🦁 Between Worlds: Notes from a Recovering Human

Sometimes enlightenment doesn’t look like light. Sometimes it looks like your brain finally shutting up for five blessed minutes after a lifetime of chaos.

That’s what happened when I started slipping between dimensions — not in a spaceship, but in my own nervous system. For years, I thought my “awakening” was supposed to look like a monastery brochure: glowing skin, calm smile, soft flute music in the background.

Ha! Try post-surgery exhaustion, sugar withdrawal, PTSD flashbacks, ADHD ping-pong, and the occasional thunderstorm that felt like God’s applause track.

(Bleep: “Yeah, applause… or the Universe telling you to get off the Wi-Fi.”)

Letting Go of the 3-D Story

For me, “becoming enlightened” just means I can let go of the 3-D drama long enough to breathe.
It’s that rare moment in meditation — or music — when the mind goes quiet and the soul finally speaks.
It’s not about escaping reality; it’s about realizing the body is reality, and we’re just borrowing these meat suits for a while.

I used to think with my trauma and ADHD, I could never get there. But then music became my medicine.
Vibration became my prayer.
Sound gave my mind something to dance to, so my soul could rest.

And yes — technology helped too. I tried TMS therapy (transcranial magnetic stimulation) — and for once, my brain stopped trying to burn itself down. That’s science and spirit shaking hands.

The Glitches in the System

When you start freeing yourself from the Matrix, weird things happen.
You see glitches — timelines folding in on themselves, ancestral echoes, the future hiding in the present.
Sometimes it feels like living in two dimensions at once: part you, part myth, part cosmic improv.

You start remembering things you shouldn’t: lives that might not have been yours but feel like they were.
One of mine came during the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake — the day the Bay Bridge broke.
The world was literally falling apart, and I had this visceral flash of another collapse, another world, another death.
A collective memory of a place — maybe Lyra, maybe Lemuria — that fell into silence. A deep trauma was remembered from our collective unconscious.

And right then, lightning whispered: “You’ve done this before. You’re here to clean it up this time.”

(Bleep: “Oh great, she’s reincarnated tech support for the Akashic Records.”)

The Virus Cleaner of the Bloodline

That’s what I’ve become — a metaphysical janitor.
I clean ancestral code.
I debug generational trauma.
I release programs written by people who didn’t know they were running malware in their DNA.

We all have it — guilt, grief, shame, survival code.
And when you heal it, you don’t just heal yourself. You lift the whole line.

The goddess Hecate found me in the dark night — when my mind was unraveling, thread by trembling thread.
In her gaze, I saw my past — the old flames, the silenced gifts, the witch wound itself.
And through her fierce mercy, those wounds began to close.

That night, something inside me shattered… and through the crack, mercy poured in like dawn.

We’re All Just Learning How to Play

The truth is: we’re all avatars in a giant spiritual video game with no tutorial.
You wake up mid-level, your controls are sticky, and nobody warned you about boss fights called “Grief” and “Abandonment.”

(Bleep: “I told you to upgrade your emotional RAM, but noooo—”)

It’s messy, but we’re learning.
Astrology helps me time the levels. Mythology gives me the map.
And comedy — sweet, holy laughter — keeps me from rage-quitting the whole human experience.

Because underneath it all, there’s love.
There’s always love.
And when you remember that — truly feel it — it’s hard to stay angry for long.

The Future Is Already Beautiful

I’ve seen flashes of it — a world where suffering finally starts to dissolve.
Where every human is born with their basic needs met,
where we work less and love more,
where technology becomes a tool for consciousness, not control.

Sure, we’ll still have our villains, our Lex Luthors, our narcissists and chaos-agents.
But we’ll also have humor, grace, and a million quiet revolutions of kindness.

Because that’s how heaven on earth begins —
one person slowing down, forgiving their past,
and daring to love the world again.

(Bleep: “And remembering to hydrate.”)

Final Transmission

So if you think you’re losing your mind — maybe you’re just finding the rest of it.
If you’re feeling “between worlds,”
welcome.
You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

This is maintenance for the soul.
This is the update the ancestors prayed you’d install.

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

Tré Taylor (and Bleep, your glitchy guardian angel)