrality is not about switching from one pole to the other or denying the concept, but simply about keeping all the sliders in the middle.
After all, shouting from the rooftops that you don’t care about the movie—that's still a way of playing your part in it, isn’t it?
Spiritual circles and so-called supramental movements both harbour a formidable pitfall: they tend to substitute vibrational do’s and don’ts for traditional religious dogmas.
Under the guise of deprogramming, some consciousness gurus advocate the adoption of absolute austerity. We are taught to reject nature, which is presented as an illusion; to turn off music; to banish movies; and even to refrain from saying ‘I love you’ since love supposedly does not exist in this density.
But just look at the result: instead of liberating humanity, this system creates cold individuals, disconnected from life, and trapped in a new conceptual cage.
It strangely reminds me of some evangelical channel where people would share their experiences and explain how everything is copyrighted by Satan—music, yoga, cinema, art…—and that you ought to put your life in the hands of Jesus in order to be saved.
Just replace the names of Satan and Jesus with those of New Age or supraconscious figures, and you get exactly the same scenario of spiritual capture.
For as long as humans keep failing to own themselves, other structures will seek to possess them through the promise of delivering them from their predator.
But in reality, the struggle between good and evil is merely the horizontal dimension of the manipulation. Above this duality, a vertical dimension is at play: a genuine triality; a third party who no longer seeks to recycle consciousness ad infinitum on the wheel of Samsara through endless wear, but to take permanent possession via some deceptive escape route.
So let's keep that in mind: the enemies of our enemies are not necessarily our friends, but merely cattle rustlers. And that cattle is us. At least, as long as we keep failing to fully embrace our sovereignty.
True sovereignty doesn't mean numbing yourself to the world, but navigating it without allowing it to possess you. Spirit doesn't try to avoid the stage set; it passes right through it.
We're encouraged to stay away from polarities, but heat and cold are two extremes on the same axis. Anger and hatred remain low vibrations, whether hot or cold. You don't achieve neutrality or non-polarity through coldness or rigidity. That's just moving the slider to the opposite end of the scale.
Centredness is not about going blank or numb. It's about bringing all the sliders back to the middle. It's about being able to observe the stage without any bias, to listen with complete objectivity, and to love consciously, without rigidity.
Words are just tools meant for the mind; they can never make up for the silent message from your own spirit. So you don't want to trade one prison cell for another. Clear your space by filling it with presence, and let that silence grow deafening.
With every major bestseller comes a host of copycats, eagerly welcomed by
publishers to keep the presses running whilst the hype lasts. Especially
when Hollywood jumps on the trend. So, after the plethora of wizards and
vampires spawned by the Harry Potter and
Twilight phenomena, the hype has now shifted to fast-read
domestic thrillers—inspired by Freida McFadden’s international bestseller
The Housemaid (also a major feature film)—stepping into the
breach she opened up.
The sincerest form of flattery is imitation, right?
Count My Lies, Sophie Stava (2025)
If only it added some additional value to the blueprint; a
touch of originality to the tropes; and a dash of substance to the archetypes.
It would be too much to expect, as fast reading obviously implies quick
writing. At least based on the five thrillers I’ve recently wolfed down—I
know, I just couldn’t help myself.
Guidelines
Imagine a ready-made template for novels, like the visual templates provided by some graphic
design platforms online. All you would need to do is fill in the placeholders
using a list of preset tropes: motifs, recurring themes, typical situations,
relationship dynamics, character archetypes, plot structures, narrative
techniques, storytelling conventions, and so on… And there you have it—a
bestseller that you may even turn into a series (just like
The Housemaid and The Perfect Marriage) to double the jackpot and keep topping the bestseller list of the Amazon
jungle, for as long as BookTokers are on your side.
1. Book Presentation
Pick a title that's simple, short and archetypal, along with a somewhat
clickbait-y tagline.
The Housemaid: "From behind closed doors, she sees everything." (Freida McFadden,
2022)
Count My Lies: "I'm your friend. But can you trust me?" (Sophie Stava, 2025)
The Waitress: "I was watching him. But he was watching me." (K.L. Slater, 2024)
The Perfect Marriage: "His mistress is dead. His wife is his only hope." (Jeneva Rose,
2020)
The Perfect Divorce: "Till death do us apart. Yours. Not mine." (Jeneva Rose, 2025)
Go for a simple, symbolic front cover design featuring a keyhole, a styrofoam
cup, wedding rings, a comb and a pair of scissors… but keep the colour scheme
to no more than two or three different shades.
2. Style
Preferably write in the present tense, in the first person, and alternate
characters’ points of view.
Although the basic idea is not a bad thing, it does have a few pitfalls when
the murderer takes part in the storytelling and certain details that might
give away the final twist need to be left out. However, authors tend to focus
too much on throwing red herrings while failing to provide genuine clues or
subtle psychological details as well. As a result, attentive readers, who could not
possibly have seen this coming (unless they figured out the underlying
mechanics), invariably feel betrayed by the far-fetched deus ex machina twist
in the final act. That's the fly in the ointment.
Oddly enough, in The Waitress, only the lead character speaks in the first person. Which breaks the
natural flow of the storytelling. This is even more noticeable in the audio
version, where all three points of view are read by the same voice
actress unlike in other similar audiobooks with multiple points of view.
Use short sentences, as you would in a screenplay or dialogue prompt. Avoid
metaphors, semantic fields, and overly literary phrasing as your target
audience might otherwise lose interest. What’s more, it will be all the easier
to adapt for film or television.
Incidentally, a TV series is in the pipeline for Count My Lies. And The Perfect Marriage is currently being adapted for the
silver screen.
3. Characters
Your lead characters must be in the same age group as your target audience,
namely firmly in their thirties. Not too young, as many tropes common to the
genre—such as marriage, property, careers, complicated divorces and
established neighbourhoods—wouldn’t work; nor too old, for the main
characteristic of ‘youth culture’ primarily involves trapping people’s minds
in illusory bubbles of timelessness, which are ultimately bound to eventually burst.
Readers should be able to relate and think: “This could be me”. Turning
everyday life into a source of anxiety is the very principle of domestic
thrillers.
First, it was the smell, the dead giveaway of the Chanel No.5, so classic,
so expected. This is matched with the monochrome outfit adorning her
well-maintained figure. Not a shred of personality in her outward
appearance, which itself tells you everything you need to know about her.
Her features are hard and are kept in place by routine visits to a plastic
surgeon, but the kind who does a superb enough job that only a well-trained
eye can even tell that the skin isn’t 100 percent natural. The entire
entrance is punctuated by the final click of a black Manolo Blahnik heel
(never Louboutin’s, “red is ostentatious”), announcing that she is here and
ready for her proper allotment of attention, which by normal tally is all of
it.
The Perfect Marriage, Jeneva Rose (2020)
Inject a touch of glamour with a strong emphasis on luxury and good looks,
which are more important than character depth. Don’t hold back on glitz and
glam, and don’t forget to remind readers just how incredibly hot husbands or
lovers are. Lust makes up for loss, and it's important for the narcissistic
mindset to hear that often.
Be sure to overdo on stereotypes: negligent cops who aren’t exactly bright;
sloppy coroners who’ve never heard of such a thing as DNA; abnormally
well-behaved, docile kids who do exactly as they’re told at all times…
4. Final Tips
When you tell the truth—at least, if the truth is boring, which it almost
always is—people begin to fidget, their eyes glazing as their attention
wanes. Eventually, they realize, snapping to with a sheepish Oh, I’m sorry,
what were you saying?, trying to feign interest.
Count My Lies, Sophie Stava (2025)
Once all the ingredients have been added, spread them out in the mould and
give it a final twist at the end of the cooking process. If the mix is too
thick, dilute it with irrelevant trivial details.
Also, do not hesitate to retell the same events from the other characters’ perspectives. It creates the impression that there are hidden clues, while saving you the trouble of having to plant any real ones.
Ethics Go Rat-a-Tat
The bully forgets they’re a bully. The victim never does.
One of Us Is Dead, Jeneva Rose (2023)
As I pointed out in
a previous article on Freida McFadden, “the most disturbing aspect is undoubtedly the moral ambiguity of all her
characters, which tends to normalise borderline personality disorder and
manipulation as the standard way of relating to others.” And the everyone’s-a-psychopath or borderline trope comes up
consistently, to varying degrees, in all the books mentioned above. This is
particularly true of Jeneva Rose, who seems to take perverse delight in
allowing the triumph of deviant ethics with total impunity.
You certainly do not want to show manipulators and psychopaths in a bad light.
After all, we ought to help shift the
Overton window
in favour of a completely dehumanised, predatory society governed by Ahrimanic
Intelligence, just as Rudolf Steiner prophesied. Some like to call it
‘alternative’, but what kind of alternative are we actually talking about?
The liar, the cheat who tried to ruin my life. It's all over for him. For me,
it's only just beginning.
The Waitress, K.L. Slater (2024)
Fundamentally, the reason these kinds of books are so popular is mainly because our souls get bored with the numbing routine of everyday life and long to experience the thrill of danger and the unexpected—without any consequences.
When we're saturated with information, we no longer have the desire to engage in deep thought, because everything brings us back to this distressing world. So we find comfort in the tales we tell ourselves, and these stories tell us in turn. Ultimately, vicarious fear allows us to gain perspective on our concerns and defuse our own fears.
Welcome to Absurdistan! You’ll lose your way in its maze of inconsistencies and drown in confusion as you try to make any sense of it all. Common sense is not simply dead, sacrificed on the altar of narcissistic perversion and blatant sociopathy; the whole of semantics has been wiped out—and so have our sensory organs. Every sense of the word—and every human sense—has died. Literally, figuratively... and very messily. And when everything goes down the drain, all that remains is golden silence, unshakeable and non-negotiable.
That's why, this week, I’m handing the floor over to the late John Lennon, who wrote this highly satirical piece meant to mock and confound the famous "eggheads" (or "eggmen") of the time, always so desperate for hidden meanings, occult messages and mystical structures in the Beatles' songs, when it was generally nothing more than gibberish and nonsense (English humour in true Monty Python style). That didn’t stop “I Am the Walrus” from both hitting number one in the UK and getting banned by the BBC for the line "Boy, you've been a naughty girl, you let your knickers down". I’ve told you time and time again that the pot calling the kettle black is a long-standing toxic love affair that's not going to stop overnight.
These delightfully caustic lyrics include, among other things, references to Lewis Carroll’s poem, "The Walrus and the Carpenter" ("I am the Walrus Goo goo g' joob"); to "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", another highly controversial Beatles song ("See how they fly like Lucy in the sky"); to George Orwell’s Animal Farm (“See how they smile like pigs in a sty”); to Edgar Allan Poe (“Man, you should have seen them kicking Edgar Allan Poe”); and to Hindu mysticism, the spiritual sandbox hype of the Flower Power era (“Hare Krishna”).
Admittedly, in 1967, the Beatles were deep into their psychedelic trip and fascination with Eastern mysticism, but Lennon was not yet fully committed to Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, which may explain his ironic tone towards any fad and conformism that mindlessly repeats mantras—the exact opposite of ‘enlightenment’.
As for Poe, the mention refers less to the author of gothic tales than to the iconoclastic and satirical creator, long scorned by critics and taste police alike. Lennon seems to use him as a figure of genius whom "textperts" would rather dismiss than understand.
So, in the final two verses, he lashes out at everyone: the eggheads ("Expert texpert"); himself, portrayed as a troublemaking clown who doesn’t take himself seriously ("the Joker laughs at you"); and would-be spiritual gurus ("Element'ry penguin singing Hare Krishna").
Incidentally, the penguin naturally evokes a tuxedo, and the reference to the well-known Hare Krishna mantra adds to the overall comic effect. The same goes for the grotesque image of "Semolina pilchards climbing up the Eiffel Tower". Anything goes when it comes to social or spiritual elevation. Self-righteousness in an advanced state of deconstruction drips like "yellow matter custard".
Interestingly, Lennon does not build a narrative. He strings together a series of ridiculous archetypes, as in a Dadaist collage. Coherence does not come from any single image in isolation, but from the overall atmosphere: a world in which authority figures, scholars, police officers, gurus, institutions, and prestigious symbols are all reduced to the same level of farce. This is probably where the song’s strongest underlying theme lies.
Finally, let’s mention this brilliant interlude as an ironic joke at the British weather: "If the sun don't come, you’ll get a tan standing in the English rain".
Not in 2026, for sure!
I Am the Walrus
I am he as you are he As you are me And we are all together See how they run Like pigs from a gun See how they fly I'm crying
Sitting on a cornflake Waiting for the van to come Corporation tee shirt Stupid bloody Tuesday Man, you've been a naughty boy You let your face grow long
I am the eggman (Ooh) They are the eggmen, (Ooh) I am the walrus Goo goo g' joob
Mister city p'liceman sitting pretty Little p'licemen in a row See how they fly Like Lucy in the sky See how they run I'm crying I'm crying... I'm crying... I'm crying...
Yellow matter custard Dripping from a dead dog's eye Crabalocker fishwife Pornographic priestess Boy, you've been a naughty girl You let your knickers down
I am the eggman (Ooh) They are the eggmen (Ooh) I am the walrus Goo goo g' joob
Sitting in an English Garden waiting for the sun If the sun don't come You'll get a tan from standing in the English rain
I am the eggman They are the eggmen I am the walrus Goo goo g' joob g' goo goo g' joob
Expert texpert choking smokers Don't you think the joker laughs at you? See how they smile Like pigs in a sty See how they snied I'm crying
Semolina pilchards Climbing up the Eiffel Tower Element'ry penguin Singing Hare Krishna Man, you should have seen them Kicking Edgar Allan Poe
I am the eggman (Ooh) They are the eggmen (Ooh) I am the walrus Goo goo g' joob Goo goo g' joob G' goo goo g' joob Goo goo g' joob...
Surfing on the waves of melancholy, The Sandman scatters his fables. At
the gates of slumber, sleep counsels only The lucid dreamer, who alone
decides To remember before drifting away.
That little girl on the beach, with her red bucket and spade, is actually my younger self1 at the start of this hourglass cycle. I may not have become an architect or a builder, mind you, but I’ve spent quite a bit of time in sandpits. Without ever getting stuck, though. And it’s not for lack of having waded through my fair share of quicksand. Perhaps my footing is surer than my faith. Or I’ve got a mental firewall that actually works. Go figure!
The Sandman
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream,
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen,
Give him the word that I'm not a rover,
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
A sandbox (or sandpit) is, primarily, a play area for children. In motorsport, however, it refers to a run-off area that is situated on the outside of a bend on a circuit. By extension, it also refers to a test environment: an IT security mechanism based on the isolation of software components that could potentially compromise the system.
The military also use sandboxes to create scale models of landscapes featuring the topography of a particular area, in order to prepare for manoeuvres or offensives.
In supraconsciousness2, these are conceptual fields designed by the architects of this matrix in order to entrap and contain individuals within pointless, illusory quests. Their aim is to delay, or even prevent, the emancipation of human consciousness so that they can feed on our emotional energy (loosh) indefinitely. These sandboxes (religions, spiritualities, ideologies, philosophies, occultism, addictions, fanaticism, etc.) thus suppress the (very real) feeling of going in circles and provide a semblance of meaning to captive souls until their next recycling.
The Dreaming Emissary
Sleep with one eye open, Gripping your pillow tight. Exit light. Enter night. Take my hand, We're off to Neverland.
We all go through those infamous sandboxes, and we all build castles in the air there, which we tirelessly rebuild time and again as the violent waves come crashing in and destroy the entire structure—where, for a fleeting moment, the Real sometimes bursts through the opaque vault of our numbed consciousness. Some waste their entire lives in there. While others hop from one box to the next as if playing leapfrog, honing their judgement at every new stage, as if they instinctively knew that a moving target is much harder to hit.
But some of these matrix isolation chambers are far more dangerous than others, as they can entrap consciousness on a permanent basis rather than just for the duration of a single hourglass cycle. These are all those related to the occult, the invisible world, and spirituality… because they involve far more than mere energy vampirism. Selling one’s soul is overrated. These days, people willingly give it up to cholera in order to escape the plague.
And it’s not out of stupidity or ignorance, because it’s all true. Well, almost. After all, the devil (or the Other) is in the details. But our vibrational myopia prevents us from making out the small print in footnotes. Not to mention our selective deafness, which causes us to ignore the alarms that go off whenever an engram3 is surreptitiously introduced.
The Heist of the Century
How come I end up where I started? How come I end up where I went wrong? Won't take my eyes off the ball again, You reel me out then you cut the string.
But the fear of finding ourselves alone and disoriented causes us to bury our heads ever deeper in the sand, despite the cognitive dissonance that keeps growing as our lines of code are being rewritten.
“You are programmed to instinctively reject that which could set you free.” A most devious mind-bender that quite simply invites us to abandon all instinctive discernment in favour of a messenger—not of the Real, but of the Reel as in film reel, fishing reel—and, by extension, loop. The term ‘reeling’ takes on its full meaning here. And much more.
Soul-breakers 2.0 no longer seek to crack the safe from the outside, but rather to change the locks from the inside by providing the access codes for the ‘exit’ themselves. In doing so, they introduce backdoors that allow them to lock down any other point of entry and to quietly rewrite the codes without their host’s knowledge. The perfect Trojan horse4.
Archontic Wall vs Ahrimanian Portal?
What shall we use to fill the empty spaces Where we used to talk? How shall I fill the final places? How should I complete the wall?
The enemies of my enemies are not necessarily my friends. This is something the lucid dreamer soon discovers as they plunge into the Uranian cybernetic branch.
Occultist Rudolf Steiner foresaw, for the start of the millennium, the emergence of an evil in the form of a pure, cold intelligence that would disconnect mankind from its heart, transforming human thought ‘into some kind of programmed computer’ (this is, of course, an extrapolation of his words to bring them into line with our present context). This, at any rate, is the stance advocated by the proponents of ‘good’ (non-archontic) transhumanism and the carbon-silicon alliance of the Aquarian Age.
The driving forces behind these dynamics of control are essentially the same as those of the regular age: the creation of an ever-present threat (the devil, the astral, aliens…) which fosters constant vigilance and mistrust towards the outside world and your own impulses; the exhortation to break with old practices and beliefs for the salvation of the soul, its ascension to 5D, or its exit from the wheel of Samsara; the transfer of authority from the individual—cut off from all their points of reference—to a liberating figure who, depending on the ‘sandbox’, either saves, guides or enlightens you.
Yeshua, Ashtar, Saint Germain, the Adjuster, “l'Archipel” (the archipelago)… you name it, the role is always the same: to serve as the sole ‘reliable’ point of reference, whilst everything else is stigmatised, demonised, labelled ‘organic portals’, ‘agents of the system’, or even ‘nihilists’ in some cases.
All delivered with candour and condescending benevolence. You don’t catch flies with vinegar, but with truths skilfully distilled into cutting-edge jargon and a touch of unverifiable stories, altered to fit the narrative. It is an art that goes far beyond ordinary human intelligence.
Additionally, the quest for attention to nurture the massive spiritual egos of those (human) sandbox keepers is often (if not always) a front for a thriving business which, of course, they deny having. Whilst some are acting in good faith and are relatively transparent on the matter, others, by contrast, are far less so and even turn out to be downright dishonest.
Tear Down the Wall!
I have seen the writing on the wall, Don't think I need anything at all. All in all it was all just bricks in the wall.
Ultimately, we have never truly been cut off from our own spirit, save by the walls of belief that we build around ourselves. Whether through thoughts instilled by the astral plane or the teachings of false monarchs exiled from their kingdoms and craving subjects to rule over, we need not feed these fables in order to find the way out for ourselves.
Endnotes
^ An old-school digital collage (without AI) which I created myself using two original photos.
^ Supraconsciousness: Relating to a consciousness that transcends the human realm. The Science of the Spirit according to Rudolf Steiner. A term appearing in numerous dictionaries which cannot be copyrighted or hexed.
^ In neurophysiology, an engram is
the biological trace of memory (a mnemonic trace or artefact) in the
brain. Through its activity, in response to various stimuli, the mnemonic
process produces a construct by (re)structuring information into
knowledge, resulting in concepts that can be programmed into (re)actions
that are more or less appropriate.
^ A Trojan horse is a type of
malicious software, which should not be confused with viruses or
worms. A Trojan horse is a piece of software that appears to be legitimate, but which
contains malicious functionality. Its purpose is to introduce this
malicious functionality onto the computer and install it without the
user’s knowledge.
Thirteen years ago, I finally opened A Winter's Promise for the
first time, after weeks of hesitation because the original title in French
struck me more as a romance than as the most remarkable work of fantasy since
Harry Potter and His Dark Materials.
And it was French, no less. If you're a regular
reader of this blog, you are certainly familiar with the story behind
The Mirror Visitor tetralogy, as I’ve mentioned it on
numerous occasions—namely
in 2017 and more recently
in 2024, as part of an
extensive interview with its author, Christelle Dabos.
Today, The Mirror Visitor—which has sold over 1.3 million
copies and been translated into some twenty languages—is back in the spotlight at French-language bookstores with the release of the graphic
novel adaptation, a very faithful and successful rendition of the first volume illustrated by Vanyda, which I invite you to discover via the short trailer
above, made by yours truly.
Christelle Dabos, 2013 - Europa Editions - 2437 pages
For me, it was the opportunity to immerse myself back into this world that I
hadn’t revisited since the publication of the final installment of the series in
2019. And to rediscover it from the fresh perspective of the Consciousness of
the Real.
The God Who Felt 'Threatened'
In the beginning, we were as one. But God felt we couldn’t satisfy him
like that, so God set about dividing us. God had great fun with us, then God
tired of us and forgot us. God could be so cruel in his indifference, he
horrified me. God knew how to show his gentle side, too, and I loved him as
I’ve loved no one else. […] And one day, when God was in a really
bad mood, he did something enormously stupid. God smashed the
world to pieces.
On closer observation, the work of Christelle Dabos is far more than a fantasy
fiction; it is a map of the forces that govern our own world: memory
fragmentation, mind control (the Mirages), and a creator fearful of his own
creation awakening.
Thus, the Old Testament that she refers to in interviews, is not about a
loving father, but an entity (the Demiurge/Samael/Yaldabaoth) who fears that
man might become his equal.
“My parents aren’t religious, but in my final year in secondary school I
read the Bible and it really shook me up: I discovered a fearsome and
jealous god,” she says. “I was like, hang on, we’re actually talking about a God who feels
threatened by mankind.”
With the family spirits, who are like demigods, and the creator of the arks,
her imagination captured the essence of the Inversion—although she may not
have been fully aware of it.
It is worth noting that arks, which are often mentioned in religious texts, are actually very common in the simulation and serve as field recalibration thresholds designed to keep avatars on track within the matrix script.
Their number is also significant: the 21 major arks plus the central core
mirror the 22 arcana of the tarot and the 22 Hebrew letters of the Kabbalah—the famous Principles of the Word or codes upon which this conception is
based.
Oblivion as a Key Issue
It wasn’t entirely Artemis’s fault, however, if she had so little memory.
Nothing stuck firmly in her mind, events flowed over her without lingering.
This predisposition to forget was probably to compensate for her
immortality, a safety valve to avoid sinking into madness or despair.
Artemis knew nothing of her past; she lived in an eternal present. No one
knew what her life had been like before founding her own dynasty on Anima,
several centuries back. For the family, she was there, she had always been
there, she would always be there. And this was how it went for each ark
and each family spirit.
Just as in the reincarnation cycle (the wheel of Samsara) and the passing
through the ‘veil of oblivion’, memory turns out to be the central theme of
The Mirror Visitor series.
Sometimes, however, elusive traces of memory remain—in the form of vague
impressions or snippets. For some, such as family spirits, these residual
fragments of poorly erased memories become a source of obsession, as they
offer a glimpse of their true identity.
An obsession that the author herself admits to sharing: “I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with it. Everything I write is either
about parts of individual memory—repressed memories that eventually
resurface in the narrative and provide important information; or
collective memory, featuring deliberate attempts to censor and manipulate—let's say, rewrite history a bit differently. People don't have to know
everything. So it does intrigue me, but why that much? Where does it come from?”
Why does it intrigue her so much? Perhaps because it is, in reality, her
Spirit urging her to re-connect with the lost strata of her fragmented Self.
Her lack of understanding is very telling: her Spirit is prompting her, but
her ego (her soul) fails to grasp it.
A World Shaped by Illusion and Deceit
There had been no transition from the previous setting; it was
mind-boggling. The ambassador burst out laughing when he noticed Ophelia’s
expression—behind her dark glasses, her eyes were popping out of her head.
“Precisely what I was telling you, varnish over filth! There are illusions
lurking almost everywhere around here. It doesn’t always make much sense,
but you’ll soon get used to it.” He sighed wearily. “Masking poverty! Saving
appearances—that, in some ways, is the designated role of the Mirages.”
Ophelia wondered whether it was just to be provocative that he himself wore
the clothes of a tramp.
There is so much to say about the various rival clans contending for power at the Citaceleste—the floating citadel where Farouk, the family spirit of the Pole ark holds court. Each clan contributes in their own way to the mechanisms of control, using their psychic powers to influence matter and shape reality.
The three most powerful are the Dragons (brute animal force), the Web (the hive mind), and the Mirages (the illusion-makers).
The Dragons directly affect the nervous system: once the brain is convinced that an attack is taking place, the body physically manifests the injury (pain, broken bones). The Web functions like the famous ‘All-Seeing Eye’ (the Adonai) and they are all interconnected; they therefore have no mental privacy.
Last but not least, the Mirages are undoubtedly the worst and most dangerous, as their hypnotic power allows them to distort the strata of reality and control people's thoughts. Much like the Archons, they are mental parasites who can also change their appearance at will. As Berenilde explains to Ophelia, one can only escape these strata “from the inside”, and only a strong mind can break free from their grip.
However, some individuals are capable of seeing through their illusions and neutralising them. They're called the Nihilists. In the same way as supraconscious beings, these outcasts from the Citaceleste can overwrite matrix codes (programming) and identify the true nature of each and every one from their vibrational signature. Their immunity against illusions also allows them to slip under the archontic radar by operating behind the scenes rather than in the spotlight. Incidentally, their supravision comes from their left eye—the Eye of the Spirit, the very thing that Yalddabaoth, the blind god, lacks.
Through the Smoke and Mirrors of Oblivion
To read an object requires forgetting oneself a little, to leave room for the past of someone else. Traveling through mirrors, that requires facing up to oneself. One has to have guts, y’know, to look oneself straight in the peepers, see oneself as one really is, plunge into one’s own reflection. Those who close their eyes, those who lie to themselves, those who see themselves as better than they are, they could never do it.
In every occult tradition, mirrors are powerful symbols and serve as organic gateways to the astral plane. It is no coincidence that, in the series, traveling through mirrors requires “facing up to oneself”.
It is a way of bypassing appearances and the deceptions of the matrix. Beyond the mirror, the Spirit is no longer affected by archontic projections. Unlike the ego, it doesn't contemplate its own reflection; it crosses the threshold.
Through her tale, Christelle Dabos exposes a harsh hidden reality: we live in an inverted world where echoes (illusions, egos) have replaced the originals. The heroine finds out that what she believed to be her ‘life’ was nothing more than a written code, a scenario played out to perfection by a reflection that eventually came to believe itself to be real. Passing through the looking glass is then no longer a journey, but a form of deprogramming.
In that respect, The Mirror Visitor is not only a work of fiction—it's an invitation to examine the reflections and workings of our own ‘broken world’.
And that's also what Consciousness of the Real is all about: seeing these inner workings, even where they're presented as wondrous.
FR
