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The Raw Truth of the Storm.

Sunday morning, I had a very vivid dream. There was a stone church that was erected on the crossroads of a busy highway close to my childhood home, and everybody was taking shelter in it under a roiling, dark sky that threatened everything under it. However, as we passed through the wooden doors, intricately carved with angelic reliefs placed in the portals of the doors, I saw the faces of the angels were beautiful, but not in the way that we imagine angelic beauty to be. Instead of the beauty of purity and innocence that we ascribe to religious beauty, these faces looked like the Instagram-filters that had been applied to otherwise normal faces; 2-dimensional, superficial, with plastic surgery and makeup. As we got ushered into the church, the clergy that was guiding us to take shelter in the darkened halls also exhibited the same false beauty that seemed to ascribe the angelic reliefs on the door… painted, sculpted faces in designer clothing, with no substance beneath. Beautiful people whom I wouldn’t have trusted to pour me a glass of water much less entrust them with my spiritual salvation. In fact, as we were being ushered in, I was grappling with the choice of whether I wanted to stay in the church, or take my chances outside in the storm.

This isn’t the first time the imagery of a church has manifested in my dreams. Throughout the nights, when the church manifests it’s presence in my mind, it’s always in unusual locations… in the basement of tenement like structures deep underground, or in crystalline grotto filled caves. Other times, it’s in the misty locations of the mind that you would usually ascribe to churches being located, in beautiful city centers and countryside of the landscapes of the mind. This location was closest to my childhood home in my mind, the area it was situated now developed, now commercialized into something other then the empty slate of imagination that manifested in my dream.

The biggest take away from the dream from the appearance of the symbolism that manifested ascribed to the church. I was surprised to see reliefs of angelic faces carved into the wood, but warped with the appearance of an Instagram filter.. smooth and sculpted facial features; manmade constructs instead of the divine examples of beauty ascribed to. It’s as if our interpretation of divine beauty was corrupted by the modern interpretation, and thus the church symbolized false icons of perfection, a corrupted sanctuary that offered shelter in a false lie.

The people that I saw who were with me were locals, being ushered in by an all female clergy that had similar styles of appearance and dress to the angelic reliefs. It’s as if they were trying to emulate these impossible standards of electronic emulation of beauty, only to offer an empty, hollow end, with perhaps a fate worst then if we had been left out to the raw, un-tempered truth of the storm.

The storm, not-withstanding, offered everything the church wasn’t. It was dark, ferocious, infinitely stronger then the stone walls that would have failed to protect the hollow truth of the corrupted algorithms that power social media, and leaving a hollow existence in it’s wake. The storm offered the opportunity to face the truth of everything that could be fully, and either survive having been made stronger, or have a chance to redo it in another life, another opportunity to make amends for an otherwise false existence.

In finishing up, the dream leaves many things to ponder. The appearance and location of the church, so close to my childhood home now overrun with commercialized stores, a calm, authentic past location now overrun with commercialized, artificial influences of today. The angelic faces, a well known symbol of religion, now corrupted by modern ideals of beauty presenting the corruption of the sacred by superficuality. The clergy themselves are modeled in the image of these filtered icons, a true disconnect between the external appearance and the internal substance.

The storm, in contrast, offers a confrontation with reality, unrelenting, harsh, but authentic. Unlike social media, there are no filters, no veneer, but only the raw experience of facing something real. It gives the ability to embrace change, challenge, and pain, and truth over the comfort of illusions. It gives the ability to pursue something genuine, even if it means enduring the storms fury.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope it leaves something to consider.

Lucio V.

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An Anchor Amidst the Shifting Currents

The world around me feels like it’s changing—on a spiritual, economic, and social level. These changes aren’t subtle anymore; they’ve begun manifesting in both obvious and hidden ways, like ripples on a still pond, slowly building into waves. As I reflect on this past week, I see the synchronicities and shifts everywhere, pulling at the threads of reality. Yet, amidst all of it, I hold to my faith and instincts, avoiding the traps that emerge and riding the steel of aircraft as I move through the turbulence.

It started with a dream on the morning of August 10. I was in the middle of a gunfight with government troops, holed up in a tower surrounded by towering trees. The soldiers, dressed in black gear, emerged from the woodline, and we fought fiercely to hold our ground. One of them almost got me as he made his way up the winding staircase, but we managed to take him down just before it was too late. Even in the chaos of that dream, I knew better than to leave any trace of us behind—no touching the bodies, no taking souvenirs. DNA, identification, it was all too risky. I went on the run, blending into the world of students on a college campus. I even found myself marching with an ROTC class, their instructor impressed by the skill of a seasoned soldier masquerading as a student. But as I sat with them in a pub afterward, the weight of this disguise bore down on me. I could feel the walls closing in, the sense that anything I said could be used to unmask me. Silence, it seems, is often the best shield.

The next day, August 11, brought a return to something more familiar. The rejoining of the monthly service, the previous month had been unsettling, but today, we gathered again, a full house of followers. It felt like a return to normalcy, or at least a chance to reclaim some of what was lost. Even the hurricane that caused the cancellation seemed to serve as a reminder that despite the storms that roll through life, we are resilient. Faith, in moments like this, is the anchor—steady, unmoving, regardless of how fierce the winds blow.

From August 12 through the 14th, work took me from Amarillo, Texas, to Knoxville, Tennessee, in a blur of activity. I found myself surrounded by talkative people, though all I wanted was to focus on my tasks. The world seemed odd, with unsettling news of earthquakes and illness. Strange how, in moments like these, the external world mirrors the internal one. The ground beneath us shifts, both literally and figuratively.

On August 15, the weather itself seemed to echo the upheaval. Flying into Houston, we saw an incredible storm cloud over the Gulf—a solitary titan towering over the city, like an Eldrazi heralding inevitable change. Everyone was captivated by the sight, snapping photos as if capturing a moment of prophecy. It felt like more than just a storm; it was as though a portal had opened in the sky, a sign that the winds of change are not just personal but global. I couldn’t help but wonder: what larger transformation does this storm foretell?

By August 16, I found myself seeking comfort in the familiar. A morning at Black Rock Cafe, going over paperwork and classes, brought a strange moment of synchronicity. I watched a funny video of a frog in a trance, only to look up and find a real one perched on the glass door, watching me. I had to laugh. Perhaps in moments of chaos, life throws us these strange, small reminders to stay grounded. A frog, a storm cloud, a gunfight in a dream—each a symbol of the shifting fabrics of our reality, and yet, here I stand, holding on to what I know, keeping my faith and instincts sharp.

The changes are undeniable. People are starting to wake up to the realities around them. Whether in dreams or in waking life, the fabric of our world is being rewoven. But through it all, I remain grounded. Like riding the steel of an aircraft through a storm or marching in step with faith, I hold fast to the anchor that keeps me rooted in reality, despite the winds that threaten to pull us into the unknown.

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Does anything we own truly belong to us?

This morning I had another strange dream, a dream in a series of dreams that I have had. In this dream, I was staying in a very expensive apartment with no real idea how I had gotten there, how much it cost, or who was even paying for it. It was a converted commercial unit, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking rain slick, neon infused, commercial shopping districts. There were white walls with a contrasting black metal staircase winding it’s way to the second floor. There was copious amounts of tile and granite everywhere, and the place seemed solid and well built.

On the second floor, there was vintage furniture from the 80’s era, with thick wooden TV’s with roller hutches to conceal old appliances, and radios that had thick felt speakers with old style roller knobs. However, it was just in appearance because it was all digital. The analog digital displays shimmered and blinked, revealing the true purpose of what they were… digital screen overlays cleverly designed to look like vintage exteriors.

There was a side room that house a futuristic projector screen, to which I could sit and watch… what? The story of my life? What had been, currently is, and what will be in the future? The projector was currently projecting a white screen, a flickering ambience of absence that beckoned to be filled in with my stories that I would gather.

However, I was not alone. Just as I was getting comfortable with my new environment, there was a stranger that appeared in my place. I don’t know who he was, but I had to figure out how to accommodate him. I remember seeing his shoes already kicked off and lying on the floor, the black leather and white tile contrasting. Where would he stay? Where was his room? Who was he even? I had barely had time to become accustomed to it before I had to share it with others.

So therein lies the theme of the dream. The presence of others in a space that offers comfort and ease, sharing our resources, time, and emotional energy even if we aren’t entirely prepared to do so. Therefore, it’s comfort, but at a cost. The idea of enjoying privileges and luxuries while not knowing the true cost, beckons to integrate this responsibility into my life; co-exisiting with it.

Being shown symbols of security and achievement but with the message that nothing we own is truly ours. There is always the presence of others, and with that, the potential to give, share, and sacrifice in some way.

Thank you for reading this and I hope you have a great day.

L.V.

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August 5-9, 2024: A Week of Transitions and Reflections

Monday, August 5, 2024: New Beginnings with a Samsung Fold

Today was a busy day, but an exciting one as well. I finally picked up my Samsung Fold from the Galaxy store, a device I’ve been eager to get my hands on for quite some time. The Samsung S23 I had before was simply too large for my hand, making it uncomfortable to use, especially when trying to capture those fleeting moments in life. With the Fold, I can now be a quick draw with my camera, ready to seize whatever life throws my way without fumbling through an unlock screen.

Later in the evening, I had dinner with Kumiko. Our conversation drifted into the drama unfolding at her work—people getting fired, uncertainty looming. It’s strange how the economy seems to be on a downswing during an election year, when you’d expect it to be propped up. It feels like those in charge of this economic circus are letting it run its course, preparing for whatever phase comes next in our lives.

My 1 TB Samsung Fold, ready for action.

Tuesday, August 6, 2024: The Week of Tacos

As I embark on this work trip in Mexico, I’ve humorously dubbed this week “The Week of Tacos.” It’s fitting since tacos have become my staple diet for now. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy tacos, but moderation is key in all things. Today was particularly busy, with nearly six hours of flying. We did a turn to Puebla, Mexico, and ended the day in Oaxaca. The weather’s been chaotic, with hurricanes brewing in the Caribbean and wreaking havoc in Florida. Just another day navigating through the unpredictable skies.

Wednesday, August 7, 2024: A Strange Dream in Oaxaca

Waking up in Oaxaca this morning, I had a peculiar dream that has lingered with me. In the dream, a baby goat, the cutest thing imaginable, kept me warm by lying on my neck as I lay on a cold, hard ground. Later, I found myself trying to catch a fish barehanded in the water. It slipped away, and I thought to myself, “Well, this is your home now.”

There’s something about being in Oaxaca, away from the usual 5G signals and closer to the mountains, that makes me wonder if this dream had a spiritual element. It’s as if the geography or something beyond the physical world is opening my mind, expanding my perceptions. I’ve noticed that traveling south, closer to Mexico, seems to do that for me.

Thursday, August 8, 2024: Disrespectful Pigeons and Rediscoveries

Tacos were on the menu again today, this time for breakfast in Laredo, Texas. The day was marked by a memorable encounter with a particularly disrespectful pigeon strutting across the tarmac as we pulled into the gate in Houston. It seemed like the pigeon was on a dare, taunting us with its boldness. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of it entertaining its pigeon friends with this little stunt.

When I got home, I had a chance to catch up with Dad. We talked about everything going on, and while exploring the empty part of the house, I stumbled upon my old camera system. I thought it had been taken from me, so finding it was like rediscovering a forgotten artifact. Dad also offered me some old shirts, which, despite his insistence on their value, were just old people clothes. They held no appeal, but I appreciated the gesture.

Friday, August 9, 2024: A Moth’s Gaze

The exhaustion of the past weeks has been catching up with me, and today I felt it more than ever. Whether it’s from overwork, dehydration, or both, I just needed to sleep. When I finally managed to pull myself out of bed, I headed to Black Rock Coffee café to get some reading done and play around with my new phone.

As I sat there, I had the unsettling feeling of being watched. When I turned my head, I noticed a moth looking at me through the window. It was strange to see a moth out at 10 in the morning, especially with the heat rising. Moths have always seemed to appear during transitional phases in my life, almost like silent watchers, observing from the periphery. They’re beautiful but also carry an ominous quality, making me reflect on where I am in life and where I’m heading.

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The Parable of the Monk and the Scorpion: A Short Story

In a small village by the edge of a river, there lived a monk who was known for his deep compassion and unwavering commitment to all living beings. Each morning, he would walk along the riverbank to meditate and reflect on his teachings.

One crisp morning, as the monk walked by the river, he noticed a scorpion struggling in the water. Without hesitation, the monk reached down to rescue the scorpion, but as he did so, the scorpion stung him. With a sharp pain searing through his hand, the monk instinctively pulled back and the scorpion fell back into the river.

The monk paused for a moment, looking at his swelling hand, but his resolve did not waver. He reached out again to save the struggling scorpion, and again the scorpion stung him. This time, a passerby who was watching the scene unfold called out to the monk.

“Revered Monk,” the passerby yelled, “why do you continue to save the scorpion when it clearly means to harm you?”

The monk, with gentle eyes and a calm voice, replied, “It is the nature of the scorpion to sting. It knows no other way. But it is my nature to save and show compassion. Should I abandon my nature just because the scorpion follows its own?”

The monk carefully scooped up the scorpion once more, this time managing to place it gently on the riverbank before it could sting again. He wrapped his swollen hand in a piece of cloth and continued his walk, his spirit undeterred.

“People call me wise, but I am not,” the monk later explained to his disciples. “I simply do not overrule my nature with anger or fear. The scorpion does what it does out of instinct. I choose what I do out of understanding and love.”

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The Parable of the Two Arrows

There’s a parable about being struck by an arrow, causing pain. It futhers explains that if you then worry about and fixate on the pain or the circumstances of being shot, it’s like being struck by a second arrow. The first arrow represents the unavoidable pains of life, while the second arrow is the suffering that comes from our own reaction to those pains. There lies a parable that serves as a metaphor for the human experience of suffering. This parable is often referred to as the “parable of the two arrows.” It begins with the notion that life inevitably brings with it various forms of pain and suffering, represented by the first arrow. This pain may originate from circumstances beyond our control, such as the loss of a loved one, an illness, or a financial setback.

The pain caused by the first arrow is a natural part of existence. However, it is our reaction to this pain that determines the depth of our suffering. Our reaction to being struck by a second arrow represents the mental and emotional anguish we inflict upon ourselves. This second arrow is the result of our attachment to desires, our aversion to unpleasant experiences, and our resistance to the changing nature of life.

By fixating on the pain, ruminating over it, or becoming consumed by negative emotions, we amplify our suffering. We may engage in self-blame, harbor resentment towards others, or retreat into isolation. These reactions, while understandable, only serve to perpetuate our misery.

Cultivate a different approach to suffering. Emphasize the practicing of mindfulness, which involves observing our thoughts, emotions, and sensations without judgment or attachment. Through mindfulness, we can learn to accept the presence of pain without getting caught up in it.

By acknowledging and embracing the reality of the first arrow, we can begin to release the grip of the second arrow. This doesn’t mean that we become indifferent to pain or deny its existence. Rather, it means that we develop the resilience to face life’s challenges with a sense of equanimity and compassion.

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Entering the Year of the Dragon

It’s another great day to be alive in 2024, as we move on into the future. We just hit March, and 2024 is already to a great start. We just entered the year of the Dragon according to the Chinese Calender, and as I research it what it means, many revelations are brought forth.

I’m not too familiar with the concept of the Chinese Calender. All I ever knew was the regular Calender, and the zodiac symbols that we reference in astrology. I’m an Aquarius, and if that is to be understood by me, I’m pre-dispositioned to certain character traits while having an affinity towards or against other people based on the timing of when they were born. This all ties into the grander scheme of the alignment of the planets in that particular time cycle, always referencing the pattern of reoccurring orbits.

The concept of Chinese calendar takes our concept of zodiac, and makes it even more complex. By even more metrics in which they evaluate the destiny of somebody’s life, they assign an animal to that particular cycle of time to which certain traits that no one’s to life are supposed to manifest. Hence, we find ourselves in 2024 in the year to the dragon. This is supposed to be the year where people who have natural leadership abilities are supposed to be able to reap the benefits of their natural inclination to be able to lead and have people follow them.

Proceeding into this year, it’s probably wise to think about our natural leadership abilities and to what degree we excel at them. Of course only you can answer this question for yourself, but they are projecting this to be a year of great change. So let’s all hang on for a ride and take care of each other along the way.

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The Importance of Prayer

In a quaint village nestled between two mountains, the residents had an age-old tradition. Every dawn, they would climb a small hill and face the rising sun, offering a silent prayer.

A young traveler named Jalen, curious about the world, arrived in the village. Observing the morning ritual, he asked an elderly villager, “Why do you pray each morning facing the sun?”

The elder replied, “Come with me tomorrow, and you will understand.”

The next morning, Jalen joined the elder. As they climbed, Jalen noticed the path was fraught with obstacles: sharp stones, thorny bushes, and sudden dips. However, as the sun rose and they faced its light, the path behind them illuminated clearly.

The elder spoke, “Life, like this path, has its challenges. Prayer doesn’t necessarily change the path before us, but it illuminates the one behind, giving us clarity, understanding, and strength to face what lies ahead.”

Jalen pondered this and realized that while the villagers prayed facing the sun, they were not praying for the journey to be easy. They prayed for the strength, insight, and gratitude to embrace whatever came their way.

The parable highlights that prayer is not just about seeking external aid or solutions. It’s a moment of reflection, connection, and grounding, providing clarity, peace, and resilience in navigating life’s challenges.

A scene of a young traveler and an elderly villager climbing a hill and facing the rising sun, with a path full of obstacles behind them.
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Perseverance and Faith during Challenging Times

In a vast desert, there was a single oasis known as Luminara. It was said that the waters of Luminara had the power to heal and bring clarity to the mind. Many travelers, upon hearing of its wonders, would embark on a journey to find it.

One such traveler was a young woman named Sela. She had endured many hardships in her life and sought the oasis to find solace and strength. Guided only by ancient tales and a worn-out map, she began her journey.

Days turned into weeks. The scorching sun, relentless sandstorms, and deceptive mirages tested Sela’s resolve. Doubt crept into her mind. Was Luminara just a myth? Was her journey in vain?

One night, as despair threatened to overwhelm her, an old woman appeared beside her campfire. She introduced herself as Mira, a guardian of the desert.

“Why do you seek Luminara?” Mira asked.

“For healing and clarity,” Sela replied, tears glistening in her eyes. “But I fear it may not exist.”

Mira, looking deep into the horizon, said, “Luminara is real, but it’s not just a place. It’s a testament to the spirit. Many begin the journey, but few complete it. It’s not the waters that heal, but the faith and perseverance of the journey itself.”

Sela, with renewed determination, continued her quest. And after what felt like an eternity, she found Luminara. The waters were as clear and refreshing as the tales had described. But Sela realized Mira’s words held the deeper truth. The oasis wasn’t just a destination; it was a symbol of her unwavering faith and resilience in the face of adversity.

The parable teaches that while external symbols of faith, like Luminara, can be powerful motivators, the true essence of faith is found within, in our perseverance and the strength we muster during trying times. The journey, with all its challenges, shapes us, and it’s our unwavering faith that carries us through.