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.
