🌊 When You’re Alive but Not Living: Awakening the Sleeping Soul

There’s a strange kind of pain that comes when you realize you’ve been alive for years — but not living.

Your heart beats. You breathe. You pay the bills.
Yet something inside you’s been unplugged.

It’s like you’ve been walking through your own life in someone else’s shoes.

I lived like that for decades.
Out of my body. Out of my mind.
Half in rebellion, half in spiritual exile — mad at God, mad at life, and a little mad in general.

🌀 The Neurodivergent Awakening

It started when I began noticing synchronicities — undeniable winks from the universe that were so personal, so specific, they shook me awake.

I’ve always known I was wired differently. I have a form of dyslexia that gifts me narrative & dynamic reasoning dyslexia (test your type here)— the ability to see stories, patterns, and connections in ways most people don’t.

It’s a curse in a classroom, but a blessing for an artist.

People like me — neurodiverse souls — we feel the world in surround sound.
We live in frequencies others can’t hear.

Bleep: “So you’re basically a walking jazz chord — nobody knows what key you’re in, but it sounds damn interesting.”

But I was disconnected. I didn’t trust people, not after the kind of childhood that makes you grow armor instead of roots. Trauma became my teacher, and my body carried the tuition bill.

It took years to realize that disassociation wasn’t weakness. It was my spirit’s way of surviving.

⚡ When Spirit Demands a Do-Over

At some point, you’ve got to call your own soul back home.

For me, that happened after the medical system failed me, the psychiatric system mislabeled me, and every relationship I tried fell apart like wet tissue.

I had to admit: I wasn’t broken. I was becoming.

I began studying Carl Jung’s individuation process — the idea that healing means integrating all your parts: the divine mother, the divine father, the child, the shadow.

I started seeing my pain as initiation, not punishment.
Life wasn’t a prison; it was an obstacle course for the spirit.

The demons I’d been fighting weren’t external — they were the personal trainers of my soul.

Bleep: “So demons are just the gym bros of the underworld?”

Tré: “Exactly. They spot you while you lift your trauma.”

When you stop running from the dark and start flipping it — alchemizing it — you realize those demons were giving you fuel. Every heartbreak, betrayal, and sleepless night was a coded message from the future saying: Use this. Build with it.

When you “use it,” you stop asking why it happened and start asking what can I create from this?

You Thank the painful reminder, for reminding you Now, of what you Used To Be.
That’s the moment you flip the energy — you recycle your pain into propulsion.

It doesn’t mean pretending the hurt didn’t happen. It means harvesting the lesson without replanting the poison. You look straight at the thing that burned you and realize: it can’t burn you twice if you use the ashes to draw your new map.

Every scar is a blueprint. Every “failure” is an instruction manual from your future self saying, “Here’s how to build the stronger version of you.” And Let’s Not Repeat the Same Mistake. I think they call this emotional maturity. The hard part is being able to stay that self-aware with yourself, without swearing a lot.

Bleep: “So basically trauma’s a DIY kit? Great. Does it come with instructions, or do we just cry and improvise?”

Tré: “Exactly, Bleep — tears are the glue, humor’s the hammer, and grace is the paint.”

🔮 The Ancestral Reset

Not every wound we carry is ours.

Some of it is ancestral — imprints from generations who lived in scarcity, silence, or fear.
Those old stories get stuck in our DNA like bad software.

Healing means rewriting the program consciously. That takes practice.

Think of your life like a video game. You’re the soul who signed up for this round — complete with amnesia, family karma, and a wild supporting cast.

Bleep: “Wait — so reincarnation is just cosmic customer service?”

Tré: “Exactly. We keep getting rebooted until we stop hitting ‘snooze.’”

The trick is remembering you’re not the avatar — you’re the player.
You came here to grow, to love, and to learn the sacred art of resilience.

🕯 Everyday Wellness Is Spiritual Maturity

We talk a lot about physical wellness — drink water, stretch, eat clean — but real wellness starts with emotional honesty.

It’s knowing when you’re reacting instead of responding.
It’s choosing awareness over avoidance.
Curiosity over control.

It’s forgiving yourself for being human.

When I finally stopped trying to fix myself and started listening to myself, I found the part of me that had never been hurt. The child underneath the armor. The artist underneath the anxiety.
The woman who never gave up on love — even when she swore she had.

My Real body is Infinite. I don’t ever actually die, I just transform. Willingly or not.

That’s where true health begins — when your spirit, mind, and body are finally in the same room again, ready to talk it out over a cup of tea.

Bleep: “Or tequila. Depends on the trauma, baby.”

🌞 Final Thought

If you’ve ever felt helpless or hopeless, remember:

Hopelessness is just help that’s lost its direction.

Downsize your life.
Simplify your space.
Give yourself time to rest, breathe, and feel again.

Because once you reconnect to your own light — your creative pulse, your humor, your truth — you stop surviving and start shining.

Hold on, little tomato. 🍅
Or kumquat. 🍊
Or whatever odd, juicy miracle you are.

💎 Tré’s Three Contemplative Questions

1. Where am I still resisting softness?
   (What part of me still confuses vulnerability with weakness?)

2. What am I ready to release — without resentment — so I can grow in peace?

3. How can I honor my emotional maturity today as an act of sacred respect for the Divine within me?

✨ With love, music, food, art, and fun

Tré Taylor & Bleep (the Tattoo)
🦋 Because transformation is messy, funny, holy work.